The desert did not welcome him.
It tolerated him.
Days passed beneath the heat-bleached stone vault, the air itself shimmering as wind carried dust instead of relief.
The land stretched wide and uneven—dry soil split like old scars, thorny shrubs clinging stubbornly to life, isolated trees bent low by years of arid storms.
This was not an empty wasteland.
But it was not merciful either.
Here, life endured—or it vanished.
Adlet moved through it with steady determination.
His path took him deeper inland, away from the river and the fragile comfort it offered. Each day followed the same rhythm: walking at dawn, scanning the horizon, studying the ground, conserving strength beneath the merciless Stars. When night came, the temperature dropped sharply, and the world fell silent except for distant cries—unknown creatures reminding him that he was never truly alone.
The desert watched.
On the fourth day, he found the caravan.
Or rather, what remained of it.
Splintered wagons lay scattered across a wide stretch of land, their wood shattered as if crushed by something impossibly heavy. Torn cloth fluttered weakly in the breeze. Broken crates spilled dried food and tools long since buried by drifting sand. Dark stains marked the ground—old, dried, unmistakable.
Adlet stopped.
He crouched slowly, eyes narrowing as he took it all in.
This wasn't a chaotic ambush. It was devastation. The path of destruction cut straight through the caravan's formation, leaving no room for escape. Whatever had done this hadn't hunted—it had charged.
He stood again and followed the marks leading away from the wreckage.
The tracks were enormous.
Each imprint was deep enough to swallow his foot, the ground compacted and fractured beneath their weight. Some stones had been driven entirely into the earth. Others had cracked in half. The trail stretched forward in a steady, relentless line.
A single creature.
Adlet exhaled slowly and followed.
Hours turned into days.
The desert began to press down on him—not through sudden danger, but through attrition. His muscles ached constantly, his shoulders heavy beneath his pack. His water reserves dwindled faster than he liked. Each sip became measured, deliberate.
He felt it then—the first signs of strain.
Not fear.
Fatigue.
The desert did not need to attack to weaken you. It only needed time.
Still, Adlet pushed on.
On the morning of the seventh day, he saw it.
A massive shape stood near a natural spring—a rare pool of clear water surrounded by flattened ground and broken vegetation. The air trembled faintly around it.
The Carnage Rhinoceros.
Adlet froze.
The creature was colossal.
Nearly ten meters tall at the shoulder, its body was a walking bulwark of muscle and armored hide. Thick gray skin layered upon itself like plates of living stone, bristling with enormous horns protruding at irregular angles—not just from its head, but along its shoulders, flanks, and back. Each horn was jagged, brutal, designed to gore anything foolish enough to get close.
It stood calmly, lowering its massive head to drink.
Peaceful.
That illusion shattered the moment it lifted its snout and sniffed the air.
Its head turned.
Its eyes locked onto Adlet.
The ground shook as the Carnage Rhinoceros charged.
Not stumbled.
Not rushed.
It advanced like a moving fortress — each step crushing stone, sending vibrations through the earth that rattled Adlet's bones before the creature even reached him. Its colossal body bristled with jagged horns of hardened keratin and stone-like growths, layered across its shoulders, flanks, and massive skull. No single point looked vulnerable. It was built to destroy — and to endure.
Adlet didn't freeze.
He moved.
The moment the beast lunged forward, Adlet sprang sideways, boots barely grazing the ground as the Rhinoceros thundered past him. The shockwave alone knocked him off balance, sand and debris exploding where the creature's charge tore through the terrain.
Too big.
Too fast.
Too heavy.
But not precise.
Adlet landed, skidding, and summoned his black aura — the Scarab Horn forming along his forearm in a sharp, curved blade of condensed darkness. He struck immediately, slashing at the creature's flank as it passed.
The horn screeched against the Rhinoceros' hide.
Sparks flew.
The blow barely scratched the surface.
Adlet grimaced and retreated as the beast pivoted with terrifying speed for its size, its massive head swinging toward him. A cluster of horns grazed the air where his chest had been an instant earlier.
So that's how it is.
He summoned the red aura — Ruby Turtle plating locking into place just as the Rhinoceros slammed a horned shoulder into him. The impact hurled Adlet backward like a broken doll, his body skidding across the stone.
The shell held.
Barely.
Pain rippled through him anyway — not from penetration, but from sheer force.
He rolled, pushed himself up, breath sharp.
This wasn't a fight he could win quickly.
Good.
Adlet steadied himself and observed.
The Rhinoceros wasn't random.
It charged.
Turned.
Charged again.
Every movement was devastating — but predictable.
And every time it turned, the same section of its hide flexed beneath layers of armor: the joint beneath its forward shoulder, where overlapping plates met.
There.
Adlet smiled faintly.
He darted forward again, using the beast's bulk against it — slipping beneath the arc of a swinging horn, rolling between crushing steps that would have flattened a house.
The difference in size became his weapon.
He struck again — not hard, not wide — precise.
The same spot.
Again.
The horn bit deeper this time.
The Rhinoceros roared — a thunderous, guttural sound that vibrated through the desert. It reared slightly, then slammed its forelegs down, creating a shockwave that sent Adlet flying.
He barely had time to reinforce his defense.
Red aura flared.
The ground shattered.
Adlet tumbled, coughing dust, but his eyes never left the creature.
Good.
It noticed.
The Rhinoceros turned fully toward him now, rage replacing instinct. It charged again — faster, more violent, horns tearing trenches through stone.
Adlet didn't retreat this time.
He ran toward it.
At the last possible moment, he veered sharply, vaulting off a protruding rock, using his aura-enhanced strength to launch himself upward and sideways. The Rhinoceros missed him by a meter — but slammed headfirst into the stone wall behind him.
The impact was catastrophic.
Stone exploded.
The beast staggered.
Adlet didn't waste the opening.
He lashed out with the Bind Lizard aura — green tendrils snapping forward like whips, coiling around the Rhinoceros' neck and foreleg.
The bindings strained.
Cracked.
Snapped.
Useless.
Too thick. Too armored.
Adlet clicked his tongue and released the technique before it drained more aura than it was worth.
Back to basics.
He darted in again.
Same spot.
Again.
Again.
Each strike chipped a little deeper — blood beginning to seep between plates. The Rhinoceros howled, thrashing wildly, its movements growing more erratic, more furious.
Adlet was breathing hard now.
Sweat burned his eyes.
Aura expenditure gnawed at his core.
But he could feel it.
The armor was weakening.
The beast charged one last time — faster than before, desperation fueling its bulk.
Adlet braced.
Not to dodge.
To finish it.
He reinforced his legs with black aura, sprinted directly at the incoming mass, and leapt — using the creature's forward momentum against it.
At the peak of his jump, he twisted midair and drove the Scarab Horn forward with everything he had.
Straight into the wounded joint.
The horn pierced.
Deep.
The Rhinoceros screamed — a sound of pain and disbelief — as its charge collapsed into chaos. Its legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground in a quake that rippled across the desert.
Adlet landed hard, rolled, and forced himself upright.
The beast convulsed once.
Then stilled.
Silence followed — broken only by Adlet's ragged breathing.
Gray particles of light began to rise from the fallen colossus, drifting upward like ash caught in reverse gravity. They flowed toward Adlet, sinking into his body, warmth spreading through exhausted muscles.
He exhaled.
Slow.
Long.
It was over.
The last motes of light faded into Adlet's body, leaving only the massive carcass behind.
Silence reclaimed the desert.
Not the empty kind — but a living stillness. The faint rustle of dry vegetation. The low murmur of water nearby. The distant cry of something unseen, far away.
Adlet stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling, hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline drained from his limbs. His aura receded on its own, leaving his body heavy, grounded once more in flesh and fatigue.
He turned slowly toward the source of the sound.
The water.
Just a few dozen meters away, a natural spring flowed from between fractured stone, forming a shallow basin before spilling into a thin stream that vanished deeper into the arid land. Clear. Cold. Undisturbed.
Adlet didn't rush it.
He walked there at a measured pace, boots crunching softly over gravel and sand, the weight of the fight settling fully into his muscles now that it was over.
He knelt at the edge of the spring and cupped his hands.
The first gulp was desperate.
The second, controlled.
Cool water slid down his throat, washing away dust, heat, and the lingering taste of exertion. He drank until the tight ache behind his eyes faded, until his breathing slowed into something steady again.
Only then did he allow himself to relax.
He stripped off parts of his gear and scooped water into his hands, washing his arms, his face, his neck — scrubbing away blood, sweat, and grit with slow, deliberate movements.
Adlet leaned back on his heels and exhaled.
"I needed that…"
Hunger followed quickly — sharp, undeniable.
He reached into his pack, pulled out dried rations, and ate slowly, chewing with care while his gaze drifted back toward the fallen Apex. Even lifeless, the Carnage Rhinoceros looked unreal — a mountain of muscle and horn, defeated at last.
Proof.
Adlet stood and approached the body once more.
With a focused breath, he summoned just enough black aura to reinforce his grip and seized one of the massive horns protruding from the creature's side. He twisted, braced his foot against the armored hide, and pulled.
The horn came free with a deep crack — heavy, rough, still warm.
He studied it for a moment, then nodded to himself.
"That should be convincing enough."
He secured it carefully to his pack and returned to the spring.
The light had begun to change.
Not darkness yet — but the heat softened, shadows lengthened, and the land took on deeper hues as the day waned. Adlet sat near the water, letting the calm seep into him, listening to the slow rhythm of the desert.
This place was harsh.
Unforgiving.
And yet… peaceful, in its own way.
When his body could no longer ignore the exhaustion, Adlet lay back on a flat stretch of stone near the spring, pack beneath his head. He stared upward at the vast rocky vault above, breathing evenly.
Tomorrow, he would return to Ashen.
Mission complete.
For now… rest.
His eyes began to close.
Then—
"Adlet."
The voice was close.
Too close.
His eyes snapped open.
And the calm shattered.