The Head Crow

The yellow sands still drifted hazily, and the newborn sun remained shrouded in mist.

Deler rode on horseback, rising and falling with the saddle as he watched the horizon where dust met clouds, his face expressionless.

Dim and blurry.

Just like always.

Several seconds later, after a respectful reminder from his subordinate, Deler finally turned his horse and looked straight ahead:

A "gate" formed by more than a dozen cheval de frises, a stretch of hard-packed sand trampled flat, and behind it, clusters of fortresses rising and falling in layers; guards standing in neat, solemn ranks; and the Cross Double Star Flag fluttering in the air.

Of course, there was also a flag that looked like starlight shrouded in mist.

The Star Dust Battle Flag.

Just like always.

As expected, a squad of camp guards swaggered over.

They clashed with Deler's group. The confrontation ranged from bickering and shouting to shoving and colliding—there was no shortage of anything.

Like two stallions fighting over the same trough in a stable.

Deler neither interfered nor asked questions. He simply took the waterskin from his saddlebag and let matters develop on their own.

In the Western Wasteland, your tongue would tell you faster than your eyes:

The desert was near.

When Deler swallowed his third mouthful of water, his Guard Team captain angrily pointed at the flag behind him, and the confrontation reached its peak. The two sides, glaring at each other, could no longer suppress their tempers. They drew knives and swords, nocked arrows, and raised crossbows.

At his Guard Team's command, several hundred riders immediately spread into battle formation.

The camp guards behind the gate poured out all at once and surrounded them tightly, gnashing their teeth.

Deler also caught sight of more than a dozen Magic Energy Guns and City