He was like a worm, clinging to the violently shaking rope and climbing up inch by inch.
His movements were clumsy, but at least his grip was firm, and he wouldn't fall easily.
"Faster! In a real battle, you won't have so much time to climb slowly!" the fleet Admiral's scolding voice came from the fishing boat being used to simulate the Jhen Mohran.
Altaïr tried to speed up, but to be honest, while he had practiced rock climbing, rope climbing was something few people specifically trained for. After all, there were very few situations where it was needed.
It was only thanks to a hunter's powerful grip and excellent sense of balance that he could keep himself from being shaken off the rope.
But asking him to climb with nimble speed was a bit much. Even an elite hunter like Senior Serl probably couldn't...
"Don't use your arms! Use your feet to push your body up!" Serl, who was already standing on the fishing boat's deck, waved his hands and shouted advice.
How did he get up there already?!
Altaïr looked up in astonishment. Just then, a crosswind struck, causing the small Sandship being towed alongside the fishing boat to shake violently. Asa, who was in charge of steering the Sandship, hurriedly adjusted the rudder to stabilize the vessel.
In the process, the rope connecting the fishing boat and the Sandship went slack and then suddenly snapped taut. Caught off guard, Altaïr was flung from the rope.
"Little Brother Altaïr!" Serl cried out from the fishing boat's deck, reaching out a hand. But Altaïr was too far away for him to grab, and he could only watch helplessly as Altaïr fell into the sand sea.
"Hah..." The fleet Admiral beside him let out a breath. "Don't be so nervous. He was born and raised on this sand sea. He knows how to protect himself in a situation like this."
Although Serl heard the fleet Admiral's words, he still couldn't hide his worry. Fortunately, just a few minutes later, another Sandship picked up the fallen Altaïr and brought him over to the fishing boat.
Altaïr was now covered in sand, with numerous scrapes on his face and arms. He looked utterly wretched, but thanks to his timely curling up to break his fall, he hadn't sustained any more serious injuries.
"In a real battle, that would have put you out of the fight, or even killed you. You understand that, don't you?" The fleet Admiral stared at Altaïr, his tone severe.
"...Yes."
Seeing Altaïr's solemn expression, the fleet Admiral's tense face relaxed slightly.
"Good that you understand. Also, what I said just now was nonsense. In a real battle, you'll have a safety rope tied to your waist. If you accidentally fall into the sand, you can climb back up to the Sandship along the rope."
At this, the fleet Admiral paused for a second. "But don't think a safety rope makes everything fine.
If you lose consciousness the moment you fall, and can't climb back up the safety rope in time, you could very well be dragged to death by the high-speed Sandship.
If you're seriously injured and don't have the strength to climb back, you must at least cut the safety rope, understand?
I don't want to see a mangled corpse still being dragged by a safety rope connected to a Sandship after the battle is over."
The fleet conducted joint drills every two to three days. The rest of the time was spent repeatedly inspecting and repairing the Sandships to ensure the vessels were in optimal condition, ready for battle at any moment. His training over this period had been remarkably effective. Altaïr, who could originally only hang from the ropes like an insect, could now nimbly climb the nearly vertical and violently swaying rigging.
Serl's personal demonstrations had been indispensable in this achievement.
When it came to the speed of climbing ropes, many veterans in the Sandship fleet couldn't match him. To be able to master even such an obscure skill so brilliantly added another layer to Altaïr's reverence for his senior.
As the monsoon season drew ever closer, merchants and tourists flocked to the city, making Loc Lac increasingly lively. Within the Sandship fleet, however, the atmosphere grew more and more solemn.
The so-called monsoon season was not a precise meteorological event. Scholars could only provide a rough timeframe by analyzing statistics from past monsoons and summarizing their patterns.
In reality, the monsoon from the north was quite capricious; it could arrive early or be delayed.
It wouldn't even be surprising if the monsoon, carrying with it a sky full of sand and dust, were to strike at this very moment.
To avoid being caught off guard, the Sandship fleet had ceased all joint training exercises. At the same time, all combat personnel were required to remain on standby in the docks, ready to engage at a moment's notice.
For someone like Asa, who could never sit still, these days felt like being in prison.
He spent all day thinking about taking a Sandship out for a spin, claiming it was to stay familiar with the controls and ensure his skills didn't get rusty. Naturally, he ended up getting a lecture from the fleet Admiral.
But for others, like Altaïr, this life was unexpectedly fulfilling.
During this time, he followed Serl around all day, training with him and brazenly asking for pointers on Sword and Shield techniques. It was only because Serl was good-natured and happy to teach his juniors that he hadn't lost his patience long ago.
Through their training and discussions, Altaïr discovered that even setting aside outlandish "crossover techniques" like the Demon-Mode Charged Slash, Serl's style with the Sword and Shield was completely different from his own.
His style was offense; everything was for the sake of attacking. He used his shield like a hammer, and sometimes like an axe. Even on the rare occasion he used it to block, it was to create an opening for his next attack.
Serl, on the other hand, had an extremely stable combat style. With a round shield barely half a meter in diameter, he managed to project an unshakeable, mountain-like presence reminiscent of heavy defensive weapons like the Lance or Gunlance.
But it would be a huge mistake to dismiss him as a defense-oriented specialist because of this.
Quite the contrary, Serl was highly skilled at repositioning himself during lulls in the defense through dodges, slides, and other movements, slipping under a Monster's belly and other blind spots to launch guerrilla attacks.
The two traits of stability and agility, which should have been unrelated, were perfectly fused in him, completely changing Altaïr's perception of the Sword and Shield as a so-called "beginner's weapon."
Relying on his own special talents and Serl's open guidance, Altaïr quickly learned the evasive technique that Serl called the "Sliding Slash."
Of course, for now, he had only learned the movements. To truly apply this move in actual combat, he would need much more training and practice.
And this growth was not one-sided.
Initially, Serl had indeed been motivated by the desire to help a junior. But after all this time together, he had also absorbed a great deal from his eccentric junior. He certainly couldn't learn strange moves like the Demon-Mode Sword and Shield Blade Dance or the Sword and Shield Charged Slash, but many of Altaïr's ideas, which transcended the conventional thinking of a Sword and Shield user, gave him a lot of inspiration.
His personal memo was almost filled with these jumbled ideas. The vast majority of them were meaningless fantasies to him, but he always felt he could extract something meaningful from them.
If possible, they all hoped these peaceful days could last a little longer, but it was obvious that the arrival of the desert monsoon would not be altered by personal wishes.
—--
North of Loc Lac, deep within the sand sea.
A hot air balloon responsible for observing the monsoon was floating high in the sky as usual. Due to the lack of water vapor in the desert, clouds were a rare sight. As long as it wasn't a sandstorm, one's line of sight could extend very far.
Suddenly, the small pinwheel used to measure wind speed began to spin furiously, catching the attention of the Elder Dragon Observation Team scholar in the hot air balloon.
The elderly yet still nimble Wyverian scholar raised his binoculars and gazed toward the north.
On the horizon of rolling sand dunes, the grayish-yellow sand and dust kicked up by the strong wind looked like a wall with no end in sight, pushing forward slowly but surely.
The scholar hurriedly tossed the binoculars aside, took out an SOS Flare, and fired it.
The monsoon was here!