Chapter 640

At the edge of Hielo, the desert began to come into view. Nersarn noticed the hawk lowering its altitude and gently pulled on Kusile’s reins. Far ahead, two massive rocks marked the border.

Suddenly, memories of returning to Bratz with Ian flashed through his mind. Ian was the same as ever, and Beric too—though in a different way. It felt like only yesterday they’d been carried on Kusile, the ship riddled with holes…

Swish.

Nersarn dropped to one knee. Horse hooves had left prints in the sand—faint, almost erased by the wind, but unmistakable. At least three horses had passed here, moving back and forth.

“What’s going on?”

Few would ride this far. The Cheollyeo tribe used Kusile, and the Hielo locals, aware of the unstable situation, avoided the border entirely. It wasn’t their usual range, and besides, when locals used horses, they typically pulled carts.

“But there are no wheel tracks here.”

And the hawk’s unusual behavior confirmed it: strangers had crossed the border. Nersarn urged Kusile forward, following the tracks. Though the sand dunes were many, he figured climbing higher would give him a better vantage point.

“This is strange. No matter how I think about it, something’s off.”

If these were intruders, they must have crossed the Great Desert to enter Bariel.

The Great Desert was vast and sparsely inhabited, so anyone crossing it had to travel in groups. Even the Cheollyeo tribe was no exception.

But only three? That was odd. And they hadn’t entered Hielo proper, instead turning back near the desert’s edge. Nersarn sensed something was seriously wrong.

Whoosh!

The desert wind blew hot and fierce as always. Nersarn shielded his face with his sleeve, scanning the surroundings. He had no intention of going further, but he wasn’t about to turn back just yet.

“The tracks are gone.”

In a brief moment, the wind had swept away the intruders’ traces. Frustrating. Just as Nersarn clicked his tongue, a sharp, briny scent drifted on the breeze.

Whistle!

Nersarn signaled the hawk. If it spotted anything, it would tilt its body and fly low.

“…!”

The signal came. Following the hawk, which flew with wings tilted, Nersarn urged Kusile forward. Soon, something half-buried in the sand came into view.

Tense, Nersarn approached slowly—and then recoiled in horror.

“…Shallai!”

A member of the Cheollyeo family. Why was he lying alone in the desert, without Kusile? Nersarn hurriedly lifted his upper body. There, across his abdomen, was a large, gaping wound.

“Shallai. Stay with me.”

He shook him repeatedly, but there was no response. He was dead. The warmth of his skin suggested it had happened only moments ago.

Frozen, Nersarn held the body, then a sudden realization struck him like lightning.

“This is connected to the intruders.”

They hadn’t entered Hielo but lingered at the desert’s edge to search for something. That something was probably Shallai. Why else would a Cheollyeo be here, far from home?

Peeng!

An arrow suddenly flew toward Nersarn, who barely dodged it. The missed arrow shattered midair into light—no ordinary attack.

Setting Shallai’s body down, Nersarn slowly turned.

“Are you Nersarn? The stepfather of Hielo?”

Three figures cloaked in robes sat astride horses, looking down at him. Before he could react, they had him surrounded. Whether it was because he’d been distracted by Shallai’s body or their skill, Nersarn wasn’t sure. He sent Kusile away cautiously and faced them.

“Did you kill Shallai?”

“…”

“What happened to the Cheollyeo?”

“They were strong.”

Veins bulged on Nersarn’s forehead. The Cheollyeo had been attacked. His own tribe, protectors of the Great Desert for generations, had been struck down by unknown outsiders. It was unforgivable.

Crack.

The one in the middle drew a massive bow, pulling back the string without an arrow. A sly smile curved beneath his robe. Nersarn’s eyes narrowed.

“Ruswena.”

“Why do you think that? Could be Hawan.”

The bowstring shimmered as a magically formed arrow materialized, glowing with light. Nersarn crouched, sensing the shift in the wind, and clenched his fists.

“Hawan has no mages. And they don’t have the luxury to care about the Cheollyeo.”

The archer laughed and released the string. The razor-sharp, invisible arrow shot toward Nersarn’s heart.

Bang!

The arrow grazed Nersarn’s shoulder and buried itself in the desert floor, kicking up a pit and a cascade of sand.

The intruders frowned, clearly unaccustomed to the dry sand.

“Nersarn, I’m not sure if meeting you here is good or bad.”

Most of Hielo’s forces were Cheollyeo. In fact, their influence extended to Merelrof, effectively guarding Bariel’s entire eastern border.

From Ruswena’s perspective, eliminating them first made sense. The Cheollyeo were outside Bariel’s borders, a minority tribe, and not officially allied with Bariel—

“Our plan went a bit off course. That one’s name is Shallai, right? It’s impressive he escaped all the way here. I have to give him credit for that.”

They intended to quietly take out the Cheollyeo without Bariel knowing. Nersarn had suspected as much but hadn’t been able to respond—the situation in Hawan was too chaotic.

But now, the deed was done.

“…!”

“…?”

As the dust settled, the intruders’ faces twisted in disbelief. Nersarn had vanished without a trace. Was he hiding? In this endless desert, where could he possibly be?

Thud!

Suddenly, Nersarn appeared behind them, throwing a powerful punch with lightning speed—almost beastlike in its ferocity.

The mages on either side instinctively raised shields, while the one in the middle conjured another arrow. Now that he was in range, it was their chance to strike without missing…

Crackle!

Nersarn’s fist shattered the shield. Impossible. This shouldn’t happen.

The mages faltered, mouths agape. Nersarn opened his hand, revealing an Idgal.

“My son makes things like this.”

Snap!

Without giving them a moment to regroup, he closed in on the mages. Their mobility made escape nearly impossible. Killing them and surviving was equally difficult, but he had no choice.

The Idgal, the Cheollyeo’s vengeance, and the warrior’s pride ignited Nersarn’s fighting spirit—stronger than the midday sun, fiercer than the desert wind.

“Foolish!”

The mages scowled, treating him like a madman. No matter how close to superhuman a Cheollyeo was, how could one man take on three mages?

Ziiing! Ziiing!

Boom! Bang! Crash!

Magic missiles rained down, but Nersarn dodged with ease, weaving left and right.

His gaze fixed and unyielding, he was determined to take at least one of them down. His fierce resolve was like a lion ready to pounce and tear out a throat.

“What are you waiting for?!”

The one in the middle shouted in a shrill voice. Their power was no match, but losing the momentum? That was unacceptable.

The mages bit their lips and gathered magic again. Nersarn braced himself for death and charged.

‘Philia, Roel, Ian.’

As a brilliant light flashed before his eyes, he thought of the three in turn. Time seemed to slow.

Maybe it was his wish—to stay in this world a little longer, to see them again. If the gods were watching, he prayed they would grant this small hope.

Whoosh!

Bang!

The mages’ attack struck Nersarn squarely. Blood burst from his mouth as he flew dozens of meters, powerless to resist. The pain was new to him—the sting of defeat, something a Cheollyeo had never known.

‘I sent Kusile away. Eventually, Hielo will learn of this. If they move quickly, the damage could be severe…’

Nersarn’s thoughts suddenly stopped. Worrying now was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Luxury was not for the Cheollyeo. They lived, fought, and died for simple, personal things. And for Nersarn, that was—

‘Philia…’

Family.

How he wished to see Philia’s face one last time. To hold her hand, to share warmth in a tender embrace… Tears streamed down Nersarn’s face, mixing with blood and sand. His consciousness began to fade.

Then, the clear sky was suddenly swallowed by dark clouds.

“What’s happening all of a sudden?”

“The desert’s weather is always unpredictable.”

Rumble! Crash!

Damn it all. The wizards frowned at the deafening roar that seemed to tear the sky apart.

Through the fading haze of consciousness, Nersarn vaguely sensed the shift in nature. And far off in the distance, his hawk, Byan, soared through the sky.

Tilting its body sideways as it flew.

Whoooosh!

Whoosh!

Amid the fierce wind, a familiar sound cut through. It was different from Bariel’s high, clear call. This was…

‘Chunryeo’s.’

“Demosha!”

“Demoshaaa! Gurun Tu!”

Chunryeo warriors riding Kusile appeared atop the sand dunes. Though all bore grave wounds, their eyes burned with the fierce intensity of predators.

And among them, Kakan emerged. The chieftain had lost one arm, but seemed unfazed. His expression was one of satisfaction—simply that they had managed to chase the intruders this far.

“Look at these bastards…”

So many had survived? And instead of retreating, they’d come after them? The wizards sneered, releasing their magic with both hands.

“Coming to us on your own feet! How kind of you!”

Kakan’s gaze fell on the fallen bodies of Nersarn and Sharlai. Too many family members had already fallen in Chunryeo. Tears would come later—once they returned home.

Boom! Crash!

Thunder and lightning battered the sky mercilessly. Unlike before, the wizards sensed the wind was no ordinary breeze. This was a sandstorm.

“What do we do? Should we fall back for now?”

“Even if some survived, we’re outnumbered. Our mission’s done—let’s retreat.”

“Damn it, wait! I’m taking down the chieftain first. It’ll be over quick. He’s missing an arm, after all.”

Kakan raised his sword with his remaining arm. They knew the storm’s nature. Since Ian had handed over the Great Desert, they had studied relentlessly and unlocked the secret of ‘reading the sky.’ In other words, this storm was a double-edged sword.

“If I have no arm, then I’ll tear your throats out with my teeth.”

“Demosha!”

“I will hunt down those who killed my family to the afterlife and drench my hands in their blood. Those who disturb the Great Desert—”

“Demosha!”

Kakan growled through clenched teeth and charged.

“The gods will not forgive you!”

“Let’s gooo!”

Leading the charge, the Chunryeo warriors poured down. The wizards scoffed, mocking them as they lightly unleashed their magic.

Then, a massive sandstorm slammed into the wizards, swirling violently. Kakan threw himself into the heart of the storm.

“We are the center of the Great Desert!”

No one—not even wizards—could stand against them here. Death was the least they could offer. For the glory of a warrior continued beyond that.