Chapter 133: The Purification Art — Care to Learn About It?

"Sand bandits, go go go, run!" The merchant Eric swung himself onto a horse, slashed the rope on one of the wagons, and the rest of the caravan hauled the cargo and bolted.

Eric was a veteran desert merchant. His caravan had twelve men, all old hands, who traveled this trade route year-round. Every dune, every stretch of badlands, every oasis — he knew them all by heart, and he knew the habits of the sand bandits on the route even better, dodging them safely every time.

No other way about it — if he couldn't dodge them, his caravan would have long since scattered, and his head would have had a hard time staying on his own neck.

Even so, Eric still brought along some "tribute" — inside were all sorts of daily necessities the sand bandits liked, things like hemorrhoid ointment, sunburn salve, cloth, tea, needles and thread, virility medicine, and the like. Not expensive, but the sand bandits were especially fond of them.

This kind of tribute was loaded on a single wagon by itself, and in a pinch they would just abandon that wagon and let the sand bandits fight over it.

Some sand bandits, who preferred a steady trickle of gains, saw that he knew the drill and stopped chasing.

By this method, Eric had escaped sand bandit pursuit several times — but lately the situation had changed a bit.

First, the number of sand bandits on the route had increased, as if most of the desert's sand bandits had all converged on this region. Along the way, Eric had already run into sand bandits three times.

This was very unusual. You have to understand, because of his rich experience, he always avoided the main road along the way — for instance, between two oases or water sources, the straight-line distance was the shortest, and caravans liked to shuttle back and forth along that straight line, and sand bandits liked to rob there too.

So he always detoured a bit, avoiding that straight line. It took longer, but it was safer.

Of course, only an experienced old merchant like him had the nerve. In the endless desert, with no landmarks, if you missed a water source or oasis by accident, what awaited the caravan was very likely death.

But now, even though he had detoured, he still ran into three bands of sand bandits — so how many must there be on that straight trade road?

The first two times, they relied on the horses' speed and got away. The third time, the horses were a bit spent, so they had to abandon the tribute wagon.

But the sand bandits swarmed the tribute wagon, took one look, then wheeled their horses and gave chase, shouting something as they rode.

Eric didn't listen closely, just buried his head and whipped the horses into a wild gallop. His caravan ran three horses per wagon, and the wheel surfaces were hardened with a slowing spell, so they didn't easily sink into the sand when moving fast.

This was the most cost-effective desert wheel solution, full of folk wisdom. Who would have thought that a spell originally meant to slow the movement of objects could have such a miraculous effect in sand?

Maybe the tribute wagon had slowed the sand bandits down or something — Eric's caravan quickly shook off the pursuers. Only then did he have the chance to turn and ask his companion: "What were those sand bandits shouting just now?"

A companion behind him, draped in a cloak, wrapped up so tightly that even his eyes were covered with a gauze scarf, replied: "They said, no virility medicine, they want water — give them water, and they'll pay for it."

"Hah, I'll believe that when pigs fly. Those bastards are rotten to the core — pay for it? Never heard of sand bandits actually paying for things. They definitely just want to trick us into stopping, kill us all, and take everything." Eric cursed bitterly.

"Their numbers aren't many. If you want, I can kill every last one of them," the cloaked companion said flatly.

"No no no, don't go straight to killing every time. We're merchants — we do things by merchant rules. Bargain when we should bargain, pay tribute when we should pay tribute, share the profits when we should share them. Money, now — one person alone can't earn it all. Everyone earning together, that's the long-term plan. Without these sand bandits, who would I sell my expensive goods to?" Eric advised with painstaking effort.

The sand bandits raised the danger of the trade route, which raised the caravan's transport costs, which naturally pushed up the price of goods. One wagon of cargo could now be sold for four or five times its usual price. Running into this many sand bandits this time was too dangerous — he'd have to raise his prices.

Hearing the last part, the cloaked companion gritted his teeth and cursed: "Shameless profiteer."

In the distance, on the dunes ahead, there were actually people moving about — white turbans, riding camels, the typical dress of the desert folk.

"How are there desert folk here? There's no oasis nearby — could it be sand bandits fishing?" Eric reined in his horse at once and watched from afar.

The desert folk in the distance also spotted Eric's group, raised the alarm at once, and several of them immediately rushed up onto the dune, watching warily.

Probably having made out the dress and cargo wagons of Eric's party, they quickly relaxed their guard. Except for the first one, the rest went back behind the dune.

That reaction was the normal reaction of desert folk. Eric hurriedly led over another horse, one man with two mounts, and rode toward them. If the other side was sand bandits fishing, one man with two horses could still get away easily; if they really were desert folk, then he'd run into customers.

Seeing him approach alone, they took their hands off their sword hilts — and especially seeing Eric raise both hands, the desert folk likewise raised both hands. That was the sign of no hostility.

The two sides quickly closed to a distance where they could talk. The desert folk called out loudly: "Caravan?"

"Caravan!" Eric answered loudly.

"Where to!"

"Hope Oasis!"

"That's us. What did you bring?"

"Tea, oil, iron pots, needles, medicine, books, cloth."

"Any seeds?"

"What? Seeds? What seeds? Why would we bring that?"

"No no no, nothing — it's just the kids at home are curious, want to see plant seeds you don't get at the oasis. Never mind if you don't have any."

What was Eric? A wily old desert merchant, that's what. He saw at a glance that the desert folk weren't being entirely truthful, and immediately kept his guard up. Out loud he asked: "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"Building a road. You lot are in luck — once the road's done, you'll get to the oasis a lot faster," the desert folk replied.

"Building a road? You…." Eric almost wanted to beat this desert fellow's dog-head right there on the spot. Talking nonsense — building a road in the desert? Who in their right mind came up with a reason like that? If you're going to lie to people, could you at least have some respect for the person being lied to? Would anyone with a brain believe a lie like that?

"You don't believe it?" The desert folk, seeing Eric's expression, immediately got anxious: "If you don't believe it, come look for yourself."

Eric warily edged toward the lip of the dune and looked down.

He saw a road stretching from the far end of the horizon all the way to the foot of the dune. At the very front of the road, two "human" mages were casting spells, continuously firing magic into the sand. Once it reached saturation, they slammed down hard, and the sand collapsed into a flat, solid sandstone road surface.

On either side of the sandstone road, desert folk carried lengths of grass mat, laying them on the sand at fixed intervals and pouring water over them.

On the already-finished road, wagon after wagon rolled back and forth, continuously hauling in water and grass mats to lay along both sides of the road. Judging by the desert folk's practiced movements, they had clearly repeated the same actions many times over.

"You… you're really building a road. Have you all lost your minds?" Eric said in disbelief.

The desert folk gave a "shing" and drew his scimitar halfway, cursing: "Who are you calling crazy!?"

"No no no, it's a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding, I mean — in the desert, a road like that will be covered by dunes in a few days," Eric hurriedly apologized and changed his tune.

He also realized he'd spoken out of turn, because the two mages casting to build the road were obviously the absurdly powerful kind — a long stretch of road, not even a breath taken, and it was already formed. He had actually called such mages crazy — he really had a death wish.

The desert folk also knew it was a slip of the tongue, otherwise the scimitar wouldn't have only been drawn halfway.

"Then you don't understand. See those grass mats? Lay them down at fixed intervals, and the dunes on either side of the road won't be able to crawl over," the desert folk explained proudly.

"But — but just laying them down like that, aren't you afraid they'll be sun-dried to death by tomorrow? The roots won't even have time to take hold," Eric said worriedly.

"Not afraid. We've got the God of Undying here — these grasses won't die from the sun," the desert folk said proudly, thumping his chest.

"Ah? Undying?" Eric reacted at once — was it the "undying" he was thinking of?

"Right, that undying — the one that makes plants flourish, no matter how much sun they get they won't die," the desert folk said.

Hey hey hey, you've got it wrong, haven't you? Is "undying" supposed to mean this? What you've got there should be called "sun-proof," right?

The word "undying" was a touchy subject, and Eric didn't even dare argue with the desert folk. He just asked whether his caravan could come over. Once given permission, he signaled his companions in the distance, then turned his gaze back to the road.

"Hm? Wyverns? Four of them?" Only now did Eric notice three wyverns and a little girl frolicking back and forth on the road. The fourth wyvern was currently arguing with the one of the two mages who had his nose in the air.

"You're the one who said you'd sell yourself for two years — does that mean you get to lie around these two years, freeloading, and not do any work?" Lord Nai Ge Li Si righteously cursed at Brucek.

Brusk was panting, and said in a rather unmanly tone: "I thought the 'selling yourself' you meant was like you — just moving your mouth, and when a strong enemy comes, someone beats them off for you."

"What do you mean? Are you mocking me for only being able to move my mouth? Do you believe I'll have Bai Hou beat up your son?" Nai Ge Li Si glared.

Bai Hou was naturally that silver dragon egg; it inherited its mother's characteristics, with a few white scales on its throat, so following custom, it also inherited its mother's name — though little Bai Hou was male.

Silver dragons are melee dragons, golden dragons are magic-type dragons; under equal size, the golden dragon is always the one getting beaten up.

Brusk glared furiously, but facing a shameless dragon ancestor, this clan chief had no good option besides blowing his whiskers and glaring.

Great-grandmother Nai Aili's generation was already high enough, but Nai Ge Li Si's generation was even higher — and he was also the only dragon in the dragon race besides the legendary Dragon God to have ignited divine fire; his prestige was terrifyingly high.

If Nai Ge Li Si were willing to return to the dragon race, those giant dragons really couldn't say for sure whose word they'd follow.

After fuming for a while, Brusk said helplessly: "Then you shouldn't have tricked me either."

"Where did I trick you? Wasn't it you yourself who said — however much work Seeing Ange does, you do the same? Wasn't it you yourself who said that?" Nai Ge Li Si said with complete justification.

"I…, I…" Brusk was choked into speechlessness. Right, those words were his, but who could have expected Seeing Ange to be a freak?

He had originally thought that he, a dignified Truth realm expert, could finish in one or two spells what others toiled a whole year to do — as long as others could finish the work, he surely could do it easily too.

Who could have expected that this Lord Seeing Ange could work from morning till night, from night till morning, twenty-four hours nonstop without rest, even more capable than the donkeys in those slave teams.

However much Seeing Ange worked, he worked the same. Oh heavens, why did his cheap mouth have to say such a thing?!

"Eh? A merchant caravan is coming?? Quick, quick, quick, wave them down, let them try this road — how is it? Easy to walk?" Nai Ge Li Si spotted Eric and his group on the dune and hurriedly ordered.

Nai Aili was the god of the sandfolk; although she hadn't ignited divine fire, the people's devotion to her was no less, and Nai Ge Li Si, as Nai Aili's nominal spouse — what would that count as? God-husband?

Hearing the god-husband's order, the sandfolk quickly invited Eric and the others down.

The moment he set foot on the sandstone road, Eric keenly realized the desert might be about to change. If the people who built this road didn't have enough strength and time to guard it, then in the future, the bloodshed and storms surrounding this road would absolutely not be few.

This road would greatly shorten the merchant caravan's travel time to the oasis — a journey that originally took twelve days might, after the road was built, take only two or three.

In the future, detours like his would no longer be possible; others only needed two or three days to finish the road, but he needed over ten — a merchant caravan simply couldn't survive.

Following the road meant facing the sand bandits head-on. These two powerful mages had the ability to build such a road, but did they have the time to guard it?

For a moment, a thousand thoughts surged in Eric's heart, but when he looked up, he found everyone's attention wasn't on him, but concentrated on the tightly-wrapped companion behind him.

Eric's heart skipped a beat, thinking this is bad — clearly, those two powerful mages had already seen through his companion's identity.

But the two mages didn't seem all that interested; after a few glances, they went back to their work. The one with his nose in the air shouted loudly: "I don't care anymore, I'll do two more kilometers, then go to sleep. Don't wake me. When I wake up, however much is missing I'll make up."

Saying so, he strode forward at a great pace, running straight into the sand area. Wherever his bare feet stepped, the sand was like being pressed by an invisible giant foot, sinking down over a large area.

Step by step, the rough shape of a road was laid down. He ran all the way up the dune, ran to two kilometers out, then turned and ran back; the ground was pressed down a bit more. Repeating this several times, a two-kilometer sandstone road was forcibly stamped out.

This time Brusk finally couldn't take it anymore. Panting, he found an empty patch, dove headfirst in, and quickly sank into the sand.

Anyone with eyes could see Brusk had conceded defeat. His efficiency was high, but the magic he consumed was also great. Seeing Ange was slower, but enduring — in the short term Brusk won, but as time went on, Brusk was worn out like a dead dog.

Nai Ge Li Si stretched his long neck, snorted, turned his head and called out loudly: "Lisa, there's a lich among the guests, come over and entertain them."

Eric and his cloaked companion both stiffened, their hearts leaping to their throats: just as they feared, they'd been seen through — what to do?

What could they do? Within the sight of two powerful mages, he didn't dare do anything, and could only watch helplessly as a young woman in a black gauze skirt came before them.

"Eh, and a little girl at that?" Lisa saw the cloaked person at first glance and said delightedly.

Die then, die then — they didn't dare do anything anyway. Eric threw caution to the wind and said generously: "This Lady, calling her a little girl might not be quite right — this lady is already very old."

"Oh, how old?" Lisa asked curiously.

"This lady is already two hundred years old," Eric said.

"Ah?! Then that really isn't quite right. I'm already over a thousand — calling you a little girl would actually be calling you older." Lisa said worriedly.

Pfft — you, looking all dewy and tender, dare claim you're over a thousand? Eric nearly spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Fine, let's not dwell on this. Little one, take off your hood and let grandma have a look." Lisa said warmly.

The cloaked woman hesitated: "Maybe not — I'm not good-looking, afraid of scaring you."

"Haha, haha, business is at the door — I don't care if you're ugly. Beautification Spell, care to learn about it?" Lisa was as excited as a minotaur auntie pulling people in at the temple gate.