Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 124

Chapter 124: The Retreating Forces

Three days of relentless travel brought us to the Lightning Canyons. It was a maze of wind-carved passages and towering stone walls that caught the dying light like rusted blades. 

The journey hadn't been kind. 

We'd faced two more Sand Ghouls, a swarm of Glass Scorpions, and a particularly stubborn Dust Wraith that had nearly cost me my remaining arm. But Lailah had risen to each challenge, her command of the wind growing more precise with every encounter. 

By now, she'd reached Level 15. It was a remarkable leap from the farm girl who'd once feared her own shadow. From Level 7 in her 21 years of life, she was suddenly double that in less than three days.

The path narrowed to little more than a goat track, crumbling in places with a sudden drop that vanished into shadows so deep they seemed to swallow light itself. It was scary to look at, and yet Lailah moved with newfound confidence, her hand occasionally tracing small circles in the air, sending controlled gusts to test footholds or clear loose scree before our steps.

"Careful," she warned as I approached a particularly treacherous section. "The stones here speak of collapse."

I raised an eyebrow. "The stones speak now? And here I thought it was just the wind."

"Mock if you wish," she replied, silver eyes narrowed in concentration. "But the desert tells its secrets to those who listen."

A sudden gust steadied me as my foot slipped, the wind curling around my waist like an invisible hand. Lailah didn't even look back, but the slight tension in her shoulders betrayed her focus.

"I suppose I should thank the stones for their warning," I muttered, regaining my balance.

"Maybe you could thank me instead," she said, a smile in her voice.

"I'd rather not inflate your ego further. It's grown nearly as large as mine since you discovered you could command the air."

Her laughter echoed against the canyon walls, light and musical, a sound that had become increasingly familiar during our journey.

****

We made camp in a small alcove carved into the canyon wall, sheltered from the wind that howled through the passages like a hungry ghost. No fire—wood was nonexistent, and light would only announce our presence to whatever lurked in the shadows. Instead, we huddled in the cold darkness, sharing the meager rations that remained.

"It's strange," Lailah said, breaking the comfortable silence between us. "Where is everyone? I thought we'd find other travelers by now."

I tore a piece of dried meat with my teeth, considering. 

We didn’t know the exact location of the oasis, thanks to not officially registering for this campaign. Our plan had been to reach the Lightning Canyons, and then follow others. "That was our plan—follow the crowds to the oasis. But you're right. These canyons are emptier than a noble's promise."

"Perhaps they found another route?"

"Perhaps." I reached for my waterskin, tilting it back for a sip. Nothing came. Not even a drop. "Shit."

Lailah tensed, immediately understanding. "We're out?"

"Yup." I set the empty skin aside, keeping my voice deliberately casual despite the seriousness of our situation. "What about yours?"

She checked her own, squeezing the leather container. "Maybe enough for morning. Not much more. Here, drink it."

“Nah, you keep it.”

In the desert, lack of water was a death sentence—swift and unforgiving. We both knew it, though neither voiced the thought.

“You need it, though…”

"Well," I said with false cheer, "I suppose this is where your newfound mastery of the elements saves us both from an ignominious death. Care to pull some moisture from the air, O Mighty Wind Witch?"

She scowled at the nickname. "I told you not to call me that."

"Would you prefer 'Desert Rose' again? It does have a more romantic ring to it."

"I'd prefer you to be useful instead of sarcastic." She stood, stretching her limbs. "But since you asked so nicely..."

Lailah closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. She extended her hands, palms upward, fingers moving in subtle patterns I hadn't seen before. The air around us stirred, then circled her hands like invisible ribbons.

Minutes passed. Nothing happened.

I leaned back against the canyon wall. "Perhaps the air is as impressed with your skills as I am."

Her eyes snapped open, flashing silver in the darkness. "I-it's harder than it looks! I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, I would, but I'm currently handicapped by a missing arm and crippled energy pathways. What's your excuse?"

"My excuse is that I've been doing this for a mere three days!" She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "My mother could pull water from a sandstorm. She used to tell me how—" She paused, then took a deep breath. "I just need to focus."

"Your mother's talent won't save us now," I said, my voice gentler than before. "But yours might, if you stop doubting yourself. Nature doesn't bow to hesitation, Lailah. The wind answers certainty."

Her eyes met mine, surprise flickering in their depths. Then, with renewed determination, she closed them again.

This time, her movements were more decisive, her breathing steadier. 

 I watched in silence and leaned back against the canyon wall, a thought flickering through the Heavenly Demon's memories. Even when the body fails and Qi recedes, the unbent spirit remains. From that core, the impossible can be kindled. The Immortal Soul’s Flames can do the impossible if believed enough. 

That was the saying. Some might say that was a philosopher's fancy, perhaps, suitable for dusty scrolls, but the Heavenly Demon’s father, meaning the previous Heavenly Demon, had advised him with those words. 

I knew from these memories and from having played the game that Soul Fire—a type of energy different from Qi, a higher grade of it, one could say—was indeed real. So maybe believing was the trick behind everything?

“...Think that you can do it,” I told her, following with blatant plagiarism. “Even when the body fails and mana recedes, the unbent spirit remains. The impossible can be kindled. The Immortal Soul can do the impossible if believed enough.”

Lailah focused. Sweat beads formed on her brows. One minute became a dozen, and as she continued focusing, the air around her hands began to shimmer. 

Condensation formed like morning dew on a spiderweb. 

Droplets gathered, tiny at first, then growing, combining until a small, precious pool hovered in the air before her. Lailah's eyes opened, widening at her own success. "I did it," she whispered, amazement overtaking her features.

"Was there ever any doubt?" I said, though I couldn't hide my own impressed smile. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to direct that water somewhere useful before you drop it all on the ground."

With careful concentration, she guided the floating water toward my empty waterskin. It wasn't much—barely enough for a few swallows—but in the desert, even that small amount could mean the difference between life and death.

"It's not much," she said, echoing my thoughts.

"It's everything," I corrected her. "The desert doesn't give its secrets freely, but you just stole one anyway. Well done, Lailah of the Silver Eyes. You've officially graduated from farm girl to water witch."

She laughed softly, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. "Is that a promotion?"

"In these parts? Absolutely." I corked the waterskin and set it aside. "Get some rest. You need to recover."

She didn't argue, settling beside me in our small alcove. Within minutes, her breathing steadied into sleep, her head coming to rest against my shoulder. I didn't move away.

Perhaps the desert was working its magic on me after all.

****

The clatter of hooves and jingle of metal yanked me from sleep. Dawn had barely broken, casting the canyon in a ghostly blue light. Lailah was already awake, her body tense beside mine, silver eyes wide with alarm.

We exchanged a silent glance, then moved as one, pressing ourselves behind a tall rock formation that hid us from the path below. Peering carefully around the edge, I spotted a large caravan making its way through the canyon—at least thirty riders, a few bearing the Baron's insignia.

"They're going back to the city," Lailah whispered, her breath warm against my ear.

I frowned, studying the group. Their horses looked fresh, their water skins full—they hadn't been deep into the desert. Yet they moved with purpose, as if their mission was complete.

"Something's not right," I murmured. "They couldn’t have reached the oasis and returned this quickly."

Lailah nodded, her eyes never leaving the procession. "What do we do?"

I reached for the pendant at my neck, feeling its cool surface against my fingertips. "We ask for a second opinion."

Vyrn materialized silently, his spectral form nearly invisible in the morning light. With a slight gesture, I directed him toward the caravan. The owl understood, vanishing completely as he glided toward the riders.

We waited in tense silence, barely breathing as the last of the riders passed our hiding spot. Finally, Vyrn returned, materializing before us with a soft "troot-troot" that carried urgency.

"What's he saying?" I asked, catching the emotion but missing the specifics.

Lailah's expression grew increasingly troubled as she listened to Vyrn's chirps and hoots. "They're returning because the Baron has ordered an end to the expedition," she translated. "He's declared the oasis off-limits to all but his personal group."

"Why would he do that? After making such a public announcement?"

Vyrn chirped again, more insistently.

"He says..." Lailah's voice lowered, "...royal politics. The Erebian Royalty is involved somehow. The Baron himself is preparing to lead an expedition to claim the oasis."

The pieces clicked into place—the Baron's sudden reversal, the involvement of Erebian royalty. This wasn't just about a rare oasis anymore; it was about power, influence, and whatever secrets the leviathan waters held.

"How long until the Baron's expedition sets out?" I asked.

More chirps from Vyrn.

"Three days," Lailah replied. "They're gathering supplies and elite guards."

I leaned back against the rock, weighing our options. We couldn't beat the Baron to the oasis, not without knowing its exact location. We couldn't join his expedition, not with both our faces known to his men. And we certainly couldn't return to Scorpion's Kiss empty-handed.

"Well," I said finally, a grim smile forming on my lips, "it seems we have a choice between impossible, implausible, and suicidal."

Lailah met my gaze, a matching determination in her silver eyes. "Which do you prefer?"

"I've always had a fondness for the implausible," I replied. "It has such a lovely way of becoming possible at the last moment."

"And if it doesn't?"

I shrugged, the ghost of my old confidence returning despite our dire circumstances. "Then at least we'll have died for something interesting, rather than slowly roasting in this godsforsaken desert."

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. "You have a strange way of looking at the world, Alexander."

"The world is a strange place, my dear," I countered. "Especially when seen through eyes like yours."

For a moment, we simply stared at each other, the weight of our situation hanging between us like an unspoken promise. Then, with a decisive nod, Lailah stood.

"So," she said, dusting sand from her clothes, "what's the plan?"

****

I sped across the wasteland like death's own shadow. Such speed would have surprised the old me from a week ago.

The dark robes I'd... borrowed... from an unfortunate traveler flapped behind me, making me a black wind against the endless sand. My target was clear—the straggler at the edge of the Baron's caravan, a young man barely out of boyhood, moving with the careless confidence of someone who believes safety lies in numbers.

Poor fool.

I struck from nowhere, a nightmare materializing from heat-shimmer. One moment he was adjusting his saddle; the next, my arm locked around his torso, yanking him from his horse with terrifying efficiency. His startled cry died in his throat as I clamped my hand over his mouth and surged away, a black blur across golden dunes.

To anyone watching, we might have been a mirage—there, then gone, swallowed by the desert's endless appetite.

Minutes later, several kilometers from the caravan, I dropped him unceremoniously onto the hard-packed sand. My lungs burned, sweat coursing down my face in rivulets that the thirsty air immediately reclaimed. I bent double, hands on knees, gulping down the desert's scorching breath.

This body technique, the Phantom Step, was from the Chronicles of the Heavenly Demon God. In the game, executing it flawlessly required precise timing and positioning. In reality, it demanded something more primitive – absolute mastery over one's physical form.

No Qi. 

No magic. 

Just flesh, bone, and will bending physics to their breaking point. Somehow I did it, but imperfectly. The Heavenly Demon's memories helped, but it was still my first time performing it.

A proper execution wouldn't have left me gasping like a landed fish.

"Your body seems to have recovered a lot for you to run like that," Lailah emerged from behind a stone outcropping, silver eyes gleaming with appreciation beneath her veil.

I straightened, forcing my breathing to steady. "Practice makes perfect. Or in my case, barely competent enough."

The young man sprawled before us made a pathetic attempt to scramble away, his fingers clawing at sand that offered no purchase. Terror had transformed his face into a mask of sweat and wide eyes.

"Please," he gasped, "I have nothing—"

"Except information," I cut him off, dropping into a casual crouch before him. "Which, in this particular desert, is worth more than gold." I tilted my head, studying him through narrowed eyes. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Lailah circled to his other side, effectively cutting off any escape route. The wind stirred at her command, sending a chill breath across the back of his neck. He flinched, looking wildly between us.

"Who—who are you people?"

He might have recognized Lailah if she had not been wearing her face veil, or me if I had not been wearing my dark robes. They hid our faces well.

"We," I said, "are the ones asking questions. And you are the one with precisely one chance to answer truthfully." I gestured toward the endless expanse surrounding us. "The desert forgives many things. Lies are not among them."

"The oasis," Lailah's voice was deceptively gentle. "Where is it?"

The young man swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing frantically in his throat. "I—I don't know exactly. Only the Baron knows the precise location."

I sighed dramatically. "He's lying already. How disappointing."

"N-no! I swear!" His eyes darted between us. "The Baron has divided the information. Different guards know different pieces. A precaution, he said."

"Clever Baron," I murmured. "Paranoid, but clever. What's your piece of the puzzle, then?"

He hesitated, calculating his odds. I leaned closer, allowing him to glimpse the dangerous smile beneath my hood.

"The desert is vast," I whispered. "And bodies are so easily lost in it."

"T-three days east of the Lightning Canyons!" he blurted. "Following the path of the shattered moon! That's all I know, I swear!"

"The shattered moon?" Lailah frowned, exchanging a glance with me. "What does that mean?"

The young man's breathing calmed slightly, seeing our confusion as a lifeline. "It's a formation—a line of broken rock columns that resembles a crescent moon scattered across the sand. Ancient landmarks from before who knows when."

Interesting. "And the Baron's plans? When does he leave? With how many men?"

"T-two days from now. Twenty elite guards, plus the Baron himself." His voice lowered. "And... the Prince."

"Prince?" Lailah and I spoke in unison.

The young man nodded frantically. "Prince Valerius of the Erebian Empire. Seventh in line for the throne. F-from what I heard, he arrived without warning and demanded the Baron cancel all expeditions. Said the waters were for him alone… I don’t know how much of that is true, though…”

I filed that information away. 

Erebian royalty complicating matters wasn't just an inconvenience—it was a potential catastrophe. "What does the Prince want with leviathan waters?"

"I don't know! Truly!" He spread his hands in supplication. "The rumors say... they say he seeks power. Enhancement beyond normal boundaries."

"Don't they all," I muttered.

"There was something else," he added, desperation making him generous with secrets. "T-the Baron fears the Gold Dragon Clan will interfere if news about the Prince travels… He's sent scouts to ensure they haven't claimed the oasis first."

My interest sharpened at that. If the Gold Dragons got involved earlier than planned, perhaps Amelia wasn't far. And where Amelia was, Solara should be.

"You've been most helpful," I said, reaching for his satchel. He made a weak protest, which I ignored, rifling through its contents. Inside was dried meat, hardtack, a water skin still half-full, many different kinds of jewelry that he must have found on his way to the oasis, and a pouch of gold coins that made a satisfying weight in my palm.

"Since you'll have trouble returning to your group with such a heavy bag," I said, weighing the jewellery and gold pouch appreciatively, "I'll be taking this. You're welcome."

"Please," he whispered, reaching feebly toward the pouch. "That's three months' wages. My family—"

"Has raised a terrible liar," I finished for him. "The quality of that waterskin alone tells me you're no common guard. Baron's nephew? Some minor lord's son?" I chuckled at his startled expression. "The desert may forgive many things, but I've never been particularly merciful."

Lailah stood silently, her silver eyes watching the exchange with that strange mix of judgment and curiosity I'd come to expect from her.

"Have some mercy," the young man begged. "I'll die out here without provisions."

I sighed, reaching into the pouch and counting out half the coins. "Your begging lacks style, but I suppose everyone deserves a chance to improve." I tossed the diminished pouch at his feet and picked up his satchel. "Half. Enough to bribe your way back to civilization, if you're clever. Which," I added, rising to my feet, "remains to be seen."

"Thank you," he breathed, clutching the pouch like a lifeline. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I replied. "The desert between here and safety remains unchanged. As does your chance of surviving it. Your group must be stopping soon to rest, so be quick on your feet."

As we turned to leave, Lailah's hand brushed mine, a ghost of contact that nonetheless sent electricity racing up my arm.

"That was almost kind of you," she murmured, her voice pitched for my ears alone.

I shook my head dramatically. "A momentary weakness. Don't grow accustomed to it."

Her silver eyes crinkled with hidden laughter. "The desert reveals what we hide even from ourselves, Alexander. Today, it showed me you have a heart after all."

"That has to be a grievous slander," I replied, matching her step as we walked away. "I'll thank you never to repeat it."

Behind us, the young man grabbed his pouch, letting out a sigh as the weight of survival settled on shoulders too narrow for such a burden. I didn't look back.

In this wasteland of endless sand and merciless sun, there was only one direction worth facing. Forward, toward the promise of healing waters and the path back to what I'd lost.