The Desert People’s Request

To fulfill their promise to the Desert People, Arthur, Morgan, Tristan, and Lancelot slipped away from Baron Carmine’s estate under the cover of night, heading toward the meeting place Miranda had specified.

They had brought only a minimal escort—drawing attention was the last thing they could afford.

“The desert at night sure is dark… and cold.”

Arthur muttered.

“Yes, quite. If we were to lose our way here, it would be disastrous.”

Morgan replied, her breath faintly visible in the chill air.

Arthur found himself missing Kei; she’d have kept him warm, no doubt. His melancholy musings were interrupted when Morgan spoke again—this time with unsettling realism.

She wasn’t wrong. The desert landscape never changed, the horizon endless and eerie. It wouldn’t take much imagination to picture ghosts wandering among the dunes. Alone, he’d probably be terrified.

“Please, don’t worry. I’ll protect you both,” Tristan declared confidently. “Besides, adversity is said to nurture love. By the time this journey ends, the two of you may find yourselves even closer.”

“…Mind your own business.”

Morgan shot back, glaring daggers at him.

Tristan chuckled, and even Lancelot smiled wryly. Watching them, Arthur recalled another time he’d said something foolish to Morgan and earned that same glare—he flinched at the memory.

Just then—

“My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Arthur.”

“—!!”

A sudden voice behind him made Arthur’s heart leap. For an instant, he thought it was a ghost.

“Oh, Lady Miranda.”

Lancelot greeted, turning toward the hooded figure.

“You’ve chosen quite a modest outfit tonight—it hides even your beauty. Such a waste.”

“I beg your pardon,” Miranda replied softly. “But I cannot risk standing out.”

Just as Lancelot said, she was wrapped head to toe in a hooded cloak, her face barely visible beneath the folds.

Arthur, puzzled, wondered why she’d disguise herself if they were heading to her people’s settlement. Morgan, however, had already pieced it together and frowned slightly.

“So, your Desert People aren’t united, are they?”

“Correct,” Miranda admitted. “Many oppose the idea of seeking help from outsiders. But… we cannot overcome this famine on our own.”

“I see,” Morgan said, folding her arms. “So that’s why your people stole the golden wheat, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’ll explain everything inside the carriage. It will be a rough ride—please forgive the discomfort.”

“Carriage? Not horses?”

Arthur asked.

Miranda smiled faintly.

“No. Horses aren’t ideal for the desert. Our mounts are far better—and very cute, once you get used to them.”

Arthur looked doubtful, but his question was soon answered.

“Whoa! This thing’s amazing—it’s fast! And kind of cool!”

“Isn’t it? This is Crimson Arrow, one of our finest sandworms!” Miranda said proudly. “See these lovely tendrils? They’re called lalabree—so elegant, aren’t they? And look at those big, round eyes! Adorable!”

Arthur’s eyes sparkled. “That’s awesome! It’s strong too, right? I wish we had one in Britannia!”

“Indeed! And since our lands are riddled with quicksand near the oasis, these creatures can sense it and steer around it. They’re essential to our survival.”

The “carriage” they rode was being pulled by none other than the same sandworm that had attacked them at the bazaar.

A massive, limbless beast racing across the desert at high speed—terrifying to most—but Arthur, with the heart of an overgrown child, was absolutely thrilled.

Morgan, however, was turning pale.

“You don’t look well,” Arthur said. “Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing… I just—dislike creatures that crawl. Snakes, worms… anything without legs.”

“Oh, I see. Then take my seat.”

Her discomfort drew genuine concern from Arthur. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him thought, She’s kind of snake-like herself. For once, he wisely kept it to himself.

He swapped seats, pleased to be closer to the window and the sandworm’s view—both considerate and selfish at once.

Once everyone had settled, Miranda finally began to speak.

“The threat facing the Desert People… surely you all know of the Army of the Dead, don’t you?”

At that name, everyone tensed—not just Arthur and Morgan, but even Tristan and Lancelot, who had been quietly listening from the back of the carriage.