In the marketplace, Garde and Surtr walked side by side.
Their contrasting heights created a striking difference, and Surtr's unique appearance attracted frequent attention from the surrounding Lizardman.
However, when they noticed the tall and muscular figure of Garde beside Surtr, many of the Lizardman quickly averted their gazes.
Better not get involved!
The Lizardman had a simple understanding of things, much like the Tiacauh people of the rainforest.
Larger muscles were a sign of greatness, body size equated to strength, and the thickness of one's tail was an indication of how well they ate and how rich in nutrients their diet was.
Especially Garde, with his smooth, shiny scales and strong jaw.
To the female Lizardman, he appeared like a polished Rolls-Royce or a moving mansion.
Their green-eyed stares almost seemed as if they wanted to devour him whole.
But again, Garde wasn't interested.
Though he was a crocodile man, his preference is that of a human-like girl.
He preferred girls like Surtr, even though she didn't have white hair and red eyes.
But who says crocodile mans can only like girls with white hair and red eyes, anyway?
Preferences aside, no man would turn down a beautiful girl when the opportunity presented itself.
Not that Garde had any deeper desires—his feelings were more like a middle-aged man with a family who helps out a high school girl in need.
If he could help, why not lend a hand?
Besides, the large difference in size between Garde and Surtr made it hard for him to have any improper thoughts about her.
Surtr wasn't Laurentina, after all—being forceful with her would definitely break her.
"Garde, what are you thinking about?"
"About you."
"Me?"
"Yeah."
Garde answered honestly, with a clear conscience.
"The rainy season in the Hotlands started about a month earlier than usual, but the rainfall has been much less. I think this might be the result of some external interference."
"What do you mean?"
"When warm air meets cold air, water vapor condenses into droplets and forms rain. The environment here in the Hotlands is much more complicated, and many factors affect rainfall, so I can't say for sure. But Muccaka mentioned that there was a large disturbance in the depths of the Hotlands recently. I suspect that event is connected to you."
Garde's words made Surtr furrow her brows.
She somewhat understood the parts about warm and cold air, but not entirely.
However, she did understand the latter part of what Garde said.
"The depths of the Hotlands are your destination. I'll be coming with you."
Surtr nodded naturally.
If the events in the Hotlands were connected to her, then maybe she could find clues to her memories before she lost them.
For some reason, even though she had amnesia, Surtr wasn't particularly eager to recover her lost memories, as if she was just giving herself something to do.
For example, although she came to the Lizardman marketplace to search for her memories, her attention wasn't focused on the surroundings.
Instead, she was looking at the small items on the Lizardman's stalls, many of which were carved from the bones of disaster beasts.
"Do you want to buy something?" Garde asked.
"There's nothing I particularly want." Surtr glanced at a stall and shook her head.
However, when they passed a stall run by a short Lizardman draped in a cloak, Surtr stopped in her tracks.
On the stall was a bracelet woven from deadwood vines.
It looked simple and not very sturdy, but given how hard it was for vegetation to grow in the Hotlands, it was quite a rare item.
Garde squatted down, picked up the bracelet from the Lizardman's stall, and asked, "How much for this bracelet?"
"Enough meat to feed an adult for ten days, or two good weapons," the cloaked Lizardman rasped.
His words made the nearby Lizardman, who were about to stop walking, move on again.
Trading ten days' worth of meat for a useless bracelet? Was this guy starving or what?
"How about this tooth? With a bit of sharpening, it could be used as a weapon."
"No, it must be—"
The cloaked Lizardman was about to say that it had to be a fully-made weapon, but when he saw Garde take out a dragon tooth from his pack, he immediately shut his mouth.
Even in the Hotlands, dragons were apex predators, sitting at the top of the food chain.
Their teeth and claws made the best weapons and could fetch high prices in any Lizardman market.
Garde asked again, "Deal?"
The cloaked Lizardman quickly nodded. "Deal, deal."
He handed the bracelet to Garde and snatched the dragon tooth from him, fearing that Garde might change his mind.
However, when he noticed the figure standing next to Garde, he froze.
"Lady Surtr!"
Under the cloak of the Lizardman, there was not a lizard-like face but a human-like one, though it was covered with scales, making it look neither fully human nor completely reptilian.
Upon seeing Surtr, a look of surprise and disbelief filled the Lizardman's face.
"You're alive!"
Surtr frowned, clearly not recognizing this cloaked Lizardman.
"Have you mistaken me for someone else?"
"No, there's no mistake!" the Lizardman exclaimed, almost groveling as they knelt before her. "Half a month ago, you ventured into the heart of the Hotlands to seek the sacred relic for our people. But you never returned."
"I was powerless to follow in your footsteps. Seeing you return now, I cannot help but...!" His voice was trembling with emotion.
The Lizardman looked up at Surtr, filled with hope and fear, as he asked, "Lady Surtr, did you find the sacred relic of our people?"
At this moment, Garde noticed that the Lizardman beneath the cloak displayed features not only of a lizard but also some traits of the Kuranta people—a race living in distant lands. Garde began to form a suspicion.
"Are you... a descendant of the Nightzmora?" (Spoken in Ancient Language)
Outside the marketplace, Saria's group was waiting for Garde's return.
Carnelian was upset, mainly because Garde had gone to explore the market with Surtr, leaving her behind.
Raya, a young lizard girl, was heartbroken seeing Garde and Surtr grow closer.
Was that really the type Garde liked?
While they waited, the group had little to do.
Except for a few operators on lookout duty, the others were idly playing cards—a rare indulgence that Saria didn't stop.
Suddenly, Saria's attention snapped to the lowing sound of the camel beasts, which had become subdued.
Other caravans in the area were beginning to show signs of unease.
Acting swiftly, Saria had one of her team members who spoke the local language approach Raya.
"It's the hot winds!"
Raya quickly recognized the gravity of the situation.
She had learned from Garde's notes about this dangerous phenomenon, which, like any natural disaster, was feared in the Hotlands.
The "hot wind" was one of the region's calamities, akin to the natural disasters that people elsewhere knew so well.
The camel beasts were already digging into the ground—a survival instinct they relied on when these hot winds swept across the Hotlands.
Normally, these creatures could endure the harsh environment while maintaining a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.
But in the face of a calamity, they immediately prioritized survival.
Had the caravan's goods not been removed from the camel beasts, their digging would have caused immense damage.
Even still, the wagons were nearly destroyed.
"Saria, Raya says there's a cellar in the marketplace where we can take shelter. We need to get underground if we want to survive the hot winds."
"Let's move then!" Saria commanded without hesitation.
"But, our supplies are still out there..."
"Forget about the supplies. There's no time."
Saria was not one to prioritize material goods over lives.
Resources could be replaced, but people could not. "Stick with Raya. She knows this place better than we do, and she'll lead us to safety."
"What about Garde?" one of the operators asked.
"Don't worry about him," Saria replied with confidence. "Even if the rest of us were in danger, he'd still make it out alive. After all," she added, "he's the man who survived the Hotlands."
Meanwhile, back in the marketplace, Garde was now sure of his suspicion.
Having recently fought against a Nightzmora in the realm of consciousness, he found no reason to be hostile toward the Lizardman who was a descendant of that race.
Instead, he felt a hint of pity.
The Lizardman's resemblance to the Nightzmoras was almost entirely gone, save for a few human-like features.
For a race once so proud, the Nightzmoras would never admit to having such a descendant.
More shocked than ever, the Lizardman stared at Garde in disbelief. "How do you know our people's language?"
It wasn't just any dialect but the language spoken only by the Nightzmora priests.
The common members of their tribe could understand it but were unable to speak it.
The cloaked Lizardman couldn't believe it.
Garde spoke their language more fluently than their high priests ever had.
How could this be?
The Lizardman scrutinized Garde—who looked just like any other Lizardman, albeit more handsome, stronger, and with a more impressive tail.
There was no way this person could be one of their long-lost kin.
Despite his appearance being closer to that of a common Lizardman, the cloaked Lizardman knew their ancestors had once been a glorious people, far beyond the level of the primitive tribes around them.
With this in mind, the Lizardman's gaze grew humbler as he cautiously asked, "My lord, who are you?"
"I'm just a passing crocodile man who happens to know a bit about your people," Garde replied dismissively.
Recently, he had fought Nightzmoras in the realm of consciousness.
The fact that he didn't hold a grudge against these descendants was because he understood that they were so far removed from the true Nightzmoras that they likely didn't even know how to enter that realm anymore.
"I'm just curious about the relic you asked Surtr to find. What was it, and why would she help you?"
Everything was coming together: the early arrival of the rainy season, Surtr's presence, and her amnesia.
Hesitating, the Lizardman looked at Surtr, unsure whether he should speak. "Lady Surtr..."
"Speak," Surtr commanded. "I, too, want to know why the person I was before my memory loss decided to help you."
Upon hearing her words, the Lizardman's face twisted into a bitter expression.
He knew she must have failed, which likely caused her memory loss.
Hunching over, he packed his belongings and gestured for them to follow.
"Please, come with me, both of you. I will tell you everything I know."
Garde nodded, ready to leave.
But just as he was about to move, he noticed something peculiar in the distance.
The gleam of his scales had changed ever so slightly, as if faint threads of hot wind were slipping between their gaps.
"The hot winds..."
Garde observed how the tamed disaster beast around them were growing increasingly agitated, as were many of the local Lizardman who still retained their sensitivity to natural calamities.
"The hot winds! The hot winds are coming!"
The cloaked Lizardman ahead of them panicked. "Please, both of you, hurry to my home! There's a cellar beneath it where we can survive the hot winds."
"No, I've got friends outside. I need to find them first," Garde shook his head, recalling how the last time he faced the hot winds, they had nearly stripped the scales off his body.
If even he struggled to survive such conditions, ordinary people stood no chance.
The hot winds were pervasive, and unless one had a deep enough shelter, even the slightest exposure would turn a person into charred remains.
"But—" The Lizardman wanted to protest, but seeing Garde already walking away, he turned to Surtr.
Without even glancing at him, Surtr followed Garde.
"Surtr, it might be better if you take cover," Garde suggested.
"Are you underestimating me?" Surtr huffed. "I can take care of myself just fine!"
"Alright, alright," Garde relented, knowing that with Laevatain's protection, Surtr was likely even more suited to handle the hot winds than he was.
Behind them, the cloaked Lizardman hesitated, biting his lip. "Please wait for me, both of you!"
For Surtr had once been their tribe's hope of recovering the lost relic, and despite her failure, her survival meant their best chance still remained.
And the tall Lizardman who accompanied her? He spoke their ancestral language and might even know their forgotten history.
No matter what, the Lizardman couldn't let the hope of his people slip away.
The hot winds began to blow, but the true disaster was still far away.
In the heart of the Hotlands, as the scorching winds burned across the earth, a pair of eyes slowly opened.
It caught the stench—revolting—of that overconfident giant of flame, and that accursed crocodile man.
The two scents had joined together.
"Disgusting!"
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