Chapter 1

In the sky, a scorching fireball hung amidst the swaying blue. The dry air was occasionally swept by a wave of heat, stripping away the last bit of moisture. The golden, round grains of sand, saturated with the heat of the day, fiercely transferred their warmth to a lean, dark-skinned body.

Rick's still somewhat moist tongue stealthily licked his dry, cracked lips, the rough sensation causing his tongue to retract uncomfortably. He wore a loose, tattered, and oil-stained reserve uniform, loosely draped over his body. The cuffs and wrists were carefully tied with thin hemp ropes, resembling a farmer ready to till the land.

His exposed limbs, as dark as if ink had been poured over them, were cracked from dehydration, with dry and hard sand grains stuck in the cracks. The scorching air he inhaled felt like it was mixed with pepper water, scraping his throat and entering his lungs, scavenging the last bit of vitality from his body.

Blinking his dry eyes, Rick's gaze fell on a similarly dressed young boy beside him. The boy was also lean and dark, but had an additional festering, foul-smelling wound on his left calf. The wound's edges were turned outward, with pale yellow, pungent pus oozing and sticking to the exposed subcutaneous tissue, like a piece of rotten soap.

Seemingly sensing Rick's gaze, the boy turned his head, his cold eyes sweeping over Rick, and moved his left calf to cover the festering wound with his trouser leg. Rick withdrew his gaze, once again thanking the mysterious voice, and crouched lower, pressing himself into the scorching sand.

Despite the environment being so dire that it almost prevented clear thinking, Rick still kept a tight watch on the approaching small caravan below the dunes.

The large sand toad, covered in bright yellow, elongated scales, protected itself from the scorching sun and heat. Its two vertically slit eyes, with a protective membrane, blinked occasionally, squeezing out the sand grains that had blown into them, leaving dried sand crusts in the eye sockets.

Its broad, thick feet made walking easier, and its wide, flat mouth, with saliva that had turned white from contact with the air, contained a large amount of dry, fine grass. The slow, continuous chewing kept the sand toad's stomach producing the appropriate digestive juices, allowing it to eat at any time.

The leader, wearing a silk head covering, took a sip of precious water and carefully tucked the water bag into his chest. "How much farther to the outpost?" His voice was dry, like starch that had been squeezed dry.

A tall, muscular man, wearing a sword and armor, was rubbing the stubborn salt stains on his clothes. Hearing the question, he stopped and said, "Don't ask what you shouldn't. You'll get your share when the time comes." The tall man's robust build and cold voice were intimidating.

The leader, his face drenched in sweat, forced a smile. "I spoke out of turn, I spoke out of turn." His merchant nature made him appear humble, but the tall man knew that if he couldn't satisfy or intimidate this hyena, he would be devoured.

The "Good Again" commercial alliance, though sandwiched between the Uss Empire and the Holy Dove Church, had survived in the two great empires, a testament to its strength. They were like hyenas, chasing profits and trampling laws, with the only master being the various coins that reeked of copper.

The tall man pressed down his wind cap, hiding the cold light in his eyes under the brim. "I must successfully leave this hellhole!"

Despite his rugged appearance, the tall man was actually a knowledgeable explorer. A second-level warrior apprentice and a third-level scholar, his rich exploration experience had earned him a lot of prestige and money.

This time, he came to the Samo Desert to follow a clue that had been hanging in the Explorer's Association for over forty years. Although the mission itself was fruitless, he unexpectedly discovered a more valuable piece of information deep in the desert.

His rough hand subconsciously stroked his abdomen, suppressing the excitement and excitement in his heart, and calmly took a sip of water. The cold water slid down his parched throat, and he tightened his gray Malan short robe, standing guard beside the leader again.

Rick watched the unfortunate small caravan, his body tense. Severely dehydrated, he had been lying in the scorching sun for at least half a day, the scorching sand grains transferring heat, making his body feel as if it had been steamed dry, with no sweat left.

But when he first saw the small caravan, his severely dehydrated body still secreted a layer of something that might have been sweat. Tense and excited, Rick could almost hear the pounding of his heart in his chest.

"We're going to kill them!!" Rick tightly gripped the iron blade wrapped in rags. It was actually just the front half of a broken iron knife, a "weapon" he had traded for with two sips of water.

To make the iron blade sharper, Rick even wasted a day's drinking water to sharpen it. The blade had no handle, and the back half was tied to Rick's thin right hand, as he had heard that weapons could easily slip when striking with force.

Although it wasn't the first time he had robbed such a caravan, for Rick, actually killing someone was truly the first time.

Three months ago, Rick was just an ordinary Samo youth. His body was lean and dark, his skin dry and peeling from long-term dehydration, not much different from most Samo youths.

His parents, to give Rick a better life, had packed their belongings and planned to leave the place where they had lived for half their lives.

Unfortunately, fate played a cruel joke on Rick. His parents joined a caravan to seek a living in the Uss Empire's interior, but they were unfortunately ambushed by sand pirates, and both were killed, their savings stolen. Rick hid under the sand in the cart and escaped death.

Later, he was rescued by the border troops. Rick thought he had survived a great disaster, but he soon realized that entering the border troops' base was the beginning of a nightmare.

A series of hoarse shouts, growing louder, interrupted Rick's memories. "Surrender and live! Surrender and live!!" The voices were high and excited, and the bright curved swords and short axes were brandished, quickly rushing towards the small caravan.

Even though he knew the routine, Rick's heart still involuntarily tightened at the first shout. "Damn it!" He gritted his teeth and stood up, his head dizzy from dehydration and the long time in one position, but after a few steps, he was overcome by excitement and tension.

"Kill! Kill!!" Rick's eyes wide open, he firmly held the iron blade and took large strides towards the small caravan.

As Rick stood up, at least seven or eight other boys and girls of about the same age also stood up. Their "weapons" were varied, but the only common point was that they were all sharp, gleaming in the scorching sun.

The sand was loose, and almost every step sank into it. Even though they were close, by the time these boys and girls reached the small caravan, over twenty muscular, masked men on horse beasts had already engaged the caravan's guards.

The horse beasts were tall but lean due to the lack of grass and water. Even so, the masked bandits on horseback had a significant advantage.

Their pure iron curved swords, wrapped in steel, were shiny and sharp. Short axes were attached to their sturdy black silk belts for easy access. Each man only exposed their characteristic light brown Samo eyes, filled with madness and brutality.

The guard standing beside the caravan leader held a long sword, his expression serious as he watched these "wealthy" bandits. Pure iron forged curved swords were very valuable, and ordinary bandits couldn't even afford a single one, let alone have one for each person.

Moreover, the formation of these men hinted at a military-like organization, making the tall man's heart sink. "Damn it, how did they get wind of this?" The tall man glared at the caravan leader with murderous intent.

The leader hunched his shoulders and bowed, his dark face crumpled, almost in tears. "Sir! It's not my fault, I have a lot of goods too!!" The cold sensation on his neck disappeared, and the leader heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

To prove his stance, the leader, his face drenched in sweat, stepped forward, waving a heavy money bag and shouted, "Which group are you? I'm a merchant of the 'Good Again' alliance, can you give me a break? This small amount of money..." He smiled weakly and shook the money bag.

"Thud!"

"Be careful!" The tall man's face changed, but it was too late. The leader's chest was pierced by a short axe, and he maintained a fawning smile as the bag of copper coins and silver talers fell onto the scorching sand.

"Gurgle!" Blood foamed like a spring, gushing from his cracked mouth. His pupils contracted, and he managed to fix his gaze on the short axe in his chest before collapsing straight to the ground.

One side was fierce and ruthless, striking without hesitation. The other side was terrified and passive, but burst with a strong will to survive.

Like two wild beasts tearing at each other, the clash of weapons, the wide-open eyes filled with ferocity, the exposed bloody flesh, and the almost twisted facial expressions gave Rick and the other young boys a vivid lesson.

Rick watched the battlefield, tightened his weapon, took a deep breath, crouched, and quickly circled around to the back of a caravan attendant.

The attendant wore a sturdy, coarse linen short shirt and knee-length shorts of the same material, exposing a pair of hairy thighs, clearly lacking desert travel experience. His short sword was gripped so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he leaned against the sand toad, nervously watching the situation.

The sand pirates had come suddenly, but what was even more chilling was that they did not accept negotiations, meaning they did not need live captives.