Chương 30: Hespericum, the burning Continent

We continued ruddering blindly across the endless waters. The days blurred together under the merciless, ever-hotter sun. Every stroke of the heavy wooden rudders sent fresh waves of pain through my arms and still-broken back. My flaming heart pushed me harder than ever, but even it had reached its limits. Galer remained mostly below deck at first, silent and brooding in the dim space. He was furious at his own weakness, replaying the moment Captain Róugal crushed his left eye over and over.

After a while he gripped the makeshift eye patch, ripped it off, and carefully cleaned the dried blood from the empty socket. The wound had slowly begun to scab, but the pain was still raw. He stared at his reflection in a piece of polished metal for a long moment, then spoke in a low, determined voice.

"No more missions. Only training. I will not return as a mercenary until I have mastered Vestuto." Later he found a proper grey eye patch in the captain's quarters. When he tied it on, a small, hard smile appeared on his face. He looked prepared in his mind already. He then spread the old map across the table and studied the many X marks scattered across Orbis Terrarum, the hidden partners and contacts of the scamming crew. Up on deck the rest of us kept working.

We took turns at the rudders, adjusted the sails when the wind shifted, and tried to keep the ship on some kind of course even though none of us were true sailors. I pushed for another two full hours until complete exhaustion crashed over me like a high fever. My legs gave out. I collapsed on the hot deck, chest heaving, gasping for many short breaths, vision swimming. I had given every last drop of strength my body possessed. Luckily the others had already lowered the sails so the wind could carry us forward.

The real problem was that nobody truly knew how to control or trim the wind properly, so we went further blind on the vastness of water surrounding us. We were at the mercy of the currents and whatever breeze decided to help us that day. A couple of days drifted by in this half-controlled drift. We rationed what little fresh water remained, repaired small tears in the sails, and took turns sleeping in short shifts. The mood on the ship was tense but focused. Everyone understood we were surviving on borrowed time.

I pushed myself harder than anyone. When exhaustion finally forced me to collapse on the deck, I would rest for only a short while, just long enough for my breathing to steady and the fire in my muscles to dull. Then I would drag myself back up, ignore the burning pain in my back and arms, and return to the rudder with everything I had left. Each time I did, the others watched with growing respect. My stubborn refusal to stay down seemed to ignite something in them.

The veterans who had been moving at a careful pace began increasing their tempo, working faster and with more determination. Even those who had been conserving energy started giving their all, matching my pace as if my fire had spread to them. The ship moved a little steadier, a little stronger, as our collective will hardened under the relentless sun. Galer eventually came back on deck in a new, recovered state. The grey eye patch sat firmly over his left eye.

With quiet authority he stepped forward and began directing the group. No one argued. He had earned the role after the brutal fight against Captain Róugal. The way he had stood up, bleeding from his ruined eye, and still delivered the killing blow, it commanded respect that no one dared challenge even from the Veterans. In that moment, something had shifted in all of them. Galer wasn't just another expendable young fighter anymore. He had become the one who refused to break when everything else did.

A quiet, burning determination radiated from him that silenced any doubt before it could even form. We all felt it, therefore no one challenged his authority. He checked the map again, looked up at the sky at night when possible, absorbing the state of things, and tried to guess our rough heading. Then the currents finally carried us to land. We saw nothing but sand and heat stretching in every direction. The air shimmered with dry waves.

Galer did not recognize the place at first, but one of the older mercenaries spoke up.

"It has to be the Continent of Hespericum." Galer looked up at the burning sky with his single eye and grinned.

"Perfect. This is exactly the place where we can train to widen our levels. We cannot move forward without testing ourselves against nature's given hand. I will not return as a mercenary until I have mastered Vestuto. Every loss we have suffered recently has been because of my weakness. The missions have simply been too strong for us. Both of us should stay here and train. This continent is the perfect place. Most of it is still unknown, for both of us." He turned to the whole group.

"We do not even know exactly where we are right now. First let us take everything useful from the ship and keep walking the shoreline. Eventually a city will appear. Question is. East or west?" We decided democratically. Hands went up. West overwhelmingly won. So we went westward. The next two days became a brutal test of endurance. The sun beat down without mercy, turning the sand into a furnace that scorched our boots and baked our skin. Our provisions ran completely dry by the end of the first day. No food.

No water. The heat pressed down like a physical weight, crushing our spirits and hardening every thought into pure survival. Lips cracked and bled. Skin burned raw under the relentless glare. Every step became heavier, legs trembling, vision blurring from dehydration and exhaustion. Both arms ached with every swing, but the small flame inside my chest refused to let me quit, forcing me to concentrate on walking through sheer will.

It burned with stubborn defiance, pushing me forward even as doubt whispered that this sandy desert might become our grave. Galer walked beside me in silence, his single eye fixed on the horizon, the grey eye patch a constant reminder of what we had lost. The others fared no better faces gaunt, breaths ragged, yet no one complained. We had come too far to break now. Then, shimmering in the distance like a miracle born from the heat haze, we saw it. The town of Tabraca.

The people here had darkish, sun-tanned skin with a warm bronze tone that spoke of constant exposure to the desert sun. They wore loose, flowing clothes made for protection, with light veils covering their heads and necks, leaving only their faces exposed. The sight of civilization, even this remote desert outpost filled us with a fragile wave of relief mixed with exhaustion. For the first time in days, the crushing weight on my chest eased just a little. We had survived the sea. We had survived the island.

And now, perhaps, we could find a moment to breathe. Their speech carried a distinct melodic accent when they spoke our language. Tabraca was a town of roughly 40, 000 souls. It had no port because of the dangerously strong currents that smashed against the coast. Instead, the inhabitants focused on farming spices in the dry desert, especially their powerful specialty called Abar-Huna. One small taste of it could wake a sleeping man straight up even when lost in the wide world.

I took a cautious test from a shopkeeper. The moment the spice touched my tongue, my mouth exploded in pure fire. I wanted to dive into the entire ocean to cool down. Thankfully water was abundant here. The locals told us the rain season was short but extremely violent, filling vast underground wells that they drew from year-round. The shopkeeper, a friendly man named Azabur, smiled when we told him we came from Europarum.

"Yeah, I know which region just by looking at you guys. Yet you all look like you have been through hell." He took our salvaged items, gave us a fair amount of coin, and wished us well. Most of the surviving group decided to continue westward toward a town that actually had a usable port. Galer and I, however, used most of our new coin to buy two sub-breed horses specially suited for this continent. They were called Cavamello. Sleek heat mounts that blended horse and camel traits, with a stronger camel influence.

They had long camel-like necks and heads with expressive eyes, a small hump on the back for endurance, and a flowing dark mane. Their bodies were muscular and athletic while their legs were noticeably shorter and more compact than a typical horse's thick, powerful, and built for long rides over sand. Their coat was a rich dark brown and black with golden highlights.

These animals could absorb nutrients from the many giant cacti that dotted the continent and could maintain a comfortable pace of 90 kilometers per hour even in the harshest heat or cold from this continent. With the Cavamello we rode southward, heading deeper into the unknown to train against whatever this wild continent would throw at us. It was now the 13th of May in the year 1021, and it was time for another new training session for the both of us.