The loud cheers of the crowd during the duel had echoed far, attracting unwanted attention from beasts roaming the desert. This had inevitably led to their current situation: an impending beast attack. The roars of over a hundred beasts charging toward them sent the crowd into a panic. Ordinary citizens ran amok while the warriors tried to coordinate a hasty response and direct the civilians toward their homes. “Get up. We have to hold them back while the civilians get ready to travel,” Bjorn urged Martel as he handed the chief his dropped spear. Martel was shaken by the sight before him. In all his life, he had never experienced a beast wave of this caliber, and he now understood why Bjorn was angry with him. If he had listened to the young mage earlier, they wouldn’t be in this precarious situation. Calming his heart, he grabbed the spear with a nod and began barking orders to his subordinates. They faced daunting odds of surviving this deadly battle, but, as with all danger, th

The group's arrival in the city drew attention, and their unique situation—most of them bloodied—left the citizens of Oasis City reeling in fear. Bjorn and the warriors of the tribe were caked in blood—some their own, and the rest from the beasts they had slain—but even in that situation, one person stood out.Bjorn looked like a demon who had crawled out of the deepest pits of hell. His clothes, practically rags, barely clung to his body by loose threads. He seemed to have bathed in the blood of his enemies, which covered every inch of him except for his purple eyes, gleaming with excitement as he stared at the city before him, ignoring the guards who had surrounded him, their hands on their weapons, ready to react to his slightest move.The guards had identified him as a foreigner because of the difference in his outfit. Even as rags, they differed from the traditional garbs of the desert tribes, and his bloody appearance did him no favors as the guards perceived him as a threat. Th