Chapter 317
Chapter 317
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Can One Who Has Seen the End of the World Plant an Apple Tree? (22)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
Sailor life was a existence that left no room for boredom, no matter how much you tried.
“Enemy attack! Lockshells! The ship’s hit a Lockshell nest!”
“You up there in the crow’s nest, you little shit! I told you your eyes were worse than a dog’s!”
“How the hell am I supposed to spot those bastards hiding under the sand with the naked eye!”
“I’ve told you a hundred times the dunes look different, you fry you to death!!!”
Crack!
Crack crack!
“Three stuck on! Any more and we turn back!”
“Burn ‘em! These fuckers latch on and won’t let go even if they die—just rip ‘em off and the whole stern gets torn away!”
Sizzle!
“Pushhh—!”
“Raaahhh!!!!”
Lockshells. Giant clams that looked like boulders. They lurked beneath the sand and latched onto passing ships, capsizing them. Their flesh was a vital source of salt, and the occasional alloy pearl was a sailor’s prized income. Of course, five of them were enough to tilt the ship, so unless you were exceptional, you focused on repelling them rather than harvesting.
Ding ding ding ding ding ding—!
“Catapuuult!!! Sails drooping!!!”
“Windless zone? Fuck, ram the lookout and navigator’s heads together!”
“Row for your lives!”
“Heyyy—rowww! Hey—roooowww!”
“Splash some water on us!”
“Not before we’re out! It’ll just turn the deck into a steamer!”
“Gaaah—row!”
The occasional windless zone. Without wind, the ship drifted slowly downward, and poor ventilation turned it into a sweltering oven in seconds. In a desert ship with no cool shade for heatstroke treatment, managing body temperature was life or death. Rowing oars over choking sand in a stifling, airless hold, dehydration felled crew one by one—it was routine.
Ding ding ding ding ding ding—!
“Su, super emergency!!! Dry Oasis ahead!”
“Gaaah! Lookout! Lookout!”
“When did that bastard go down!”
“That’s why I told you the ship’s name was cursed, Captain!”
“Drop anchor! We’re doing an emergency pivot—be ready to snap the chain!”
Grind—
Thud!
More plow than anchor, the wide-fluked anchor dropped, and the ‘Dry Oasis’ barely swung around. Behind her stretched a surface utterly devoid of water.
A former oasis dried into a massive crater, its curved walls reflecting sunlight to concentrate blistering heat instead of water. Far hotter than ordinary desert, the mirage pooled like a watery surface rippling over the pit—a terrifying trap that charred approaching prows to charcoal in moments.
Ding ding ding—!
“Catapuuult!”
Ding ding ding—!
“Emergency! Real emergency!”
Ding ding clang—thud!
“All hands on deckkk!!! Wake the night shift, every last one! Bash their heads with the damn bell if you have to!”
.
.
.
.
Well, that sturdy emergency bell mangled and ringing nonstop like it might fall any second—that was the life of a great desert sailor. No respite whatsoever. Which was good.
Aldar Asham hadn’t felt right since hearing about Hatchling Aldar Shax’s desert secret letter—like he had indigestion that wouldn’t quit.
[Yawwwn—alright.... Case 283’s still iffy. Gods’ perspective next? Did I do that already?]
“Mm.... Maybe interpret it differently.... If local dragons are like that, what about the inland rampage dragons.... Did GG escape Gedroits’s calculations? Or is this planned too?”
[What about the desert environment? It changed because of that incident.]
“That’s what I was thinking....”
Mumble mumble mumble.
Scribble scribble, scratch scratch.
Sure, he’d said ‘play and the answer’ll come~’ but that carefree attitude only worked if you hadn’t bled for it before.
Desert ship life suited these endless worries. Brain fried from overthinking, just when you felt like puking—the emergency bell wailed, clearing the mind with honest labor. Emptied out, rebuild the hypotheses thread by thread.
Thanks to that, he’d pondered nonstop for two days of travel. But no real answers.
Sweltering heat, something massive brewing, clueless him, and those lizard brats tossing unsolvable riddles while giggling off—who the hell knew what they found so funny. Time slipped away relentlessly....
As mounting stress etched wrinkles on his forehead, a welcome shout finally came from the crow’s nest above.
“North-northwest—fleet sighted! Target in viewww—!”
Next objective. The fleet of the great desert’s number two, riding the momentum of one crumbled Kauladi defense line for a total assault.
Hundreds of ships big and small—that show of force eased the Professor’s mood a touch.
Yeah. Crush these guys and Kauladi, string that bastard from the mast, wring out what Valkatus handed over, squeeze every last drop of intel like a dried squid—then escape this dead-end puzzle.
War favored the side with numbers. Being on the blunt-force pressure side, not the clever gambit one, felt pretty damn good.
Yeah. Park our ship beside their big one, tie off with ropes, board, gaze at the stadium-sized deck and gleaming spears and swords—everything seemed like it’d go smooth, the clogged frustration melting away.
Mood was good. Just lifting.
“Ha—hahaha! See! Didn’t I tell you to crawl under me ages ago! Why must the ignorant suffer before heeding a sage like me!”
“....Moonshadow’s leader. Rakshasha greets the head of the Nulak-Kamut Clan. As I mentioned before, Moonshadow upholds the great king-blood’s will, in mutual respect—”
“Ah, ah, ah.... Too stiff. Way too rigid, Rakshasha....? Skip the stuffy formalities—I’ve invited you plenty, haven’t I? Hmm? Come on? A little closer for our chat? Not under this hot sun, but the cooool shade right beside me.... Heh heh heh heh heh!”
....Snap.
Until confronting the twenty-man porker—fat cheeks flapping like fans, impossible to tell if he sat on the chair or buried it in his ass....
Good until then.
Shoving fruit nonstop into his maw mid-speech, gulping thick purple drinks—the sight was a walking bioweapon of disgust.
Snap, snap—
Especially those eyes.
Tiny, lustful glints in puffy lids roamed Rakshasha’s curves visible even through loose desert garb, to shivering Senika—the young hatchling sibling here for the alliance—then.... to me, baring solid muscle and scowling.
So, the pig eyed Rakshasha up like licking her, couldn’t resist smooth scales on 342-year-old kid Senika, drooling booze or whatever down his bib while scanning me head to toe, over and over.
“Ooooh.... Speaking of, familiar faces and one stranger....? Who’s that strapping fellow? Slave? Sailor? Or.... a gift?”
.
.
.
.
Thwack—
[Whoa there, shellhead!]
That was Hide’s fraying grip on sanity snapping.
—Pfft!
That was blood pressure shredding fragile vessels.
Creak—crack!
And that was the railing crumbling under grip strength, thumb sharpening a splinter.
Wow.
The world.
The desert was truly astonishing.
So this was the fabled devilish intrusion....
The Professor drew a deep breath, calming himself briefly.
If this was some novel attack he’d never faced, fine. Kauladi was impressive. Some mystic power—curse or whatever—read the future, timed this pig for his patience’s breaking point. Yeah. Brilliant strike. Amazing. Truly phenomenal. Had to admit it.
.
.
.
.
.
So fuck it, count my suffering and rip that pig’s throooat—!!!!
Up!
Grab!
“Eek! Rakshasha?”
“Oh my~ darling? Leg cramp? Shall Rakshasha ease it?”
[Let me go.]
[Hold it.]
[I won’t kill him, promise.]
[Drop what’s in your hand first?]
....Mid-throat-grab, Rakshasha—ear tuned to ominous vibes beside him—lunged at the Professor.
[Profeee~ good boy? Let’s breathe?]
[Pig stench, no.]
[Don’t. ‘Glutton Nulak’ is our key trade partner right now? No him, no force to match Kauladi’s fleet?]
[Glutton.... Nulak?]
Whoever named him nailed it. Shoved anything in his maw, tastes spanning ages, races, species—pure agape love. Eclectic palate indeed.
The Professor felt the emergency bells echoing in his skull from days past, barely suppressing the urge to mince the pig.
Siiiip—hoo. Siiiiip—hoooo!
‘Hooo. Good. Rationally. Strictly smart, cool-headed thinking....’
Key NPC. Right. Surface foe, massive group counter to Kauladi.
Friendly? Excessively. Overly so.
Useful? Immensely. That fleet could slug it out solo without us—checking off a big chore.
So.... spare him?
The Professor clung to teetering reason at the brink, turning eyes to Nulak.
Fanned by pretty maids, shoveling delicacies nonstop.
Maintaining that weight in the desert was a feat. Especially with his sweat-outpacing-intake habits.
A grape popped from Nulak’s lips, rolling to the Professor’s feet.
‘Clear purple grapes. Same breed from that empire party. Fresh, even chilled—means cold magic crates from the empire or hired mage escorts.’
‘Chair peeking between thighs. Holding up, huh—metal. Creamy glow’s that zero-conductivity alloy for high noble chandeliers. Rare in metal-scarce desert. Insanely expensive import.’
Sane now, appraising: not food in his mouth, gold bricks. That rich. That savvy to amass it—unlike his blubbery blob look.
Those rat eyes still roving him top to bottom—lust gone, sharp now. Dissecting him in Rakshasha’s arms.
Not an idiot’s gaze.
‘....Different audience ritual from Kauladi.’
Ugly enough to belittle anyone, yet this big-group sole leader used it to bait boldly without hesitation.
Glutton. Devoured anything in reach. Or: digested whatever came his way.
[....Caught on?]
[Disgustingly.... efficiently filthy. Nasty.]
[Hee hee. Nulak’s not second-in-desert by luck. Kauladi hogged prime oases; this one hoards tons of small-village ones. Kauladi owns the best land; Nulak the most turf. So.... no killing? We need his force.]
“Mm.... Leg cramp, a bit.”
The Professor played along Rakshasha’s act in reply. If just a lucky inheritance moron, beating him senseless would’ve been therapeutic for mental health and quest alike. But second-in-desert, debasing himself to probe foes actively? Not just fat in that gut.
Slurp slurp crunch crunch!
“Mm! Mmm! Ooooh.... Darling, eh? You rejected my suit for that warrior?”
“The wait was long, but fate aligned—I found my mate.”
“Wah hah hah hah! Splendid! I covet you dearly, but can’t wed one betrothed—juuuiicy! Gack, mm!”
As the Professor upgraded Nulak’s rating several notches, Rakshasha burrowed deep into his arms for show.
[Hey, Rakshasha. If Nulak’s faking dumb, no need for this....?]
[Oh, no. He’s proposed repeatedly? Fourth wife once, sixth twice, ninth four times?]
[....Huh?]
[Keeps filling front spots while couriers fly?]
[....Those first eight probably died in bed?]
[....Anyway, even Nulak knows desert women stake lives on chastity—so this closeness’ll make him quit.]
The Professor squeezed eyes shut at Nulak—flabby cheeks clapping in applause or belly-slaps, who knew.
Our reinforcements: that. Valkatus’s: elite troops, shaman legions, prime-oasis Kauladi.
“Truly a godforsaken land.”
The Professor inwardly cried for home amid the godless sky and desert wastes.
The inland of 3world, green plains blending empire and eastern three nations.
Droning generators, dust and steel-oil stench of the wasteland.
Anywhere but desert—he yearned to return.
****