After deducing this information, Duke roughly understood how this plane operated.
He also felt the power of this plane more keenly. Its top experts were clearly no pushovers. Even if the four Wizard Organizations joined forces, they would likely need to expend considerable effort to conquer this place.
Duke lay in the gently swaying carriage, the stalk of dry grass between his lips bobbing lightly with the vehicle's jolts.
The afterglow of the setting sun slanted through the open carriage door, carving a sharp boundary of light and shadow across his face. One half was dyed a warm golden red, while the other remained hidden in the carriage's shadows, looking deep and calm.
Outside the window, the wasteland had been painted by the sunset into a magnificent yet desolate scene.
Golden-red light spilled over enormous, heavily weathered hills, while jagged boulders cast long, twisted shadows.
The road wound through the hills, growing narrower and more tortuous. The steep Rock Walls on either side seemed ready to collapse inward at any moment.
This was a natural breeding ground for ambushes, and an invisible tension filled the air.
The caravan traveled through a region of heavily weathered hills. The road had become narrow and winding, with jagged rocks everywhere—an ideal place for an ambush.
The guards had visibly raised their vigilance. Their earlier weary chatter was gone, and their sharp gazes swept over the crevices in the rocks and the withered yellow brush on both sides.
Every time they passed through such terrain, the risk multiplied.
The experienced drivers had slowed the carriages as well, pulling tightly on the reins to control the somewhat restless Pack Beasts.
Manager Hawk rode back and forth through the middle of the convoy, unable to conceal the worry on his face.
It had been more than