"Cough... I'll tell you," a voice croaked from behind Kay—not Stanson's, but Mali's.
Kay spun around. The once-weak intermediate apprentice had dragged himself to his feet, his face as pale as sand, lips cracked and bleeding. Yet in his trembling hand, he clutched a magical staff—one that hummed with the faint energy of a stored mid-tier spell.
"Your mana's running low too, isn't it, Kay?" Mali's voice wavered, but his gaze stayed sharp. "I remember you only advanced to intermediate apprentice recently. Let us go. Give us a little food and water, and I'll tell you everything we know."
Kay raised an eyebrow. Mali's grit was impressive—but he noticed Mali's eyes never left Stanson, who lay sprawled on the sand. Their bond was real: Stanson had spilled his blood to save Mali, and Mali now risked his life to protect Stanson.
This kind of devotion between two male Dark Mage apprentices felt alien to Kay. For a moment, he even felt like the villain—bursting in on their desperate, tender moment with fire and threats.
Kay turned, a cold smirk playing on his lips. "Go ahead. Try to cast that spell in your staff. See if it can hurt me. But I promise—Stanson will burn to ash with my fireball first. And you? My Acid Staff will melt you down to nothing. As an intermediate apprentice, you must've heard of it."
Mali's face blanched. But it was Stanson who reacted first.
Ignoring the fireball hovering inches from his throat, Stanson roared and tried to heave himself up. The flame singed his skin, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh—but he kept moving. Kay stared, shocked. Could a single low-tier fireball even kill this brute? He'd already tanked two mid-tier spells with his bare body, no shield in sight.
Kay poured more mana into the fireball, making it glow brighter. The scorching heat singed Stanson's hair—but before Kay could unleash it, Mali screamed.
"No!"
The staff clattered to the sand. Mali stumbled toward them, tripping twice in his weakness, his eyes fixed on Stanson's smoking throat.
Kay raised his Acid Staff, then lowered it. Mali was no threat now—without the staff, he'd lost his last means of fighting. Kay stepped back, giving them space. They'd been neighbors, after all. Unpleasant as their first meeting was, he didn't need to kill them outright—not yet.
In this empty, endless desert, even enemies were better than silence.
Mali knelt beside Stanson, lifting his head into his lap, whispering words Kay couldn't hear. Stanson's body had shrunk back to its original 2 meters, his robe tattered, but his muscles still bulged—proof of how powerful he'd been at his peak.
The soft, urgent murmurs made Kay's skin crawl. But as he listened, he pieced together their story: 22 years surviving side-by-side in Menzoberranzan's cruelty. Stanson's high-level strength wasn't from training—it was from being a lab rat for an official mage. Mali, the sharper one, had always guided him. Their bond was as strong as Kay's with Lina.
Kay had thought Menzoberranzan only bred deceit and betrayal. To see such devotion here, in this hellish desert... it softened his cold expression, if only for a moment.
He snuffed out the fireball, though he kept his Acid Staff trained on them. "Tell me," he said. "Where are the high-level apprentices and quasi-mages who came before us? How did you two end up together?"
Mali nodded, his voice hoarse but clear. He spoke slowly, between coughs.
Mali had entered the rift with Kay's group—but landed seven days earlier. From him, Kay learned the sand world's "day" lasted 15 days by the Wizarding World's clock. When Kay asked about the others, Mali pointed west. "That way. Stanson said it'd take 10 more days to reach the camp."
The direction matched the heat of Kay's two Elemental Orbs. Relief washed over him—he'd been on the right path all along.
As for how they'd found each other? Mali explained Stanson had a strange "sense" for him—a side effect of the mage's experiments. Over time, Mali had developed it too. When Mali landed here, Stanson had defied the other high-level apprentices and quasi-mages, rushing into the desert to find him—without proper supplies. Stupid, yes. But loyal.
Kay fell silent. He'd planned to trade a small vial of potion for their info, wary of Stanson's strength. But now? He held all the power. In Menzoberranzan, had no right to "equal trade." Still, he'd paid a price: half his mana, his Invisibility Cloak on cooldown.
His reward? The info he needed—and Mali's discarded staff. It was a fine piece, better than his own Acid Staff, with a stored Earth Spike spell—only slightly weaker than his Fire Hand. A rare find for an intermediate apprentice.
Kay didn't spare Mali and Stanson another glance. They'd tried to kill him; he owed them nothing. He stowed the new staff in his spatial ring and turned to leave. Let them die of thirst or hunger—he didn't care.
To his surprise, Mali dragged Stanson's heavy body behind him, following Kay at a distance. How he managed to pull the brute, Kay didn't know. But he understood the desperation: staying here meant death. Following him, even at a crawl, might give them a chance to reach the camp.
Dark Mage apprentices were cold to one another—but the camp would need every hand it could get. The quasi-mages and high-level apprentices might spare them, if they survived the journey.
The sand world's endless day drained Kay and Mali's strength. After a full day of walking, the three suns blazed so hot they seared his skin. Kay finally stopped, digging a shallow hollow in a dune to shelter from the heat. Rest was a necessity here—even the strongest apprentices couldn't endure this environment nonstop.
He pulled a nutrient potion from his spatial ring—only a third left. He sipped a tiny mouthful, no more than a fifth of what remained, then sealed it tight. Spatial rings preserved most items; Kay didn't understand the magic, but he knew it was keeping him alive. Potions spoiled fast once opened—without the ring, he'd have died days ago.
If Mali was telling the truth, he'd have enough to reach the camp.
Kay leaned back, closing his eyes to meditate—sleep was a luxury here, only possible during the rare 1-day nights. Meditation was the next best thing, a way to conserve mana and strength.
He'd barely settled when a soft (rustle) reached his ears. Kay's hand snapped to his Acid Staff—then relaxed. It was Mali.
The apprentice looked worse than ever: his skin was cracked, blood crusted on his lips, his eyes half-closed. He posed no threat. A mage in his state couldn't even cast a lowly Light spell.
"Kay... can we trade?" Mali's voice was barely a whisper. His eyes flicked to Kay's empty robe waist—searching for the spatial ring he couldn't see. "I have something. You'll want it."
Kay noticed Mali was dragging Stanson's tattered black robe behind him. Stanson lay motionless on a nearby dune, his chest bare, unconscious or dead—Kay couldn't tell.
"Why trade?" Kay's voice was cold. "When you die, all your things will be mine anyway."
Mali froze. His cracked lips parted, then closed. There was no argument to make. Tears welled in his eyes—a grown man, crying in the desert.
He turned to leave, then hesitated. Without a word, he dropped Stanson's robe and stumbled back to the brute's side.
Curiosity got the better of Kay. He dragged the robe over and rummaged through its pockets.
Inside, he found 16 Elemental Orbs—more than 8 times what he had. Along with them were a handful of monster cores, two spellbooks, and a few useless Black Gold coins. They'd been poor, aside from Mali's staff.
Kay stared at the orbs, then at Mali and Stanson. Mali had left them—maybe giving up, maybe clinging to a last hope that Kay would spare them.
Kay didn't. But as he tucked the orbs into his ring and resumed his journey, he didn't look back.
Let them pray for mercy. In this world, only the strong survived—and mercy was a luxury he couldn't afford.