While Gamble's group, along with Julian, pressed westward through the endless forests—cutting down beasts that emerged from the undergrowth—the world was far from quiet elsewhere.
Far to the south, beyond the woodlands and the fractured plains, stretched the Great Desert, a land of heat, mirage, and death. And there, amid rolling dunes that shimmered beneath the merciless sun, Mondrik hunted.
He called it stretching his muscles. But here in the Great Desert, with predators born of nightmare lurking beneath the sands, it was no mere exercise. It was survival—and a test of how far his storm could reach.
Mondrik hovered in the air, suspended by currents of wind he alone commanded. Around him, invisible streams spun into the shape of a dome, blurring the sunlight and cutting the desert's crushing heat. His cloak snapped violently as gales curled at his feet, keeping him above the burning sands.
The enemy before him was no ordinary beast. It was a leviathan of the dunes—an immense worm-like monster, its body armored in ridges of stone and grit, its wings stretching from its flanks like torn sails. When it surfaced, endless rows of jagged teeth gnashed together in a spiral of hunger. When it burrowed, the desert trembled as though an ocean tide shifted beneath the sand.
By the measure of hunters, this was no lesser prey. This was a Grade Nine beast—a calamity strong enough to flatten towns if left unchecked.
Mondrik's eyes narrowed as the creature circled unseen beneath the dunes, vanishing into silence before erupting upward again. It was testing him, weaving in and out of the sand like a serpent in its element.
The desert was its battlefield. But Mondrik intended to make the sky his.
With a flick of his wrist, he called the winds tighter, spiraling into razor vortices. Small cyclones danced along his arms, eager to be unleashed. When the beast burst upward again, jaws wide and snapping, Mondrik hurled a storm of blades that shredded the air itself. But the monster vanished, plunging down before the storm struck.
The desert resettled, the dunes hissing with heat.
Mondrik's lips curled. "Enough wasting time," he muttered, his tone sharpening. His storm-dark eyes gleamed with a new intensity. "If I keep toying with you, you'll drain me dry."
The playful edge was gone. Now, there was only steel in his resolve.
He exhaled once, then released his mana in full.
A wave of wind burst outward from his body, stretching across the desert like a tide, scattering sand in rolling walls. The current sharpened, delicate as threads, sensitive as nerves. He felt everything—the sway of each grain, the faintest vibration, the pulse of shifting dunes.
And then—there. A tremor beneath the sand, subtle yet distinct.
The beast was moving. Preparing.
Mondrik spread his arms wide. Wind gathered between his palms, compressing until the air itself screamed. Two enormous blades of pressurized gales took form, crossing each other in a devastating V. Their edges shimmered with lethal force, sharp enough to shear mountains.
The dunes erupted.
The monster exploded upward, mouth agape, its wings flaring wide. But this time, it didn't just lunge—it countered. A roar split the desert as it unleashed a torrent of wind mixed with whirling sand and jagged teeth spat from its maw like a storm of needles.
It was an attack meant to erase anything in its path.
Mondrik's eyes narrowed to slits. "Too slow."
The twin wind blades slashed downward in a perfect arc.
The desert shook as the blades cleaved through scale and bone alike, splitting the monster's head open in a clean V. Its scream gurgled into silence as its body crashed back into the sand, wings twitching before falling still.
But victory came with a price.
The beast's storm had already been unleashed. The wave of needles—stone fangs hardened by mana—hurtled toward him with killing intent.
Mondrik cursed under his breath and thrust his hands outward.
A wall of air roared to life, compressing into a shield of wind thick enough to tear apart arrows, blades, even boulders. The storm of teeth slammed into it, scattering in a hail of shrieking metal-like shards. Dust and sand churned wildly, swallowing the horizon.
For a moment, it seemed the barrier would hold.
But one fang broke through.
It pierced his defense with uncanny precision, striking the pivot of his right leg.
Pain exploded through him like fire. Mondrik staggered, his flight faltering, his leg trembling violently. Gritting his teeth, he forced more wind beneath him to stabilize, even as the agony radiated up his thigh.
Had that strike landed in his chest or skull, it would have ended him. The realization was cold and sharp.
So that's it…
He had always known the truth: wind was a versatile element, perfect for speed, evasion, and relentless movement. But it was never meant for defense. His power made him untouchable when moving. Yet when pinned down—when forced to block—he was vulnerable.
For the strong, weaknesses were irrelevant. But even the strong bled.
Breathing hard, Mondrik descended slowly until his boots touched the sand. The carcass of the monster twitched nearby, its immense bulk half-buried in the shifting dunes.
He raised a hand, wind carving into the beast's hide, splitting it open. With a steady motion, he reached into the gore and withdrew its core.
The crystal pulsed in his palm—a radiant orb, glowing not with pure sky-blue wind, but with a strange earthy hue, a sandy brown that shimmered like stone under sunlight.
Mondrik frowned. "A wind beast… with a core like rock?"
Intrigue replaced the lingering pain. Holding the orb tighter, he pressed his mana into it. Energy surged in return, wild and hot, flooding into him. His storm swelled, his veins burning with raw power.
It took time—minutes of concentrated focus—but finally the core dissolved into him completely. The desert winds circled tighter, sharper, as though acknowledging his victory.
Still, the ache in his leg remained, every tremor a reminder.
Mondrik looked out across the dunes, his storm-dark eyes narrowed. "This desert isn't finished with me. And neither is this world."
The wind howled in answer, scattering sand across endless horizons.
And somewhere, far beyond the dunes, Julian pressed deeper into the west, unaware that Mondrik's storm was only the beginning.