Let's Harden Our Fists First!

The desert looked calm, yet it concealed countless dangers—quicksand, sandstorms, and even bandits lurking in the shadows could throw a caravan into crisis at any moment.

Kawaki gradually adapted to the rhythm of the desert. He learned how to conserve his strength beneath the blazing sun and how to judge subtle changes in the terrain from the camels' footsteps.

He had even begun to enjoy this isolated sense of solitude, as though only in this vast wasteland could he truly hear the voice within his heart.

Yet Kasa's attitude had always left Kawaki uneasy.

Every morning, Kasa would carefully examine that jade pendant, greed gleaming in his eyes.

At times, he would speak in low voices with several guards, his gaze occasionally sweeping over Kawaki and Asuma with a barely noticeable hint of hostility.

Kawaki had tentatively brought it up to Asuma before, but Asuma had always smiled and told him not to overthink it, saying that Kasa was merely behaving like a merchant—greedy for money, but harmless enough.

That night, the caravan made camp beside a low-lying oasis.

Though the oasis was small, several tenacious poplar trees stood there, their branches rustling in the night breeze and bringing a faint sense of life to the place.

Kawaki sat on a rock by the oasis, holding a kunai as he gently wiped its blade.

The firelight reflected off the metal, casting a cold gleam.

He looked toward the distant dunes. Under the night sky, their outlines lay crouched like massive beasts, radiating an inexplicable sense of oppression.

"Aoba, spacing out again?"

Asuma's voice came from behind him. Carrying a bowl of hot soup, he walked over and handed it to Kawaki. "Have some. It's made with water from this oasis. Tastes pretty good."

Kawaki accepted the bowl and took a