The vast Gokashae Sand Sea, on the eastern frontier. There, in that expansive, unmapped region sat a labyrinth half sunken into the sands.
It was a vault of knowledge from the Beyond, known as a "library." And if there ever came a visitor capable of transporting a large number of the tomes and actually reading them, they would say that the knowledge contained within was worth as much as an entire country. One such person accomplished this feat—a merchant woman. And by using the knowledge she gained from the seven volumes she managed to return with, she was able to rise through the societal ranks and become Central Kingdom nobility.
The sand labyrinth itself had books scattered all over the place, as it was little more than a hollow ruin lined with bookshelves. It wasn't the sort of labyrinth laced with traps and dead ends to discombobulate intruders—nevertheless, its impregnability and difficulty to traverse earned it the title of labyrinth all the same.
In the Gokashae Sand Sea, there existed those who made it their duty to impede and interfere with any and all exploration of the sand labyrinth's depths.
Thus, an armed merchant caravan, two hundred and eight strong, was seeking this perilous knowledge. It was the first large-scale organized expedition in seven small months, and the host of bodyguards with it presumed they would be engaging with the obstructors to their plans.
There were two people spying on this massive column from a clifftop. Although they wore clothes much like minia wore, their bodies were coated in thick, coarse fur while their heads were shaped like those of wolves. They were lycans.
"...About eighteen, I'd say. I'll bet they can put up a fight, too. Must be the first big haul in a while."
The far-sight spyglass that the stout, gray-furred lycan, Heng of the Shallow Step, looked through was an item that belonged to notable adventurers and caravans of the past. An item they had plundered.
The people obstructing any exploration of the sand labyrinth were a pack of
brawny and unrivaled lycans—the Zehf tribe. Every one of them sought martial prowess, having no interest in the sand labyrinth's collection of books. If anything, they considered the literary treasures to be no better than worthless garbage.
However, that was not the case for the minia and dwarves who would be periodically drawn to the sand labyrinth—and in particular, the commodities they'd bring into the barren desert to support their exploration. This was exactly why the Zehf tribe had established a base camp in the middle of the desert.
Behind Heng as he looked out that caravan was another lycan of fairly large build, with white-and-brown fur. He looked to be much younger than Heng.
"Brother, just look at them all…! The back of their l-line… I can't even see it! It goes all the way to the crags!"
"Steady, Canute. Don't be fooled by visual numbers. There are only eighteen of them that pose any real threat. The day has come for Heng of the Shallow Step to put his training to the test. I'll kill all eighteen of them myself."
"E-eighteen people…"
Canute's eyes bulged as he repeated the words of his respected elder brother. "…A-all… All by yourself?!"
Trembling excessively, Canute forgot to pull his tongue back into his mouth again.
"Hmph... You think I can't?"
"B…Brother! I will bear witness to your feats!"
Heng solemnly took up his specialized weapon in hand. A polearm with a curved blade affixed at both ends of the shaft.
From inspecting the enemy to forming the optimal strategy, he handled everything himself. The Zehf tribe's training began before combat even started.
"Ngrah!"
Heng's deep-throated bestial roar echoed. As he did, he picked up speed.
Then…
Heng's attack lasted about as long as it simply took for him to reach the back of the caravan. Slipping through the tight opening directly underneath the carriages, interwoven with beguiling mirages from his martial movements and dodging the
hail of arrows, he gave most of the guards a moment to defend themselves before cutting them in two and ending their lives.
However, this was not so for the final two he fought.
A leprechaun wielding a strange mechanical scimitar, Rook the Shredding Trineedle.
A minia in possession of an otherworldly knife-throwing ability, Albert the Summer Rain.
Underestimating either of these powerful opponents would mean certain death. Even for Heng, if the scales of fortune tipped the other way even slightly, he would become just another corpse lying in the Gokashae.
"Koff, damn…you…"
Sent flying by Heng's attack, Rook the Shredding Trineedle's rent upper body was only connected by one side of her rib cage. The final result of the life- and-death battle.
"Rejoice. Your heads will be honored for seven years to come." "Th-this technique… Where did you…? And from who…?"
"The training I've endured is far different from yours. We've been mentored and trained by Neft the Nirvana, from the First Party. An adequate explanation for when you reach the land of the dead."
"Heh… The First… So that's, it..."
The Zehf tribe was not a simple pack of lycans. It was, if anything, a school of thought.
Worshipping the legendary lycan Neft the Nirvana, still alive but little more than a corpse, the Zehf tribe devoted their time to studying and practicing the martial arts bequeathed by him.
This type of life-risking training was also a natural rite of passage.
The reason behind employing peerless bodyguards like Albert and Rook, as well as why a single person hadn't been able to reach the labyrinth, no matter how prepared they were for the Sand Sea's dangers, was entirely because of these Zehf lycans.
"Brother, that was incredible! You really are the strongest around! Awooo!!" "Ha… I said you needn't worry… But you do the plundering. Don't let these
minians escape with any of it."
Heng chuckled, despite the blood gushing from his open wound. His upper- right side was pierced with a countless number of knives.
"I—I… I'm going to become like you someday, Brother!"
"Fool… Do you have any idea how long that will take? Ha-ha..."
The inexperienced Canute successfully intimidated the remaining survivors, and the entire cargo of the two-hundred-strong caravan became provisions for the Zehf tribe.
The lycans, classified as members of the monstrous races, did eat minians, of course, but they didn't have a marked preference for them.
The Zehf tribe sought slaughter in part to use prominent and powerful individuals as practice to show off the results of their training, but dictated all noncombatants and the weak be released unharmed.
This area was barely the beginning of the Gokashae Sand Sea, but even then, there were likely many without the stamina to get to town before dying of thirst. Heng and the others didn't pay this possibility any mind.
As long as they stepped into these lands, even these weaklings were adventurers seeking knowledge, fully aware of the risks. Much like the lycan warriors challenging whole armies themselves, they were fated to put their own lives on the scales.
In the Gokashae Sand Sea, without any minian settlements, this was the lycans' law—survival of the fittest.
"…Strange."
"What's wrong, Brother?"
The odd phenomenon came as the pair were on the way back to the village. "You smell blood?"
"Huh, now that you mention it…"
The two suddenly broke into a run. With his wounded right leg and arm, Heng lagged slightly behind Canute, but he still ran with all his strength. Even from a distance, he could see the warriors on guard duty weren't there.
"Hrm?"
It didn't take long for Heng to figure out where the sentries had gone.
They were embedded in the stone wall. Their eyes had rolled to the backs of their heads, and they were convulsing as foam bubbled from their mouths. There were even spots where they had been slammed into the wall so hard that the thick stone itself had broken.
"What happened?"
It was clear they had been slammed at frighteningly high speeds. The possibility of explosives crossed Heng's mind, but he couldn't smell any gunpowder. Neither could he imagine that the warriors entrusted with protecting the village would let a simple explosive get the better of them.
When they passed through the gate, they were greeted with something even more frightening.
"B-Brother."
"I know. This is…"
One warrior was pierced through a house's roof.
There was another lying on the ground with all four of their limbs bending in the wrong directions.
There were ten times as many who had coughed up blood and blacked out, as well as those who'd had their weapons (and extremities) shattered.
All the warriors in the village had either lost consciousness quite a while ago or could do little more than groan in pain. Every single person that Heng checked on had been rendered unable to fight.
What in the world.
The lookouts had been totally snuffed out.
A colossal wurm, a beast that would've proved too much for a pair of their assistant instructors, lay dead and leaking an unsettling amount of grayish-brown liquid. In other words—
Whatever it was, it didn't go that far with the Zehf warriors. Does that mean this enemy can still defeat this many of our warriors at once, without killing them? Impossible. It can't be.
Lycans greatly surpassed the technical skill and physical strength of any minian race soldier. The etiquette of taking down caravans or punitive forces solo was something carried by all the warriors above Heng's level, too.
A village of such powerful warriors was submerged in a sea of blood; not a single resident was spared. Less than half a day had passed since Heng and Canute had headed off to the day's training.
Heng found one of the warriors, just barely clinging to consciousness, and slapped their cheeks.
"What happened? Can you see? It's Heng of the Shallow Step." "…That…that thing…"
Heng's comrade answered, gasping for air through broken teeth.
"That thing's… It's not right… No living creature, should be like that…" "Be more specific. It would be a much more serious matter if a normal living
creature had been able to defeat us so."
"B-but. Th-that thing, really didn't have any proper form." "Is it a 'guest'?"
"…Yeah, b-but not from…outside the Sand Sea, but from inside…"
Sometimes there were eccentric freaks that would aim not for the library, but arrive seeking to destroy the village itself.
Punitive expeditions sent from cities beyond the Sand Sea, for example, and similar entities were called guests, but of course there were no examples in their tribe's history of any such attempts leaving this much damage in their wake.
Not only that, but the guest had come from within the Sand Sea. "Curses!"
When Heng gritted his teeth in frustration, Canute jumped up and shouted. "…Eek! Master?!"
"Canute?"
"Master… Master's…floating in the pond!"
"Don't be a fool. You're talking about the master. He surely must've thought up a new method of training."
"I—I see… So this is training that you can do even with your left leg broken, then."
Heng looked to see that their terrifying instructor was indeed floating belly up in the village's central reservoir.
Just as Canute had said, their left leg had the joint twisted in the opposite direction, clearly completely broke.
That's the master I know…
It was the same aging master as always, acting on their most dreadful whims.
Heng tried to convince himself.
Of course he's not…
Then, standing at the bank of the reservoir was the murderer responsible—or at the very least, someone who seemed to have witnessed it.
Though it was a light-green substance, transparent like water, and in the shape of a rough circle, it was still a living creature.
"...An ooze." "Indeed."
The creature answered. Though they were only supposed to possess a limited intelligence, the ooze effortlessly spoke in the common language. Not only that, but it was using a pseudopod to flip through the pages of what looked to be an aged and worn-out book.
"Ooze. Name of Psianop. There should be someone here who recognizes that name. I want you to lead me to them."
"Nonsense. You're free to choose your future. Be reduced to the dew on Heng of the Shallow Step's blade or leave here as fast as you can. One or the other."
"Brother...!"
"You forgot the third option." "What?"
Before a comeback could leave his mouth, a strange sting ran through both of Heng's knees.
Then came the quiet thud of the book hitting the ground.
It was fast. Too fast. Even his nerves couldn't respond fast enough.
Psianop, an ooze, previously perceived to be an unintelligent race, had already crept by Heng and stood behind him.
Unable to turn around to face the ooze, a faint chill began to slowly shiver through Heng. He didn't have any external wounds. He could tell that his knees' ligaments—and only the ligaments—were severed in two, almost as if they had been pierced by an invisible drill.
Canute screamed. "Brother?!"
"…I could tell by the center of gravity on your first step. A martial form that shifts one's center, then. Two steps forward, diagonally to the left. One to the right. Misdirect the trajectory of my defenses, fatal blow with left claw. Am I correct in my estimation?"
"Impossible."
One step forward, diagonally to the left. That was as far as Heng's movements had gotten.
Speed unbecoming of an ooze. Not only that, it read and saw through the flow of the combat style he had put together, one that only existed within Heng's mind—and all from a single step.
There was no doubting that the attack to Heng's knee was a blunt strike. But what sort of martial tricks did it have beyond that? Did it read his mind? Or maybe it could see into the future. No matter what the explanation may have been, the reason didn't seem consistent with any normal ooze.
"I've come to fulfill a promise. A promise from twenty-one years ago. As long as that is so, I am in the right. Brown-haired one, will you challenge me, too?"
"Aroon… I—I can, I can—!" "That's enough. The fight's over."
Interrupting them was a deep murmur, as if rumbling up from the depths of the earth.
"Oh...!"
Heng suddenly cast his eyes at the ground and venerated the voice coming from the inner sanctum. Now, with their instructor killed, there was only one warrior stronger than him who came to mind.
Assuming, of course, they truly lived and could act themselves. "Honestly, I swear. Rude, disrespectful… Koff, you hopeless ruffian."
The lycan that emerged out of the inner sanctum's darkness hadn't a single hair on his body.
His parched dark skin was covered in wrinkles, and his emaciated physique, looking like little more than bone, was less than two-thirds of Heng's height.
Nevertheless and even with his injuries, Heng prostrated himself before him. Any of the Zehf tribe warriors that were still conscious did the same.
"Been a long time, Psianop."
"…Twenty-one years all told, Neft the Nirvana."
"Well, with a body like this, I don't pay attention to the months and years." "It's unnecessary. I'm counting."
Neft the Nirvana. All the Zehf warriors had built up their training and discipline in front of this legendary cadaver.
They drilled themselves to be worthy under his unflinching yet harsh glares, feeling his silent pressure; and with this, the Zehf tribe had been able to grow so strong.
…But how? It shouldn't have been possible. "My lord! You're able to move?!"
"Quiet."
The living idol of worship flicked his ears, looking deeply annoyed. Then he turned to the inferior ooze and spoke.
"Your wish?"
"Right now. Right here. You'll bear witness with me." Neft the Nirvana.
The First Party, the very first group to face off against the True Demon King.
Of the seven who challenged the True Demon King, there were only two counted as survivors—Romzo the Star Map and Neft the Nirvana.
In that case…
What about this all-too-abnormal ooze, attempting to challenge such a living legend as equals?
Where did it come from, and who were they?