CHAPTER 119: CAPITAL OF KLAKKU

The desert was a cruel thing to tread through.

I’ve spent eight hours, eight god damn grueling hours on a lumbering camel that I stole from a grandma at the border after beating her with a stick, and I was already questioning whether I should just ask Ann to build another teleporter, it should take like a minute at best for the two of us... But eh, god damn moral promise of only using it in dire emergency.

The sun was a hammer above my head, no clouds to soften its blows. My legally-obtained camel shifted under me with every sluggish step, its long neck swaying like a pendulum that mocked my patience, it was like the thing moved slow on purpose and was waiting for me to pass out so it could eat my corpse.

I had wrapped a scarf around my head to keep the worst of the heat off, but sweat still glued the fabric to my skin, now every breath of air tasted like dust.

The horizon was endless, nothing but sand dunes that went on for miles, sometimes I we would walk by a cactus, and I would watch as a the camel casually chomp on the fruit with all the itty bitty spikes and tips intact. It was quite interesting and dull the boredom during those eight hours of doing nothing... In the PC version, at this speed, I’ll just need around four or five to reach the capital city, so the map was indeed, way larger than before.

Here and there, reminders of those who lost their gamble with the desert decorated the path. Half-buried skeletons bleached bone-white, rusted armor glinting faintly as if it still wanted to shine for future warriors.

Landmarks broke the monotony, an old stone obelisk, cracked yet stood upright, carved with lizardman script I couldn’t read right now, a natural arch of rock shaped like a claw reaching out of the sand. Sometimes I spotted mirages wavering in the distance... water, or maybe a city, but every time, the desert laughed and replaced them with nothing.

Not that I was completely alone, at times, I spotted other travelers drifted in and out of sight, either players, NPCs, and or caravans of merchants riding in tight formation with their camels loaded with crates and jars.

There were lone mercenaries trudging on foot with blades slung across their backs, there were nomad families pulling rickety carts piled high with rugs and pottery. Most gave me a glance, then kept moving, most would rather save their energy in case they’re surrounded by a group of lizard bandits.

Occasionally we passed villages, huddled around whatever scraps of water still existed inside those dry wells, they lived in small clusters of mudbrick houses crouched behind walls that looked like they could fall over if you leaned on them too hard. Children played barefoot in the dust, chasing goats with stubborn laughter, and guards leaned lazily against spears at the gates, their eyes too tired to care who passed.

Of course there were the cities, small ones, set behind tall square walls of pale stone, their gates manned by lizardmen who eyed outsiders like they were counting how much gold we carried. These were oases in the sand, packed with life that clung desperately to whatever trade routes fed them. But none of them were my destination.

I pushed onward, the sun crawling from overhead to low in the west, turning the dunes into burning rivers of light. And then, finally, I saw it.

The capital of Klakku rose out of the desert like another mirage, yet, this time it was real.

High walls taller than any ladder could climb gleamed in the sinking sun, carved from sandstone so massive they dwarfed anything I’d seen in Danielle Kingdom.

Towers crowned the walls, each flying banners of red and gold that snapped in the wind.

Even from a distance, the city pulsed with noise. The gates were choked with carts, camels, and wagons. Travelers shouted, merchants moved in and out non-stop, animals brayed.

It was chaos, alive and breathing, spilling out into the desert like a flood of color and sound. Completely different from what I saw just 2 seconds ago.

I made my way towards the gate, announce myself to the guard and they let me through.

The chaos only magnified.

The main street was a crush of bodies, with market stalls pressed against each other, leaving little to none walkable streets, their canvas awnings dripping with spices, silks, glass trinkets, skewers of roasting meat.

Merchants waved their hands and shouted over one another, voices tangled into a wall of sound. People brushed against my shoulders on both sides, bumping, jostling, not even bothering to apologize. A snake charmer’s flute battled with the clang of a blacksmith hammering horseshoes, and both lost to the roar of the crowd.

Every time I see a fruit stall, wanting to stop by, the crowd would push me to walk for a few feet forward and I missed it, suggesting I should be more decisive if I wanted to live in this city, have to stop by a shop the first chance I get.

I kept my head up, trying to scan the sea of signs for Bastet the restaurant.

This place was just like how I remembered it in the Early Access, just way more NPC and fleshed out stores.

The market square was huge, and flashy names blurred on top of the more prominent shops compared to the market stalls: Golden Sun Tavern, The Four Winds, Scorpion’s Fang Armory, every corner turned into another crush of strangers.

I shoved past a group of traveling bards tuning lutes, ducked under a hanging carpet, side-stepped a camel that decided to sit down in the middle of the street.

"Excuse me, I’m trying to look for-"

As I spoke, I felt something grabbing my ass, fiddling them fingers where they shouldn’t be.

Now, legally, an NPC wouldn’t do this... No, literally, it’s in the terms of service of Darkmoon Adventure VR. So, it must be a player wanting his or her arm cut off.

Also, it was right where my coin pouch was, so probably not a pervert, but a thief.

Without even thinking, I caught the wrist. My hand clamped around it hard, effortless and abrupt, stopping the perverted mid-motion.

"Well," I muttered over the market din, "Look what we have here?"