The Veiled Man
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Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 121
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 16:00:19 +0000 UTCChapter 121: Whispers of the Oasis and a Fading Peace
The next five days settled into a strange rhythm. Wake at dawn. Eat a simple porridge with Rafin and Lailah. Work the fields until midday sun turned the horizon into rippling waves of heat. Rest through the worst hours. Resume as the shadows lengthened.
Eat again. Sleep. Repeat.
This wasn't the life I'd been born into. Wasn't the life I'd built. And certainly wasn't the life I'd fought gods and demons to preserve. Yet here I was, knee-deep in irrigation channels, my remaining arm straining against the weight of an earthen berm that had collapsed during the night.
"A little higher on your side," Rafin called, expertly packing mud and straw into the gap that threatened our precious water supply. "Good, hold it there."
Sweat rolled down my face, stinging my eyes. My muscles tightened against the strain, but I didn't falter. Each day of simple labor had returned a fraction of my former control. My movements remained stiff occasionally, my Qi pathways still damaged beyond immediate repair, but my body remembered its purpose.
"You're surprisingly good at this for a traveler," Rafin remarked, finishing his repairs and stepping back to admire our work. "Most city folk would have collapsed by now."
"Maybe I was a farmer in my forgotten life," I offered with a wry smile.
Rafin let out a hearty laugh. "With fists that powerful? I doubt it." He clapped my shoulder. "But you learn quick. That counts for something."
In the distance, Lailah rounded up their small herd of sand-goats—stubborn, wiry creatures with curved horns and temperaments to match the harsh environment. One particularly ornery specimen—Pebble, she called it—followed her like a devoted puppy, occasionally butting her legs for attention.
"Stop that, you little monster," she scolded, though her smile betrayed her affection. "Father, Alexander! Lunch is ready!"
The animals loved her. All of them. Even the ancient, half-blind donkey that pulled their small cart perked up whenever she approached. I'd noticed how the creatures calmed in her presence, how even temperamental Pebble became docile under her touch.
More secrets. More mysteries.
"Coming!" Rafin called back, then turned to me. "Thank you for the help. The channels would have taken me twice as long alone."
I nodded, wiping my muddy hand on my borrowed trousers. "Least I can do for your hospitality." They were helping me a lot by letting me stay low at this outskirt while I recovered myself.
As we trudged back to the hut, Rafin lowered his voice. "She hasn't stopped talking about how you handled Malek's men. I've never seen her this excited about someone. I understand why since I saw it too."
"I only did what anyone would—"
"No," he cut me off firmly. "Most would have cowered. Many would have died. You..." He paused, searching for words. "You were something else entirely. I do hope your head clears fast in case forgotten trouble finds you here."
We'd reached the shade of the hut before I could formulate a response. Lailah stood in the doorway, a clay pitcher in her hands, her silver eyes catching mine with that now-familiar gleam of curiosity and something warmer.
"I got water for the hard workers," she announced, pouring us each a cup. Her fingers brushed mine as she handed me the rough clay vessel, a touch that lingered just a heartbeat too long.
"Your goats were extra stubborn today," I commented, drinking deeply.
"Only because they sense a new apex predator in their territory," she replied with a teasing smile, whispering. "Isn't that right, mighty dragon?"
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Still on that theory?"
"Until you offer a better explanation for what I saw," she shrugged, her expression playful but her eyes serious. I decided to ignore her.
Inside, lunch awaited—a simple fare of flat bread, hard cheese, and dried fruits soaked to softness. We ate in comfortable silence before Rafin cleared his throat.
"We need supplies," he announced. "Our seed stores are running low, and the secondary irrigation pump needs a new leather seal."
Lailah tensed visibly. "I can go to the kiss."
"Did you forget what happened last time?" Rafin's voice was gentle but firm. "Perhaps we should wait another week."
"The planting can't wait, Father," she countered. "And Alexander needs proper medicine for his recovery, not just my herb mixtures."
They both looked at me, as if I were the deciding vote in their family council. The thought was oddly warming.
"I'll go with her," I offered. "I'm strong enough now."
"After what you did to Malek and his men?" Rafin shook his head. "The Baron might have heard by now."
"Then I'll wear a disguise," I replied simply. "No one looks twice at another desert traveler with his face covered."
"But you said you can't remember who you are," Lailah pointed out, a mischievous glint in her eye. "What if your enemies see you? Won’t that be troublesome?"
I shrugged. "All the more reason to hide my face, then."
After several minutes of back-and-forth, Rafin's shoulders finally slumped in defeat. "Fine," he sighed, reaching for a small leather pouch. "But be cautious. Both of you."
He handed Lailah a few silver coins—their hard-earned savings, judging by his reluctance to part with them. She tucked them carefully into her belt pouch.
"We'll be back before sunset," she promised, kissing his weathered cheek.
As we prepared to leave, I caught her watching me with that same intensity I'd noticed increasingly since the fight. As if trying to reconcile the injured stranger she'd nursed with the warrior who had dismantled five armed men without breaking a sweat.
"Ready?" she asked, tossing me a wide-brimmed hat and a length of cloth to wrap around my face.
"As I'll ever be," I replied, adjusting my makeshift disguise.
****
We set off toward Scorpion's Kiss, the morning still cool enough for comfortable travel. The silence between us was easy, punctuated only by Lailah pointing out desert landmarks or warning me about particularly treacherous patches of sand.
“You know a lot about these parts,” I said after we'd walked for some time, trying to make conversation.
"Almost as if I grew up here, right? Anyway, mysterious stranger," she added, "what do you think of our humble existence?"
I considered the question carefully. "It's... peaceful. In a way I'm not used to."
"Oh? And what are you used to, Mr. I-Can't-Remember?" She nudged my side playfully.
"...Pain," I said before I could stop myself. The word hung between us, too honest, and perhaps a bit too revealing.
She didn't press, just stared at my side profile. A moment later, she slipped her hand into mine and squeezed gently. "Then perhaps peace is what you need now."
“...” I frowned. I wasn’t blind to what was going on, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted this. Lailah was too far from the violent side of the world for us to get closer than this.
We crested a small dune, and Scorpion's Kiss sprawled before us in all its chaotic glory.
Unlike the elegant, planned architecture of Waybound or the imposing grandeur of Romer, Scorpion's Kiss was a riot of mismatched structures, as if someone had scattered building blocks across the desert and allowed them to take root wherever they landed.
Yet, not all of it were random buildings. At its center rose a singular marvel—a massive, globe-shaped tower that slowly rotated, catching the sunlight on its golden surface. It was clearly something special, something that’d stun any architect.
"The Baron's residence," Lailah explained, following my gaze. "They say it's powered by ancient magic. No one knows how it keeps spinning."
As we approached the city gates, the diversity of its inhabitants became apparent. This wasn't the largely human population I was accustomed to in the Empire. Here, a pair of towering minotaurs haggled with a blue-skinned water nymph over the price of leatherwork. A group of scaled lizardfolk basked on sun-warmed stones near the entrance, their forked tongues flicking out to taste the air.
Wingless desert drakes, smaller than their mountainous cousins but no less impressive, pulled elaborate carriages for wealthy patrons. That part interested me. From the rumors, I thought the Gold Dragons would be arrogant enough not to allow anybody to ride any of their kind, be it wyverns or drakes. Or were these an exception as they couldn’t soar the skies?
"Stay close," Lailah murmured as we passed through the gates, paying a small entrance fee to a bored-looking guard. "The Kiss can swallow newcomers whole."
The market district assaulted all senses at once.
The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices, roasting meats, animal dung, and the metallic tang of a blacksmith's forge. Merchants shouted their wares in at least a dozen languages, while street performers competed for attention and coins.
"First, the spice shop," Lailah decided, pulling me through the crowd with surprising authority.
We navigated the maze of stalls and shops with Lailah's confident guidance. Despite her earlier troubles with Malek, she moved through the marketplace like someone who belonged, exchanging familiar greetings with various vendors.
"Ah, Lailah of the Silver Eyes!" An ancient woman with skin like cracked leather waved us over to her stall of dried herbs. "Your father's remedies worked wonders for my joints."
"Glad to hear it, Grandmother Essa," Lailah replied, examining the woman's wares. "Do you have any sun-mandrake today? My friend here needs something for his recovery."
The old woman's eyes, milky with cataracts, somehow found me unerringly. "Injured, is he? Or just… broken on the inside?" She cackled, eyes gleaming at me. "Hmm. What an interesting boy. For him, I recommend something stronger than sun-mandrake. Something to restore what's been taken."
I stiffened, but Lailah laughed it off. "Just the regular herbs today, Grandmother."
After haggling good-naturedly, we moved on, our small purchases accumulating in Lailah's woven basket. At a fabric merchant's, she selected tough canvas for patching their sand-worn clothes. From an ironmonger, she acquired small parts for the irrigation pump.
"Last stop, the seedsman," she announced hours after we’d first entered the city, guiding me toward a quieter section of the market.
As we walked, snippets of excited conversation caught my attention. A group of rough-looking adventurers, their armor dusty from travel, huddled around a hand-drawn map.
"—three days east of the lightning canyons—"
"—fool's errand, I tell you—"
"—but imagine the gold! A Leviathan-Marked Oasis! Do you know what collectors would pay for even a vial of its water?"
I slowed, tuning into their discussion more carefully.
"Careful," Lailah whispered, noticing my interest. "Those are sandwalkers—mercenaries who hunt treasures in the deep desert. Dangerous folk."
But my curiosity was piqued. "What's a Leviathan-Marked Oasis?"
Her silver eyes widened slightly. "You truly aren't from these parts, are you? To start, the Saharan deserts weren’t always one-sidedly ruled by the Gold Dragons. In a past long gone, titanic worm-like creatures called the Desert Leviathans rivalled them. The legends say that when a great leviathan dies, its final resting place sometimes transforms into an oasis, infused with the leviathan's essence. The waters are said to have... miraculous properties."
"Healing properties?" I asked, thinking of my damaged Qi pathways.
"Among other things," she replied. "But they're incredibly rare, and most are just myths or have been claimed by the Gold Dragon Clan long ago. Adventurers like those talk about such treasures all the time, how many are saying the truth? That’s why they’re being so open with tha talk even though it should be very sensitive if true."
A commotion near the central square interrupted our conversation. We approached cautiously, joining the growing crowd of onlookers.
A man in elaborate robes stood atop a makeshift platform, flanked by guards bearing the same insignia Malek had worn. The Baron's men.
"By decree of Baron Sahlizar," the man announced, unfurling a scroll with flourish, "all expeditions to the newly discovered Leviathan-Marked Oasis must be registered with the city authorities! A finder's tax of fifty percent will be imposed on all treasures recovered!"
Wait, what?
Angry murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Fifty percent?!" someone shouted. "Highway robbery!"
"The Baron offers protection on the routes," the announcer continued, unperturbed. "And exclusive rights to sell findings to interested parties from the Gold Dragon Clan, without angering them!"
This caught my attention sharply. I exchanged glances with Lailah, who shrugged. “What? I said most of the time it’s just bullocks, but this seems real enough.”
Since such an announcement was happening, the news was already public. That was why the adventurers didn’t bother to discuss this privately. The Gold Dragon Clan, Amelia's people.
If they were interested in this oasis, there must be a connection to where Amelia had taken Solara. Or at the very least, a potential lead to finding them. So even if this Oasis couldn’t heal me, finding this would allow me to meet the Gold Dragons since they seem to be interested in their old enemies’ graves. Then, I can proceed to get help from Amelia.
This was a golden opportunity.
"Registration begins tomorrow at dawn," the announcer finished. "Those found attempting to reach the oasis without proper documentation will face severe penalties."
As the crowd dispersed, some grumbling, others hurriedly discussing new plans, I turned to Lailah. "You said these oases have miraculous properties. Any idea what the limit is?"
Something in my tone must have betrayed my intensity, for she studied me carefully before answering. "The stories say the waters can heal any wound, restore youth to the elderly, even grant visions of things to come or long past." She paused. "But Alexander, the deep desert is no place for the unprepared. Even if this newly discovered oasis is real, the journey alone kills most who attempt it."
I nodded, but my mind was already racing with possibilities. If there was even a chance that the oasis could restore my damaged Qi channels...
"Let's get those seeds and head back," I suggested, suddenly eager to have privacy to think.
The seedsman, a jovial half-orc with an impressive collection of dried plants, greeted Lailah warmly. As they discussed various crops suitable for desert farming, my attention drifted to a dusty traveler who had just entered the shop, his clothes bearing the unmistakable signs of a long journey through harsh terrain.
"—just returned," he was telling another customer. "Three of our party didn't make it back. The sandstorms this season are unlike anything I've seen."
"Worth it, though?" the other asked eagerly.
The traveler patted a pouch at his belt with a secretive smile. "Let's just say I won't be making this trip again. One vial was enough to set me for life."
They moved deeper into the shop, their voices fading, but I'd heard enough. Someone had already successfully reached the oasis and returned with its water? Or was it something else?
Lailah finished her transaction and turned to me. "Ready?"
On our way back to the gates, we passed a group of city guards roughly questioning a lizardfolk merchant. I instinctively kept my head down, hand resting near the knife Rafin had insisted I carry.
"They're looking for you," Lailah whispered, noting my tension. "Word of what happened to Malek has spread."
Or maybe words of what Iskandaar Romani has done in Merasca had spread.
"Then let's not linger," I replied, guiding her toward a less crowded street. We had almost reached the gates when a familiar voice stopped us cold.
"Well, well... if it isn't the witch's daughter."
I turned slowly to see a man leaning against a mud-brick wall, his arm in a crude sling—one of Malek's companions from the confrontation at Rafin's farm. His eyes narrowed as they fell on me, struggling to see through my disguise.
"You look familiar, stranger," he growled. "Remove that wrapping."
Lailah's hand found mine, squeezing in warning. "We're just leaving," she said firmly. "We want no trouble."
"Trouble found you the moment you were born, witch-girl," he spat. "And now you've brought some bastard into our lands." He straightened, wincing at his injuries. "The Baron wants to meet the man who broke Malek's bones like twigs. That’s him, right?"
I stepped forward, keeping Lailah behind me. "Another day, perhaps. Today, we're simply passing through."
The man's hand moved to his belt, where a knife waited. "I don't think so."
The crowd around us thinned quickly, sensing violence. Guards at the gate turned, alerted by the sudden movement of people.
"Last chance," I said quietly. "Walk away."
He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You broke my arm, you bastard. I don't care what kind of background you have—the Baron will have your head."
As he drew his knife, time seemed to slow. I assessed our options: fight and risk further attention, or flee and potentially lead them back to Rafin. Neither appealed.
Yet, it wasn’t as if I didn’t know what I’d choose. My posture was already set.
But before I could leap forward and cave his chest in, however, Lailah stepped forward. Her silver eyes blazed with an inner light I hadn't seen before.
"Leave… us be," she commanded, her voice carrying a strange, resonant quality that raised the hair on my arms.
The wind, previously still in the sheltered street, suddenly whipped around us, kicking up dust and sand. It circled the increasingly bewildered thug, a miniature cyclone that obscured his vision.
"What the—" he stumbled backward, knife still clutched uselessly in his hand. "Guards! The witch is using magic! Guards!"
"Time to go," I muttered, pulling Lailah toward the gate.
We slipped through in the confusion, breaking into a run once we cleared the city walls. Only when Scorpion's Kiss was a distant smudge on the horizon did we slow, both breathing hard.
"That was reckless," I said finally, though there was no real reproach in my voice.
"Says the man who crippled five of the Baron's men," she retorted, eyes still glinting with defiance. “And was ready to deal with a dozen more just now if necessary… Isn’t this better than that?”
Despite everything, I laughed. "I don’t know, but it seems fair."
She grinned back, the tension dissolving between us. Then, more seriously she added, "They won't stop hunting you now. Not after what they've seen."
"I know," I said, glancing back at the city. Unfortunately for them, I had forces that were magnitude greater than this city looking for me across the world. "But neither will they stop hunting you."
The setting sun painted the desert in shades of gold and crimson as we continued homeward, each lost in thought. The peaceful rhythm of farm life suddenly seemed as fragile as a mirage, destined to vanish with the next hot wind.
One truth was becoming increasingly clear. I couldn't stay here much longer.
For Rafin and Lailah's sake as much as my own.
The Leviathan-Marked Oasis called for me. A potential salvation for my crippled powers and perhaps a path back to Solara and the others.
But something unexpected pulled at me as I watched Lailah walking ahead, silver eyes reflecting the dying sunlight. She knew… she must, from the look in her eyes. In those depths, I saw her wish that I should simply remain Alexander the farmhand, with no greater purpose than repairing irrigation channels and defending a silver-eyed farm girl from local thugs.
Yet…
Some mirages, no matter how beautiful, aren't meant to last.
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Comments
The Hand Behind the Veil
Thank you! Fixed
Liam McEvoy
Great chapter! A couple editing minor mistakes. First, you say they go to the seedman both first and last, when they go to the herb vendor first and the seedman last. Second you said "dragon-touched oasis" instead of leviathan-touched oasis near the end of the chapter.
James Faulkner
Tftc!
