Chapter 37: Before the Monsoon Arrives

Like a worm, he clung to the violently swaying rope, inching his way upward.

His movements were ungainly, but at least his grip was firm enough to prevent a fall.

"Faster! In actual combat, you won't have the luxury of climbing at your own leisure!" came the stern rebuke from the fleet captain, standing aboard the fishing ship used to simulate the Jhen Mohran.

Aurang tried to pick up the pace, but truthfully, while he had practiced rock climbing, few people bothered to train specifically for rope climbing—it was a rarely needed skill. It was only thanks to a hunter’s powerful grip and exceptional sense of balance that he managed to hang on without being shaken off. To expect him to move with agility and speed was asking too much; surely even an elite hunter like Senior Seil couldn't manage that...

"Don't rely on your arms! Use your legs to push your body upward!" Seil, already standing on the deck of the fishing ship, waved his hand while shouting advice.

*How is he already up there?!*

Aurang looked up in astonishment. Just then, a crosswind struck. The small sand-skiff trailing behind the fishing ship lurched violently, and Asa, responsible for steering it, scrambled to adjust the rudder to stabilize the vessel. In the process, the rope connecting the two ships went slack before snapping taut again. Caught off guard, Aurang was flung from the rope.

"Aurang!" Seil exclaimed, reaching out from the deck, but the distance was too great. He could only watch helplessly as Aurang tumbled into the sea of sand.

"Hah," the fleet captain sighed. "Don't be so nervous. He was born and raised on these sands; he knows how to protect himself."

Despite the captain's words, Seil could not hide his concern. Fortunately, only minutes later, another sand-skiff retrieved the sand-covered Aurang and brought him back to the fishing ship. Aurang was covered in dust, his face and arms bearing several abrasions, looking quite wretched, but thanks to his quick reaction to tuck his body and minimize the impact, he had avoided serious injury.

"In a real battle, that mistake would have meant you were out—or dead. You understand that, right?" The captain stared at him, his tone severe.

"...Yes."

Seeing Aurang’s somber expression, the captain’s tense face relaxed slightly.

"Good. And for the record, I was bluffing earlier. In actual combat, you’ll be tethered by safety lines. If you fall, you can climb back to the skiff using the line." The captain paused for a second. "But don't think a safety line makes you invincible. If you lose consciousness the moment you fall and fail to climb back, you’ll likely be dragged to death by the high-speed skiff. If you are severely injured and unable to climb, you must cut the safety line, understand? I have no desire to see a mangled corpse still trailing from a skiff after a battle concludes."

...

The fleet conducted joint drills every two to three days, spending the remaining time on rigorous maintenance and repairs to ensure the ships were always in peak condition for deployment. The training proved effective; Aurang, who once hung from the ropes like a worm, could now nimbly scale the nearly vertical and violently swaying rigging.

Seil’s hands-on demonstrations played a significant part in this progress. In terms of sheer climbing speed, many veterans in the skiff fleet couldn't compare to him. That he could master even such an obscure skill so brilliantly only deepened Aurang's respect for his senior.

As the monsoon season drew nearer, merchants and tourists poured in, making Loc Lac City increasingly bustling, while the atmosphere within the sand-skiff fleet grew ever more somber. The so-called monsoon season was not a precise solar term; scholars could only estimate the timeframe by analyzing historical data. In reality, the northern monsoon was capricious; it could arrive early or late. Even if a sandstorm were to descend this very moment, it would be no surprise.

To avoid being caught off guard, the fleet halted all joint drills and ordered all personnel to remain at the docks, ready to sortie at a moment's notice. For someone as restless as Asa, these days felt like being in prison. He spent his time wishing to take a skiff out for a joyride, claiming it was to keep his instincts sharp, only to be reprimanded by the captain.

For others, however, this time was strangely fulfilling—Aurang, for instance. He spent his days following Seil, training and brazenly asking for pointers on sword-and-shield techniques. It was only because of Seil’s good nature and willingness to mentor juniors that he hadn't lost his patience.

During their training, Aurang discovered that even setting aside the bizarre "intruder techniques" like Demon Mode or charged slashes, Seil’s style of using the sword and shield was fundamentally different from his own. His own style was purely offensive; everything was for the sake of the attack. He used his shield as a hammer or an axe, and even when he blocked, it was merely to create an opening for the next strike.

Seil, however, possessed an extremely cautious combat style. He wielded his shield—barely half a meter in diameter—with the immovable stability of a heavy weapon like a lance or gunlance. Yet, to mistake him for a purely defensive fighter would be a grave error. On the contrary, Seil was adept at using the gaps in his defense to shift his position through sliding and dashing, slipping into the blind spots beneath a monster to launch counterattacks.

The integration of stability and agility—two qualities that should have been mutually exclusive—was seamless in him, completely altering Aurang's perception of the sword and shield as a "beginner's weapon." With his natural talent and Seil’s unreserved guidance, Aurang soon mastered the maneuver Seil called the "sliding slash." Of course, he had only mastered the motion; applying it in actual combat would require further training and experience.

This growth was not one-sided. Initially, Seil had simply intended to help a junior, but through these exchanges, he gained much from this eccentric youth. He couldn't learn the strange Demon Mode flurries or charged slashes, but many of Aurang’s unconventional ideas gave him significant inspiration. His personal notebook was filled with these odd thoughts; while most were nonsensical, he felt certain he could extract something meaningful from them.

If possible, they both wished for these calm days to last longer, but clearly, the arrival of the desert monsoon would not change for anyone’s sake.

Deep in the sea of sand, north of Loc Lac.

The hot-air balloon responsible for monitoring the monsoon floated at high altitude as usual. Due to the lack of moisture and clouds in the desert, visibility was immense on clear days. Suddenly, the small anemometer used to measure wind speed began to whirl, catching the attention of the Wyverian scholar from the Elder Dragon Observation Bureau.

The elderly yet agile scholar raised his binoculars, peering toward the north.

On the horizon, where sand dunes rose and fell, the dust stirred up by the gale looked like an endless, gray-yellow wall, moving forward slowly but inexorably.

The scholar threw his binoculars aside and fired a signal flare.

The monsoon had arrived.