"Star tier, not Immortal tier," Zamian muttered in a daze, clutching the sand beneath him as the cold night air of the desert pressed against his skin.

  ‘Are they cultivators? Are they close or far away? What are they planning? Are they allies of that blighted fake god? Or enemies like Eve was?’

  His mind swarmed with questions, barely able to keep up. He had spent days alone, digging his way out, struggling to flee. His thoughts, sluggish from exhaustion, went to another thought.

  The three bright orange stars remained still.

  "They… they aren’t moving! Why?"

  Unlike the countless stars drifting across the black sky like travelers on a slow-moving road, these three massive orange ones stood frozen in place, unmoving.

  ‘Maybe they’re just observing? Or so far away they can’t notice us? I don’t sense any essence from up there. But then again… I don’t feel any from the God’s Tree either… Could it be the same for them?’

  Zamian shook his head, trying to dispel his thoughts.

  "No. I can’t just sit here." He glanced at the stars once more before forcing himself to stand.

  His body ached. His lower back and chest were the worst. Even his vision wavered, the corners of his sight darkened.

  Still, he pushed forward.

  Half stumbling, half crawling through the sand, he spat out the grains that had stuck to his tongue, trudging away from the direction of the God’s Tree.

  ‘There’s no way they’re still close to that blighted thing.’

  Of course, that would’ve been the best outcome. Finding Bohlo and Tulip near the tree meant less ground to cover. Now, he had an entire desert to search.

  The only saving grace was the White Dot’s side quest.

  Willing the white text to appear, Zamian read it over.

  Side Quest: Find the Oasis

  Reward: Ten-Thousand-Year Ginseng Root

  Status: Ongoing (4 days left)

  Nodding to himself, he dismissed the text and kept walking over the dunes.

  "You wouldn’t give me an impossible quest, right, blighted thing? You still need me," he muttered, glancing at the small, fuzzy white ball in the corner of his vision. "You better not discard me after all this."

  As if in response to his grumbling, the ground beneath him shook.

  His eyes snapped forward.

  Four holes suddenly appeared in the sand.

  And then, four men erupted from beneath, their movements swift and practiced.

  Zamian's instincts barely whispered to him, but his eyes caught the brown text hovering above their heads.

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  Four Great Warriors.

  They glared at him, tense, before one of them, on the far left, barked at the others.

  "Edmund, where’s the fucking cultivator you warned about?"

  From the far right, a man, arms flailing wildly, shot back.

  "Paul, I swear I felt the earth shaking not even a full minute ago! It made a loud noise, too!"

  "This is the only bastard I can feel walking on the sand, you sandworm! And he looks like a zombie from those old books!"

  "Then we need to keep looking!"

  "Are you even a scout? Why’d they send you to check this close to the damned tree? Useless."

  "What are you talking about? Come here and say that to my face!"

  As the two men devolved into bickering, the remaining two, positioned in the middle, exchanged tired glances. Without another word, they stepped forward, closing the distance between themselves and Zamian.

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  He simply watched.

  They stopped a few arms’ lengths away, scanning his naked, dirty, battered, and bleeding form.

  "Where are you from, kid?" the one on the right asked, hands casually clasped behind his back.

  Zamian’s instincts, calm but precise, whispered their warning.

  ‘He’s ready to conjure a technique.’

  So, Zamian remained silent.

  The two warriors glanced at each other before nodding.

  Then, the quiet one—who had yet to speak—moved his right hand.

  Zamian followed the motion, body relaxed but mind racing.

  However, it seemed it wasn’t time for violence, yet.

  The hand extended toward him, fingers open.

  A greeting.

  "My name’s Joshua, and this curious guy here is Peter," the man said through muffled fabric wrapped around his head, leaving only his green eyes visible beneath the brown cloth draped over his shoulder. "And those two loudmouths behind us are Paul and Edward. They’re brothers."

  Joshua jerked his left thumb toward the still-arguing pair.

  Zamian barely spared them a glance before meeting Joshua’s eyes.

  Then, he extended his own hand.

  "My name is Kurt," he said, shaking the man’s hand firmly before letting go. "I just fled from that… Sanctuary."

  Peter, still watching him carefully, tilted his head.

  "I’ve known two other men named Kurt, but neither were from the Sanctuary," he muttered. "But you don’t look like an Earth cultivator either."

  The unspoken question lingered in the air.

  Zamian smiled inwardly.

  ‘They can’t detect lies, or they don’t care about my name… Let’s test them some more.’

  Locking eyes with Peter, he gave a small nod.

  "You’re right. I’m not from the Sanctuary, nor am I an Earth cultivator," Zamian said smoothly. "I was born in the Desert and taken to that… forsaken place when I was still young." He paused, glancing away as if lost in thought. "It was… nice. Different from here at first. But then, everything changed. Everything was destroyed. So I fled."

  Silence stretched between them.

  Joshua hummed, his green eyes narrowing slightly.

  Zamian remained still, waiting.

  Then, Peter crossed his arms and nodded.

  "Yeah. Makes sense."

  While they spoke, Zamian noticed how the arguing duo had begun walking in a semi-circle, faint spikes of essence leaving their feet.

  ‘Two setting a trap, two stalling for time and testing the waters. Not bad.’

  Peter’s voice remained light as he asked, "So, are you a cultivator of the Nature Pathway?"

  Outwardly, nothing changed, but Zamian’s instincts whispered louder. Not warning him that his life was in danger, but that he might need to fight.

  Still, he didn’t want to waste essence or his stat points here.

  "No," Zamian shook his head. "I cultivate a different pathway."

  As if to prove his point, his body flashed white, a thin, liquid-like radiance momentarily covering him before dissipating.

  Zamian made sure to enhance himself so briefly and with so little essence that, at best, they’d assume he was a Zealot—or, in outsider terms, a Great Warrior.

  Peter and Joshua both jerked slightly, their eyes widening.

  Joshua was the first to react. "I thought only the Sultan could—"

  Peter cut him off.

  "Good to know," he muttered, placing a firm hand on Joshua’s shoulder. Then, fixing Zamian with an unreadable look, he asked, "And which tribe are you from, Kurt?"

  Zamian kept his expression neutral, though he caught the slight tremor in Joshua’s eyes before looking back at Peter.

  "I don’t know," he said evenly. "I was too young."

  Before Peter could press further, Zamian tilted his head.

  "But before you ask me anything else, I have a question of my own."

  Peter considered him for a moment, then nodded.

  "Can you take me to the Oasis? I don’t think I’ll last much longer out here," Zamian sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don’t mind being a prisoner. Just don’t let me die in this place."

  Joshua and Peter exchanged looks, clearly caught off guard.

  Zamian, however, looked past them.

  His eyes landed on Edmund and Paul, who were walking in their direction.

  As they approached, the dynamic shifted.

  Peter, Joshua, and Edmund stepped back, subtly repositioning themselves, while Paul stepped forward.

  The man was slightly shorter than Zamian, his dark skin partially obscured by the cloth wrapping around his face. Even through the fabric, his black beard was noticeable. His dark eyes studied Zamian carefully.

  Then, without a word, he reached into his leather pouch and pulled out a bundle of clothes.

  "Here."

  Paul tossed them over, and Zamian quickly grabbed them.

  "You’re coming with us."

  The other three visibly hesitated—but Paul clicked his tongue and shot them a look.

  "You heard the kid." His tone was rough and cold now, all traces of his earlier irritation and fake bickering gone. "He doesn’t want to die. And what grassling even knows the concept of death? Those fanatics can only suck on their god."

  Then, turning back to Zamian, he added, "Besides, he doesn’t cultivate the Nature Pathway."

  As Paul spoke, Zamian’s instincts flared.

  ‘Without Luminous Senses, and as hurt as I am, I almost missed it…’

  As Clarice had once done, Edmund used the time between Zamian and Paul’s conversation to move his hand subtly, but he wasn’t communicating with his companions.

  He was signaling someone else.

  Zamian’s gaze flicked to a distant sand dune.

  He barely sensed a faint spike of essence.

  ‘Sending for reinforcements? These outsiders aren’t dumb oaks.’

  Another thought passed through his mind.

  ‘Maybe the Sultan would be interested in someone else who doesn’t cultivate Earth or Nature essence.’

  Quietly, Zamian put on the clothes as Joshua and Peter approached to help.

  He let them, observing their movements.

  ‘Checking for hidden weapons? Noting my scars, wounds, and broken bones?’ He thought, avoiding making eye contact with the duo. ‘They won’t see much with all this dirt and blood covering me.’

  Paul extended another leather pouch.

  "Here," he said, uncorking it with a soft pop. "Drink. Clean yourself up. It’s a long way to the Oasis."

  Zamian took the pouch, a small smile forming.

  "Thank you."

  Paul smiled back.

  Their eyes met, both curving slightly—but filled with unspoken thoughts.

  Zamian took a sip of the water, rinsed the dirt from his face, and then…

  He glanced at the sky.

  The three massive orange stars still hung there.

  His fingers clenched the pouch slightly as he asked,

  "Tell me, Paul. When I left this place, there were no big orange stars in the sky. When did they appear?"

  The four outsiders froze.

  Then, slowly, they exchanged puzzled glances before looking up.

  Then, they looked back at Zamian.

  Zamian’s heart sank.

  ‘Did I mess up? Were those stars always there, and Kurt just never told me?’

  His mind raced, preparing to subdue them if needed.

  Joshua furrowed his brows and muttered,

  "What orange stars?"

  Zamian’s blood ran cold.

  "…?!"