A thin figure wrapped in a windproof cloak appeared on the ridge of the sand dune.
Beneath him was a skeletal warhorse, its eye sockets flickering with eerie blue flames.
At this moment, his gaze fell directly on the newly planted saplings in the sand below, completely ignoring the caravan on high alert around them.
It was as if their presence was entirely inconsequential to him.
But it was precisely this indifference that made Elon's heart skip a beat.
There was no pressure or aura, yet this attitude of “utter disregard” alone was enough to send a chill down his spine.
Among all the necromancers Elon had ever encountered, only those old monsters who had lived for hundreds of years possessed such an aura.
Swallowing softly, Alicia tightened her grip.
She watched as the skeletal warhorse suddenly took a step forward, carrying its master down the sandy slope.
As Shane moved, the guards' breathing grew heavier. Their hands gripped their half-drawn weapons, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down their temples as their eyes locked onto the skeletal horse and its rider, ready for any potential attack.
However, nothing happened.
The skeletal horse came to a halt about three or four paces away from the saplings.
Its master then dismounted, walked over to one of the saplings, and knelt on one knee.
He extended a finger to gently touch the tip of a sprawling leaf. Throughout the entire process, he did not spare a single glance at the nearby humans.
Shane's gaze was entirely focused on the saplings. He carefully observed the condition of the leaves and checked the moisture of the sand around the roots, occasionally rubbing a pinch of sand between his fingers and murmuring to himself as if evaluating something.
Nearby, the three skeletons that had been working had already ceased their movements upon his approach, standing by with their hands at their sides.
The prolonged neglect only heightened the tension within the princess's entourage. This feeling of being ignored was far more pressuring than direct hostility, especially since the stranger's bizarre behavior defied all common sense.
Thus, countless questions swirled in Alicia's mind, pushing her vigilance to its absolute peak.
Yet she did not act rashly. Forcing herself to observe calmly, her gaze swept from his clothing to the skeletal horse, and finally to his bare wrist...
Wait.
Alicia's eyes narrowed. On the necromancer's right wrist, she spotted a dull, lusterless metal band.
Though completely unadorned, a faint, restricted magical glow subtly flowed across its surface. She recognized that metal band; it was the Ring of the Exiled.
In that case, the man standing before her was an exiled necromancer.
Realization dawning upon her, Alicia took a deep breath, suppressing both the dryness in her throat and the racing of her heart.
She gently pushed aside the tense guards blocking her path and took a step forward. Straightening her back, she did her best to project an air of calm authority.
“Exile,” she began, keeping her voice as steady as possible.
“I am Alicia von Augustus, Third Imperial Princess of the Empire, and the legitimate lord newly enfeoffed by the Emperor to rule over this Golden Sea.”
“State your identity and explain your actions here.”
Only now did Shane seem to notice their presence.
He stood up slowly, brushed the sand from his hands, and finally turned his indifferent eyes toward Alicia and her group.
His gaze swept over each guard, lingered briefly on Elon, and finally rested on the red-haired princess.
There was no surprise or panic in his eyes, nor was there any of the fear or reverence one would expect when questioned by a lord. There was only the slight irritation of being disturbed.
He stared at Alicia for two seconds. Just as she braced herself for a grand speech or a threatening remark, his thin lips parted slightly, uttering a single, incredibly brief phrase:
“I have no money.”
Alicia: “...?”
Even with her sharp wit, she was momentarily left speechless by this utterly irrelevant response.
She even blinked instinctively, wondering if the scorching sun was causing her to hallucinate.
Money? What money?
Did he mean tax money? Did he think she had come to collect taxes in her capacity as the lord?
A profound sense of absurdity washed over her.
Did all necromancers have the same bizarre thought process as this man? Or was this some incredibly clever psychological tactic meant to disrupt her train of thought?”
Just as Alicia fell into a brief state of confusion and struggled to reorganize her thoughts, Elon's dry voice sounded from beside her.
The druid mentor's face remained pale, his brow furrowed with an instinctive repulsion and disgust for undead creations, and his body was still visibly tense.
Yet, his eyes were locked onto the tender green saplings. Recalling Shane's actions just now, his gaze filled with conflict and an unbelievable sense of wonder.
“The power of the undead brings decay and termination. This is an iron law of nature,” Elon muttered.
His voice was low, as if he were trying to convince himself, or perhaps stating a crumbling belief. “I can feel the traces of your cold magic lingering at the roots of these saplings...”
“And yet, it is indeed because of that death energy that they were able to take root so quickly and survive in this sea of sand.”
He looked up at Shane, his dark green eyes swirling with emotion. “This goes against everything I have ever known... It is deeply unsettling, even sacrilegious.”
“But...”
He paused, as if his next words carried the weight of a mountain.
“But green is indeed growing here.”
“In this desert marked as a 'dead zone,' new life has emerged because of you.”
“No matter what methods you used, and no matter how... unacceptable those methods may be, the result is that life has taken root here. Therefore, I recognize you as a...”
“...brother under the protection of the Goddess of Life!”
Having spoken, Elon seemed to have drained all his energy, or perhaps laid down some mental burden. He let out a heavy sigh and averted his gaze, no longer looking at Shane or the saplings that had shaken his faith.
This time, it was Shane's turn to be stunned.
He tilted his head slightly, looking at the green-haired, middle-aged man who looked as though his entire worldview had shattered, and then down at the thriving saplings at his feet.
Recognition?
A guy who looked like a druid actually recognized a necromancer as a brother under the protection of the Goddess of Life?
If the folks from the Church of Life found out, this place would probably have one more exile.
Was the thinking process of the people in this world always so eccentric?
Or was this druid actually just a pragmatist?
Shane spent half a second digesting this information before deciding to stop overthinking.
His experience with desertification control from his past life told him that cooperating with someone who had different ideals but shared a temporary goal was sometimes far more efficient than working with someone who shared the same ideals but had rigid methods.
Even though the druid still looked at him as if he were looking at a piece of filth.
His gaze then swept over the group once more. Their lips were chapped, and their faces were weary; they clearly desperately needed rest and replenishment.
He figured that making a friend was always better than making an enemy, especially in this godforsaken desert.
Desert control was a long-term project, and there was no telling when he might need extra manpower or other resources in the future.
Thus, Shane raised his hand and pointed casually in the general direction of the oasis. “There is a pool over there.”
Looking at the crowd, whose eyes instantly locked onto him, he added:
“Want a drink?”
Rate on N.U.
