Chapter 131: Boneyard desert
"Seriously? I hate portals now." Rhys cursed as he walked out of the shimmering portal, retching.
The world was no longer black and silent. It was filled with a low, mournful whistle, the sound of wind blowing over a vast and empty land.
Rhys’s eyes adjusted quickly. He found himself standing on a surface of fine, white sand that was hot to the touch even through the soles of his boots.
He was still holding Emma’s hand. He looked around, his senses taking in the new, harsh environment.
The first thing he noticed was the air. It wasn’t just air. It was thick and heavy, saturated with a rich, potent energy that was almost a physical presence.
He took a single, deep breath, and his entire body reacted. His 108 Ascendent Cores, which had been spinning at a slow, steady pace, suddenly flared to life.
They began to absorb the ambient spiritual energy with a desperate, frantic hunger. It was like a starving man being placed in the middle of a grand banquet.
The Qi of this new world was so pure, so dense, it was a hundred times richer than the thin, diluted energy of the world he had left behind.
Emma stumbled beside him, letting out a small gasp. Her body, less resilient than his, was overwhelmed by the sudden influx of power.
A faint, green glow appeared around her as her own cultivation technique struggled to adapt to the new, rich environment.
"The Warden was right," Rhys thought, a cold, profound understanding settling in his mind.
"Our entire world was a prison. A quarantine zone starved of true power."
He felt the energy flowing into him, a constant, effortless stream. He didn’t even have to try to cultivate; his body was doing it on its own, soaking up the power like a dry sponge.
He quickly made a calculation. If he were to simply sit here, in this desert, and do nothing but cultivate, he was certain he could break through to Tier 5 within a year.
Tier 6 would not be a distant dream.
The bottlenecks that other cultivators spent their entire lives trying to overcome simply would not exist in a place with such a potent essence.
His entire life, his entire journey of cultivation, had been done on hard mode. He had escaped the cage.
He finally took in his surroundings. They were in a desert, but it was unlike any desert he had ever imagined.
The sand was not golden or red; it was a stark, bleached white, like powdered bone.
The sky above was a pale, washed-out blue, and the sun was a merciless, white-hot orb that beat down on them without a single cloud for cover.
The most striking feature of the landscape was the bones.
Everywhere he looked, colossal skeletons lay half-buried in the white sand. They were the remains of creatures so large they defied imagination.
Massive ribcages, bigger than the castle they had just left, formed long, curving arches against the sky.
Vertebrae the size of carriages were scattered across the dunes.
A single, giant skull, its empty eye sockets staring at the relentless sun, was half-buried in a nearby sand dune, its jawbone alone the size of a small house.
[Boneyard desert.]
The memory unlocked in his mind on his own.
This was the Boneyard Desert. It was a graveyard of gods.
Emma, having recovered from the initial shock of the transition, opened her mother’s book, her fingers tracing a map on one of the pages.
"According to the charts, we have arrived at the western edge of the desert," she said, her voice a little rough from the dry air.
"The next portal, the one that leads deeper into the network, is in the Whispering Mire, which is to the east, across this desert."
"How long will it take to cross?" Rhys asked, his voice practical.
She studied the map. "My mother’s notes are based on ancient records. They are not precise. But she estimated... at least a month of travel on foot."
A month. In this. Rhys looked out at the endless expanse of white sand and giant bones.
There was no sign of water, no sign of vegetation, no sign of life. A month in this place would be a death sentence for any normal person.
"We need to find shelter," he said. The midday sun was already brutal. They could not stay out in the open for long.
He spotted a massive, arched ribcage about a mile away. It would provide some shade.
"That way."
They began to walk. The sand was fine and deep, and every step was an effort. The heat was tiring.
After only a few minutes, Emma was already breathing heavily, a fine sheen of sweat on her brow.
Rhys, with his inhuman constitution, was unaffected by the heat, but he knew she could not last long like this.
He stopped.
"Wait." He took a stamina-recovery pill from his spatial pouch, one of the ones he had made before they left. "Here. This will help."
She took the pill without a word and swallowed it. A moment later, a look of relief washed over her face as a cool, refreshing energy spread through her body.
They continued their journey. It took them nearly an hour to reach the giant ribcage. It was even bigger up close.
The curved bones were as thick as ancient trees and provided a wide patch of deep, cool shade.
They sat down in the sand, grateful for the relief from the sun.
"We need a plan," Rhys said, looking out at the shimmering, white landscape.
"We cannot travel during the day. The heat will kill us. We will have to travel at night and rest during the day."
"What about water?" Emma asked, her voice full of a practical worry.
"And food?"
"I have enough supplies for a few weeks," Rhys said. "But we will need to find a source of water soon. Your mother’s maps... do they show any oases? Any sources of life in this desert?"
She shook her head, a look of frustration on her face.
"Her notes on this place are sparse. The ancient texts only described it as the ’Land of White Death’. They said it was a place where nothing lived."
Rhys frowned. Something felt wrong. This place was a desert, yes, but it was also a place of immense spiritual power.
The bones of these colossal creatures still hummed with a faint, residual energy.
A place with this much energy should not be completely devoid of life. Life, especially monstrous life, was always drawn to power.
As if to answer his unspoken thought, he saw a flicker of movement in the distance.
It was small, a pale shape skittering across the white sand. Then he saw another, and another.
They were moving with a strange, unnatural speed, their forms low to the ground, almost blending in with the bone-white sand.
He stood up, his hand on his sword. "We have company."
Emma stood up beside him, her own hand on her dagger. She followed his gaze and saw the approaching figures.
There were about a dozen of them. As they got closer, their forms became clear.
They were horrific creatures. They were about the size of large hyenas, but their bodies were pale and hairless, their skin a sickly, translucent white.
They moved on four long, powerful legs that ended in sharp, black claws that looked like they were made of obsidian.
Their faces were featureless, except for a wide, vertical slit that ran down the center. As they ran, the slit opened, revealing a circular maw filled with rows of needle-like teeth.
[Ossian Stalkers]
They were Ossian Stalkers, the ghouls of the Boneyard Desert.
They did not rush forward in a mindless charge. They spread out, fanning into a wide, semi-circle, their movements coordinated and tactical.
They were surrounding them.
"Stay behind me," Rhys said, his voice a low command.
The Ossian Stalkers stopped about a hundred feet away. They did not make a sound.
They just watched, their lipless maws opening and closing silently. It was a test, a silent assessment of their prey.
One of them, slightly larger than the others, took a step forward. It opened its mouth wide and let out a high-pitched, screeching sound that grated on the ears. It was a signal.
They attacked.
They moved with a terrifying, unnatural speed, their obsidian claws digging into the sand, kicking up clouds of white dust.
They came from all sides at once, a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm and confuse.
Rhys moved. He drew his simple iron sword, its plain blade looking out of place in this strange, new world.
The first Ossian Stalker lunged, its circular maw snapping, aiming for his legs. Rhys did not parry.
He simply took a small step to the side, letting the creature’s attack pass by him. In the same fluid motion, he brought his sword down in a clean, vertical arc.
The blade, infused with his pure, neutral Qi, struck the creature’s back.
There was a loud crack. The sword cut clean through the creature’s pale hide and shattered the spine beneath.
The Stalker let out a silent, psychic scream of pain and collapsed into a twitching heap.
Two more came at him from the sides. He met them with a flurry of precise, efficient strikes.
He did not waste a single movement. He was not just fighting; he was learning. He noted their speed, their attack patterns, the strength of their hides.
A normal Tier 3 beast from the Wastelands would have been a clumsy brute compared to these cunning, fast predators.
Crack. Crack.
Two more Ossian Stalkers fell, their bodies broken. The fight was fast and brutal. Rhys moved among them like a phantom, his simple iron sword a blur of motion.
He was not a flashy fighter. He was an efficient killer.
In less than a minute, it was over. Rhys stood in the middle of a circle of twitching, pale bodies.
The last of the Ossian Stalkers, the large one that had given the signal, let out another high-pitched screech and, with a surprising burst of speed, turned and fled, disappearing into the shimmering heat haze of the desert.
It had been a scouting party. And the survivor was now returning to its nest to report.
Rhys walked over to one of the dead creatures. He prodded it with his sword.
The creature’s blood was not red; it was a thick, milky-white fluid that sizzled on the hot sand.
Emma walked over, her face pale but her expression resolute. She looked at the strange, dead creatures.
"What were they?"
"Scavengers," Rhys said. He looked out at the vast, empty desert.
"But they were organized. That means there is a nest. And a queen."
He looked back at the giant ribcage that was their shelter.
"We are not safe here," he said. He looked up at the merciless sun, then back at the endless white sand.
They had just arrived, and they had already been marked as prey.
"We rest until nightfall," he said, his voice a low, determined rumble.
"Then, we go hunting."