The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Amidst the discontented grunts of the Sand Beasts, the caravan embarked on the endless Sea of Sand. The goods on the backs of the pack animals were secured by raised panels and covered with numerous nets to ensure nothing fell off.

Standing on a dune and gazing into the distance, one could see a north-south mountain range stretching before them. This naturally formed an obstacle, but once they crossed it, their destination would be very close.

However, certain open mountain ranges were always dreaded by the city-state's inhabitants. Although they originated there, their ancestors had long abandoned it. Yet, in the chilling tales told at night, the mountains were not empty. Those abandoned beings watched everything that passed with venomous eyes—

They needed to reach the foot of the mountains by “daylight,” where there was a shelter. Afterward, they would traverse the valley in the evening and spend the night in caves within the valley. The leader had traveled this route four or five times and believed it to be absolutely safe.

No one doubted him.

Traveling through the Sea of Death was like walking on a scorching cauldron. Everyone wrapped themselves tightly, as the hot winds of the sand sea were deadly. Fortunately, the robes woven from insect silk they wore had excellent insulation properties, and living in high temperatures for a long time had also given the inhabitants of this world better heat resistance, preventing them from becoming dried corpses under the intense heat.

After walking for an unknown period, just as many people were nearing dizziness, the leader began to sing, his high-pitched tones echoing in the wind.

Before he finished the second verse, most people joined him in chanting.

Because the mountains were already close, the white rocks reflecting the intense sunlight. This meant their trek was coming to an end, and everyone would have the opportunity to drink water upon entering the shelter, as that would minimize water wastage.

But just as they saw the dark entrance of the shelter, the captain of the guards at the front suddenly stopped and raised a hand, warning everyone to be quiet.

The Sand Beasts stopped with creaking sounds.

The Chanter dismounted from his Sand Beast, and Rikas helped him walk gingerly to the leader's side.

"What's the situation?"

His voice was low and hoarse. Although he was the only one who could ride a pack animal, the prolonged direct sunlight still left his mouth dry.

The leader looked back at the group.

"I think I heard something roaring… Damn, everyone is thirsty and tired. Chanter, we might have run into a raider tribe. This is a premeditated ambush."

Rikas scanned the pale rock cliffs, seemingly able to see the malicious shadows between the rocky peaks.

Raider tribe? He almost thought they were just a legend. Some mountain caves had been abandoned, and the residents had migrated to more habitable places, but not everyone had left. Some stayed behind, voluntarily or involuntarily—those deemed burdens, deformed children, the sick…

They were supposed to fend for themselves in the abandoned places, ultimately amounting to nothing. However, that was not the case.

They survived, although it was unknown where they got water. These terrifying raiders howled in the wind. More importantly, in the stories Rikas had heard, their food was special—

At least his father had said that those raider tribes were cannibalistic.

The Chanter was obviously knowledgeable and experienced, not panicking. Instead, he also scanned the environment and then said in a low voice:

"This place is not suitable for defense."

"Of course, it's not suitable. We must enter the shadows. They are also waiting for us to do so, but we cannot expose ourselves to the scorching sun."

With that, the leader, experienced in battle, waved his hand, signaling the group to continue, but weapons were quietly distributed. All adult men were quietly told to prepare for a fight.

In this cruel world, barbarism was still the mainstream. Combat and death were not uncommon even in the city-states.

Rikas received a scimitar from his teacher, the Chanter’s weapon when he was young. He was too old to wield a sword now. Rikas was his protector. Then, the boy took out his dagger. He knew he had to protect his teacher's safety.

Soon, the intense sun above them was obscured by the shadows of the towering peaks. They were still some distance from the shelter, but the group stopped.

The leader raised the horn to his lips and blew it hard, ordering everyone to form a circle with the Sand Beasts. These pack animals themselves had thick scales and fur. When they lay on the ground, tucking their heads to protect their abdomens and heads, ordinary weapons could hardly harm them, so they could serve as a barrier.

It was like a signal. Another horn sounded, the sound rough and untamed, like the howl of a beast.

"Don't be afraid, everyone! We have weapons! Protect the water in the very center!"

The leader shouted urgently. The bizarre horn sound had already revealed the identity of the newcomers.

Traveling in the Sea of Death, the caravan naturally had no shortage of combat power. Including the cook, fifty or sixty adults held metal weapons, and the boys prepared their slings, the most common ranged weapon.

The next moment, in the shadows of the rocky peaks, many ugly and savage figures emerged, the noisy roars and thunderous footsteps shocking everyone’s senses.

Rikas remained calm, facing the terrifying sight.

They were a group of thorough barbarians. They had no clothes, only simple armor made of human bones. Their dark skin was covered with dirt and scars, and some had obvious deformities. They wielded weapons made of stone and bone, but all of them had a similar symbol painted on their chests with red pigment, looking like half a gear—Rikas first learned about gears from his father's stories about the terrifying Red-Clad Witch Kings when he was a child. They were most fond of this evil magic symbol.

However, there were many of them, seemingly twice as many as the caravan. Leading them was a tall monster with a distorted and deformed face, a clear result of inbreeding, but he was very strong, covered in skulls, holding a huge stone hammer in his right hand and a shield made of human ribs in his left.

The savage raiders were coming fiercely, and many people were pale with fright, but Rikas suddenly noticed a detail.

Some of them were wielding iron chains. Where did these barbarians get such things?

At this moment, his teacher suddenly said:

"Damn it, they are here to capture slaves for the Red-Clad Witch Kings."

Red-Clad Witch Kings? Hearing this name, even the leader trembled.

That was a nightmare legend that existed in the Ata world even before the Sun Order arrived. It was said that they were demons who had escaped from hell, wearing scarlet robes, living in huge castles built of black metal that constantly spewed black smoke. The castles were filled with enslaved undead. These Witch Kings also wielded the evil magic of fire and lightning, but fortunately, they rarely seemed to go out. After the Sun Order appeared, it was proclaimed that these demons feared the light of the Sun Emperor.

However, most people just regarded it as a legend.

But a few knowledgeable people knew that this was not a legend. The Red-Clad Witch Kings had an endless hunger for slaves. They would drive barbarians to capture slaves for them, and in return, they would give these barbarian tribes water, food, and even some tools and weapons.

Every caravan leader prayed that they would not encounter the Witch Kings' slave-catching team when they set out.

But today, it seemed they were out of luck.

Faced with this situation, the Chanter could only close his eyes and chant scriptures, seemingly praying for the Sun Emperor's help, while the leader strained his voice and shouted:

"Everyone, drink water! Drink your fill and repel them!"

He dared not say that this was the Witch Kings' slave-catching team, otherwise everyone's morale might collapse directly.

However, the barbarians soon rushed up—