"Master, what do you think would happen if I injected my mana into an egg? Would we end up with some kind of hybrid creature?" "I think you should give it a try—but be careful to use only an ounce each time since your supply is limited." "Alright."
After that, Zinarfiel decided that the journey could be made more comfortable if he purchased a horse. He acquired a striking steed that Aryan had chosen—a horse whose legs were as white as snow, while the rest of its body was painted in deep blacks and burnt browns, and whose mane sported a bone-like hue. The price came to about 87 rants, an expense that thoroughly broke Zinarfiel's bank.
Their journey continued as they retraced the route by which they had previously arrived at the capital, and this time they headed toward the city of Iroana. This city, a border town with Silandrin, exuded a decidedly military atmosphere. Dangerous characters—smugglers and slave traders—roamed its streets, making it, by all accounts, an unsuitable place for a young boy. Once famous for its iron mine and once dedicated to supplying war weaponry (though nowadays it mainly produces agricultural implements and the like—implements that, if wielded by the right hands, can be as lethal as a sword), Iroana was not exactly the bustling metropolis of the capital.
"Master, where exactly are we going?" "Well, I'm going to take you to the desert so that we can begin your practical lessons in earnest!" "Oh, this is so cool—at last I'm going to cast offensive spells! By the way, Master, what kind of place is this desert?" "Hmm… It's an enormous wasteland, riddled with traps and teeming with magical creatures. Because of these very traits, the Rank Hunters Organization has classified this desert as high-level and dangerous! But do not fret—I'll be by your side, and we won't venture too deep. Just remember: until your core level reaches purple, you must never brave this desert alone!" "Understood, Master—but one more thing: what exactly is the Hunters Organization?" "Well, it's a collective of wizards and enhancers responsible for hunting down dangerous magical beasts and monsters, and for rating the threat level of different regions. I even spent a short period in that organization myself—and I took your father there when he was just a youngster." "Wow—my father was a hunter as well! Then I'll become one, too; I'm eager to learn more." "Not yet, Aryan. You must first attend school; when you feel strong enough to fight, then you can embark on that journey."
Overcome with curiosity—and thrilled to learn that his father had once been a hunter—Aryan paid little heed to the rest of Zinarfiel's explanations.
The two continued across the lush, green plains, riding their horses as gracefully as a gentle breeze. Finally, after three and a half days of travel, they reached the city of Iroana.
"Master, why is this city so quiet? It's nothing like the capital!" "Perhaps it's because it's a border town—or maybe its inhabitants are just lazy! Either way, stay alert."
Upon arrival, Aryan and Zinarfiel immediately noticed the city's dreary atmosphere. Owing to the nearby mine, Iroana reeked of iron, and its residents were more rugged fighters than simple townsfolk.
Zinarfiel approached a local—one who looked more like a merchant—to inquire about the routes that led to the desert. Having lived for nearly eight years in a cabin in the forest alongside Aryan, the man was not well aware of recent changes. "Master, I must admit, I'm a bit frightened—this fellow is terribly intimidating!" "Don't worry, little one; he's our Guardian, which is why he has such a fearsome look."
Even after the merchant's answer, Aryan could not shake his uneasiness. The Guardian was of vampire lineage—the deep, chasm-like quality of his eyes struck terror into anyone who met his gaze. Observing this, Zinarfiel once more recognized the boy's remarkable instinct.
"Madam, I think you'd do well to take care of your Guardian—he might soon cause you harm!" "Pardon me, madam?" "Look, he's become utterly blood-addicted, if you catch my drift. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're on our way—and thank you for the information!"
Mounting their horses once again, Aryan and Zinarfiel set off. The desert, much farther away than Aryan had ever imagined, would have bored him long ago were it not for the enchanting magical creatures that roamed its fringes—and the magical egg he had purchased.
Approximately two months after their encounter with the merchant, one night as Aryan and Zinarfiel had camped by the roadside for a rest, the sounds of rustling and the movement of unseen creatures enveloped them. "Do not open your eyes until I tell you to, Aryan. Now, get into the tent," Zinarfiel instructed firmly.
After Aryan had retreated inside the tent, Zinarfiel glanced toward the far side of the road and murmured, "It appears that that foolish merchant was even dumber than his words suggested."
Then, from the darkness emerged a figure—the merchant's Guardian! His face now looked more terrifying than ever; his fangs were permanently bared, and his bloodlust had reached its peak. Chunks of flesh still dangled from his maw. When a vampire becomes so blood-addicted, it loses all sense of reason and follows nothing but its raw instinct—to hunt.
"Since you're not going to answer, I'd better wrap this up quickly—I can't bear to keep my boy waiting," the Guardian snarled.
In an instant, Zinarfiel launched a swift attack, but the Guardian seemed to vanish—his speed increasing to a frenzied pace under the light of the full moon that bathed the plain. At that moment, Zinarfiel felt a prickling sensation around his neck and quickly shifted to avoid the monster's fangs from latching onto his skin. Yet, a kick—hurled with force by the Guardian—struck him squarely, sending him reeling backward.
"Well, well—it seems I've gotten a bit older; my bodily strength and physics just aren't what they once were," Zinarfiel grumbled.
Changing tactics, he invoked his earth magic to increase the gravitational force in a one-meter radius around him, causing the Guardian's bones to shatter as he stepped into the field of magic. With a swift movement, Zinarfiel seized the Guardian by his hair and lifted him from the ground. Though the Guardian struggled fiercely, Zinarfiel's power was unmatched. In a calm yet icy tone, he declared, "Alright then—it's time to finish this." With a resounding, forceful kick, the sound of the Guardian's skull shattering echoed across the night.
For a moment, Zinarfiel regarded the lifeless body, then let out a bitter laugh: "It's been ages since I last got to hunt a bloodsucker." He made his way over to Aryan's tent. Casting his gaze upon Aryan's peaceful, sleeping face, a gentle smile graced his lips. "My dear Aryan, are you awake? … Hmm, it seems you've fallen asleep."
Settling down on the ground, Zinarfiel gazed at the starry sky and murmured under his breath, "By the way, let me not forget… Tomorrow is your eighth birthday. I must make preparations for you."
The next day, with bleary, half-asleep eyes, Aryan awoke and began scratching himself, searching for Zinarfiel—but his master was nowhere to be seen. Determined to find him, Aryan stepped out of the tent. "Hmm… doesn't that smell like chocolate? Master—where are you? Hello?" "What's with all this yelling at the crack of dawn, kid? Yes, I'm old, but my hearing still works far better than yours!" came the reply. "Ah, Master, where have you been? And what's that in your hand?" "Well, what do you know? This is your birthday present, boy. Today you turn eight, and it's high time you set out on your own path—I'm tired of all this! … Don't laugh, kid; you're really exhausting me. Grab your gift, and I'll go gather our supplies. Then we'll be on our way." "Alright, Master—but aside from you, I don't know any elder! … Okay, Dad, why are you teasing me… Let's see what the gift is!"
Bursting with excitement, Aryan unwrapped his present. Inside the small box lay a pair of black gloves—reminiscent of something emerging from the depths of the darkest chasm, albeit a bit worn, a clear testament to the many battles fought. "Master, you retrieved this from your stash, didn't you?" "Yes—but note that it belonged to your father. Like you, he was an enhancer. With these very gloves, he once removed Tarentis' heart right from his body." "Tarentis? You mean that rare creature mentioned in the book—a being with six legs and a bizarre body, its lower half resembling a scorpion and its upper half somewhat akin to a human (not exactly human, but in a way…)? Thank you so much, Master; I'll treasure this forever!" "Indeed. Now hurry and prepare yourself—we must swiftly make our way into the desert." "Yes, Master."A
ryan and Zinarfiel resumed their journey. Along the way, Aryan busied himself with the gloves he had received as a gift and with injecting his mana into the magical egg he'd brought from Kalostia. During their travels, they observed many curious creatures—such as a long-tailed gecko and a desert cat—that seemed to spend most of their lives near this barren land.
About a month later, they arrived at the Amorna Desert, also known as the Endless Desert or the Desert of the Lovers of Death. Over the course of that month, Zinarfiel explained much about the history of this desert to Aryan. "Look, Aryan, despite its unassuming appearance, Amorna is dangerous. In fact, it acts like a virus—constantly growing and expanding. The desert has a living essence, so be cautious. Many battles have been fought here—for example, there was once a duel between two enamored elves fighting over a girl, a battle that was renowned for its heart-felt intensity. That's why they also call it the Desert of the Lovers of Death."
"Wow, Master, this place is incredible! The sands are even more golden than gold. Look at that gecko! I'm telling you, Master, where's the danger? It looks more like an ideal destination for scientific expeditions and adventure. For instance, have you noticed how at sunset the sun's path almost seems to cling to the desert, creating a perfectly flat expanse?"
"True enough—it's breathtaking, yet utterly deceptive. At first it seduces its visitors, drawing them in, and then tests their worth. If a person has a stable spirit and a strong purpose, the desert spares them. But if not, it drains and withers them away."
"Wow, that's so strange! So… what do you say, shall we head back? We had fun, and we've seen the desert already!"
At that moment, upon learning the true nature of the desert, Aryan broke into a run. But Zinarfiel formed a gust of wind beneath him, lifting him off his feet—and then flung him deep into the desert.
"Hey, kid, here's your first test. When you have no purpose, you must create one. I'm right behind you, but try your best to stay alive