[November 19, Year 1000 of the Lost Era, Wild Wasteland. The sky cleared after the rain.
Fortunately, yesterday's rain was light.
The acidic raindrops alternated between hot and cold, stinging as they struck my cheeks.
Many of the sheep were adventurers who spent most of their time in the Wasteland. They told me this wasn't actually normal; acid rain might fall only once or twice a year.
But that didn't mean the Wasteland enjoyed clear skies all year round.
It meant acid rain wasn't the only kind of precipitation here.
Last summer, for instance, on the eve of the twin-moon night, it rained popcorn for three days in the Wild Zone outside the Stable Zone.
Unfortunately, we missed that happy occasion and its sweet treats. Instead, our tribe's tents were damaged and had to be pitched again. Still, one advantage of simple lodgings was that repairing them didn't hurt much.
The unpredictable storm forced the giant turtle to stop and retreat into its shell, waiting for the acidic clouds to pass.
But misfortune often brought good fortune with it.
Reaching the edge of the Stable Zone later than planned spared us an unnecessary disaster—]
"Disaster is always one step ahead of us."
Standing at the edge of the village, Tang Qi gazed at the collapsed stone walls and ruined wooden houses before him and sighed.
A square tower, snapped in half, stood in the middle of the village. Smoke drifted upward from its base on the breeze, yet there was nothing combustible left where the embers glowed. It was as though they were burning the magic that permeated the air, leaving them unable to burn themselves out.
The dirt road was covered in footprints, claw marks mingling with the impressions of feet.
Following it deeper into the village, they occasionally