The war between the tribals and the orcs was over.

To Kai’s immense relief, the tribals had won. And not just won, all factors considered, they had dominated.

According to Feroy’s report, the orcs had been prepared. Their formations had been ready with weapons at hand. But in the end, it didn’t matter. The moment they realised Khorvash wasn’t coming to their rescue, their morale had shattered. Feroy had explained the exact moment the orcs had turned tide and panic swept through their ranks.

And many simply ran.

Some had run the wrong way, despite having lived here for long enough to know where the sand elemental nest was. They had been swallowed whole.

That chaos had turned everything. What could’ve been a desperate bloodbath had become a clean and unexpected victory. And of course, there had been losses, but far fewer than anyone had expected.

The tribals didn’t celebrate—no, not yet. They mourned. They dug graves, wrapped bodies in cloth and lit fires to honor the fallen. Their priorities were set straight, there were no parades or rewards, or basking in glory—they took time to process losses and the grim that came after war.

Search teams were already being assembled, partly to track the fleeing orcs, and partly to find whoever had warned them in the first place by questioning them. Duneborns would be hunted down and wiped out; mainly because their existence had been deemed too dangerous for the Ashari Desert.

But all of that would come later. Now, there were funerals. Dozens of them.

And though Kai hadn’t known many of the fallen well, one name had hit him hard. Husam.

The old warrior who had come across as an honorable man was gone. From what he collected, an orc had charged him from behind and ended him by cracking his spine in a single, brutal blow.

It was a painful way to go. But the memory of the last battle he fought was left behind. He hadn’t fallen easily; he’d fought until the very end, until his breath gave out and the bones in his back cracked like dry twigs.

There were other stories of death that reached Kai’s ears as he returned to the desert—stories passed from tent to tent, warrior to warrior—but none captured more attention than one single event.

His battle with Khorvash.

It was on every tongue.

There were whispers, shouts and gasps that followed every tribal in the desert, speaking of it like myth made real. They had all seen the dragon tear through the skies. To top it off, Khorvash had been loud in his last moments, a scream so monstrous and filled with pain that the tribals kept saying how it still echoed faintly in their bones.

And then Adil had arrived. First among them. He’d come carrying not just the rescued children, but the orc overlord’s severed head.

That alone would’ve been enough.

But when he told the story—of the tower, of the battle, of the man who had taken on Khorvash and came out victorious—the people listened. And when Kai’s party finally found the others, all the doubt, suspicion, and contempt they had faced before had melted.

In its place? Respect. And fear.

Respect for the one who had slain their greatest enemy. Fear for the man who could.

Kai hadn’t lingered in their attention. He’d said little, only talking about leaving the desert. But the tribal leaders had made a single request—one he couldn’t deny—they had asked him to stay for the funeral.

And so now he stood under the vast, open sky, boots buried in sand that had been freshly dug.

An old tribal elder raised his hands to the heavens, voice raw and cracked as he called to the Ashari gods, asking them to grant safe passage to the warriors who had fallen. His words weren’t shouted. They were spoken low. And in the middle of it, Kai too hoped that the fallen found their places in the afterlife.

In front of him, the ground had been carved open. Three dozen graves stretched into the horizon like a scar in the sand.

Kai looked around.

The entire desert had come to mourn. Not just the warriors.

Men. Women. Children. Elders with hunched backs and wooden canes. People who had once avoided looking at him now stood at his side. Some wept quietly. Others stared blankly, jaws tight with pain.

He saw how they all glanced at him—well, both at him and the robes he wore. The elegant robes, threaded with red and blue, were ones he had found in Valkyrie’s Tower, and he had chosen to wear them. He could tell the garment was enchanted by various seals, mostly for protection, but what he liked most was the feeling it gave him.

It clung to him like a calm, familiar spell.

Whenever the tribal men and women looked his way, he offered a short nod, acknowledging their presence.

But the more he looked at them, the more he realized there was something else in their eyes—something rare among the tribals.

There was hope.

These graves weren’t just a place of loss, they were a symbol. A turning point. A reminder of the price they’d paid for something far greater. Freedom.

They were no longer hunted or no longer tools in someone else’s war.

The Ashari tribes were free. And for the first time, they could choose how they lived.

The old priest stood at the front of the graves, a weathered staff gripped in his wrinkled hands. His gaze swept slowly across the desert tombs.

“These brave men and women fought valiantly against the Duneborns,” he began, his eyes on the floor, reminiscing. “They may not be of the same tribe, but they are all sons and daughters of Ashari. Their souls shall return—reborn as great warriors, carrying the will of the desert in their hearts. And as long as we live, we will honor their names. We will remember their sacrifice. We will take Ashari forward, into a future they carved with blood and steel.”

When his words faded into the wind, silence fell. Then, as one, the tribals bowed their heads toward the graves.

Even Kai did the same. It was the least he could do.

The funeral ended quietly after that. One by one, people began to disperse—warriors, elders, families, all drifting back into the desert wind, carrying with them the memory of the fallen.

But Kai remained. His party stood with him—Gareth, Feroy, Claire, Kael, Neris, Ansel and now Rhea.

The desert was quiet again.

Only the tribal council members stayed behind now, watching him with thoughtful expressions. His eyes looked at Maari, silent and sharp-eyed as always. And beside her, Khalid approached, a familiar smile on his face.

Kai’s eyes instinctively dropped to the man’s left arm—or what remained of it. The bandages were tight, the stump wrapped and sealed. But there was no bitterness on Khalid’s face. Only peace.

“I take it you’ll be returning to the kingdom soon,” Khalid said, stopping a few steps away.

Kai nodded. “I will. There are urgent matters waiting for me in the capital. I can’t afford to delay.”

Then he paused, gaze drifting briefly to the horizon, before continuing, “But I’ll return. Sooner than you think. You’ll see more of my people here too. I’ve reclaimed my mother’s tower, but it holds far more than I expected. There’s still much to uncover. When they come… I hope you’ll be hospitable.”

Khalid chuckled. “That’s the least we can do. You’ve earned that and more.”

He cast a glance at Maari, then back to Kai.

“Adil told me about the tower. Said it was like something out of legend. Full of wonders. I’m curious to see it for myself.”

“Then you will. I have plans for the tower,” Kai said, glancing toward the horizon, the last orange light of sunset bleeding into the sand. “And once I’ve figured them out… I plan to open it. Not to everyone—but to those I trust. Especially among the Ashari.”

He turned back to the gathered tribals.

“With the amount of mana flowing through that place, your warriors could grow stronger. Much stronger.”

Maari gave a slow smile. “We are thankful for your generosity, Lord Arzan.”

The woman’s smile reached her eyes and Kai almost felt bad at what he was about to say next. He wasn’t going to give benefits for free and his generosity came with price tags. One he didn’t know if they would be willing to pay.

“Well, it’s not just generosity. I won’t pretend I’m doing this for free. Actually, there’s something I want from you.”

The shift was immediate as the atmosphere changed. The tribal leaders looked at each other.

Khalid tipped his chin low in thought and looked up. “You’ve changed the fate of Ashari in just two weeks. Say the word, and we’ll do whatever we can to repay you.”

Those words made Kai chuckle.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What I’m going to ask… isn’t something easy to give.”

He let the silence linger before speaking again.

“I want to study your techniques. The ones your Sand Knights use.”

It was like dropping a stone in still water.

All of them widened their eyes and some even straightened their postures.

Kai expected it. He had timed this request carefully—after the war, after their victory, after he had proven himself. Even then, he knew he was walking a fine line.

“I understand what I’m asking,” he continued. “Those techniques are sacred. Passed down through bloodlines and tradition. But you already know by now… I have Sand Knights of my own. Enforcers, I call them. They’re still new. We don’t have our own traditions yet.”

His voice dropped a little, more earnestly.

“I don’t want to take your teachings and copy them. I want to learn. Adapt. Build something of our own. I’m not asking for your secrets to exploit them. I’m asking… because I respect them. And because I believe in what I’m building.”

He looked from face to face.

“I won’t force you. If the answer is no, I’ll accept it.”

The silence that followed was heavy—with thought, with uncertainty, with history. And Kai waited.

“It’s not that we don’t want to help,” Khalid said after a long pause. His gaze was steady, but there was a weight behind his words. “It’s just… in our history, we’ve never shared our techniques with anyone outside the desert.”

Saif who was to Khalid’s left nodded in agreement. “And even if the council approves, I don’t know how the common folk would react. These arts are part of our heritage. We can’t give it to you secretly.”

Kai inclined his head, already expecting resistance. But before he could respond, a voice cut in, unexpectedly firm.

“I believe it can be done.”

All eyes turned as Adil stepped forward.

Kai blinked, surprised. Their relationship had improved over the past days, but he hadn’t expected Adil to speak so openly in his favor. It was likely more than just camaraderie—Adil was making a statement, staking a claim that his bond with Kai was stronger than the others’. If so, Kai didn’t mind. He only cared about results.

“If you promise,” Adil continued, “that the techniques won’t spread outside your Enforcers, then I think we can come to an agreement.”

Maari gave him a cautious look. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Adil said firmly. “We won’t give everything, but I’m guessing Count Arzan only wants the basics—to build something of his own, right?”

“Yes,” Kai said and nodded. The techniques in the end were made for sand and either way, he had to modify them. With the barbarians, he had the raw power and another set of techniques to study.

And Killian was there too, a man who was a genius in making his own breakthroughs without any help. He didn’t need to steal the Ashari legacy. He needed inspiration.

Khalid stroked his chin. “If it’s just the basics… I believe we can discuss it.”

That was all Kai needed to hear. He gave a single nod, knowing that was as good as a yes. With even the basic techniques, he could finally begin laying the groundwork for a theory he’d been forming.

“That would be great,” he said quietly, sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”

Khalid’s reply came with a tired but warm smile. “If it means a stronger bond between you and the tribes, then it’s a small price to pay.” Then his gaze shifted toward the group behind Kai. “Will they be leaving with you?”

Before Kai could answer, Ansel stepped forward. “We’re staying a little longer, brother. Lord Arzan wants us to map out the tower and the surrounding terrain before we return.”

Kai confirmed it with a glance. “Yes. I would’ve done it myself, but… I have urgent matters to handle in the capital.”

He turned, letting his gaze sweep across the vast desert.

“The desert has already chosen a new path,” he said. “One that doesn’t need me here anymore. I wish all of you the very best… but unfortunately, I don’t think I can spend any more time here.”

The tribal leaders nodded in unison, Khalid giving a low bow. “We understand. Until we meet again, Count Arzan.”

Kai turned to Rhea last.

“I’ll see you in Veralt,” he said. “Be safe. Listen to Claire and Feroy.”

She nodded and offered a bow. “I will.”

“Good.”

For a fleeting second, he wondered if she was going to actually listen or she was planning to sneak off and hunt more desert beasts. He hoped it was the former. But either way, she was in good hands.

Kai exhaled softly and stepped back. With practiced ease, he drew the spell structure with a flick of his hand, wind gathering around his feet in a tight spiral.

The sand shifted and danced beneath him as the desert wind obeyed. And then—he soared, vanishing into the sky—just like that.

Everyone was used to it by now—Kai taking off without warning, the wind howling in his wake. There wasn’t much reaction as he soared higher, the dunes shrinking beneath him. The desert stretched endlessly at first, but soon it began to blur past as he flew at full speed, the wind whistling in his ears.

As he traveled, his gaze scanned the sands below.

He spotted beasts he hadn’t seen before—burrowing things with hard carapaces, fanged serpents slithering just beneath the surface. He made mental notes of a few that looked promising for training, their agility or size standing out even from this height. Then he saw it—a massive shifting mound, the sand rolling unnaturally like waves around a central core.

Sand elementals.

Kai hovered for a heartbeat, temptation pulling at him. Their cores would make perfect materials for golems—Balen would probably think of hugging him for it. But he shook it off. Not now. Later.

He took another look at it—definitely later.

Two hours passed in a blur of wind and heat until finally, the cracked golden sands gave way to stone and green—the edge of the Ashari Desert. Lancephil was drawing near, and with it, a different kind of battlefield.

His thoughts turned to the assembly.

Khorvash had ruled over orcs and tried to conquer through brute strength. Easy enough to deal with. But the nobles? They struck with words sharper than swords. Schemes, alliances, backroom whispers—Kai would’ve preferred if they just tried to stab him outright. At least then he’d know where the blade was coming from. And he could prepare to fight back or defend himself.

Now, it would be politics. He could already imagine the lines being drawn. The princes would oppose him. Regina and Veridia would be there, watching, calculating. And him? He’d only have his people—those few who truly trusted him.

But the assembly wasn’t the first thing he needed to face. There was the matter of King Sullivan. He wondered what he wanted.

And there was the matter with the medallion.

The one piece that might change the kingdom’s fate. He had claimed it. Now he just had to decide how to use it.

***

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