The Desert Caravan
Zeon was enveloped in black, fine sand.
He had released Exion.
One of the benefits of releasing Exion externally was the boost in proficiency and versatility.
Zeon manipulated Exion into all sorts of forms.
Sometimes he shaped it into a round protective barrier, other times letting it flicker like wings.
With Exion released around him, Zeon vaguely resembled a grim reaper.
It was even more striking as he glided along with Sand Step.
Dayton watched Zeon toy with Exion but said nothing.
Since the battle with Akaruk, he had grown so taciturn that you might not hear a word from him all day.
His gaze had deepened into something profound, and all expression had vanished from his face.
Anyone seeing him for the first time would piss themselves just meeting his eyes.
Zeon, having known Dayton for so long, could remain calm.
As they walked, Zeon tested Exion, pondering ways to maximize its utility.
The clash between Dayton and Akaruk had sparked countless thoughts in Zeon.
Just observing such high-level combat had vastly expanded his horizons.
Throughout the fight, Zeon's heart had pounded.
I want to fight like that.
I want to reach that exalted realm.
Such burning aspirations stirred in his chest.
Long after leaving the fortress, the fire hadn't dimmed—it had only grown fiercer.
That was why Zeon kept experimenting with Exion.
To reach Dayton's level—or surpass it—he couldn't afford a moment's rest.
Dayton's strength wasn't forged overnight.
It was the culmination of a century of relentless struggle.
To catch up, Zeon had to skimp on sleep and downtime alike.
Thanks to that relentless effort, his skills grew sharper by the day.
After playing around with Exion for a good while, Zeon suddenly furrowed his brow.
It was due to the unbelievable sight in the distance.
Zeon recalled his Exion and asked Dayton.
"Is it just my eyes playing tricks, or is that a mirage?"
"Not a mirage."
"So it's real?"
"Unless my eyes are busted..."
"Whoa! It's actually there?"
Zeon widened his eyes and stared straight ahead.
Far beyond the horizon, something enormous was approaching.
Bigger than a three-story house, with four legs as thick as several grown men combined. A drooping trunk and terrifying tusks curved like bows.
It resembled the mammoths from old tales.
But far more fearsome and gigantic.
Like a small mountain on the move.
And behind the mammoth loomed a massive man-made structure.
Far larger than the mammoth itself, it was a gigantic warehouse on wheels.
More warehouses trailed behind it, linked in a chain.
Like a train.
Tiny specks—humans—scurried busily atop the warehouses.
Dayton spoke.
"That's a caravan."
"A real caravan?"
Zeon blinked in astonishment.
Caravans were originally groups of merchants who, in undeveloped regions like ancient deserts or plains, loaded camels or horses and traveled in packs to trade local specialties over long distances.
They still existed in this era.
Shuttling between colonies for relay trade.
Easy to say, but far from simple.
The world had turned into an endless desert.
Deserts offered no mercy to humans.
Blazing sun, scorching sand.
And teeming with all manner of monsters and scavengers.
Navigating those perils between colonies was no small feat.
Some might say just hop in a plane or drive a car. But anyone with even basic desert knowledge knows that's impossible.
Monsters ruled the skies too.
Wyverns, griffons, unicorns, pterodactyl-like beasts were prime examples.
They tolerated no rivals in their domain. No ordinary aircraft could withstand their assaults.
Moreover, desert skies choked with fine dust and pollutants wrecked engines in moments.
Cars and machines fared no better.
Desert sand was machinery's worst enemy. Short trips could be managed with repairs, but long hauls ended in total breakdown.
Even Neo Seoul only used vehicles for nearby dungeon raids.
Trade with unknown distant colonies? A pipe dream.
Endless identical vistas offered no landmarks.
Only caravans bridged the colonies amid such horrors.
How they navigated vast deserts precisely remained the ultimate secret.
Even Neo Seoul's attempts to uncover it had failed.
Zeon had dismissed caravan tales as lies at first. Impossible, he'd thought.
But witnessing the procession firsthand convinced him.
With mammoths that massive, even sandworms or other monsters wouldn't dare attack recklessly.
Smaller than the Mot clan's ancient Arkelon turtle, but still, most beasts wouldn't stand a chance.
Dayton said.
"Meeting a caravan smack in the desert heart isn't common."
"Not common, but it happens to us."
"Yeah."
Dayton crossed his arms, eyeing the approaching caravan.
They'd spotted the pair too and headed straight for them.
Thud! Thud!
The mammoth's heavy footfalls vibrated through the sand into their bones.
Up close, the mammoth's bulk was staggering.
Not three stories—five, at least. And the pair of tusks jutting from its trunk were monstrous.
Impaled on those, any monster would drop dead instantly.
Rooooar!
The mammoth finally arrived before them, rearing its trunk skyward in a mighty trumpet. People descended from the massive warehouse it pulled.
Turbans shielded their heads from the sun, loose robes draped their bodies.
The traditional dera'a garb worn by men of the old Sahara region.
Nothing beat it for enduring desert heat.
"Travelers roaming the wastes. Can't trust my own eyes."
The apparent caravan leader lowered the cloth over his nose and mouth, letting out an exclamation.
A man in his fifties.
Beard thick around his mouth and chin, but his sharp eyes radiated natural authority.
"I'm Bellov. What are the names of these brave souls crossing the desert?"
"Dayton."
"Oho! Dayton himself. Can't believe my eyes—or ears."
Bellov widened his eyes.
"You know me?"
"Who doesn't? A man who might be Earth's strongest. Your name's famous even in Kamchatka Colony."
"Kamchatka Colony? There's one there?"
"Haha! No surprise you don't know. Unlike Neo Seoul, it's barren and tiny."
Bellov scratched his head with a laugh.
Kamchatka Colony sat on the old Kamchatka Peninsula.
The untouched wilderness boasted near-zero population density.
Compared to Moscow or Sakhalin—also Russian turf—it was practically uninhabited.
Paradoxically, that sparsity helped survivors endure the sixth mass extinction.
With so few people, they chose cooperation over cutthroat competition.
They started as villages, swelling with incoming awakeners and survivors drawn by rumors.
Its size was a mere tenth of Neo Seoul's.
No breathing room to expand—monsters raided constantly.
Zeon asked, puzzled.
"Monsters raid you?"
"What's odd about that? Monsters attack as a matter of course. To them, humans are just tasty snacks."
"But Neo Seoul..."
"Neo Seoul's one of a kind. No other colony like it."
Neo Seoul's walls pulsed with anti-magic repulsion. Monsters shied away.
No other colony boasted such defenses.
The rest fought tooth and nail daily. Growth was a luxury.
But endless monster wars honed their awakeners into specialists, especially against big game.
Bellov's crew all carried that unmistakable aura.
Most striking was their bulk.
No exaggeration—they were all bear-sized.
Not the least bit intimidated by the massive Dayton.
Bellov said to Dayton.
"Haha! Meeting mid-desert's fate. Why not join us today? We'll treat you as honored guests."
"Fine."
"Haha! Bold as they come."
Bellov let out a hearty guffaw at Dayton's ready agreement.
Zeon shot Dayton a surprised look.
He'd expected a flat refusal.
He's got something in mind?
He looked like a simple brute, but Zeon knew better.
Nothing he did lacked purpose. Every move fit a deep-laid scheme.
Only a brilliant mind could pull that off.
Bellov led them atop the mammoth-pulled warehouse.
Awnings and chairs provided shelter for people.
The hold brimmed with goods from Kamchatka Colony; they lived on the roof.
Once up, Bellov boomed.
"Haha! Can't ignore meeting a desert legend. Bring out the vodka!"
"Vodka? Still got some?"
"Heh! Hard-sourced from Kamchatka. Turns out an old Russian liquor wholesaler survived. No new batches, but old stock lingers."
"Impressive."
"Damn right! Haul this to Neo Seoul, we'll make a fortune."
Liquor was scarce in this era.
All grain crops gone.
Colonies produced it in factories—meager yields, no room for booze.
Even if brewed, tiny quantities.
In some ways, rarer than magic stones.
Pre-cataclysm vodka? Priceless.
No wonder Bellov brimmed with confidence.
He cracked open a bottle of the precious stuff for Dayton and Zeon.
Dayton's eyes gleamed with greed—he hadn't touched booze in ages.
Bellov glanced at Zeon.
"Brother looks young yet?"
"I don't drink."
"Then special smoked deer jerky for you. One taste, and you'll never forget."
Bellov beckoned, and a boy who looked about twelve approached with jerky.
A pretty blond lad.
"My son, Demian. Demian, give the jerky to brother."
"Yes!"
The boy called Demian handed it over.
Zeon stared straight at Demian's face.
Demian, burdened by the gaze, dipped his head and averted his eyes.
Zeon took the jerky.
"Thanks."
"Yes, brother."
Demian seemed quite shy.
Still wouldn't meet his eyes directly.
Then Bellov raised his glass high.
"Come, let's drink and eat together. Don't mind the monsters—my crew and the mammoths will keep 'em at bay. Hahaha!"
Clink!
Dayton clinked glasses, while Zeon chewed the jerky.
Demian's deer jerky was leagues beyond monster meat.
It melted delicately in his mouth.
So delicious it felt like a dream.