Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 138

The village of Nuwas, built around a massive oasis, was one of the few settlements in the desert. And large oases as such were treasures beyond price.

An oasis was not simply a hollow filled with rainwater. Ponds formed that way dried out quickly under the blazing heat and arid winds. True oases were born from groundwater rising from deep beneath the earth, untouched by sun or burning sand.

That water welled up to the surface, forming a lake, feeding dying seeds, and nurturing vegetation rarely seen in the desert. Trees several, even dozens of meters tall, grew where even cacti struggled to survive. The sight of Nuwas, ringed by tall palm trees, was a wonder birthed by nature itself.

“Wow! There really is a village in the middle of the desert!” Elahan exclaimed with a bright smile at the exotic scenery.

Leon and Karen felt the same. The vastness of the sand could grow tiresome after hours, but this view held a majesty greater than even the most bustling city.

From the hill, they could see straight into the village, and just the number of people walking about looked to exceed a thousand.

“With this many people, no wonder the Guild has a branch here,” Karen muttered, half-chastened at having doubted Rahmu’s words.

“Well, nomads can’t spend every day of the year wandering. Relying only on barter for food and water—miss one opportunity, and it’s a disaster,” Leon said. “And it’s hard enough to fix a time and place to meet regularly. Looking at this town, I still can’t say the desert is a place fit to live.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

They couldn’t just stand on the ridge watching forever. Soon, they slid down the slope toward Nuwas’s gate. Sand splashed aside like waves as they skidded down.

I heard in the northern snowfields, they have shoes made to travel snowy paths... would those work here?

El-Cid suddenly piped up.

—You mean skis? You’re right. Desert sand is fine-grained, smooth, with no obstacles, so skiing wouldn’t be impossible. The problem would be all the frequent uphill climbs.

Skis had been developed as a means of transport in snowy regions, and their utility was remarkable. One nation had even trained ski soldiers as a formal branch of its military.

If not for the Clyde Empire’s mages sweeping away the snow with overwhelming firepower, the Northern Unification War might not have ended so quickly.

The speed of sliding down sand was considerable as well. Before long, the three arrived before the guards of Nuwas.

One warrior leveled his spear with a shout.

“Who goes there!”

None of the three felt threatened, but Leon courteously stepped back two paces before speaking.

“We are adventurers from the Guild’s Jugend branch. Would you like to see the quest papers?”

“Hm, let me see.”

Leon displayed the documents for the Western Great Desert Dispute Mediation quest. The guard glanced at them, then gestured with a wave. The other guards lowered their spears.

Handing the papers back, the guard asked, “Do you have proof of identity?”

“Yes. Will our Guild plaques suffice?”

“Of course. Nuwas has a Guild branch as well, so membership should validate your credibility.”

When the three produced two gold plaques and a silver, the guard’s eyes widened. He was clearly aware of the Guild’s ranking system.

“Two golds and a silver...?! The Guild must see this as serious indeed.”

A-rank adventurers were hard to afford and even harder to move. For national-scale incidents like the Great Vein expedition, perhaps. However, the desert dispute was just another recurring conflict. Dispatching two A-ranks for such a matter made little financial sense.

“You may pass! We entrust this quest to you, adventurers!”

Over a dozen guards raised their spears in salute, and the way ahead opened as villagers turned to stare. It was an unspoken plea: lend your strength to the nomads’ cause. Leon’s group gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and passed beneath the crossed spears into Nuwas.

The oasis didn’t make the air cooler. If anything, the humidity weighed it down, wringing sweat from their bodies.

“And the Guild is... Oh. It’s right there,” Karen muttered dryly as if deflated, spotting it before even finishing her turn in place.

From the hill, she had already suspected it: Nuwas’ facilities for visitors were all clustered on the outskirts, separate from the residents’ quarters.

“Well, let’s stop by the Guild first. We can look for lodgings and food after,” Leon suggested.

“Fine by me!”

“As you wish, Leon.”

Conscious of the crowd’s eyes, Elahan called him by name instead of “Hero.”

The Guild was close. In less than five minutes, they stood before its doors.

As they pushed the door open, the hinges groaned unpleasantly, sand likely caught in them. A staff member behind the counter lifted his head, bleary-eyed.

“Welcome.”

He even yawned as he extended his hand. No newcomers came to the desert, so visitors clearly came on a quest.

However, his nonchalance ended there. The instant he saw the two gold plaques, he fell from his chair. When his eyes caught Elahan’s falsified identity listed on the paperwork, he nearly convulsed.

“Two A-ranks and... a Holy Iron Inquisitor?! Why would someone of your caliber take this quest?”

His eyes darted nervously, wondering if this was the Guild’s hidden quest. Such people were far beyond the pay grade of a desk clerk like him.

Leon, however, brushed it aside and said, “We had business in the Great Desert anyway. Thought we’d take care of this while we were at it.”

“Ah, I see... I see.” Finally regaining his composure at Leon’s words, the clerk breathed a sigh of relief and asked, “Then, how may I assist you?” in a tone far more polite than just a few seconds ago.

Leon considered, then recalled Rahmu’s request, realizing he should ask indirectly. The disappearances had not yet reached the public. Mentioning them now would only cause panic.

“First, I’d like information on where nomads and beastkin are clashing, what rights they’re fighting for, and who’s handling negotiations.”

“Ah, we have documents prepared on that...”

“And,” Leon added before the man could finish. “If there are caravans or tribes that have gone unusually quiet lately, I’d like that as well.”

“Is... Is this also related to the quest?”

“Yes.”

Leon answered firmly. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough.

He added, “Before reaching Nuwas, we encountered a patrol led by a man named Rahmu.”

“Rahmu... Ah! The Bedouin chief’s eighteenth son!”

“I didn’t know his rank, but he was leading over fifty warriors. It seemed... grim. Perhaps the Bedouin don’t intend to let this incident end as lightly as before.”

The conjecture was stitched together, but coming from a gold-plaque-carrying adventurer and tied to a real name and movement, it sounded like a serious threat. The clerk’s hands shook.

“Y-you mean... a war might break out?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Our role is to stop it before it even starts. If the Guild supports us, it will help immensely.”

At last, the man understood and responded fervently, “Understood! I, Hans, will gather every piece of information you need!”

“Thank you.”

“And... this may or may not be of help, but...” Hans trailed off cautiously before adding, “Tonight, in the central square of Nuwas, a duel is set. Over the rights to a pasture on the frontier.”

“A duel, not a negotiation?” Leon asked, surprised.

“The nomads and beastkin prefer blades to words. Talk without strength is ignored, and the victor’s word is law. Whenever there’s a dispute, they settle it by duel.”

Paradoxically, it wasn’t such a bad system. Despite repeated clashes, neither side’s population had diminished.

Because replenishing numbers was hard, they avoided large battles. Instead, they sent champions forward to duel, a tradition that had hardened into custom.

“A duel, huh...”

Leon’s eyes lit with possibility. Convincing masses was never easy. Their demands and aims were too varied. However, if one duel could compel a leader and their followers with them, then ending the conflict might not be so difficult.

“Hans.”

“Yes!”

Leon tapped the hilt of his sword with a confident grin and asked, “About tonight’s duel... Would it be possible for my party and me to serve as overseers?”

***

That night, Hans managed to push Leon’s proposal through without delay. The supposedly lazy clerk turned out to have more authority than expected. Perhaps it was because this branch had no Guildmaster and only a few middle managers.

Nuwas might seem large, but that was only by desert standards. Outside the sands, it was no more than a modest town.

“Overseers, eh? A clever idea,” Karen said, setting down her fork in praise of Leon’s judgment.

The only thing left on her plate was a long, picked-clean bone, proof of her satisfaction with the meal. She had the snake dish.

“Eek! I... I really can’t eat this!” Elahan shuddered at the sight, sneaking glances at the remains.

Unlike Karen, who ate just about anything, Elahan had a weak stomach. Snake roasts and scorpion stew were well beyond her tolerance. Leon hadn’t eaten much either, just picking at bread and soup.

He said, “If it doesn’t suit you, then it can’t be helped. Next time, we’ll ask for something more familiar.”

With a wry smile, Leon rose from his seat. It was nearly time for the duel to begin in the square. They paid a few silver coins and vaulted over the railing, heading toward Nuwas’ center. The village wasn’t large, so they arrived in no time.

Finding the dueling ground was simple. Though temporary, the ring had been fenced in with wooden stakes to look somewhat official. Crowds swarmed around it, eager to watch the nomads and beastkin clash.

As Leon’s party arrived, Hans spotted them and hurried over. He looked as if he had been nervous, afraid they might be late.

“Ah! You’re here! It’ll start any moment. Mr. Leon, please climb the watchtower and give the signal to begin.”

“Are there any other rules?”

“Only these: do not kill a foe who yields. Do not harm the spectators. No excessive personal attacks. Beyond that, explosives, poison, and outside interference are forbidden.”

“Reasonable enough.”

The rules were ordinary. After hearing Hans’s reminders, Leon climbed the watchtower that overlooked the arena.

From there, he saw things not visible below—namely, the champions of both sides, the chosen representatives of the nomads and beastkin, limbering up.

That must be Zahar, the Bedouin champion.

Unlike the others, he wore a black turban, making him easy to pick out. Even from a distance, Leon could feel the prickle of his Aura—power spilling outward from a fighter at the peak.

He was an expert-level warrior. One chance encounter, one breakthrough, and he could step into the realm of Master.

He uses a shamshir. Judging from his stance and movements...

—A swift blade, El-Cid said languidly. —The shamshir is one of the swords that inspired the modern scimitar. Its curved form is made for cutting. Naturally, a style of quick, dazzling strikes is the most efficient with it.

So, speed and flourish, then.

—Even if he’s mastered those deeply, there’s not enough weight behind them. If all you’ve got is speed and flair, you may as well use a rapier.

In many ways, it was a harsh evaluation. Leon swallowed a bitter laugh and shifted his gaze away from Zahar.

On the opposite side stood the beastkin’s champion. And then, El-Cid let out a curious sound.

—Hm? Strange... that one feels familiar.

Familiar? Don’t tell me you know that beastkin?

—No way. They don’t live that long. Their age shows much the same as humans. Even if one reaches the Master’s realm, it’s not like they grow younger, or anything.

Then are you mistaken?

—You think I’m you?

You damned hunk of scrap!

As the two bickered, the champions strode forward. Somehow, the sun had already set.

Drums thundered, raising the tension. With a single leap, both champions cleared the five-meter fence and faced one another in the ring.

Nomads versus beastkin. The duel that would decide the pride of both peoples was about to begin.