Grade‑four cities were five to ten times stronger than any grade‑three city. Towns were generally weaker than cities, but yet there were certain towns whose strength surpassed cities of the same grade.
They remained as towns only by tradition, and the title attached to them was in name alone. Such territories were not to be underestimated.
Bland Town, however, was different. It was no unique territory, and that was why Salza Marble had the grit to take them on single‑handedly. In truth, his division alone was more than enough.
By its own strength, Bland Town might have matched against a single division of Sand‑Scale. But with another division added to the fray, that balance was shattered.
Yet never had they imagined that Bland Town would find themselves unexpected allies, multiplying its strength fivefold, while the Settlers remained ominously silent. No wonder their messenger had spoken so boldly when he last visited Sand‑Scale City—their plan had already been set in motion.
"Ahem." The Ninth Division Commander cleared his throat. "Tomorrow we will re‑attack Bland Town, and I am certain they are prepared. In their case, defense is more favorable than attack, since we brought the battle to their doors.
"But remember, warriors—we have our brothers with us, and the god of Sand‑Scale is closer than ever. We cannot fail a second time!" Salza's gaze was etched with determination.
The bitterness in his voice seemed to carry something else, and the power behind it started to wash away every trace of fear. The captains felt their fear gradually being dissolved and replaced by renewed vigor.
"We can't fail. We won't fail!!" Their booming voices reverberated through the chamber, spilling beyond its walls. Warriors outside started echoing the cry, and soon the chant spread like wildfire.
The very air seemed to tremble, then became still.
The hidden spies from the enemy camp, concealed among the towering trees, began to grow restless. Their faces darkened as they struggled to understand what had sparked such a surge in morale among the once‑depressed warriors.
Some of them quickly retreated into the forest. The message had to be delivered.
___
The day broke bright, the sky fully lit, pouring its natural radiance across the land that had once been shrouded in darkness.
Within a tent, two silhouettes lay coolly, uncaring of the dangers that troubled the region. It was as though they owned the land itself—or had paid for protection.
They had slept past dawn, despite their agreement to begin their arduous journey before it settled. The angle at which they lay was indeed careless, relying blindly on the protective measures they had set.
Suddenly, a cold breeze swept into the tent, the thin cotton veil offering no resistance. The fabric started dancing wildly as the chill overwhelmed the room, filling it with a biting aura.
Ballock, who was lying directly in its path felt it most keenly, his eyes darting lazily into the distance. Nonetheless, what he saw seemed to freeze his breath, almost paralyzed to death.
A hurricane, vast beyond belief, was closing in with terrifying speed. A colossal wall of dust rose with it, swallowing everything in its path. Without hesitation, Ballock rushed to Blood, tapping him hard, which was more of a slap than a tap.
Blood opened his bleary eyes, meeting Ballock's uneasy gaze. He was about to bob back into rest when the cold aura intensified, chilling his bones further. The horses hitched outside neighed frantically, their cries piercing the air.
Blood turned a questioning gaze toward Ballock, who responded briskly, his voice trembling, "A curse is upon this region—we must leave immediately."
The sheer size of the hurricane was staggering. Ballock didn't even wait for Blood's reply as he began packing their belongings with haste, stowing everything away.
Blood stepped out with a confused expression, only to find Ballock already dismantling the tent and soon mounted his horse.
His gaze drifted toward the horizon—and his eyes widened in shock as he beheld the monstrous storm. A towering hurricane loomed in the distance, its vast body swallowing the land as it advanced.
Without hesitation, Blood hastily climbed onto his mount and urged it forward, faster and faster. The pounding of hooves echoed like thunder as they escaped.
They abandoned the defensive and alarming formations they had set prior, caring only for escape. They dared not stay a second longer.
Only when they had left the hurricane far behind did they breathe in relief. Although its size had not yet diminished, its pace had slowed considerably. They both exhaled heavily, before turning their horses around, pressing onward.
They didn't know how far the storm would reach, nor did they care or wish to probe further. They had a long journey ahead of them.
As they rode, Ballock explained the peculiarity of the occurrence, giving Blood clarity. It appeared to be a natural occurrence, which was born of the icy environment that covered the region.
After crossing treacherous lands riddled with vicious beast attacks at intervals, they finally reached a village. Its size was strange and mutable, as though it could be enshrined or diminished at will.
Following the winding path, Ballock and Blood both trailed into it. They were cloaked in casual black robes, which concealed their identities. They had heard from the whip lady that the Ninth Division Commander of Sand-Scale had placed a massive reward for any word of their whereabouts.
Anyone who managed to bring them back safely would be compensated heavily. Blood supposed he was a big deal in the surrounding territories. There was a high chance that someone might recognize him, then capture him, and deliver him home.
It wasn't out of loyalty, but for the exorbitant reward!
Without hesitation, Blood entered the town, his hood drawn low, slowing his horse's gait. The villagers murmured and instinctively parted, giving way to the two unknown figures as they passed.
The village head quickly received word and hurried to greet the visitors. He didn't know if they were troublesome wanderers or explorers seeking refuge.
Explorers were usually warriors of goodwill, and are welcomed by all, for they helped reduce the number of beasts that prowled the region. Those beasts could otherwise infiltrate and bring calamity upon any settlement.
Still, one detail had compelled the village head to come personally—their mounts.
The horses the guests rode were overwhelming, radiating an aura that silenced any doubt. People who rode such beasts would never glance twice at the humble village, unless calamity was eminent.
Thinking about a calamity, the village head already had someone in mind.
No doubt, riding high‑tier mounts was seen as a mark of honor and respect. For this village, it was rare to receive guests whose mounts they couldn't comprehend.
As a result, the village head refrained from probing their cultivation, because he knew that riders of such caliber were often of remarkable status and formidable strength, even if this two appeared young. To offend them would be stupid.
He quickly offered the same respect he reserved for people of high standing. "Welcome, respected masters. I wonder what this humble village could possibly offer you." he said earnestly, a broad smile on his face, while those behind him bowed deeply.
The duo atop the mounts exchanged a glance, momentarily dumbstruck by the gesture. But they didn't question it and instead replied with courtesy.
"It is an honor to be graced by your presence, senior. We ask for nothing more than a place to replenish our energy for the next hour or so. I trust you understand." Ballock said politely, his tone measured, his eyes subtly fixed on the village head.
He had sensed that person had the highest cultivation among them. If no fault was found with them, then it would be nice to proceed calmly.