CHAPTER 469: CH 469: SMELLS LIKE TROUBLE - PART 3

The settlement’s mood shifted the moment Kyle and his group stepped through the gates.

Where moments before there had been panic and cries for help, now there was a wave of gratitude that swept through the dusty streets.

The locals gathered around, showering them with thanks, some bowing deeply, others simply pressing their hands together in silent reverence.

Within minutes, they were led toward the largest building in the settlement—a long, low structure made of sun-baked clay and wood.

Inside, the air was cooler, and the scent of roasted meat and spiced bread drifted warmly through the hall.

A large table had been set, and platters began to appear, filled with fruits, breads, seasoned grains, and skewers of freshly grilled meat.

The chief of the settlement, a lean man with sun-darkened skin and a short, salt-and-pepper beard, stood at the head of the table.

"Please, honored guests. You have saved us from great loss today. This feast is the least we can offer."

He said, gesturing for them to sit.

Kyle inclined his head politely, motioning for his party to sit.

Amana, Melissa, Silvy, and the others took their places, the fatigue of the desert trek momentarily eased by the warm welcome.

As they began eating, Kyle spoke calmly. "Those beasts that attacked—do such raids happen often here?"

The chief’s eyes dimmed. Around him, several villagers exchanged uneasy looks before one of them finally answered.

"Once a month... for as long as I can remember. They come in a wave, destroying crops, killing our people, and vanishing back into the sands."

A young man at the far end of the table added grimly.

"But lately, it’s been worse. They come more often... sometimes twice a month, sometimes more."

Kyle’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened.

"Has anyone figured out why?"

The chief sighed.

"We’ve tried... but our hunters never return when they follow the beasts. And without enough warriors, we cannot risk losing more."

Kyle gave a small nod, then glanced toward Bruce. It was a subtle movement, but Bruce immediately caught the signal.

"Understood. I’ll be back."

Bruce murmured quietly before rising from his seat.

No one questioned him—Kyle’s people moved with purpose, and the locals had already seen enough of their strength to know not to interfere.

While the rest of the party remained, politely engaging the villagers in conversation, Bruce slipped out into the night.

The desert air was cooler now, the dunes painted silver by the moonlight.

He crouched low, following the faint traces left by the retreating monsters—deep claw marks in the sand, trails of disturbed dust where their massive bodies had passed.

The tracks stretched far beyond the settlement, curving toward a cluster of rocky outcroppings that jutted from the sand like jagged teeth.

Bruce kept his pace steady, mindful of the desert’s stillness. Eventually, the wind carried a faint sound to his ears—a guttural growl, followed by the crunch of bones.

He slowed, crouching low as he reached the edge of the outcroppings. Peering around a boulder, he spotted the monsters gathered in a wide depression in the sand.

They lounged like feral predators after a successful hunt, tearing into scraps of meat. But what caught Bruce’s attention wasn’t the beasts—it was the humans among them.

A group of well-dressed men stood in the shadows, their fine silks and gold-trimmed garments in stark contrast to the filthy desert.

Several of them carried curved scimitars, but their hands were clean—no signs of battle. Instead, they were speaking to another man, one holding a long staff tipped with a glowing crystal.

The air shimmered faintly around him, a sure sign of mana manipulation.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, keeping still and listening.

"...keep the pressure on them. If we raid every week, they’ll have no choice but to abandon the settlement."

One merchant was saying, his voice low but sharp.

Another laughed softly.

"And once they’re gone, the spring will be ours. Fresh water in the middle of the desert—worth more than gold."

Bruce’s lips thinned. So that was their game. The merchants were weaponizing the beasts to drive the locals away.

And the mention of the spring made everything fall into place—the settlement’s location was close to the route Kyle’s group needed to take.

Worse, the merchants had the same destination as Kyle’s group.

If they were after the spring, they might also be after whatever lay beyond it—likely the very thing Kyle was seeking.

Bruce slipped back into the shadows, retracing his path with practiced silence. By the time he returned to the settlement, the feast was winding down.

Kyle looked up as Bruce entered, reading the look in his eyes instantly.

"Well?"

Bruce leaned in, keeping his voice low.

"It’s not just the beasts. There’s a group of merchants—they’re controlling the raids. They want the spring for themselves. Same direction we’re headed."

Kyle’s gaze darkened, his fingers drumming lightly against the table.

"So, our paths were going to cross one way or another."

Amana, overhearing, gave a cold smile.

"Then perhaps it’s better we deal with them now... before they become a problem later."

Silvy tilted her head.

"If they control the beasts, we could track them straight to the source."

Kyle gave a small nod, already formulating a plan.

"We’ll move at first light. No need to let them think we’re onto them yet."

Melissa’s hand brushed the hilt of her sword, a flicker of anticipation in her eyes.

"Understood."

The villagers, oblivious to the true scale of the problem, continued to chat and laugh around them, grateful for the peace—temporary as it might be. Kyle let them have it for the night.

But beyond the walls, under the quiet moonlight, predators—both human and monstrous—were already stirring, waiting for the next move.

______

In the merchants’ encampment, the air was thick with greed and anticipation.

A long wooden table stood in the center of their largest tent, surrounded by richly dressed men and women whose eyes gleamed in the flickering lantern light.

At the center of the table rested their prize—a small, crystalline sphere, no larger than a fist, yet pulsating with an otherworldly golden glow.

Its surface shifted like liquid metal, and faint etchings of runes swirled across it, rearranging themselves every few seconds.

Then, in a voice that seemed to echo from nowhere, the artifact repeated its message:

[Uncover the secrets and become a god.]

A ripple of excitement ran through the gathered merchants. Some leaned forward, their greedy fingers twitching as if they could snatch divinity for themselves.

Others whispered hurriedly, debating whether this was a blessing from the heavens or a dangerous trick.

One of the older merchants, his beard streaked with white, slammed his hand on the table.

"The spring belongs to us. With this artifact guiding us, nothing will stop us from reaching it first—neither the desert, nor those meddlesome adventurers who think they can play hero."

The sphere pulsed brighter, casting their shadows like twisted giants across the tent walls. None of them noticed the faint trace of divine mana lingering in the air.

A younger merchant, eyes alight with fanaticism, whispered.

"If it truly leads to godhood, then the spring is only the beginning."

Murmurs of agreement spread, the room buzzing with dangerous ambition.

Outside, the desert winds howled, carrying with them a faint, ominous whisper—as if the gods themselves were listening.