Chapter 113
Chapter 113
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: Blood Soaks the Sand (4)
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"Th... they're all dead."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Ronan spat out a curse, realizing things had gone seriously wrong. The native boy hung his head.
"Damn it. Let's lay him down first."
Ronan took off his overcoat and spread it on the ground. Schlieffen carefully laid the boy down and let out a groan.
"My oversight. His presence was so faint I didn't even notice he was riding the bird."
"Did he fall from pretty high up?"
"Yes. If the ground hadn't been soft sand, he would've died on impact."
Schlieffen explained that the rock bird's crash had been quite rough. Sure enough, the boy's condition didn't look good at all.
Not only did he have bruises large and small, but there were clear signs of fractures too. Every irregular breath he took reminded one of a soul departing the body, mist billowing from his mouth. Ronan turned to Cita and said,
"Cita. Help him out."
"Ppe!"
Cita's eyes sparkled as if he'd been waiting for this. A red glow seeped from his feathers, enveloping the boy.
Fwaaah...! The bruises all over the boy's body began healing rapidly. The dark blotches on his limbs faded away. Soon, his breathing steadied.
"You've gotten a lot better. Must be learning well from Ophelia."
"Ppeaa~"
Ronan stroked Cita as if praising him. It was healing superior to most high-end potions. But even after the treatment, the boy didn't open his eyes.
"Damn it, wake up already and explain what's going on."
It seemed like he'd need more time to regain consciousness. As Ronan scanned the boy carefully, he frowned.
He was definitely a native from Dainhar. Black hair, reddish skin. Geometric tattoos etched all over his body proved it. Recalling memories from his past life, Ronan narrowed his brow.
'They're not the type to go down easy...'
The boy's words about everyone being dead echoed in his mind. But from experience, Dainhar's natives were no pushovers.
Ronan figured that if they holed up in Dainhar like a fortress, even the imperial army would struggle to take it. Just then, a low groan escaped the boy's lips.
"Ugh... uuuuh..."
"What? You awake?"
The boy's eyelids twitched and slowly opened. His eyes met Ronan's. He bolted upright, only to fall back on his butt.
"Hiiik?!"
"Calm down, man. I didn't do anything."
Ronan approached with his hands in his pockets. The boy scooted back on his rear, flinging handfuls of sand wildly. He cried out in a whimpering voice,
"D-don't come closer! You... you killed everyone!"
"Damn it, cut that out."
He still seemed out of it. Ronan drew Imir and hurled it. Thunk! The dagger sliced through the air and embedded right between the boy's legs. He went pale and froze solid.
"Hiiiik!"
"Feeling sane yet?"
Ronan slowly approached and pulled out the dagger. Only then did the boy stop throwing sand. Panting and looking around, he finally spoke.
"...W-where is this?"
"Your front yard. How's the body feel?"
The boy finally realized Ronan meant no harm. He grabbed Ronan's hand and pulled himself up.
"F-fine. Did you heal me...?"
"Technically, this guy did."
"Ppe!"
Ronan nodded toward his shoulder. Cita, perched there, flapped his wings in response. The boy bowed to Cita.
"I see. Thanks, weird bird. I mean it."
Ronan chuckled at the fresh reaction. The kid was so affable it was hard to believe he was kin to the natives he'd met before. Finishing his thanks, the boy turned to leave.
"Now I have to go. I'll repay this debt someday."
"Go? Where to?"
"To fight. Get revenge on those bastards and save whoever's still alive."
Instead of answering, the boy staggered toward Dainhar. Ronan casually stuck out his foot. Thud! He tripped and face-planted into the sand.
"Pfft! What the hell?!"
"Idiot. You can barely walk—where do you think you're going?"
"Don't interfere. I have to go. Or else...!"
"We're heading to Dainhar anyway. We'll help, so tell us what happened."
"Thanks for saving me, but I don't need help. You look about my age. Run while you can—before those guys get here."
"Hey, Schlieffen."
Snorting, Ronan turned to Schlieffen. Understanding, he fired a blade of sword energy into the desert heart. Kwaaaa! A massive sandstorm erupted where it struck. The boy's eyes went wide.
"M-monster...!"
"Think we can help a bit now?"
"...Yeah. Are you that strong too?"
"I'm twice as strong as that. So drop the stubbornness and spill it. Doesn't look like something you can handle alone."
"Ughhh..."
Ronan stated flatly. Cold but rational. The native boy ground his teeth, then nodded.
"Fine. So... urp!"
Suddenly, the boy retched. Seemed like a buried memory resurfaced. Ronan waited until he emptied his guts. Catching his breath, the boy spoke.
"...Strange guys killed people and took others. Almost all the men who could fight are dead."
"Strange guys?"
"Yeah. Really weird ones."
The boy continued in a trembling voice, describing the mysterious intruders.
One was a middle-aged man who looked seasoned, the other wore bizarre clothes that hid their face and gender. They'd marched into the village and massacred everyone.
'Village?'
Recalling Dainhar's insane layout, Ronan tilted his head. Even he had never entered the central native village.
"Did those bastards drop from the sky or something? How'd they get in that far?"
"They didn't sneak. They came straight through. Broke our defenses in three days flat."
"What?"
"They used some weird power—we couldn't stop it. Our attacks did nothing, but theirs hit every time. Even the chief died."
Ronan's face hardened at that. It sounded all too familiar.
"I wanted to keep fighting, but the adults put me on a big bird and sent me off. Got attacked mid-flight and fell... where you going?"
Ronan suddenly turned. He rushed to the rock bird carcass and examined it closely. Now he spotted a wound he'd missed: a massive metal harpoon tip embedded in its feathered flank.
"Those sons of bitches."
Fwooo...! Suddenly, white light rippled along Imir's blade. Like objects of the same nature resonating.
Grit. Ronan clenched his teeth. The harpoon reeked of malice, laced with a far-too-familiar energy.
"...Nebula Klazie."
Faint, but unmistakable. The glittering mana signature of Nebula Klazie. After a moment's silence, Ronan turned to the boy.
"Hey. What's your name?"
"Kku... Dreaming Thunder."
"Right. Thunder."
"You okay? Your face..."
The boy recoiled at Ronan's expression. It had twisted savagely, like a different person. Staring toward Dainhar, Ronan growled,
"We're leaving now. Lead the way. Fastest route."
****
They packed quickly and headed for Dainhar. The risen sun scorched the ground.
No time for rest. Nebula Klazie's involvement was bad enough, but three days had already passed since the attack.
'Wouldn't be surprised if they're all dead.'
Ronan clenched his fist. Those bastards pulled so many stunts, their scheme was anyone's guess.
But their brutality suggested the natives were likely wiped out. Guided by Thunder, Ronan and Schlieffen marched nonstop. Scanning around, Ronan twisted his lips.
"...This path shouldn't be this easy."
The massacre had started before Dainhar. A foul stench rode the hot winds. Monster gatekeepers lay scattered and dead everywhere.
Rock bird feathers from the mass slaughter fluttered like fallen leaves. Even sandworms, adventurers' nightmares, lay uprooted and withered.
Some exceeded 10 meters—tough bastards that burrowed when outmatched. How they'd dragged them out was a mystery. Blood-soaked sand gleamed under the sun.
"This feels off..."
Something was different. A sudden twinge in his chest made Ronan frown. He couldn't tell which heart was warning him.
They entered Dainhar by afternoon—a full day shaved off.
Towering rock spires rose endlessly before them, sharp and organic, defying natural formation. Thunder, leading, pointed to a crevice in one.
"You got here fast. Through that gap. Shortcut straight to the village."
"Damn, no wonder we couldn't find the entrance in a hellhole like this."
Ronan squinted. Sure enough, a tiny hole barely fit one person.
"I'll go first. Careful—they might hear us."
With that, Thunder scaled the rock barehanded, insect-quick. Ronan and Schlieffen followed.
The passage was dark and cramped, twisting hazardously.
They trudged through darkness by footsteps alone. About an hour in, Ronan blinked at sudden light.
"We there?"
A fissure-exit loomed nearby, light pouring through. Thunder, breathing hard, bolted ahead.
"We're here! Everyone...!"
"Hey, it's dangerous!"
Ignoring warnings, Thunder charged. Ronan dashed after. Emerging, his view opened wide. A curse escaped him.
"Fuck."
Thick blood reek hit like a wave. No village—just shattered tools, child corpses, unrecognizable home ruins hinting at past life.
Harpoons like the rock bird's pierced bodies. Over a hundred corpses impaled on walls like nameplates. Schlieffen sighed lowly.
"Brutal."
Bodies everywhere, few intact. Severed limbs littered like roadside stones.
No mercenary band would match this savagery. Nebula Klazie's glittering mana wafted like haze. Frozen Thunder murmured,
"......All dead."
He wandered the hellish village in a daze. Regaining senses, Ronan expanded his perception. No survivors—or perpetrators.
He turned to Schlieffen.
"Sense anything?"
"Nothing immediate."
Schlieffen shook his head, explaining his detection faltered since entering Dainhar. Bitterly surveying the horror, he said,
"Ronan. Three days means we're probably too late. Focus on any survivors?"
"Makes sense, but... I feel like Nebula Klazie hasn't left yet."
Ronan was certain. His intensifying chest pain proved it.
As he pondered next moves, Thunder's scream echoed from behind.
"Waaahhh!"
"Shit, what?!"
Loudest yet. Both whipped around. A hulking brute hoisted Thunder, fleeing far off.
"Damn it, stop!"
Native garb, impossibly fast with a load. Ronan drew Ramancha and pursued.
A sudden chase ensued. The brute leaped corpses, zigzagging to shake him. But Ronan stuck doggedly.
"You bastard, stop!"
The gap narrowed—even to sword range. Then the brute rounded a rock corner and vanished. A beat later, Ronan did too—and frowned.
"What... where'd he go?"
Brute and Thunder gone. Ronan scanned quick. No wings—no vanishing act.
Sure enough, a hole at foot-level nearby. No other paths.
"Hid in here, huh. Coward."
Ronan stepped in without hesitation. Then cursed. No floor where expected—just steep sand slope.
"Goddamn...!"
He tumbled like a barrel, stabbing the wall to slow. Shraaack! Sand parted, speed dropped.
"Tch! What a pain in the ass design."
He landed after a long drop, spitting sand. As he turned—clank of metal, gruff voice boomed.
"Don't move. Outsider."
"Huh?"
As Ronan cocked his head—whirr! A whistling bolt from behind.
He swung Ramancha and spun. Clang! Sparks flew; the crossbow bolt snapped in two, all-metal from tip to stock.
Gasp of shock rippled around.
"What...!"
"Still shitty hosts, I see."
Grinning, Ronan faced the bolt's origin. About thirty natives gathered, half aiming odd bows at him. Thunder's voice from the corner,
"Everyone, calm down! Ronan's not bad—he came to help us!"
"Stay put, Dreaming Thunder."
Others restrained him. Ronan eyed behind them—eyes widening.
Black crystals blanketed walls and ceiling. Dainhar's famed mountain crystals everyone sought.