Episode 3
He looked at the vast sea of sand stretching endlessly before him in utter distress. The golden sand shimmered under the sunlight like tiny particles of gold, dazzling his eyes. But this was no beautiful sight for him. He hadn't come to roam these desert sands as part of any planned journey—he was a weary, troubled traveler who had somehow wandered into this wasteland, and now he stood perplexed, unsure how he would wage the battle for survival in this sea of sand.
He was, in every sense, at war. His deadly enemies were hot on his trail. For now, he had managed to deceive them. In this struggle, he had pushed his loyal horse to its limits and, losing his way in the maze of unknown paths, had stumbled into this desert. The roads he had taken to get here had been anything but easy. Traversing them had drained both him and his horse of every ounce of energy.
Now, standing at the edge of the desert, he realized that far greater hardships awaited him than those already endured. The desert had a terror of its own, and for someone unfamiliar with its secrets, it could be no less than a monstrous adversary. He hesitated to step into its boundless expanse, but he had no way back. He knew that if he turned around, he would come face to face with his enemies.
In this scorching heat, sweat poured from his body, causing rapid dehydration. His horse's condition was even worse. After hours of relentless running, it was panting heavily. When he uncorked the water flask to take a sip, his heart ached at the sight of his horse's helpless state. Upon reflection, he felt the horse deserved the water more than he did. The mute creature had endured greater hardships for his sake.
He knew the flask held very little water and that if he gave it to the horse, he would be left with nothing. But how could he, in good conscience, drink while ignoring the thirst of his faithful companion? He gently placed the flask at the horse's mouth. The horse drank it all in one breath. Though its thirst wasn't fully quenched, the panting eased somewhat.
Once again, he gazed at the limitless sea of sand before him. He still hesitated to begin the journey across the desert, but his horse's sudden neigh forced a decision. He understood its language well—and now, he knew danger was near, and he couldn't afford to stay put any longer.
He had dismounted to let the horse drink, but quickly climbed back into the saddle and nudged it forward. The loyal, well-trained animal obeyed, but its gait was unsteady. Alarmed, he rode only a few steps before halting and dismounted again. Inspecting the horse's leg, he discovered a deep wound on the inner side of the right hind thigh. Blood had been steadily dripping down, unnoticed until now.
Yet, despite the wound, this loyal beast had run at full speed to save his life. But now, the pain and blood loss had drained its strength. It was clear the horse could go no further. Gently stroking its body, he smiled sadly. The horse neighed, almost as if ashamed for not being able to continue.
Hearing that, he softly said, "You've passed your test, my friend. It's a shame I can't reward your loyalty or even tend to your wounds. But I can give you one kindness—I won't drag you with me into this harsh journey. Go back. Maybe a kind traveler or a caravan will find you and treat your wounds."
He patted the horse lovingly and gestured for it to turn back. The trained animal understood but hesitated. Loyalty prevented it from abandoning its master on the road. It looked at him with eyes full of confusion, as if to say, Have you really asked me to leave?
He was touched by the emotion and cupped the horse's face in his hands, kissing it tenderly like a mother saying goodbye to her beloved son. His eyes welled with tears, but he composed himself and said gently, "You've stood by me through everything. But I know taking you further would be like sending you to your death. I won't do that to a loyal friend. Go now—return. Maybe life still has something in store for you."
The horse, of course, couldn't speak, but he felt as if its eyes were speaking volumes—moist, full of emotion. Dismissing it as sentimentality, he smiled faintly and patted its back again. This time, the horse obeyed, reluctantly turning to leave, stepping slowly as though each step was taken against its will. A few steps ahead, it turned back once more, as if hoping the command was a mistake. But he simply waved a final goodbye.
With that, the obedient creature began its slow journey back, and the man turned toward the desert. He had already lost precious time—his situation did not permit any further delay.
If he wanted to survive, he had to keep moving. That was the only way to widen the gap between himself and his enemies. Gathering his strength, he resumed walking. But just a few steps in, he realized this was going to be far harder than he thought. Sweat soaked him from head to toe, and despite his sturdy boots, the heat made his feet feel as though they were burning.
Yet giving up was not an option. He shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the desert ahead. Spotting a sand dune in the distance, he headed toward it, hoping for some shade behind it.
In his haste to reach the dune, he became completely unaware of his surroundings—and that's when they struck.
His sixth sense warned him just in time. He dropped and rolled across the hot sand, barely dodging a deadly sword strike.
Even those painful rolls on the burning sand were a miracle—they had bought him a few precious moments. One sword swipe had nearly ended his life. A moment's delay and his body would've been in pieces, feeding the thirsty sand with his blood.
Thanking fate for the narrow escape, he swiftly drew his sword and faced his attackers. All four had their faces wrapped in cloth—he couldn't recognize them, but he knew one thing for certain: they were his enemies.
A moment ago, even walking had seemed impossible. But now, confronted by danger, a surge of energy rushed through him. Like a seasoned warrior, he stood firm. Surrounded from all sides, they tried to overpower him. But his skill and speed were remarkable.
In a short but fierce battle, he managed to kill three of them. The fourth was severely wounded.
His eyes then fell on a large water flask lying near one of the fallen foes. He snatched it up and drank deeply. Only after quenching his thirst halfway did he recall the injured enemy—so he tossed the flask beside him and turned away. That was all the mercy he could offer to a mortal enemy.
He didn't bother to uncover their faces. What was the point? Faces didn't matter—they were enemies, and more would come in different forms. He couldn't afford to delay his journey for them.
As he left, he grabbed a second flask from one of the bodies. This time, the climb to the dune was easier. The water had revived him—and...
(To be continued)
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