Dialogue With The Desert People

“The Army of the Dead should already have been destroyed…”

“Yes. I saw it myself—Prince Arthur defeated them brilliantly,” Morgan affirmed.

It had been a dreadful battle. Everyone had unleashed their magic because of Elaine’s recklessness, and those locust-like monsters that hurled themselves at him… even though Arthur hadn’t felt pain, he still remembered the disgusting squirming against his body. The memory alone made him shudder.

He might have recalled it lightly, but for Britannia, it was no trivial feat. Not only had he slain one of the Five Great Beasts, he had done so while aiding what was technically an enemy faction. It would be many years before Arthur realized that this battle would one day be remembered as a historic event.

“Yes, we’ve heard the rumors,” Miranda said. “However, several remnants of the Army of the Dead survived and fled into our territory.”

“I see… so you want Arthur, who defeated the main force, to exterminate the rest?” Morgan asked.

“No,” Miranda replied, shaking her head. “Fortunately, there were few survivors, and we managed to destroy them. But our food stores were ruined in the process. All our crops perished. At this rate, next year’s harvest will be impossible.”

Her tone was heavy with grief. And now that Arthur looked closer, even Miranda—who seemed to hold authority among her people—appeared gaunt, her cheeks slightly hollow.

“So that’s why your people stole the golden wheat?”

“Yes. Of course, it was not the will of all Desert People. But that’s how dire our famine has become. Even the golden wheat—renowned for its magical potency—refuses to grow in the desert soil.”

Arthur frowned.

“Then why do you need me? Sure, I did multiply the golden wheat with magic, but that was just a fluke that happened during the battle with the Army of the Dead. My presence won’t solve your food crisis, will it?”

“That’s because—”

“Enemy attack!!”

Miranda’s answer was cut short when the cart suddenly jolted. Tristan’s shout rang out, and Lancelot was already drawing his weapon.

“What’s happening?”

Arthur asked, gripping the side of the wagon.

An arrow whizzed past the window, embedding itself in the wood. Miranda bit her lip.

“Damn it… so they truly refuse to accept outsiders after all.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked sharply. “Those clothes, those weapons—they look like your own people.”

Arthur leaned out the window. In the distance, faint points of fire dotted the dark horizon—perhaps the Desert People’s village.

Between them and the lights stood a group of dark-skinned warriors wielding curved scimitars and bows, blocking the path.

Miranda blew her flute, and the sandworm began to slow until it stopped completely before them.

“So this is where you went, Miranda? Bringing Britannians to our village? Have you lost your mind!?” shouted the man at their head.

“Brother, our tribe is in peril! We must borrow the wisdom and strength of outsiders if we’re to survive this trial!”

“Trust Britannians? Have you forgotten what they did to Lyra!?”

“But—!”

The two siblings’ shouting match made the others sigh wearily—apparently, this sort of thing was normal.

Arthur, meanwhile, blinked. Wait—Miranda’s the daughter of the chieftain?

While he mulled that over, Lancelot murmured under his breath, voice tinged with disdain.

“They’ve learned nothing… to ignore Lyra’s dying wish like this.”

His tone was ice-cold, almost murderous. Arthur stiffened at the chill that ran through the air and glanced questioningly at Morgan, who shook her head—she didn’t know either.

“You… you’re Lancelot? Then this was your plan all along—to trick Miranda and destroy us, just like you did with Lyra!”

“Brother, stop!”

Miranda cried, but it was too late.

The chieftain, his face pale with fear of Lancelot, loosed an arrow. It struck the sandworm squarely—thankfully, the creature was unharmed, but it reared in panic, thrashing wildly.

“Whoa—?!”

“Lord Arthur!!”

And so it happened that, just as Arthur reached for a cookie, the cart bucked violently, sending him tumbling out—straight into a patch of quicksand.

Lancelot and Miranda lunged to grab his hands, but the three of them were pulled under together, swallowed by the shifting sands.