The Butcher of Sargon (Renekton, The Butcher of The Sand in Arknight)

After successfully taking advantage of the Lizardman’s lack of knowledge about Originium Arts and fooling them, Garde returned to the Rhine Lab team and quietly gave Carnelian a thumbs-up from within the crowd.

The Ascension power within him had long been exhausted from dispelling the disaster, so he had no energy left to stir up a sandstorm and look impressive.

He had relied on Carnelian, a sorcerer skilled in manipulating sand and stone, to support his act.

Seeing Garde’s gesture, Carnelian crossed her arms, snorted lightly, and turned her head away, leaving Garde confused.

What did he do to upset her?

Saria walked over, leaning toward Garde, and asked, “Is this enough?”

“Yes.”

Garde nodded.

“The Lizardman in the market are just a small group. Once the merchants from the market spread the word back to their tribes, we’ll have enough people to start a war.”

Garde didn’t care who the owners of that ancient civilization were.

From the way those machines had tried to capture him and the Rhine Lab operatives, it was clear that they and the ancient civilization were destined to be incompatible.

Since they couldn’t coexist, they had to strike before that ancient civilization could fully recover, knocking them down in one decisive blow.

“But no one here has the ability to command an army,” Saria said, frowning.

She could handle leading a small squad in a minor skirmish, but commanding an army of thousands or tens of thousands was beyond what a Defense Department head like her could manage.

That kind of task was meant for officers trained at military academies!

Besides, how many Columbian officers and generals have actually commanded battles involving tens of thousands of soldiers?

Thinking of this, Saria couldn’t help but glance toward Garde.

“Don’t look at me. I’m fine with fighting solo, but if you want army command, you’ll need my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, my half-brother from different parents!” Garde said with a straight face.

The Butcher of the Sands Renekton was great at charging into battle, but it was Nasus, the Curator of the Sands, who had the skill to strategize and command.

Saria believed Garde’s words and asked earnestly, “Where is your brother now?”

Garde hadn’t expected Saria to take him seriously when he was just joking.

“Uh…” Garde thought for a moment and said, “He’s probably in Lungmen, slicing sashimi.”

Saria: “???”

Although Saria didn’t understand why Garde’s half-brother would be slicing sashimi in Lungmen, she knew he definitely wouldn’t make it here anytime soon.

“Don’t worry.”

Garde patted Saria on the shoulder.

“The one who truly knows how to command will reveal themselves when the time comes. Even if we bring in modern officers to lead, do you think they would understand how a group of Lizardman fight?”

Hearing Garde’s words, Saria nodded.

Modern military tactics were entirely different from primitive warfare, and in the absence of solid intelligence about the enemy, there was no point in overthinking it.

“Garde, did the medicine you used to have come from this ancient civilization?”

Saria recalled that Garde had mentioned they would find a cure for Oripathy deep in the Hotland, but he had never explained exactly where.

“No, it has nothing to do with these ancient empires,” Garde shook his head.

Since they had come this far, he saw no need to hide the truth.

“The medicine I mentioned is actually the blood of a supernatural creature. Four years ago, I severely injured it.”

As Garde spoke, his golden pupils deepened.

“It is the guardian of the ancient civilization. If we attack, it will definitely appear!”

“When the time comes, I’ll figure out how to deal with it.”

“In any case, don’t worry too much. With the help of these natives from the Hotland, our journey ahead will be much smoother. Rest up now, and don’t fall before the final battle.” Garde’s tone shifted to a lighter one as he smiled.

His words were as much for Saria as for the other Rhine Lab operatives.

They were finally nearing the end, and no one should collapse right before the finish line.

Afterward, Garde found the hooded Lizardman to ask about the Nightzmora Knights.

However, despite being a descendant of Nightzmoras, the Lizardman knew little about his ancestors.

He only knew that his ancestors had once had great glory, and that something in the depths of the Hotland might help them restore that honor.

But Garde wanted to remind him that true glory is never inherited from ancestors—it is earned by oneself.

The descendants of the Nightzmora Knights had long been assimilated by the Hotland, losing their sharpness.

It seemed, after all, that if he wanted to understand the Nightzmora’s past, he would have to ask someone who had witnessed that history firsthand.

Kal’tsit!

As night fell, Garde declined the Rhine Lab operatives’ offer to help keep watch.

On the vast, barren desert, a cloaked figure appeared faintly in the distance.

“Have you been waiting for me?”

“You gave me a hand during my speech earlier. If you can even call it a speech.”

“You speak Sarkaz.”

“When you’re out in the world, isn’t it natural to learn a few extra languages?”

Garde extended his hand, using what little Ascension power he had left to manipulate the sand and create a chair.

“Please, have a seat.”

The woman in front of him obediently sat in the chair as if she truly saw him as a divine messenger.

If Garde hadn’t known that the woman before him was older than all the Rhine Lab operatives combined, he might have actually been fooled.

“Please, lift your head. There’s no need for secrecy here.”

“Messenger, my appearance is too hideous. It would frighten you.”

“Heh.”

Garde chuckled.

“Kal’tsit, how long are you going to keep up this act with me? I didn’t wait for you just to watch you perform. If your face is truly hideous, then what do you call the Rhine Lab operatives who entered the Hotland with me?”

Garde directly called out Kal’tsit’s name, causing the figure sitting across from him to fall silent for a moment.

“Mr. Garde.”

Kal’tsit finally addressed him by name.

Garde wasn’t surprised that she knew who he was.

When she lifted her head, her emerald green eyes met his.

“I hope you understand that an accident could bring immeasurable disaster to this land. The pain of transformation is something neither of us can endure. The time is not yet right.”

Garde tilted his head, thinking for a long moment before realizing what she meant.

“You mean to say that everything happening is because I entered the Hotland?”

His gaze grew dangerous as he pointed to himself.

“Are you blaming me?”