The Village's Map
Days had passed since Noah's departure from his makeshift shelter, his journey through the wasteland gradually becoming less treacherous as familiarity with its challenges grew. The perils that once seemed insurmountable now yielded to his newly found power. His encounters with danger had tempered his survival instincts, leaving him better equipped to navigate the unforgiving terrain. Though he remained cautious, the initial paralyzing fear had given way to a tempered vigilance.
The wasteland stretched before Noah, a vast expanse of barren, sun-scorched desert that seemed to defy life itself. The land was a patchwork of shifting sand dunes, cracked earth, and jagged rock formations. The relentless sun beat down upon the landscape, casting an unrelenting glare that made the air shimmer with heat. The mountains loomed on the distant horizon like ancient sentinels, their craggy peaks cutting sharp silhouettes against the cloudless sky.
Yet, despite his growing competence in the wasteland's ways, Noah's ultimate destination—the elusive Mercenaries—remained a mystery, an enigma that spurred him forward. His search for a village, a bastion of human civilization in this desolation, was fueled by the hope of finding a map, a fragment of knowledge that might lead him to the doorstep of the formidable group. So far, his quest had yielded little more than traces of human presence, a testament to the wasteland's harsh grip on the remnants of society.
Bound to his side was a pouch, a crude yet functional creation crafted from the hide of a boar he had encountered. Within it lay a small collection of cores, each a prize wrested from the lifeless bodies of monsters. These valuable artifacts, products of his determination and prowess, bore the promise of wealth in a world where coins held sway. The hierarchy of currency spanned from stone to nickel, iron, and gold coins, each level representing a step towards prosperity. With gold coins being worth one hundred iron coins, ten iron coins being worth ten nickel coins, and nickel coins being worth ten stone coins. The cores nestled within Noah's pouch were a potential ticket to a modest fortune, their value measured in iron coins—a stark contrast to his current state of pennilessness.
The setting sun painted the wasteland in hues of crimson and gold, casting elongated shadows that danced across the rugged terrain. Noah's senses were finely attuned to the environment, every rustle of sand and distant sound ringing in his ears. A low, ominous rumble reached him, causing his steps to falter. His heart quickened, the anticipation of danger awakening his instincts. The haunting howl that carried on the wind was all too familiar—a chilling reminder of the perilous inhabitants that roamed the wasteland.
With his fingers wrapped tightly around the supple leather strap of his pouch, Noah braced himself. The cores nestled within were a tangible source of strength, a symbol of the power he had gained. The caution he had honed during his journey resurfaced, guiding his reactions like a well-worn map. Instincts, refined through trial and tribulation, propelled him into action, a dance with danger that he had become accustomed to.
Emerging from the darkness, a trio of hulking figures took form. Their six-legged frames were cloaked in ebony fur, a natural camouflage against the wasteland's nocturnal backdrop. An air of uncertainty hung in the air as Noah encountered a breed of monster previously unfamiliar to him. The creatures multiplied in his presence, a calculated strategy that left him outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Yet, he stood his ground, ready to unleash his newfound power.
Noah's energy chain shot forth, ensnaring the advancing pack with calculated precision. The tendrils of energy held the creatures in a spectral grip, rendering them immobilized. He channeled his power, seeking to drain their life force. However, the outcome was not uniform—the strength of his ability varied among his targets. One creature faltered, its vitality diminishing, while another pressed on undeterred. A direct blow from Noah shattered the facade of one creature, reducing it to a cascade of disintegrating sand.
A revelation struck Noah—the pack held not just flesh and bone, but decoys crafted from the very sand that blanketed the wasteland. Undeterred by the ruse, he methodically eliminated the illusions one by one, each strike a testament to his strategic prowess. The true wolves emerged from the shadows, attempting a tactical retreat. Noah's energy chain ensnared them, his power inflicting a creeping frost that encased their forms. Ice spread slowly, crystallizing their movements until they succumbed to their frozen prison.
With relentless determination, Noah advanced, each punch an affirmation of his burgeoning might. The wolves met their end at his hands, disintegrating into nothingness. As silence settled over the wasteland once more, Noah retrieved the cores from the remains of his foes. Each core held the promise of strength and resilience, a reminder that even in the face of darkness, he had the power to triumph. Placing the cores within his pouch, he carried the weight of his victories—a tangible testament to his ascent in a world where survival was the ultimate measure of strength.
With his recent triumph bolstering his confidence, Noah pressed on with his journey. For nearly another full day, he traversed the unforgiving wasteland, its barren landscape stretching out in every direction. The occasional mountains, hills, and plateaus provided fleeting moments of elevation, offering a vantage point over the desolate expanse. His footsteps left faint imprints in the loose sand, a temporary mark on a world that seemed to resist any lasting impact.
Until, finally, a sight on the horizon stirred a sense of longing within him - a village, seemingly untouched by the ravages of decay. After nearly a week of wandering through desolation, Noah finally stumbled upon signs of civilization. Still plagued by doubt that the village might be deserted like a ghost town, Noah quickened his pace. Upon arrival, his excitement swelled as he observed villagers meandering along the faint village pathways. Eagerly, Noah approached a burly villager, unmistakably a hunter given the bow slung across his back.
"Hey there!" Noah called out.
"We've got no coin for peddlers," the hunter retorted hastily, eyeing the pouch attached to Noah's side.
"No, I'm not a merchant. I'm, uh..." Noah's voice trailed off momentarily as he contemplated how to define himself. "I'm an adventurer, or wait, a traveler," he declared.
"A traveler, huh?" the man responded, his skepticism palpable. "We're short on lodgings here, barely enough for the locals as it is."
"I'm not seeking shelter," Noah clarified, though he couldn't help but yearn for some respite. "I'm just in search of information."
"Alright then," the man conceded, his tone cautious. "What sort of information do you need?"
"I'd be grateful if I could take a look at a map," Noah replied.
"A map," the hunter echoed, his hesitation evident.
"I could offer a trade for one," Noah proposed, producing a core from his pouch. "How about one of these in exchange for a map?"
"A core!" the hunter exclaimed, clearly taken aback. "How'd a kid like you come by one of those?"
"Got it myself," Noah replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
"Well, I'll be darned," the hunter muttered, his doubt beginning to waver. "Alright, kid. Follow me. We've got a map of the wasteland around Averane over here. It ain't the best, but it should get the job done."
The hunter ushered Noah into a dwelling. Spread out upon a table near the entrance lay a substantial map. Despite its slightly weathered appearance, it bore markings denoting all the significant locales, including the Mercenaries oasis.
"Help yourself, kid," the hunter remarked, gesturing towards the map. "I've stared at it so much, I could sketch it from memory."
"Much appreciated, sir," Noah acknowledged, taking hold of the map and extending the core in exchange.
"Care to share which beast coughed up this core?" the hunter inquired.
"A wasteland sandworm of the fiend level," Noah answered.
"Hmm... I see. Well then, you best be on your way. We're not equipped to accommodate travelers here," the hunter replied.
With that, Noah bid his farewell and embarked on the journey towards the Mercenaries oasis. The distance was substantial, yet fueled by his determination, Noah believed he could reach the village within a matter of days, given his swiftness. His heart brimmed with anticipation at the prospect of finally seizing an opportunity to fortify himself, a crucial step towards exacting revenge on the guard captain.