Volume 1 Chapter 111: "Alright."
The heavy rain outlined the contours of the city.
Even from a distance of over ten kilometers, Garde could still make out the silhouette of a city.
It was an ancient city, buried by sandstorms, eroded by acid rain, and decayed by the passage of time.
No one knew exactly how many years ago, back when this Hotland was not yet scorched, when disaster beasts were not yet disaster beasts, and when the Terrans had not yet developed their own civilization.
There existed a species that once occupied the land before Garde.
They built their city here.
They lived, thrived, and reproduced here.
They studied and developed technology here, striving to reach the stars and the sea.
But then, disaster struck—perhaps a natural calamity, perhaps a man-made catastrophe, or perhaps something beyond Garde's comprehension.
In the end, they vanished from this land, leaving behind only the ruins of cities to prove they had once existed.
Even now, across Terra—and occasionally even in Sargon—archaeologists sometimes unearth a ruin and excavate strange, ancient relics. Even if the most brilliant archaeologists from Columbia University were brought in, it would likely take them a long time to deduce the purpose of those artifacts.
Yet merely unearthing a ruin could advance Terra's civilization by decades, while finding a city could lead to a qualitative leap in development.
Could such a powerful ancient civilization really have accepted its own demise so willingly?
The archaeologists' concerns might find their answers deep within this Hotland.
If the city Garde was looking at now were still intact, then not just the stretch spanning over ten kilometers in front of him but also the very land he stood on—the factory they had spent days driving around to locate—would all have been part of that city.
It wasn't that the ancient civilization intentionally built the factory outside the city; rather, the factory had always been part of it.
From the moment they stepped into the depths of the Hotland, they had already entered the city of an ancient civilization.
But the relentless encroachment of the Hotland consumed everything. After tens of thousands of years, even the most prosperous ancient civilization would inevitably succumb to the ravages of time.
The city Garde now beheld seemed to have been restored or rebuilt at some later point. Spanning nearly twenty kilometers in depth, it could swallow five thousand Lizardmen without so much as a whisper.
War was never merely about straightforward combat.
Weapons, equipment, resources, supplies, climate, environment, terrain, belief systems—all of these were factors.
It was what people called the harmony of timing, geography, and unity.
The arrival of the rainy season wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The ancient civilization's monitoring stations would have reduced detection ranges, and with disaster beasts crawling out of the ground everywhere, who could tell the difference between a beast and a Lizardman?
Garde curiously remarked, "You know, I've never really understood—why is it that creatures from the Hotland evolve so much faster than other disaster beasts?"
He had previously witnessed the ancient civilization hunting disaster beasts. Even powerful disaster beasts seemed utterly helpless under the pursuit of the ancient civilization.
But the Lizardmen were different. They were technically also disaster beasts, yet they appeared unaffected by the suppression of the Hotland's civilization. While other disaster beasts were still behaving like wild animals, the Lizardmen had already begun developing their own civilization.
What was the foundation of a civilization? Language? Writing?
Perhaps when a species could record its existence in writing, it marked the birth of a civilization.
"Could this... also have something to do with you, Kal'tsit?"
Garde half-jokingly asked, only to see Kal'tsit's ever-calm expression remain unchanged.
"Hey, I was just joking. Don't tell me you actually came to the Hotland thousands or tens of thousands of years ago to teach a group of Lizardmen how to speak? That'd be terrifying!"
Garde put on an exaggerated expression, his reaction almost comically amusing to the crocodile man.
"Garde, are you that curious about the secrets I carry?"
"Well, of course! Who wouldn't be?"
"Knowing too much isn't always a good thing. I'm not sure if you have the courage to face the truth. If we can't even overcome the challenges before us, the truth will only weigh us down and hinder our progress."
"Heh, then I'll take that as a yes. As long as we overcome our current obstacles, you'll tell me your secrets."
"I didn't agree to that..."
Kal'tsit disliked Garde's habit of making decisions on her behalf. If she agreed to something, she would commit to seeing it through. However, there were some secrets she wouldn't even share with Theresa, let alone the crocodile man before her. Their relationship wasn't that close.
"Even if it's not all your secrets, just one or two I don't know about would do. After all, we're comrades fighting side by side now. We're about to head into battle, and you wouldn't deny me this small request, would you?"
Under Garde's expectant gaze, Kal'tsit paused in silence before saying, "In some places, making a wish before going into battle is considered very unlucky."
"Ah, I know about that."
Garde tapped his claw against his forehead.
"But I've also heard that some people won't die no matter what if they have unfulfilled wishes. Maybe I'm that kind of person."
"Isn't your wish to finish this war and then go to Columbia to marry Saria?"
"Kal'tsit, you can't go around setting up flags like that!" Garde complained. In truth, he didn't just want to marry Saria—he wanted to marry Gavial and Laurentina too.
How could just one be enough?
Garde and Kal'tsit stared at each other for a long time. Eventually, even Kal'tsit felt foolish for wasting time entertaining Garde's antics.
It was just one or two secrets, after all.
"What do you want to know?" Kal'tsit asked.
"How old are you?"
"I refuse to answer!"
Seeing Kal'tsit turn and walk away, Garde quickly caught up.
"Just kidding, just kidding."
When Kal'tsit ignored him—whether out of annoyance or something else—Garde finally brought up what he truly wanted to ask.
"Kal'tsit!"
Garde's voice reached her from behind.
"After this battle, tell me about the Khagan of the Nightzmoras. I'm pretty interested in the guy who nearly turned all of Terra upside down."
Of course, being "interested" was just a cover. Ever since Kal'tsit had speculated that the Khagan of the Nightzmoras might still be alive, Garde had been distracted.
From what he knew, it seemed highly likely that Kal'tsit had played a role in the Khagan entering the Hotlands.
Although he had no idea what sort of relationship Kal'tsit and the Khagan shared, he just hoped she wouldn't let personal feelings interfere with the upcoming battle.
Secrets, if kept bottled up too long, have a way of festering.
Garde stood still, watching as Kal'tsit walked ahead of him without turning back, as if she hadn't heard his words at all.
Just as Garde shrugged and prepared to walk away, assuming she wouldn't respond, Kal'tsit stopped.
"Alright," she said.
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