Dragon Heart. Land Of Magic. LitRPG Wuxia Saga. Book 6

The squad moved slowly toward the northeast. Hadjar hadn't told them about the landmark that he'd privately dubbed 'Falcon's Head' — and even if he'd wanted to tell them, it would've been very difficult to explain at this point.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, he looked around. There wasn't a cloud in sight, and the sun was almost as hot as in the Sea of Sand. The landscape remained unchanged: ruins and sand covered with sparse, low vegetation.

"We've got trouble!" Tom raised his fist.

They were on a high hill overlooking an old, wide road. Dismounting, they fell to the ground and began crawling. Hiding behind the dry, reddish bushes, they took turns looking through Hadjar's telescope. No matter how strong Spirit Knights were, they still couldn't see three miles ahead of them.

"By the Great Turtle!" Einen breathed out and handed the telescope back to Hadjar.

Pressing it to his eye, he peered at the road. Through the cracked and slightly cloudy glass, he saw a group of cultivators fighting a pink-skinned, giant monster that looked like a mix of lion, bat, scorpion, and a child's nightmare. Its black mane shot out yellow sparks that turned into lightning bolts and struck the cultivators scurrying at its feet. Those who weren't killed by the bolts were immediately torn to pieces by the monster's huge paws adorned with razor-sharp claws. Wide as a ship's mast, they easily felled two or three warriors at once. Those that it didn't kill, it swallowed without chewing. Instead of a lion's tail, it had a chitinous scorpion sting that immediately turned those it hit to dust. The sand sizzled and evaporated in places where the acidic, green poison landed on it. The creature also had two gigantic wings, which it used to create deadly sandstorms. The wind would strip the skin off those unlucky enough to get in its way, leaving behind only a skeleton clad in armor.

"It's a manticore," Anise said, handing the telescope back to Hadjar.

"I've heard of those..."

He'd never fought against such a creature himself, only heard the stories from travelers and read about them in the bestiary that all students of the School had free access to.

"I didn't know that Spirit Stage monsters dwelled in the Wastelands."

"Thank the gods that this one is only at the first level of the Stage," Tom said.

Everyone instantly felt as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. A creature at the initial level of the Spirit Stage was equal in power to the peak stage of the Nameless level. If the manticore had reached the middle level, it would've surpassed the Nameless level of human cultivation, and the fortress that served as the barrier between the Wastelands and the Empire would've crumbled to dust long ago.

The winged serpents that had now settled in the lands of the Dah'Khasses were that powerful. By the Evening Stars, getting hit by one of them was as terrible as being struck by a cannonball in the face. No matter how much human civilization developed, its primary threat were still bloodthirsty monsters.

"Let's go," Dora said and began to slowly crawl back to the side of the slope, where the horses were grazing and Azrea was stretched out, yawning. "We can't help them."

No one disagreed. These hundred or so cultivators and disciples from their School were doomed to die at the beast's hands. No one could help them. Had access to the Wastelands been granted to all the students, including the personal disciples at the Lord level, several of them working together would've probably been able to deal with the manticore and save these unfortunate souls.

With their gazes still fixed on the distant scene of carnage, they descended the slope, got on their mounts, and rode away without hesitation. They raced in the opposite direction with mad urgency for about three hours. During that time, clouds appeared in the sky, threatening to merge into the dark, stormy kind. The landscape finally began to change: hills made up of dry, cracked earth gave way to small rocks, and then to red mountain peaks. Looming above the Wastelands, they reached for the azure sky, hoping to touch it one day.

"We've gone far enough," Tom said and halted. Patting the sweaty neck of his tired steed, he jumped off it. "Let's set up camp."

No one bothered to argue. They'd let him be the leader simply because no one wanted to constantly argue with him.

Hadjar retrieved a waterskin and a bowl from his spatial ring. He filled the latter with fresh water and placed it in front of Azrea. The rest followed his example and set out food and water for their mounts. Perhaps the animals hadn't taken over the world because, unlike cultivators, they needed nourishment. Even at the highest Stages, their instincts always prevailed. Try as they might, they could never reach the same level of sentience as humans.

Hadjar approached Einen.

"How far off course are we?" He asked in the islander's native language.

Einen looked up at the sky. Picking up a small stick from the ground, he held it out in front of his eyes, made a couple of gestures with his fingers, and thought about it for a while.

"We're about 125 miles east."

"125 miles." Hadjar repeated, looking in the direction where the Falcon's Head should be.

"We need to explore these mountains," Tom said once he was finished with starting the fire. Sitting down, he held his hands out over the flames. A cold night in the Wastelands could easily kill a mortal or a practitioner, but not a cultivator. For them, it was only a minor inconvenience. "Something tells me that we might find a couple of clues here."

"Maybe you're right," Dora said.

Anise, as usual, supported her brother's decision. Their relationship seemed strange to Hadjar, but he didn't want to stick his nose where it didn't belong. Instead, he looked to the north and the three snowcapped peaks lost amongst the numerous red spears.

"Shall we vote on it?" Tom suggested.

Hadjar felt like they needed to head toward the Falcon's Head, but he was outnumbered three to one. He hated intrigue.