Betrayal at Death Valley
“Dad, you don’t have to do this.”
“If we don’t listen to them, neither our colony nor the caravan will survive.”
“You think they’ll keep their word just because we do?”
The arguing voices echoed through the caravan.
The speakers were none other than the son, Demian, and his father, Bellov.
Demian clenched his fists tight and glared up at Bellov.
Bellov looked at his son with a faintly troubled expression.
Demian spoke.
“You’re the one who said a caravan’s lifeblood is trust.”
“I know.”
“Then why listen to them? They don’t even treat us like humans.”
“Hah! What choice do we have? That’s reality.”
Bellov let out a deep sigh.
His face suddenly looked much older.
Bellov glanced down at his feet.
Dayton and Zeon lay there side by side, fast asleep.
It was because of the sleeping drugs in the jerky and booze they’d eaten and drunk.
Potent enough to knock out even a massive monster in one go.
Not poison, so no matter how strong an Awakener’s resistance, they had no choice but to succumb.
Demian bit his lip hard as he stared at the two men lying there.
His eyes brimmed with resentment toward his father.
He wasn’t incapable of understanding Bellov’s position.
As caravan leader, he bore the heavy responsibility for Kamchatka Colony’s economy.
He had to think and decide from the colony’s perspective above all else.
“Hah! I just don’t get it.”
Demian let out a heavy sigh.
“Just leave everything to your father. I’ll bear the blame and hatred. You just hone your skills.”
“Dad?”
“This caravan survives because of you. So focus on your duties and nothing else.”
Demian shook his head slowly at Bellov’s words and walked toward the front of the warehouse cart, where the mammoth was harnessed.
Bellov watched his son for a moment, then barked orders to his subordinates.
“Hurry it up. We don’t know when the drugs will wear off. We need to reach the rendezvous before then.”
“Yes, sir!”
His men sprang into action with their replies.
Meanwhile, Demian issued commands to the mammoth.
“Dunes ahead. Veer a bit to the right.”
The mammoth turned right as if it understood his words perfectly.
The warehouse carts trailing behind followed in line.
Demian’s instructions continued after that.
“Turn here and head north.”
The mammoth obeyed faithfully.
Demian’s ability was extraordinarily unique.
Navigator.
A guide, in other words.
It was thanks to a guide that the caravan could navigate the vast desert accurately and travel great distances.
Every major caravan had one. But Demian’s talent stood out even among them.
He could detect dangers in advance.
Sand dunes and monster habitats—he sensed them early and steered clear.
That’s how Bellov’s caravan had made it this far. Impossible without Demian.
“Whew!”
But Bellov’s feelings as he watched his son were profoundly complicated.
His son’s gift was both a blessing and a curse.
In this desert-turned world, a navigator’s ability was absolute.
They were exceedingly rare, and none like Demian existed who could foresee threats.
If anyone learned of his power, they’d covet it for sure.
“Whew!”
Bellov sighed deeply once more.
He’d achieved his goal, but his nerves were frayed.
His subordinates’ voices snapped him back to reality.
“We see the destination.”
“It’s Death Valley.”
Bellov pulled himself together and looked ahead.
In the distance loomed a bizarre canyon.
Formed of hardened sandstone, it curved gracefully like ocean waves—a masterpiece of natural art, breathtakingly beautiful.
No one knew such a place existed in the heart of the desert.
Even Bellov wouldn’t have found it without Demian’s ability.
This was their destination.
At that moment, a group of soldiers charged out from Death Valley.
Like Bellov and Demian, they wore turbans and deraa robes—essential for desert travel.
But they wore leather armor beneath.
These were humans from Death Valley.
Sun-bronzed skin, sharp eyes. Builds varied, but a hardened aura emanated from them all.
Facing them, Bellov felt his whole body shrink.
He hurriedly dismounted the warehouse cart and approached the humans from the valley.
Bellov bowed his head low.
“Here they are, as promised.”
“You sure?”
The apparent leader spoke.
Bellov suddenly felt a chill, as if the desert air had plummeted.
The voice held no emotion, no warmth—only venom and killing intent.
Like a desert rattlesnake evolved into human form.
Bellov gestured frantically to his men. They dragged over the limp Dayton and Zeon.
“It’s... really them!”
The leader’s eyes gleamed as he confirmed Dayton’s face.
He drew a scimitar from his waist and strode toward Dayton.
Bellov blocked his path.
“I kept my promise. Now you keep yours. Leave our caravan and colony alone.”
“Of course.”
The leader bared white teeth in a grin.
Bellov shivered.
Ignoring him, the leader continued.
“We Kurayans always keep our word. To fellow Kurayans only...”
“What?”
Shiak!
A gruesome slicing sound rang out.
Bellov blinked.
Sudden agony tore through his chest.
Looking down, he saw his chest split open, organs spilling out.
Drip. Drip.
Blood fell from the scimitar in the leader’s hand.
Only then did Bellov realize what had happened.
The leader had slashed his chest.
“Why... why? You promised...”
“Didn’t I say? Promises are for fellow Kurayans.”
“Urk! Gah!”
“Dad!”
Demian charged over madly at the sight of Bellov vomiting blood and collapsing.
The leader ordered his men.
“Valuable guide. Spare him—kill the rest.”
“Yes, sir!”
His men leaped onto the caravan warehouses.
“Argh!”
“S-spare me!”
Bellov’s subordinates screamed as they fell.
Many were Awakeners, but they couldn’t match the Kurayans.
The Kurayans fought like killing machines born for murder.
They wielded scimitars like their leader; the curved blades soon dripped red with caravan blood.
“No way!”
Demian trembled.
It felt like a nightmare.
He’d never dreamed he’d lose his father right before his eyes.
The leader lifted Demian’s chin with his scimitar.
“Guide! You work for us now. Got it?”
“Ugh!”
Demian nodded, shaking violently.
His mind was blank, unable to think. Pure instinct.
A vile sneer curled the leader’s lips.
“If I’d known we could nab Dayton this easily, I wouldn’t have bothered dragging in the trash.”
Mounted soldiers emerged from Death Valley.
They wore similar attire to the leader. But their appearances differed sharply.
Some had pointed ears, others were short and broad-shouldered.
Elves and dwarves.
One elf rushed forward.
A beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair and blue eyes.
She sighed at the sprawled corpses.
“We agreed to spare them. Isn’t this too cruel, even for fellow humans?”
“Fellow humans? They’re a different species entirely.”
“Hah! Hammer Son!”
The elf sighed.
The leader’s name was Hammer Son.
A human from Kurayan.
Yet he viewed Earth humans as worse than beasts—a racist bigot.
Even the elves and dwarves who came with him were unnerved by his extremism.
A dwarf approached, chuckling.
“Heh heh! Good work. Pity for Earth trash? Ridiculous.”
“Hah! Gofrey, you too...”
The elf sighed again.
Gofrey smirked.
“Drop the hypocrisy, pointy-ears! Stop pretending to be noble alone.”
“Gofrey.”
“Elves, dwarves, humans—we’re all just following Gold Dragon Hai Elton’s orders. Pride and honor got flushed down the shitter ages ago. Quit the fake compassion—it’s disgusting.”
The elf clamped her mouth shut at Gofrey’s sharp rebuke.
Then—
“Heh heh! So that’s how it was. That damned lizard bastard put you up to it.”
A voice that should never have been heard rang out.
Dayton’s.
He’d been out cold from the drugs moments ago, but now sat watching them.
Zeon sat beside him.
Hammer Son’s face twisted in unwitting shock.
“How? Hydra’s Tear keeps you down at least three days.”
“Monster tears in the vodka, huh? Tasted off. Heh heh!”
Dayton bared his white teeth.
Madness flickered in his eyes.
Zeon sighed faintly at the sight.
He could already picture the carnage ahead.
But that didn’t stop his own anger from boiling.
He hadn’t expected goodwill from humans approaching in the desert wastes.
His brutal life had taught him not to trust easily.
Dayton was the same.
They shared that wariness of others. Especially food and drink from strangers? No chance.
Dayton had burned the booze in his gut with mana; Zeon pretended to chew the venison, spat it into his subspace, and faked unconsciousness.
To gauge their intentions.
That’s why they’d stayed put even as Bellov led them to this canyon he called Death Valley.
Zeon eyed Hammer Son.
“All Kurayan humans as dumb and shameless as you? Who do you think fucked Earth into this mess?”
“Shut your mouth!”
“You shut it! Pissing me off big time. Don’t know where you hid till now, but Earth humans aren’t for trash like you to toy with.”
The more he spoke, the angrier he got.
Fine, elves and dwarves treating humans like dirt? Understandable—different species.
But Hammer Son was human.
From another dimension or world, sure. Still, acting superior, like a separate race? Infuriating.
Hammer Son especially—he wanted to end him personally.
Dayton stood.
“Hai Elton’s close by, huh? Sending all you vermin at once. Heh heh!”
He reached into the air. Clayon, left on the warehouse roof, flew into his hand.
Fused with Akaruk’s sword, it brimmed with terrifying energy coiling like thread.
“I’ll cleave you all to fertilizer the desert. Might even sprout a miracle blade of grass.”