Sand Mage of the Burnt Desert

[Translator - Peptobismol]

[Proofreader - Demon God]

Chapter 305

Old Man Klexi furrowed his brow deeply.

“What the hell is that sound?”

“It sounds like someone calling for help.”

“So why the hell is it coming from underground? Don’t tell me the sewer pipe beneath my shop is connected to the Crocodile Den!”

“That’s probably the case.”

“Damn it!”

Klexi’s face twisted into a grimace at Zeon’s careless response.

He already knew that Crocodiles lived beneath the slums. He also knew that their den was a maze-like network of tunnels. But not once had he ever imagined that one of those tunnels might run directly beneath his shop.

“Those little bastards! Digging tunnels under my shop without my permission!”

“That’s not what’s important right now.”

“I know! I was just venting.”

“Where’s the nearest sewer entrance?”

“If you go one block down, you’ll come to an intersection. Turn right there, and it’s hidden behind a wall.”

“Got it.”

Without another word, Zeon and Brielle dashed toward the location Klexi had described.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the sewer entrance.

A set of massive iron bars blocked their path, but with a simple gesture from Zeon, the bars crumbled as though they were made of sand.

“Let’s go.”

“Right!”

Brielle answered without a hint of hesitation, and the two entered the sewer together.

“Ugh!”

Brielle, who had initially charged into the sewer with confidence, immediately pinched her nose shut.

The stench was suffocating.

There was a time when she could manufacture drugs in environments far worse than this without batting an eye. But after becoming accustomed to a more comfortable life, she now found herself dizzy from the overwhelming odor.

Fortunately, Brielle had alchemy on her side.

She pulled out a potion she had prepared for situations like this and drank it. Her sense of smell was instantly numbed, and the stench no longer bothered her.

“This potion numbs your sense of smell. Want one?”

“I’m good. When did you even make that?”

“Just in case I ever had to go back into the Crocodile Den again. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Smart move.”

“Phew! I was hoping I’d never have to use it, but here we are. Maybe there really is such a thing as unavoidable fate.”

“Maybe there is.”

Zeon nodded in agreement.

He hadn’t believed in fate, either.

But after experiencing so much hardship, he’d come to sense an inexplicable flow in the world.

Whether he wanted it or not, things that were meant to happen always found a way to occur.

The world seemed to place him where he needed to be, whether he liked it or not.

Perhaps that was what fate really was.

The sewer sloped steeply downward, leading them deeper underground.

After walking for about ten meters, they reached a fork in the path.

Zeon took a moment to examine both directions before speaking.

“Let’s go right. That’s where I heard the sound earlier.”

“Okay!”

They chose the right path and continued onward.

Splash! Splash!

Their feet splashed through the filthy water, which reached up to their ankles. But neither of them paid it any mind.

Right now, all their focus was on the voice they’d heard earlier through the sewage pipe.

‘Where are you?’

Zeon sharpened his senses, scanning for any sign of the source.

Boom!

Suddenly, a powerful tremor shook the ground.

The force was strong enough to make the ankle-deep water ripple violently.

“To the left.”

“Got it!”

At the next fork, they turned left.

After running several dozen meters, they heard the desperate voice again, faint but unmistakable.

“Help me.”

It was the same voice they had heard earlier through the pipe.

Zeon and Brielle sprinted toward the direction of the voice.

Then another voice rang out, this time louder and harsher.

“Gotcha, you little rat!”

“Let go of me, you bastard!”

“That’s it. Let’s just slit your throat and be done with it.”

It sounded urgent.

Zeon picked up speed, racing toward the source of the commotion.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he saw three men holding a young boy, a shamshir pressed against his neck.

“What the hell?”

“Who’s this guy?”

The men, startled by Zeon’s sudden appearance, shouted in alarm.

There were three of them in total.

Each wore a turban and a white robe called a deshada.

The moment Zeon saw them, he knew who they were, the Helbrin Mercenaries he’d been hunting.

One of the men barked.

“I said, who the hell are you?”

“And if you don’t answer, I’ll slit this brat’s throat right here!”

They held the boy hostage, using him to threaten Zeon.

But their threats didn’t faze him in the slightest.

Dozens of fire missiles materialized around Zeon, floating ominously in the air.

The sight made the mercenaries grit their teeth in frustration.

“Damn it!”

“Screw this!”

“Kill him!”

They wasted no time, charging at Zeon with incredible speed.

Their movements were impressively quick, so fast that most Awakened wouldn’t even have been able to react.

But their opponent was Zeon.

Shwshwshw!

The moment they moved, Zeon launched his fire missiles.

The Helbrin mercenaries swung their blades desperately, trying to deflect the incoming projectiles.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions erupted, shaking the ground as the mercenaries struggled to hold their ground.

“Argh!”

“Damn it!”

Their faces contorted with frustration and pain.

All three of them were martial-type Awakened.

As C-ranks, they were skilled enough to channel mana into their weapons, a level of power that earned respect even in Neo Seoul.

They were proud of their abilities.

But that pride shattered like glass under Zeon’s relentless barrage of fire missiles.

Fire missiles were a basic skill, something any magic-type Awakened could use.

They weren’t particularly powerful.

Yet the fire missiles Zeon unleashed were far beyond anything they had ever encountered.

Each missile packed tremendous power, and they came in an unending torrent.

If they blocked one, two more followed. If they blocked two, four more replaced them.

The mercenaries had never experienced such a relentless and overwhelming assault.

Crack!

Clang!

The first shamshir, which had been blocking the missiles, finally broke under the accumulated force.

The next fire missile struck its wielder directly.

Boom!

“Argh!”

“It’s burning!”

“Help me!”

The Awakened mercenaries flailed wildly, their bodies engulfed in flames.

Two of them managed to roll on the ground and extinguish the fire. But the third wasn’t so lucky.

His turban caught fire, and the flames quickly spread, consuming his face and throat.

He couldn’t put the fire out in time and collapsed, writhing in agony until he died.

It was a pathetic end for a C-rank martial-type Awakened.

One of the surviving mercenaries screamed.

“Who the hell are you, you bastard?! Why are you attacking us?!”

“We haven’t done anything to you!”

Their rage and desperation made them look like demons, their faces twisted and scorched.

Their appearance was horrifying enough to terrify an ordinary person.

But Zeon and Brielle were far from ordinary.

Swish!

Zeon’s body shot forward like an arrow, closing the distance to the man on the right.

“You son of a—”

Crack!

Zeon’s fist smashed into the man’s abdomen.

“You bastard! How dare you attack while I’m talking!”

The remaining mercenary, enraged, swung his fist at Zeon.

But his punch never landed.

Zeon casually swatted the man’s fist aside with his left hand and followed up with a right uppercut to his jaw.

Bang!

With a resounding impact, the man’s head snapped backward.

His jaw remained intact, but the upper part of his skull exploded from the force.

Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, but Zeon didn’t even blink as he turned his attention to the first man he’d knocked down.

“This… this can’t be! Nayar, defeated so easily…?”

The man named Nayar had been the strongest of the three.

Watching Nayar die so pathetically, the remaining mercenary collapsed to the ground, his legs trembling uncontrollably.

“Wh-what are you? Who the hell are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are and what you’ve done.”

“Don’t give me that crap!”

The man screamed defiantly.

He was a survivor of the harsh desert, a man who had lived like a cobra, striking with deadly precision.

That pride was all he had left.

But he had met the wrong opponent.

To Zeon, the man’s venomous aura was nothing more than a child’s tantrum.

True malice didn’t roar or posture.

It hid in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike with lethal precision.

And now, the man was learning that lesson the hard way.

Thud!

Zeon’s kick slammed into his abdomen, driving the air out of his lungs.

“Ugh!”

The man collapsed, coughing up blood.

Zeon stepped on his neck, applying just enough pressure to keep him pinned.

Crack!

The sound of bones breaking echoed as the man gasped for air, his vision fading.

His eyes rolled back, and saliva dripped from his mouth.

The pain was so excruciating that he couldn’t even scream.

Finally, the man broke.

“P-please… spare me…”

“What was that?”

“Sp-spare me… I’ll tell you anything…”

Despite his pleas, Zeon didn’t ease the pressure on his neck.

Crunch!

The man’s neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

He could no longer speak, only choking and gurgling as he teetered on the edge of death.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, Zeon loosened his grip slightly.

The sudden rush of air made the man gasp desperately.

“Gahh!”

He opened his mouth wide, inhaling as much fresh air as he could.

But then—

Thud!

Zeon stomped on his neck again.

Crack!

Another sickening crunch echoed.

“Just kill me already…”

“Oh, I will.”

“You bastard—”

“You shouldn’t be begging me to spare your life. You should be begging me to give you a quick, painless death.”

“Urgh…”

It was then that the man realized the truth.

No matter what he did, there was no escaping this alive.

Zeon wasn’t just showing him dominance,he was teaching him what true malice looked like.

The man was being consumed by genuine terror.

[Translator - Peptobismol]

[Proofreader - Demon God]