Chapter 8

Zeon hurriedly followed Deioden into the portal.

Once again, an immense pressure crushed down on him, but having experienced it before, he managed not to lose consciousness this time.

"Where… is this?"

He found himself in the middle of a desert under a blazing sun.

Just moments ago, he had been in a volcanic dungeon, yet now the surroundings had changed as if by magic.

No matter how much he looked around, all he could see was scorching sand.

There was nothing to indicate where they were.

Zeon turned to Deioden and asked,

"Where are we?"

Whoosh!

Instead of answering, Deioden grabbed Zeon's wrist and twisted it.

"W-what are you doing?!"

"I don't see a rank insignia on your wrist… yet I clearly saw you using sand."

"Ghk!"

A crushing pain shot through his wrist.

It felt as though his arm had been caught in a massive press.

Zeon tried to pull his arm free, but it was useless.

Deioden's strength was far beyond anything he could handle.

Overwhelmed by the pain, Zeon dropped to his knees.

He finally understood what it meant when people said that if pain became too great, you couldn't even scream.

Releasing his grip, Deioden said,

"Well, there are so many Awakened these days… having an oddball like you isn't that strange."

"Gah!"

Only then did Zeon finally let out the groan he had been suppressing. The pain still lingered.

For a moment, he lost his composure and shouted,

"You damn old man! You almost broke my arm!"

"How pathetically fragile."

"Damn it!"

Unable to hold back his anger, Zeon unleashed his Sand Blaster.

BOOM!

Compressed sand slammed into Deioden's chest—

but it didn't leave even a scratch.

Deioden casually brushed the sand off his chest and laughed.

"So you really have awakened the ability to control sand… heh."

"So what? Did you help me get it?"

"From now on, you're coming with me, idiot."

"My name is Zeon, not idiot… you crazy old man."

"If you're weak, you're an idiot."

"You—!"

"Say one more word, and I'll tear your mouth apart."

"…!"

Zeon instinctively shut his mouth.

Only then did his senses return.

The old man before him was a monster who had hunted down the Crimson Drake—the final boss of a dungeon.

He was beyond reason.

Zeon might have lashed out in the heat of the moment, but from the start, he had no chance against Deioden.

To Deioden, Zeon was less than an ant—

a pitiful existence that could be crushed with a single finger.

No matter what happened, he couldn't resist.

Deioden glanced at Crayon and muttered,

"Hmm… it's barely around F-grade now. It'll take time before it becomes useful."

"..."

"Heh… I'll just push it hard. As long as it doesn't die, it'll get stronger."

Muttering to the sword like that—

he clearly wasn't sane.

I've really ended up stuck with a completely insane old man.

There was nowhere to hide in the desert.

Escape was impossible.

Until he became stronger, Zeon had no choice but to follow Deioden.

"Follow me."

"…Yes."

Letting out a sigh, Zeon trailed behind him.

Being weak is a sin… a sin.

＊＊＊

Deioden seemed unaffected by the heat.

Even as he walked across the desert without a shred of shade, he showed no signs of fatigue.

In contrast, Zeon felt like he was dying.

The sand that swallowed his feet up to the ankles drained his stamina, and the blazing sun tormented him.

His entire body was already soaked in sweat.

"Huff… huff…"

His breathing grew ragged, and his pace slowed.

Just then—

"Hmph. You really are a fool. You can't even use one percent of your ability properly."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you gain the power to control sand?"

"So what?"

"Then use it. Why are you struggling like that just to walk?"

"Do you think it's that easy? I only awakened a couple of days ago!"

"So what?"

"Seriously!"

Zeon snapped.

Deioden stopped and turned around.

The look on his face was full of disdain.

That expression only made Zeon's anger flare again.

"I'm F-rank, alright? I'm not some high-ranking Awakened like you!"

"And that's why you're an idiot. What does it matter if you're F-rank or S-rank? Do you think anyone is born S-rank? Well, maybe some are—but those are the ones born blessed. So what? Just because you weren't blessed, are you going to give up? To others, you'd look plenty blessed already. So stop whining and think about how to use your ability. What's the point of having a perfectly fine body if your brain is useless?"

"Can you stop calling me an idiot already?"

"If you don't like it, then break that stubborn head of yours and fix it. Until then, you're the worst kind of idiot."

In the end, Zeon had no comeback and had to shut his mouth again.

Turning away, Deioden said,

"It's your ability. Naturally, you should understand it best. So figure out how to develop it—and how to use it."

"…And if I can't?"

"Then you'll die."

"…What?"

"Either I kill you, or that sun does."

"..."

With that, Deioden resumed walking.

Two long trails of footprints stretched behind him.

Zeon glared at the back of his head.

An idiot? Break my thick skull?

Something surged up from deep within his chest.

It was anger.

Anger toward Deioden—and anger toward himself.

The two fused together and burned fiercely.

Zeon clenched his teeth.

Fine. I'll show you. I'll make sure you never call me an idiot again.

Steel­ing his resolve, Zeon followed behind Deioden.

And he began to think.

What I have is the ability to control sand. So I need to use sand.

Even after awakening as a sand manipulator, he hadn't truly grasped the extent of his power.

He had only used it instinctively to escape immediate danger.

Now, he needed to clearly understand his limits—and figure out how far he could push them.

Zeon moved his mana.

At once, the surrounding sand began to gather toward him.

Like iron filings drawn to a magnet, the grains of sand flowed in.

About a five-meter radius centered on me…?

The closer sand moved quickly, while the farther sand responded more slowly.

It could move—but the reaction speed dropped with distance.

That, too, was something he would need to refine.

But for now, Zeon pushed that aside.

There was a more urgent problem.

Crunch. Crunch.

The sand swallowing his feet up to the ankles.

Each step drained his stamina.

If he didn't solve this, he'd collapse in the desert.

What if I compress the sand beneath my feet to make it solid?

It was the method he had used to cross the river of lava.

He immediately hardened the sand underfoot.

Walking became far easier.

It felt like stepping on solid stone.

But there was a problem.

The mana consumption was enormous.

Each time he hardened the ground, a large chunk of mana vanished.

At this rate, he wouldn't even make it a few dozen meters before running dry.

He abandoned the method.

He could already imagine what would happen afterward.

I'd either dry out under the sun and become a mummy… or get eaten by a beast first.

The thought alone was horrifying.

He needed another way.

My mana pool isn't large yet. I can't survive the desert by wasting it like this. I need something efficient—something that minimizes consumption.

His next idea was to focus mana into his legs.

Just by concentrating it there, his steps became lighter, and his stamina loss decreased.

But he discarded this method as well.

It worked for now—

but it didn't make use of his ability.

He was a sand manipulator.

If so, he needed to refine his sand control.

Even if it was harder now, it would matter in the long run.

For his third attempt, Zeon chose to move the sand itself.

To move the sand directly beneath his feet.

Foot-sized area… about one centimeter thick.

He focused intensely.

Concentrating mana in such a limited space was even harder than spreading it out.

When he over-focused, the sand lost cohesion and scattered uselessly.

Each time that happened, Zeon lost his balance and fell face-first into the sand.

"Ghk!"

Fortunately, the soft sand cushioned him, but his mouth filled with grit.

"Ptoo! Ptoo!"

Spitting out sand, Zeon got back up.

His mouth was already dry from thirst, and the sand only made it worse.

"Haa…"

Exhaustion was written all over his face.

Far ahead, Deioden continued walking.

He never once turned around.

It was as if he didn't care whether Zeon lived or died.

That only made Zeon angrier.

Who do you think put me in this situation?

The resentment flared again.

If not for Deioden, he would still be resting comfortably in the magic stone mine.

The hardship and pain clouded his judgment, filling him with resentment.

He could feel himself losing his sanity.

If he didn't find a solution soon, he really would go mad.

Again!

Zeon focused once more on the sand beneath his feet.

This time—

the sand carrying his weight began to move slowly.

Like wheels rolling along rails.

But the speed was painfully slow.

He still wasn't used to controlling mana.

The slightest lapse in concentration caused the sand to collapse, sending him crashing down again.

Even as exhaustion piled up, Zeon refused to give up.

Again and again, he stood up and focused on the sand beneath him.

His efforts were not in vain.

Gradually, he became more accustomed to controlling it.

The sand carrying him moved more smoothly forward.

Shhhk—

It almost seemed as if the sand itself was transporting him.

But this was the result of relentless effort.

Countless falls. Endless trial and error.

Even so, there was still too much wasted mana.

He couldn't last long like this.

So Zeon focused harder, trying to use his mana more efficiently.

Thanks to that, his mana stabilized just enough—

and he was finally able to move across the sand with some ease.

Without turning around, Deioden sensed Zeon's state.

The flow of mana, the movement of air, the sound of his breathing—

all of it told him everything.

He didn't need to look.

Muttering to himself, Deioden said,

"He's become a slightly more useful idiot."

Though by his standards, Zeon was still far from adequate.