Chapter -35.Strange village.

And just as she was mid-rant in her head—slam!

Then—bam!

A violent jolt nearly sent her airborne, and then... silence. The cart stopped.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then cautiously peered over the edge.

"What happened?!" she shouted.

From the front, the driver, who looked like he'd been through this a hundred times and still wasn't paid enough, wiped his brow and called out, "Madam! This is it! We can't go any further!"

Divya's soul sighed. Her body groaned. She slowly started to get down, limbs moving like rusted hinges. But the moment her foot touched the ground—WHAM!—a bolt of pain shot up her leg so viciously she almost rethought every decision that led her to this moment.

"AAHHH!" she winced, doubling over, looking like a sad pretzel. Half-bent, half-twisting, she hobbled over to the driver. "What do you mean we can't go further? You said you'd take me to the village! This is a dust field with attitude!"

The driver took a long sip from his water pouch and shrugged. "Madam, this is a donkey cart, not a flying chariot. This is as far as ol' Bhura here goes."

Divya blinked. "You named the donkey."

"Yes. And I love him. If I force him to go another step, he might collapse from heartbreak. Or heatstroke. Maybe both."

"You said village—nearby village."

"This is nearby! Look!" He pointed off into the horizon. "There!"

Divya turned. All she saw was shimmering heat, a few distant dots, and betrayal.

"I don't see a damn thing."

"You have to squint. Tilt your head a little. There—see? A couple of rooftops!"

After squinting, frowning, and briefly questioning her eyesight, she finally spotted it. Barely. Maybe. "You're telling me you're leaving me here to walk ten kilometers in this desert like I'm on a spiritual retreat?!"

"Ten kilometers only, madam! That's like… two songs and a snack!" the driver said cheerfully.

Divya stared at him. "Do I look like I have snacks?"

The driver gave her a pitying smile. "You have strong legs. You'll be fine."

"Strong legs?! I can't feel my spine!"

He shrugged. "It builds character."

Divya looked at the horizon. Then at the driver. Then at the donkey, who looked smug.

Divya turned around, her lips curving into the brightest smile she could fake—so blinding it could've lit up a blackout.

"You're joking, right?" she asked, her voice suspiciously cheerful.

The driver, completely missing the sharp edge in her tone, smiled back with equal brightness and gave her a robotic nod—so stiff it looked like someone had greased his neck with engine oil and told him to act human.

Divya blinked. Her eyes widened. One hand went up dramatically, fingers twitching in mid-air, as if summoning the ancient gods of sarcasm. She was ready to bless this man with some very colorful vocabulary—words that could turn the desert air blue.

But before her poetic fury could be unleashed, THUMP! THUMP! THUD!—the driver flung her belongings off the cart like he was tossing out trash during spring cleaning.

And then—

WHOOOOSH!

The donkey cart shot off.

Divya could only stare in absolute betrayal.

"Wait—what the—?" she gasped.

Because this wasn't just a cart leaving. No, this was a full-speed desert escape. The same donkey that had been dragging its hooves for two days, acting like gravity was its mortal enemy, was now sprinting like it had just remembered it had Netflix to catch at home.

Sand kicked up in waves. The wheels sliced through the earth. Wind slapped Divya's face as the cart disappeared in a swirling trail of dust.

She coughed. Once. Twice. Then hacked so hard her soul nearly left her body.

"I—what?!" she choked, looking down at herself.

Her clothes? Caked with dust. Her hair? Looked like a bird had nested, panicked, and evacuated. Her skin? Somewhere between desert tan and sandpaper.

"Very nice," she muttered dryly.

She looked around.

Even nicer.

A whole 360-degree spin revealed: nothing. No trees. No water. No buildings. No humans. Not even a suspicious animal passing by. Just land so flat and empty, it felt like the gods had forgotten to finish this level of the world.

A single bundle of dry grass rolled by, flipping in the wind like it had given up on life.

Divya watched it.

"Perfect," she muttered again.

This wasn't a movie scene where the heroine stands in the wilderness, dramatic music playing in the background.

No. This was just her. Alone. Sweaty. Dusty. And looking like someone who got personally betrayed by a donkey.

Half an hour later. Yes. Half. Not a day. Not a week. Just thirty gloriously torturous minutes later.

Divya trudged forward like she was carrying the weight of the entire plotline on her back. Her face twisted as she squinted ahead. "Where the hell is this so-called ten kilometers? Did the driver measure it with his dreams?"

Her boots, once proud and sturdy, now flopped with each step like sad pancakes. Her blue robe—oh, remember that beautiful, deep blue? Not anymore. Now it was brown, grey, and dust-colored. Actually, it had unlocked a whole new shade called "Desert Depression."

The robe was long, heavy, and probably cursed. No matter how thick the fabric, dust clung to it like it had paid rent.

And the irony? Oh, the delicious irony.

Back in her training grounds—call it a sacred cultivation realm or just a glorified jungle gym—there were forests, rivers, birds, chirping, the occasional dramatic lightning for ambiance. Peaceful, poetic, full of nature.

Then she came to the city nearby. Bright lights, people chattering, street food sizzling, everything alive and cheerful.

And now?

Just a few kilometers away?

Boom. Apocalypse.

What kind of zoning law was this?

One step outside city limits and it's like she entered a post-apocalyptic wasteland. No trees. No birds. No sound. Just sand. Endless, soul-sucking, spirit-roasting sand.

She looked around, then up at the sky and sighed.

"Honestly, the author of this story must've written this scene after drinking expired vodka."