CH743 · Rewrite
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Chapter 743: The Desert Mission

Even with his eyes closed, Iron Axe could smell the yellow sands.

This was the fourth day since they had entered the desert—the third week since the army left Neverwinter. By the end of this week, two-thirds of winter would be behind them and mid-winter would begin. Unlike the Western Region with its driven snow and bone-cutting northerly wind, the Months of Demons barely touched this place. The sky held its oppressive grey, but the air was still, the sand dry and quiet around the marching column.

The Silver Stream did not converge with any other rivers and ran mainly underground, which meant there was no waterway to follow and the army had to move on foot. Rather than wait for the five hundred new recruits stationed at Palisade City, Iron Axe had decided to leave them to Brian and march ahead. Speed mattered more than numbers here.

Recruits could perform in a static firing exercise. They could not survive continuous marching across open desert. And even with five hundred more men, the situation would barely change—because His Majesty’s mission could not be won by cannon fire or raw aggression. The First Army was present to ensure victory, not to be its instrument. The Mojins had their own methods, their own structures; those were what mattered here.

The recruits’ task was simpler: seize Silver Stream Oasis and hold it. An oasis was a lifeline in the Southernmost Region. Whether a force moved to attack or to flee, it could not live without one, and a flanking attack from behind was the oldest lesson the desert taught.

The tribal people of the Sand Nation could feel the difference in these soldiers before they saw what they carried. Veterans marched differently than mercenaries. No one approached the column to question them—they filled their water packs, ate, and fell back, watching from a distance, whispering.

At this pace, Iron Axe estimated they would reach Iron Sand City before nightfall.

“I’m still not clear on something.” Andrea—the blonde witch who had attached herself to the expedition, though only one Extraordinary had been requested—walked beside Echo with her fine pale skin a sharp contrast to the princess’s darker complexion. “Can anyone call for a holy duel at any time, in any season? Even noblemen can refuse a honor challenge if they’re unwell. On a cold day like this, wouldn’t anyone prefer to stay near a fire rather than go out and fight? What happens if the challenged party simply refuses?”

Iron Axe remembered her as a combat witch who usually accompanied Princess Tilly.

“When someone picks up an axe, kicks in your door, and smashes your stove—you fight.” Ashes’ tone was flat. “This isn’t a contest between nobles. It determines whether a clan lives or dies. Do you think it follows rules like theirs?”

“Kicking in a door is called a sneak attack or a massacre, not a duel,” Andrea said calmly. “Even if the Mojins are barbarians, they know the difference. Do you assume everyone is as ignorant as you?”

“That’s a remarkably learned observation to make in front of Echo.”

“Don’t twist what I said!”

Iron Axe was unbothered by the word barbarian. He had been told directly by His Majesty that in Neverwinter, people were not judged by where they came from. Beyond being Mojin, he held a more important identity: he was a resident of Neverwinter. He waited until Echo’s eyes found his—a silent appeal—before he spoke.

“Lady Andrea’s concern is not unreasonable. The holy duel cannot be refused—both parties must be ready, and the outcome must earn the approval of the Three Gods. But that doesn’t mean a duel can be initiated at any time, by anyone. There is a prior requirement: the challenger must be qualified.”

“What qualifications?”

“First, the challenger must represent an entire Mojin clan,” Iron Axe said. “A single person cannot speak for a clan—not even a chief or a princess. That rule exists to prevent a dozen people from seizing one-sixth of Iron Sand City by fighting their way in. It also excludes foreigners. Iron Sand City allows outsiders to fight for clans, but it bars them from positions of central authority.”

“So we have no standing at all?” Ashes raised an eyebrow. “Echo was exiled years ago. The Osha clan is gone. Do we have to find her surviving clansmen first?”

“No one survived Endless Cape.” Iron Axe shook his head. “But there’s another method. Naming Lady Silvermoon the chief of a new clan is permitted.”

“Is that actually possible?” Andrea looked surprised.

“Mojins don’t value blood the way your people do. Ability matters more than lineage.” He spoke without heat. “Once the first criterion is met, any clan that can hold one of the four small oases surrounding Iron Sand City becomes eligible to issue a challenge. Those oases are where rising clans always fight—which is why they’re called the bloodstained place.”

“Like admission tickets,” Ashes said.

“You could say that. The clans holding these positions generally fall into two types.” Iron Axe paused. “Challengers. And watchdogs.”

“Watchdogs?” The word caught Andrea’s attention.

Echo answered before he could. “They’re obstacles placed by the top clans—men who don’t want the order of Iron Sand City disturbed. The big clans use their resources and influence to field mixed clans that plant themselves in the small oases. Watchdogs won’t challenge their patrons, but they hold the challenger positions permanently. They live well on the water and food the oases provide, and keep rising clans out.”

“Hounds willing to eat leftovers,” Ashes said. “The name fits.”

“Because a holy duel carries so many variables, the big clans will try to bribe or neutralize potential challengers before they can threaten the order. My father refused to serve as a watchdog. He challenged the Iron Whip clan directly.” Echo’s voice went quiet. “You know how that ended.”

“They’ll pay for what they did that year, Lady Silvermoon.” Iron Axe spoke evenly. “Their time is coming.”

“So we need to find a challenger clan first, install Echo as chief, and then work up through the six big clans?” Andrea asked.

“There’s a problem with that approach.” Iron Axe glanced at the horizon. “Once people settle into a small oasis, they tend to stop moving. A clan that holds a position and doesn’t immediately challenge often becomes the next watchdog. After that, there’s no easy way to dislodge them—by words or by force.” He let the pause sit. “But we travel under the king’s mandate. We carry thunder and grace both. There’s no need for the indirect approach. Any humble clan will become unstoppable with the First Army behind it. Whoever stands in His Majesty’s way—we will remove them.”

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