NOVEL WEB 35 Arrival of Chaos
"In any situation, the best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing." — Theodore Roosevelt
From the shadows of doubt to the day the sky horn calls me home, I will walk this land unafraid. I will stay true to myself, loyal to my creed of liberty, and strive for the freedom beyond ages.
In the eyes of the system, there is no good or evil—only an exchange of energy, perceptions of events, and the consequences of one's actions.
From the shadows of doubt…
Azar mentally repeated the mantras. Each repetition wasn’t in vain—it strengthened his bond with his bloodline. This was the first step in awakening the dormant power within. Yet, connecting to his blood meant linking with the past, to the ancestors who once wielded that very power, and with his past self. The Azar of the past was nothing like the present, he was a force of nature, bound by nothing except the limits of his strength and knowledge—a man with true freedom of choice.
Sitting astride his horse, clad in brownish-red robes older than two millennia but perfectly preserved in the void of his storage ring, Azar opened his eyes at last.
Vices make people weak, and weak people live trapped in cages they’ve built themselves, Azar reflected, taking a deep breath and exhaling the ominous feeling that had lingered within.
With each meditation, each journey into his past, Azar grew more relaxed with the present. This was once his land and playground. Power surged through his veins when he remembered who he was, but with the power came a creeping veil of chaos—one that clouded his judgment, threatening to blur the line between friend and foe.
"You said we need to present our profiles from the fluxolit to enter the city, but I’m not keen on revealing my cultivation and techniques," Azar said in rough voice to Mohul, more focused on stroking the neck of his horse then paying attention to the man.
Leading the caravan, Mohul turned his head, acknowledging Azar’s return to awareness. To most, riding with one's eyes closed signaled sleep. They were in the desert—a place where caution was a necessity, not a luxury. Beasts and men alike stalked the sands, so no one dared to fall asleep.
But Araumir, coming in person to escort his master safely to the city, leaving behind at the Mirha tribe only a clone that one should not underestimate, knew better. He knew that Azar was meditating, yet explaining the focused state of one's mind to the people around felt too much of a burden to him.
"No one wants their techniques exposed," Mohul replied. "Only the basics are required—name, affiliation, age, height—but you’ll have to reveal your cultivation level. That’s the rule for all outsiders."
Azar nodded, opening his fluxolit to adjust the settings. He was ashamed of his cultivation. At twenty one years of age to be a mere Bellator Class was an insult to his pride and hard working personality. However, if he was required to show it, he will bare the embarrassment.
"What about my age?" Araumir interjected with a smirk. "I just have three question marks where that should be. And as for my race…”
Mohul’s expression tightened. "Forgive me for saying this, but I believe it would be better for Araumir Syed to enter the city... discreetly. Conventional methods might... attract unnecessary attention."
Araumir’s grin widened slightly. "Agreed."
Though Araumir knew little of the current world, caution came naturally. Better to stay in the shadows than become a burden.
As the caravan drew closer to Harmin City—a massive fortress built on ancient stone—the dusty desert path gave way to a well-trodden road. Harmin was one of Khasmi Kingdom's three principal cities, its outer walls tall and darkened by time. The flux cannons perched atop them stood ready, sentinels guarding against threats from both beast and man.
"This city is over five hundred years old," Mohul explained. "It has withstood beast attacks, border skirmishes, and now serves as a trading hub. But remember, though we come for business, we are still considered an outside force by the kingdom. Some will make it difficult for us, but we must endure and avoid conflict unless it’s life or death. Outside forces are forbidden from assaulting the people of the kingdom."
Araumir’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "If they cross the line, I’ll show them punishment older than their precious city."
"Araumir Syed," Mohul cautioned, his voice trembling slightly, "please... refrain. The tribes are not yet strong enough to face the kingdom’s wrath."
Azar chimed in calmly. "He’s right. Provoking them will only give them an excuse to push deeper into our territory. We will act with restraint, but that doesn’t mean we can't retaliate behind their backs."
Araumir’s eyes narrowed. "Master?"
"You are above the petty insults of these people, aren’t you, Araumir?" Azar asked with a knowing look.
"If you are not concerned with them, Master, then I will pay them no mind," Araumir replied, and Azar nodded approvingly.
As they neared the city, Azar noticed a sprawling camp outside its walls, filled with people dressed in various styles. They lived in tents, forming a settlement just before the gates.
"Are they refugees?" Azar asked.
"No," Mohul answered. "That camp belongs to smaller forces. We’ll stay there too—the cost of lodging inside the city is too high for us."
Suddenly, Azar halted his horse, causing the caravan behind him to slow in confusion.
"Beg your pardon?" Azar asked.
"I don't know what you mean," Mohul said, coming to a halt as well, puzzled by Azar’s sudden actions.
Azar hugged his knee, resting his chin on it, leaning slightly on the saddle. He fixed Mohul with a steady gaze for a few moments before finally speaking.
"How much do you make from selling the hides and goods?" Azar asked.
"It depends on the market," Mohul replied. "There aren’t many merchants who make deals with the tribes, but we’ve found a reliable one. Usually, we make about ten gold."
Azar raised an eyebrow, his tone lazy but piercing. "You make this month-long journey, once a year or two, for only ten gold? You gather the tribe’s products into eight wagons and settle for just ten gold?"
"Syed, ten gold is a considerable sum," Mohul said defensively. "There are others who are far worse off, making much less than we do."
Azar studied him for a moment, wondering whether the tribe chief was truly ignorant or just naive.
"You do realize they’re taking advantage of you, don’t you?" Azar asked bluntly, his chin still resting on his knee. "You’re being played for fools."
"We know we aren’t getting fair prices," Lamuda interjected. "But there’s not much we can do about it. We’re content with what we get—ten gold is enough to ensure the tribe’s survival for-"
"Survival, survival, survival," Azar interrupted sharply. "That’s the problem. You people don’t know how to live. Surviving isn’t enough. Do you understand? We’re meant to live well, not waste our lives barely scraping by."
Azar straightened up. "What's the name of the one you sell to?"
"Kasian," Mohul answered. "He owns a shop called Tekery-Toll. Why? What is Azar Syed planning to do?"
"I’ll take everything from the wagons and enter the city with Araumir. The rest of you set up camp outside the walls and wait for my return. Ten gold... Ridiculous."
"Azar Syed, are you even aware of the current market prices?" Mohul shot back, not backing down. "What makes you think you can obtain a better bargain?"
Azar’s response was swift, his confidence palpable. "Because I trust in my skills, Mohul." He dismounted, striding toward the first wagon, his hand brushing the storage ring concealed beneath his fingerless glove.
Even if I can’t sell it for more, I’ll steal the money to prove my point, Azar thought, his jaw clenched.
"Chief," Lamuda spoke up, "if Azar Syed is going to put the goods in his storage ring, why did we even bother loading them onto wagons in the first place? I thought the whole idea was to keep the ring a secret."
"Yes, I know." Mohul acknowledged with a nod.
"You’re both wrong," Azar shouted back. "You’ll still need the wagons to bring back what we buy in the city."
"Buy?" Mohul echoed in confusion. "Aren’t we bringing the money back?"
"Not entirely," Azar explained. "You’ll use the money to buy tools for your craft, materials to produce better goods that will fetch higher prices in the kingdom. In six months, you’ll return with a stronger caravan, following my orders. You’ll become the head merchant of the alliance, traveling between the tribe and the kingdom. You’ll bring back cultivation materials, potion recipes, and everything needed to strengthen the tribes."
Mohul’s heart surged with anticipation. Head merchant? Bringing home money and cultivation materials? His children could have the best resources for their growth, their future secure.
"Syed, do you really think this is possible?" Mohul asked, his voice filled with doubt. "We avoided the remaining Sarabians this time, but there’s no guarantee what will happen next time. And what about the organization you spoke of? Will they just let us grow unchecked?"
"You’re not in a position to worry about that," Azar said with authority. "When you understand how the world works and can broaden your narrow perspective, then, and only then, will I allow you to share the burden of worry with me. Until then, focus on executing your tasks to the best of your abilities."
"Y-yes, syed," Mohul replied, his voice low, head bowed in embarrassment. Though Azar words in front of the people brought shame for him as the chief, Mohul understood he had no right to challenge Azar’s words.
"One of the reasons I chose to come and stay in the kingdom so early is to become a thorn in the side of that organization, and any other force that meddles in tribe alliance affairs. In six months, they won’t have the luxury to bother with you—they’ll be too occupied with me." Azar’s eyes locked with Mohul’s, the weight of his words clear.
"Where does this confidence come from, syed?" Mohul asked, struck by the intensity in Azar’s gaze.
"This place is a stage too little to pose a threat to me, Mohul. As i see things, this desert is just a remote area with little power dwelling in it. For you, who never saw the vastness of the world, this might be a mountain, but for me, who was on par with the Five Great Clans, this is just a small hill. I have fought with the strongest of the clans, Mohul. I have both scored loses and victories with them, but never have i lost the war with them in my time. Blessed be my allies and cursed be my foes, i am a resourceful man that no ones wants as an enemy. You have no idea what i can do if the system lets me run free. Return here after six months and ask about the name that i will wear at that time, there will be no man who hasn't heard about me, there will be no stone under the sun where one can hide from my gaze, and there will be no one who will dare speak ill of those affiliated to me. Remember my words, Mohul, and do as i command."
Azar's words hung heavy in the air, silencing the entire caravan. They stood mesmerized by the young man before them. His confidence, his commanding presence, the sharpness in his gaze, and the clarity in his voice all wielded like weapons to sway those around him.
Later, Mohul and the tribesmen quietly moved to set up camp, leaving with the now empty wagons. Meanwhile, Azar and Araumir looked ahead, indifferent to the watchtowers and the strange, inactive devices stationed along the walls.
"They look like shield projectors to me," Araumir said. "Which seems a little off since the people entering the city are still recorded on plain paper."
"Send a few shadow folks to keep an eye on Mohul and his men," Azar ordered, his lips curving into a grim smile. "It’s time to rob the city’s goofballs of their fortune."