*On that very same day…*
August 13, 1300…
As I step out of the café, leaving behind the clatter of conversations and the clinking of glasses, I am greeted by the harsh heat of the sun, striking my skin like the flames of a furnace. It rushes in almost immediately, a clear reminder of where I stand and where I am heading. The crowd engulfs me, and I blend into its flow, my face stiffening, shedding the easy smile of someone who has just drained a cup of Golden Honey Mead. My destination is clear now—the Noir Autonomous Region. My decision is made.
The hustle and bustle of the streets begin to fade as I approach the city's edge. Dressed in a deep blue hanfu, I nearly disappear into the shadows, my hair tied back neatly. I will need to blend in, but not yet. The desert awaits, and with it, the dangers I must face. Strapped to my back is a sleek blackwood bow, edged with delicate steel—a weapon of both elegance and power. Twelve steel-tipped arrows rest in my quiver, my "guns and steel."
I make my way to a caravan stop, where traders, travelers, and adventurers gather to rent camels for long and perilous journeys. The air is thick with the scent of dust, sweat, and leather.
The caravan stop lies in the vast desert, surrounded by nothing but rolling dunes that stretch endlessly in all directions. Makeshift tents, worn and faded by the sun and wind, stand against the sandy backdrop. Around them, small stalls sell food, water, clothing, and accessories for the journey, shaded by dark, coarse fabric. The laughter, arguments, and haggling of people fill the air, mixed with the low grunts of camels and the whispering winds sweeping over the sand. The smells of sweat, leather, and simple meals cooked from dried meat and herbs drift through the scorching air.
I walk slowly, scanning for the right camel. A few merchants, their sunburnt faces and lean bodies clad in long, coarse garments, are busy preparing their baggage. An elderly man, his long beard cascading down to his chest, dressed in a sand-colored robe, eyes me sharply and speaks:
"Looking to rent a camel, are you?"
I glance up at him, a flicker of surprise in my eyes. "Yes, I need a strong one, capable of crossing the wind-swept dunes without faltering."
He smirks, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, you're in luck. I've got a camel that's fast and strong. But it won't come cheap."
I step closer, examining the beast before me. Its eyes are deep and intelligent, its thick coat sleek and smooth. The joints are solid, its feet firm in the sand, and the saddle, though worn, is sturdy. I can feel the strength in its stance.
"It seems this one has conquered many roads," I say, nodding, a hint of satisfaction in my voice.
"Indeed," the old man raises an eyebrow, pride flashing briefly across his face. "It's the camel that the wisest travelers choose."
"How much?" I ask, reaching for my pouch.
The man pauses, eyes me up and down, then answers, "Ten silver coins for the entire journey."
I smile faintly, not at the price, but at his confidence. "Agreed."
The transaction is sealed, and I can feel his gaze trailing behind me as I lead the camel, preparing for the next leg of my journey.
I pass by other animals until my eyes rest on one camel that seems both strong and swift. Its light brown fur is sun-bleached, and its eyes hold a quiet stubbornness. This one will do—it will take me where I need to go.
The stable keeper approaches, a tall, wiry man with skin cracked from the sun and a deeply lined face. His eyes, though weary, remain sharp.
"Heading into the desert?" he asks, his voice raspy from years of facing the wind and sand.
I nod, pulling out a small pouch of coins. "The Noir Autonomous Region."
His eyebrows lift slightly, a crooked smile forming on his face. "A dangerous road, my friend. You'll need more than just a camel. Don't you want to hire a guide?"
I shake my head, confidence in my voice. "Just the camel."
He shrugs, takes the money, and gestures toward the animal. "Your choice. But remember, the desert has a way of swallowing those who aren't well-prepared."
I nod in thanks, mount the camel, and guide it toward the vast desert. The city's noise slowly fades behind me, replaced by the strange silence of the endless sea of sand. The temperature rises quickly, the air shimmering under the intense heat. My hanfu, though light, clings to my skin, drenched in sweat. With each step, the camel stirs up small clouds of dust, and soon, the horizon begins to blur.
Time drifts by. The sun climbs higher, its autumn rays striking down like sparks, as if challenging me. The camel's pace is steady but swift, and soon, the city is nothing but a distant shadow. The desert stretches endlessly before me, a golden ocean of sand rippling under the weight of the sun.
As I continue, the wind begins to shift, and I sense the first signs of trouble. A low murmur rises in the distance, like the whisper of a storm gathering strength. My heart quickens. I've heard tales of sandstorms, how they can swallow entire caravans within minutes, turning man and beast into buried skeletons beneath the dunes.
And now, it is before me, clearer than ever.
The wind grows stronger, whipping up loose grains of sand into stinging clouds that lash against my skin. I pull my scarf up over my face, squinting through the growing storm. My camel, sensing the danger, slows down. The clear path before us becomes muddled in the swirling sand, and the once oppressive sun is now obscured by the storm raging above.
As someone who has faced and endured many trials, falling more times than I can count, I press on.
I urge the camel forward, but it becomes clear we cannot outrun this storm. The sandstorm slams into us like a wall, blinding me instantly. My camel bellows in pain, and I can feel its body tense as it struggles against the storm. I hold on tightly, shielding my eyes as best I can. Each grain of sand feels like a needle, slicing into my skin.
I wrap the fabric tightly around my head and do the same for the camel.
Suddenly, through the haze, a shadow appears—a group of riders, their faces covered in cloth, racing toward me with the intent of predators. Bandits. In the chaos of the storm, they have spotted me, a lone traveler, and decided to strike.
They caused the storm. One or more of them must wield magic. I realize. The Arian marauders, a band of 25 soldiers, clad in gleaming silver-alloy armor with pauldrons, chest plates, arm and leg guards, wielding silver Shamshir swords, their faces obscured by blue cloth. One, two, three wield staves, glowing faintly yellow, topped with floating orbs. Too well-organized for mere bandits, this must be a widespread network.
They shout something, but it's lost to the wind as they draw their weapons. In one swift motion, I pull my bow, nock an arrow, and aim at the nearest rider. The storm makes it nearly impossible to see, but I have no other choice. I release the arrow, and through the howling wind, I hear the dull thud as it finds its target.
Without hesitation, I release more arrows, striking three mages. One falls from his horse, the other two wounded, their injuries close to the heart.
The men collapse, tumbling from their mounts. Their comrades hesitate briefly, then spur their camels toward me. In that moment, I push my camel to flee, trying to escape. But the storm has not yet passed.
The Sapphic Order and the Arian marauders... two of my group's greatest foes, vast networks, with no single leader. Fortunately, they are not allies.
A fennec fox scurries past my determined camel. I raise an eyebrow, scanning my surroundings.
Ahead, a strange figure appears, low to the ground, moving swiftly across the sand. At first, I think it's another rider, but as it draws closer, I realize the truth—a desert crocodile. Its massive, scaly body tears through the sand like a fish through water, charging straight toward me.
A crocodile in the desert? Not what I expected. They should be in an oasis. There must be one nearby.
The crocodile's jaws snap shut, its cold eyes gleaming with terrifying intelligence. It moves with shocking speed, faster than any creature its size should be able to. I've faced crocodiles before, but never in the middle of a sandstorm, and never with a beast so intent on taking my life.
I fire an arrow, aiming for the soft spot beneath its jaw. The arrow strikes true, but not deep enough to bring the beast down, only making it flinch before continuing its pursuit. It roars, shaking its head violently, blood spraying in red streaks across the sand. Then, it dives into the sand, emerging unexpectedly in front of me. I calmly yank the reins, steering my camel to another direction. The Dromedary remains resilient after two hours of grueling travel.
I fire another arrow, this time striking its weak point. The crocodile collapses, its body convulsing as it dies. I think I'm safe, but I've celebrated too soon.
There is no time to revel in victory. The bandits are still on my heels, and the storm grows fiercer. They pull out vials of pink liquid, feeding it to their camels, which suddenly surge in speed.
Magic-enhanced speed.
I push my camel forward, urging it to run faster than it's capable. The poor animal pants, its body heaving with each labored breath. But we must keep going. The storm howls around us, turning the world into a blur of sand and shadows.
Meanwhile, I rely on my keen senses and judgment, firing three more arrows. A scream cuts through the wind. The bandits slowly disappear.
I am left with only five arrows.
As the storm begins to dissipate, I see them—a group of desert lizard tribesmen, towering and formidable, their eyes glinting with hunger. They are enormous, over 2 meters tall, with skin covered in rough scales, an evolutionary trait of desert reptiles. Their faces are sharp, almost reptilian, with jagged teeth and narrow, slitted eyes. They carry spears and shields, all made of black metal that looks like iron, their muscles rippling beneath their tough skin.
They run with surprising lightness, their large, muscular legs propelling them as if they're weightless, chasing after me.
I know these creatures—desert predators, ruthless and unforgiving. They must have smelled the blood from the crocodile and come to claim their prize. Or perhaps I've trespassed into their territory.
Their leader, a massive lizardman with a long scar down one side of his face, growls deeply, his eyes fixed on me. He speaks in a harsh, guttural language I don't understand, but the meaning is clear—surrender, or die.
Suddenly, all of them hurl their spears at me in unison. The spears fly with incredible speed. I react just in time, pulling out a red string, muttering a spell, then casting it forward. The red strings spread into a golden web, stopping the spears in mid-air. As if enchanted, the spears return to their hands.
I draw my bow, my movements calm and precise. The lizardmen scatter, circling me, their eyes gleaming with eagerness. Their leader raises his spear, signaling another attack.
I fire my first arrow, hitting one lizardman in the throat. He lets out a gurgling cry and falls to the ground. The others hesitate briefly, clearly shocked by my accuracy, but it isn't enough to stop them. Like ravenous beasts, they press on.
Four arrows left.
They charge.
I sigh, noticing in the distance a scene of a jumping jerboa fleeing from a Deathstalker snake.
I fire another arrow, striking one in the chest. But there are too many of them. I toss the bow over my shoulder, drawing my short sword. The lizardmen are upon me in seconds, their spears glinting in the weak light. I parry the first strike, twisting to avoid the second. The leader lunges at me, his spear aimed straight for my heart.
Three arrows left.
I duck low, dodging the blow, and drive my sword into his side. He roars in pain, staggering back. I don't give him a chance to recover. I pull the sword out and plunge it into his throat, blood spurting as I end the fight.
Blood stains my face, amplifying my deadly presence.
The remaining lizardmen, seeing their leader fall, turn and flee. I stand still, watching them retreat, my chest heaving with exhaustion. The storm has passed, leaving the desert in an eerie calm.
In the distance, I see it—a faint green glow of a forest, my destination. A herd of Oryx antelopes drinks from a small lake within the forest, not far from this desert.
For the first time since leaving the city, I smile, the weight of the journey easing from my shoulders. There, in that forest, I can finally rest.
"Oh, is Veritas here? Is he heading deeper into the forest?"
"Veritas!" I urge my camel forward, shouting.
"Zihao!?" Veritas turns and looks at me, "What are you doing here?"
"Searching for allies and uncovering the root of everything—history. And you?" I tilt my head slightly, inquiring.
"I'm heading to those who share our struggles, in this place," Veritas responds solemnly.
"Oh, really?" I smile, "I can set my task aside for now."
Veritas beams, his smile wide and genuine. "Will you join me?"
I nod, "Of course," dismounting my camel to walk alongside Veritas, who is simply dressed in a dark blue shirt and loose black pants, far more modest than usual.
As we proceed, we venture deeper into the heart of the temperate forest, where the soft autumn breeze weaves through the branches, carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves.
I take a deep breath, savoring the fragrance. The wind blows gently, lightly stirring the golden leaves overhead, where oak and maple dance, basking in the warm afternoon sunlight. The soft, golden light filters through the thinning branches, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor. It's a warmth that doesn't overwhelm but rather envelops you like a soft blanket on a cool day, a subtle reminder that summer has only just passed.
Beneath our feet, the forest floor resembles a mosaic of colors—burnt orange, deep red, and rich brown—formed by layers of fallen leaves. Moss-covered stones rise from the leafy carpet, while delicate ferns curl under the towering trees. Bushes of blueberries and rhododendrons cling to the edges of the path, their leaves gently swaying as small creatures scurry through. Occasionally, a bright splash of color from a wildflower or a mushroom stands out among the muted tones, bringing life to the autumn palette of the forest.
The animals here are quiet, yet ever-present, their movements seamlessly blending into the surroundings. A squirrel darts swiftly across the branches, its bushy tail flicking as it leaps from one limb to another, gathering acorns in preparation for winter. Deer, their footsteps soft, move cautiously through the underbrush, their brown coats nearly blending into the autumn hues of the forest. From above, the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker echoes from the trees, a steady beat in the tranquil air, while the melodic chirping of birds fills the silence with their gentle yet distinct tunes.
Each sound in the forest grows sharper in the stillness: the rustling of wind through the leaves, the crunch of dry twigs beneath our feet, and in the distance, the faint babbling of a hidden stream deep within the woods. Insects buzz, especially around the late-blooming wildflowers, their delicate wings fluttering as they drink nectar for the last time before the harsh winter descends. Occasionally, the hoot of an owl resonates from a distant branch, a reminder that predators lurk silently, waiting for nightfall.
The interaction between flora and fauna in this forest is subtle yet profound. The ancient trees, though shedding their leaves, still offer rich shelter for countless species. Birds nest on the branches, squirrels find refuge in the hollow trunks, and insects feed on the bark. Even as the forest prepares for its winter slumber, it teems with quiet activity—small creatures storing food, predators stalking their prey, and trees spreading their seeds, ensuring new life for the coming spring.
As the sun begins to set, the shadows grow longer, but warmth lingers, painting the forest in hues of amber. The scene is serene, a perfect symphony of nature's rhythm as it shifts between seasons. In these quiet moments, it feels as if the entire forest breathes in time with the gentle breeze—a living, pulsating ecosystem, where every leaf, creature, and sound has its place in the slow cadence of nature.
We arrive at a large cabin. Inside, there is no light.
Veritas knocks twice, folding his arms behind him as he paces a few steps, glancing through the window. There is no response.
"Lukas?" Veritas yells, his voice echoing through the forest.
No response.
"Matthias?" he calls again, his voice reverberating through the trees.
Still, no reply.
"Kyle?" Veritas shouts, his voice bouncing off the silence of the woods.
No answer.
"I think they're not home," I glance inside with a hint of worry. "No, there's the presence of a spirit." I frown.
"Whoa!" Veritas widens his eyes, smiling. "An Exorcist's intuition like yours is quite sharp, huh? So, shall we go in?"
"Wait!" I raise my hand to stop Veritas, catching him by surprise. "Let me confirm."
We both fall silent, waiting for a few more minutes.
"Let's go in!" I lower my hand.
Veritas calmly opens the door, revealing a chaotic mess inside. Shards of glass, wood, and metal from broken furniture are scattered everywhere, as if the place has been ransacked.
"Follow me to the basement," Veritas waves.
I follow him down into a dimly lit cellar. Before us lie hundreds of shattered mechanical parts.
"Let me guess, this was the place where you produced enzymes on an industrial scale?" I pick up a broken piece of machinery, appearing to be some component meant to convert rotational motion into linear motion, though its specific function escapes me.
"Correct. But now, this place… it's in ruins…" Veritas sighs.
In the dim light and almost complete darkness, Veritas reaches for something. After a moment, neon green lights flicker on, illuminating straight lines running around the room.
A figure catches our attention. Both Veritas and I turn our gaze toward a girl with long blonde hair, wrapped only in a blanket, staring at us with fear in her eyes, clutching a short sword pointed at me.
"Kyle?" Veritas exclaims in surprise.
"Kyle? That's a boy's name, right? But the person standing before us seems to be a girl. Unless, of course, she doesn't identify as male," I frown, looking closely at her.
"Zihao, this isn't the time for jokes. As far as I remember, Kyle is a man, our age, and skilled enough in mechanics to build all the enzyme production machines for us in this wretched medieval world," Veritas responds, his eyes still fixed on Kyle.
"Did he… look this feminine before? Long, smooth hair, soft skin, round yet angular face, clear feminine curves, smaller feet, and most importantly, no Adam's apple?" I continue, still frowning.
"The Bone Collector turned me from a man into a woman!" Kyle, barely holding onto any remaining composure, stammers. Both Veritas and I look at Kyle, astonished.
"Kyle. Calm down," I say in English (I'm unsure if he's been enchanted with the Universal Language spell; otherwise, we wouldn't understand each other), raising my hand in a gesture of peace, my eyes steady as I look at Kyle. "Did this Bone Collector wear a purple cloak?"
"Zihao, Kyle was a slave, just like I was!" Veritas whispers to me. I glance at Veritas and give a small nod.
Then we both turn back to Kyle—now, more accurately, her—who is still visibly shaken, trying to regain composure. "No. As far as I remember... no," Kyle stammers.
"An independent foe?" I ask.
Kyle nods.
"Where are your friends?" I press on.
Kyle lowers her head, "They were killed by the Bone Collector. I was too much of a coward... to fight back. She didn't kill me, but she turned me into this."
"A gender bender?" I raise an eyebrow.
Kyle nods again.
"Everything—your body, your voice, your appearance, and... even your reproductive organs?" The situation grows increasingly perplexing. "So... you're stuck in your female form?"
Kyle nods once more. "Another obvious change, I used to be 178 cm tall, but now I'm only 164 cm."
"I see. It seems we share a similar fate. I have a place to stay and can offer you protection, and you have talents that I may very well need in the near future. Staying here isn't safe. What do you think about joining my group?" I offer, my voice warm.
Kyle looks at me for a long moment. "I agree. I will serve your purpose, but you must help me return to my original male body, or, if possible, eliminate the Bone Collector?"
I nod. Kyle, now calmer, reaches out to shake my hand and smiles.
Meanwhile, Veritas is picking up broken pieces and placing them into large bags, gathering even the blueprints of the machinery.