Chapter 28: Schedule

This, then, was true tranquility.

The sun, a blazing inferno overhead, beat down relentlessly. The wind, a ceaseless whisper, carried the rhythmic, muffled thud of Cushile hooves through the sand. Ian stared at the shimmering horizon, a heat haze dancing upon it, and felt a strange sense of peace.

"Ugh..."

Occasionally, a near-death groan escaped Beric, but no one paid it any mind. In the Great Desert, those destined to die should do so quickly, and those destined to live would survive by any means necessary.

Ian offered his half-empty canteen. "Are you alright?"

"I feel like I'm dying..."

"Dying from this?"

"Well... maybe not..."

They had entered the Great Desert from the borderlands only a day ago. If there was a variable, it was Beric's low tolerance for heat. His red hair, looking as if it had absorbed the very heat of the sun, hung limp and damp. Soo, who had been riding ahead, approached them from behind.

"If you're going to die, I'll drop you off here. I pity your Cushile."

Beric merely scowled at Soo's jeering. This was the lawless land beyond the border, and Soo was a member of the Cheonryeo tribe. To add insult to injury, the master she followed was a 'peace offering.' Still, would it be so bad to flip her the bird? Beric, even in his panting state, pondered this as he mumbled.

"Hold."

Heeeiiing-!

The wind shifted. The guide, who had been leading the way, halted, bringing the entire procession to a stop. He shook a brittle branch, testing the wind.

"What is it?"

"A sandstorm. It's moving faster than anticipated."

"How close?"

"We'll meet it in four to five hours."

The leaders, including the chieftain, gathered and looked up at the sky. Unfortunately, it was daytime, and the stars were not visible.

"Set up the tents for a moment."

This meant the meeting would take a while. At Kakantir's command, large shades were unfurled, and everyone took a break, giving water to their Cushiles. Ian did the same. After tending to his Cushile, he brought water to Beric's lips.

"I brought you as a guard, but you're proving quite useless."

"You didn't say it would be this hot."

"I didn't expect you to be so ignorant of the desert, either."

"I know about the desert! I do! Ah, give me more water."

Ian handed the canteen to Beric and rummaged through his small bag. Folded neatly inside were the map of the Great Desert and the list of expected weather conditions he had received from his teacher.

'How far have we come?'

He had marked their route on the map each time it changed. They had come far enough. Although Beric was struggling, the Cheonryeo tribe was pushing their Cushiles hard without any consideration. Probably because they were worried about the health of their tribal chief, Winchen.

"...A sandstorm."

Ian traced the map with his finger. An "A12" storm path overlapped with their current location. Since they had departed yesterday, the margin of error was within four hours. Just as the guide had predicted.

"What are you looking at so intently?"

"Soo. You haven't broken a sweat."

Soo chuckled, chewing on a dried date.

"I was born in the heat and raised under the sand, a true warrior."

"I see. How long will we rest?"

"About ten minutes. Start packing up."

She seemed pleased that he hadn't questioned her claim of being a warrior. She tossed him a couple of dates and turned away.

"Attention! We depart in five minutes. We must move quickly to avoid the storm!"

"Which direction should we face the Cushiles?"

"East."

"Yes, sir."

At the chieftain's command, everyone turned their Cushiles' heads to the right. Amidst the commotion, only two remained still: Ian and Beric. Though, it would be more accurate to say Beric was half-collapsed.

"Is there a problem?"

"Did you just say east?"

"I did."

"...Not south?"

At his unexpected words, the tribesmen stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Ian. What was this outsider saying?

The guide was the protector of the tribe's safety, the inheritor of ancestral wisdom. When it came to the desert, even the chieftain deferred to his judgment.

"What's he babbling about?"

"He's probably never even stepped on desert sand before."

"Leave him be. It's typical of those noble lords."

"Haha! Right! As expected of someone from the great Empire!"

Since they were speaking in their own language, Ian could only guess the meaning of their words based on their tone, except for the first sentence. The chieftain also seemed displeased. He probably wouldn't behead Ian on the spot, but if Ian caused any more trouble, he might follow Derga's elder brother's procedure.

The chieftain approached.

"Why do you mention south?"

The heartland of the Cheonryeo tribe, Cheonryeo, lay to the north. Going south would be a detour, costing them time and effort. So, of course, he was curious about the reason.

"There was a researcher of the Great Desert at my estate. According to the information he gave me, at this time, a storm is believed to be approaching from the northeast. It seems to be quite large, so wouldn't it be best to avoid it? We can't go back the way we came, so I suggested south."

Yesterday, they had crossed a massive sand dune. The slope was so steep that two Cushiles had accidentally tumbled down while descending.

"Chieftain?"

In this time-sensitive situation, the chieftain simply stared at Ian. At the urging of his tribesmen, he held out his hand.

"Let me see that information."

"Here you are."

The chieftain was surprised that Ian handed it over so readily. He had been prepared to abandon Ian if he tried to use this as leverage for something. The chieftain looked at the paper and then called for Nersaren.

"Nersaren, interpret this."

It was written in the Bariel cursive script. Kakantir, Nersaren, and the guide huddled together, heads bowed in discussion. Judging by their expressions, there seemed to be a point of contention.

"What's going on?"

Ian whispered to Soo, who was standing nearby. She glanced at her tribesmen before quietly answering.

"We were sure the storm was coming from the north. But one of the Cushiles that tumbled yesterday belonged to our guide. His branch was damaged, and it seems to have clouded his senses."

The world of the nomads was truly a mystery. How could they predict the weather with a mere stick? Ian wanted to interrupt and ask, but he patiently nodded instead.

'Going south is safer, but it's a lot of trouble. On the other hand, going east is a shorter detour. It's uncertain whether we'll encounter the storm or not.'

The urgency of Vice-Chieftain Winchen's condition. The injuries of two Cushiles. The large amount of goods for trade, and the outsiders unfamiliar with the desert. For the chieftain, it was the most efficient choice, given the circumstances. Especially since they didn't know that the east was also within the storm's range.

"Alright. We'll do that, then."

After a long discussion, a decision was made. Kakantir scanned his surroundings, searching for suitable candidates.

"Jangyarung, Tan, Turom! You three, take the eastern route and head to Cheonryeo first. Tell them we'll be delayed because of the storm, and if there's news about the Vice-Chieftain, return to us."

They were the three most physically imposing members of the group. Those who could push through a sandstorm.

Upon hearing the command, they immediately packed minimal supplies and mounted their Cushiles. The others could have endured the storm as well, but it was uncertain whether the Cushiles and the goods they carried would survive.

"Spread out as wide as possible. Do not pass the Eternal Cactus or the Praying Rock. If you enter that area, the storm will be even more severe."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll go on ahead!"

"See you in Cheonryeo!"

Heeeiiing-!

There was no time for lengthy farewells. They quickly spurred their Cushiles forward, disappearing into the distance as mere specks on the horizon.

"As for us..."

The chieftain turned to Ian. Then, as if to make a point, he folded the map and tucked it away.

"We head south."

"We head south!"

Everyone readjusted their Cushiles' headings. Ian pulled Beric to his feet by his collar, and the chieftain helped him hoist Beric onto his Cushile.

"Who is it?"

"The one who made the map? He's my teacher."

Kakantir's expression remained impassive, but inwardly he acknowledged the stark difference between their technology and knowledge. They had painstakingly charted the desert by traversing it on foot. Some oases had only been discovered a few years ago, yet the map marked them with notations like "85% probability of existence."

"Conserve your water."

He glanced at Beric's face, drenched in sweat and water, and offered the advice. The journey had become longer, and water would be scarce.

"Yes, Chieftain."

Ian nodded, thinking he should infuse mana instead of water from now on.

The wind began to blow again, this time lower and shorter than before.

"Huh?"

Several days passed.

Just as they were getting used to the scorching heat of the desert days and the freezing cold of the nights, the guide, who rarely spoke, broke the silence.

At his signal, Kakantir, then Nersaren behind him, raised their heads, and soon the entire company was staring straight ahead.

"A tree?"

Ian, too, saw it.

Something green appeared on the horizon. Soon, the horns of the Cheonryeo tribe sounded, and they erupted in joyous shouts.

"We've arrived! Cheonryeo!"

"Well done, everyone."

"You've worked hard, Demosha!"

"Demosha!"

Even Beric, who had been half-asleep on his Cushile, rubbed his eyes and sat up. His already tanned skin had darkened even further.

"Are we there?"

"Yes."

As they neared their destination, the sand became firmer. The Cushiles walked with renewed vigor, and within an hour, they reached their destination.

"It's Chieftain Kakantir!"

Ian surveyed the land of the Cheonryeo tribe.

For a barbarian tribe on the outskirts, their architecture was quite advanced. White stone walls enclosed a dense collection of tents. Palm trees on the sand were large and lush, and colorful fabrics, faded to gray by the golden sand, fluttered in the wind. The road conditions were decent. It even seemed like they had a rudimentary sewage system...

"Kakan! Welcome!"

"You've had a long journey. This way!"

"Everyone, prepare water and food!"

"Is that Ian? Or that one?"

"It's obviously the blond one. The one next to him looks fierce."

Amidst the bustling crowd of welcomers, everyone exchanged pleasantries. The three who had departed earlier to inform the tribe of their arrival had already recovered from their journey and returned to their daily routines.

"How is Vice-Chieftain Winchen?"

"His condition has improved, they say."

"That's a relief."

Kakantir motioned for Ian to follow him. As he dismounted his Cushile and walked, all the tribesmen stared at him, unable to hide their curiosity. Beric, still half-asleep, rubbed his eyes and followed Ian.

Clack-

As they lifted the canopy adorned with beads, a strong scent of cinnamon wafted up. The interior was cool and dark.

On a bed in the center lay an old woman. Her skin, a testament to the passage of time, was so wrinkled it seemed as though it might fall off at any moment.

"Winchen. Kakantir has returned."

"Ah... Chieftain. I am ashamed."

"How are you feeling?"

This was Winchen, the root of the Cheonryeo tribe, the gypsy who could discern truth from falsehood. The old woman slowly sat up.

"This is Ian, who will be joining Cheonryeo through the treaty with Bratz."

As Winchen rose, a ray of light entered the tent, illuminating her face. Her cloudy, almost moldy-looking pupils confirmed the rumors that she was blind.

"I want to confirm if Ian is a suitable candidate."

"...Ian. Answer my question."

"Yes, Vice-Chieftain."

The old woman pursed her lips, seemingly lost in thought, before finally asking. It was a rather unexpected question.

"Did Ian Bratz come here by the will of the gods?"

...In the desert, Ian realized, the unexpected was always to be expected.