Chapter 38

"Dad, there's no need to go this far, is there?"

"If we don't listen to them, neither our colony nor this caravan will survive."

"Do you really think they'll keep their promise if we do this?"

The sound of their argument echoed throughout the caravan.

The voices belonged to the son, Damian, and the father, Belov.

Damian clenched his fists tightly and looked up at Belov.

Belov, seeing his son like that, showed a slightly troubled expression.

Damian spoke,

"You're the one who said a caravan's lifeline is trust."

"I know."

"Then why are we listening to them? They don't even treat us like humans."

"Haah… What choice do we have? That's the reality."

Belov let out a deep sigh.

His face suddenly looked much older.

Belov glanced down at his feet.

Deioden and Zeon were lying side by side.

It was because of the sleeping drug mixed into the jerky and alcohol they had consumed.

The drug was powerful enough to put even a massive demonic beast to sleep instantly.

Since it wasn't a poison, even awakened individuals with strong resistance had no way to resist it.

Damian bit his lip hard as he looked at the two lying there.

His eyes were filled with resentment toward his father.

It wasn't that he didn't understand Belov's position.

Belov was the leader of the caravan and bore the heavy responsibility of sustaining the economy of Kamchatka Colony.

He had to think and decide everything from the colony's perspective.

"Haah… I really don't understand."

Damian let out a deep sigh.

"You just need to leave everything to your father. I'll bear the blame and hatred—so you just focus on honing your abilities."

"Dad…?"

"This caravan can only continue because of you. So please, don't think about anything else and focus on your role."

At Belov's words, Damian shook his head and walked toward the front of the warehouse—the place where the mammoth was controlled.

Belov watched his son for a moment, then quickly issued orders to his subordinates.

"Hurry. We don't know when the sleeping drug will wear off. We must reach the meeting point before then."

"Yes!"

The subordinates responded and began moving busily.

Meanwhile, Damian gave commands to the mammoth.

"There's quicksand ahead. Turn slightly to the right."

As if it understood him, the mammoth adjusted its direction to the right.

The warehouses attached behind it followed in a long chain.

Damian continued giving instructions.

"Turn here and head north."

The mammoth faithfully obeyed.

Damian's ability was very special.

A Navigator.

In other words, a guide.

The reason caravans could accurately maintain direction and travel long distances across the vast desert was because they had a guide.

Every large caravan had one. But even among them, Damian's ability was exceptional.

He could sense danger in advance.

He could detect quicksand and the habitats of demonic beasts ahead of time and avoid them.

Thanks to that, Belov's caravan had been able to travel this far.

Without Damian, it would have been impossible.

"Whew…"

Yet Belov's feelings as he looked at his son were extremely complicated.

His son's ability was both a blessing and a curse.

In this world turned into a desert, the power of a guide was absolute.

Guides were exceedingly rare—and among them, none could detect danger in advance like Damian.

If others learned of this ability, they would undoubtedly covet it.

"Haah…"

Belov let out another deep sigh.

Even though he had achieved his objective, his mind was anything but at ease.

At that moment, the voices of his subordinates snapped him back to attention.

"We can see the destination."

"It's the Valley of Death."

Belov gathered himself and looked ahead.

In the distance, a strangely shaped canyon came into view.

The canyon was formed of hardened sand, creating sandstone.

Its smooth, wave-like curves made it look as beautiful as a work of art.

No one would ever imagine such a place existed in the middle of the desert.

Even Belov would never have discovered it without Damian's ability.

This was their destination.

Just then, a group of troops emerged from the Valley of Death.

Like Belov and Damian, they wore turbans and deraa garments—an unavoidable choice for those living in the desert.

The difference was that beneath their robes, they wore leather armor.

Those who came out of the Valley of Death were humans.

Their skin was tanned brown by the sun, their eyes sharp. Though their builds varied, a hardened aura radiated from their entire bodies.

The moment he faced them, Belov felt as if his whole body shrank.

He quickly climbed down from the warehouse and approached them.

Bowing his head, Belov spoke,

"A-as promised… I've brought them."

"Are you certain?"

The man who appeared to be their leader spoke.

In that instant, Belov felt a chill, as if the desert temperature had suddenly dropped.

There was no emotion in the man's voice—no warmth whatsoever.

Instead, it was filled with cold malice and killing intent.

It felt as if, if a desert rattlesnake were to evolve, it would become the man standing before them.

Belov hurriedly gestured to his subordinates. They brought forward Deioden and Zeon, both limp and unconscious.

"Truly… it's him!"

The leader's eyes gleamed as he confirmed Deioden's face.

He drew a scimitar from his waist and walked toward Deioden.

At that moment, Belov stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"I kept my promise. Now you must keep yours. You said you wouldn't harm our caravan or our colony."

"Of course."

The leader smiled, revealing his white teeth.

At that instant, a chilling sensation ran down Belov's spine.

The leader continued indifferently,

"The Kurayan always keep their promises. But only to fellow Kurayan…"

"What—?"

Shhk!

A horrifying slicing sound rang out.

Belov blinked.

A terrible pain suddenly surged from his chest.

Looking down, he saw that his chest had been split open, exposing his internal organs.

Drip… drip…

Blood dripped from the scimitar in the leader's hand.

Only then did Belov realize what had happened.

The leader had slashed open his chest.

"W-why…? You promised…"

"Didn't I say? Promises are only for fellow Kurayan."

"Damn… ghk!"

"Dad!"

Damian rushed forward in a frenzy as he saw Belov collapse, coughing up blood.

The leader spoke to his subordinates,

"He's a valuable Guide. Leave that one alive and kill the rest."

"Yes!"

The subordinates leapt onto the caravan's warehouse.

"Aaagh!"

"S-spare me!"

Belov's men fell one after another, screaming.

Many of them were awakened individuals, but they were no match for the Kurayan.

The Kurayan awakened fighters were like machines born for killing.

Like their leader, they wielded scimitars—curved blades that now gleamed crimson with the blood of the caravan members.

"This… this can't be!"

Damian trembled violently.

It felt like a nightmare.

He had never imagined—even in his dreams—that he would lose his father before his eyes.

The leader lifted Damian's chin with his scimitar.

"Guide. From now on, you will work for us. Understood?"

"Ugh…!"

Damian trembled and nodded.

In truth, his mind was blank—he couldn't think of anything. His head moved in unconscious agreement.

A cruel smirk spread across the leader's lips.

"If I had known it would be this easy to subdue Deioden, there'd have been no need to bring the others along."

At that moment, a mounted force emerged from the Valley of Death.

They wore similar attire to the leader—but their appearances were noticeably different.

Some had pointed ears, while others were short with broad shoulders.

Elves and dwarves.

One of the elves hurried forward.

She was a beautiful female elf with golden hair and blue eyes.

Looking at the scattered corpses, she let out a sigh.

"You promised to spare them. Isn't this too cruel, even for fellow humans?"

"Who said they were fellow humans? They and we are entirely different species."

"Haah… Hammerson!"

The elf sighed.

The leader's name was Hammerson.

A human who had come from Kurayan.

Despite being human himself, he was a supremacist who regarded Earth's humans as worse than beasts.

His extreme tendencies had even unsettled the elves and dwarves who came with him.

At that moment, one of the dwarves approached, speaking with a grin,

"Heh heh! Well done. Showing mercy to Earth's humans? Ridiculous."

"Haah… Gofrey, you too…?"

The elf sighed again.

Gofrey, the dwarf, sneered.

"Drop the hypocrisy, pointy ears. Acting all noble by yourself."

"Gofrey."

"In the end, elves, dwarves, and humans alike are just carrying out the orders of the Gold Dragon Hieltun. Pride and honor were thrown into the gutter long ago—so stop pretending you're different, stop pretending you care. It's honestly disgusting."

At Gofrey's harsh criticism, the elf shut her mouth tightly.

And then—

"Heh… so that's how it is. That damned lizard bastard is behind this."

A voice that should never have been heard echoed out.

It was Deioden's voice.

Just moments ago, he had been unconscious from the sleeping drug—but now he was sitting up, watching them.

Beside him, Zeon was also sitting upright.

Hammerson's expression faltered in shock.

"How…? Hydra's Tears should keep someone unconscious for at least three days once ingested."

"So that was beast's tears mixed into the vodka? No wonder it felt off. Heh…"

Deioden bared his white teeth.

His eyes were already flickering with madness.

Seeing that, Zeon let out a quiet sigh.

He could already picture the carnage that was about to unfold.

But aside from that, he too was angry.

He had never believed that humans approaching in the middle of the desert would have good intentions.

His life had been too harsh to trust others so easily.

The same was true for Deioden.

One of their shared traits was that they never trusted others lightly. To eat food and drink offered by complete strangers without suspicion? Impossible.

Deioden had used mana to burn away all the alcohol that entered his stomach, while Zeon pretended to chew the venison before spitting it into his subspace. Then they both feigned unconsciousness.

All to uncover their intentions.

That was why they remained still even as Belov brought them to the canyon he called the Valley of Death.

Zeon looked at Hammerson and spoke,

"Are all humans from Kurayan as brainless and shameless as you? Do you even know who turned Earth into this mess?"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up! It's been a while since I've been this pissed. I don't know where you've been hiding all this time, but humans here aren't so insignificant that someone like you can trample over them."

The more he spoke, the angrier he became.

Yes, he could understand elves or dwarves treating humans poorly—they were different species, after all.

But Hammerson was human.

Even if he came from another world, he was still human.

Yet he acted as if he were some superior being, like an entirely different race—and that grated on Zeon's nerves.

If no one else, he wanted to deal with Hammerson personally.

At that moment, Deioden stood up.

"It seems Hieltun isn't far from here. Sending this many vermin at once… Heh."

He reached out into the air.

At that instant, Crayon—left atop the warehouse—flew through the air and landed in his hand.

The weapon, now fused with Akaruk's blade, emitted a terrifying aura that coiled like threads.

"I'll cut you all down and turn you into fertilizer for the desert. Perhaps then, a single blade of grass might grow."