1075: Chapter 279: Stunningly Beautiful 1075: Chapter 279: Stunningly Beautiful The boundless Taklamago Desert was as silent as a slumbering Giant Beast.
The sun hung in the sky like a fierce fireball, scattering heat waves and searing heat in all directions, its glaring light as jealous as the gaze of a cuckolded wife, confronting which would only bring a violent, scalding onslaught.
Such was the Taklamago Desert: when the wind blew, the space between heaven and earth filled with the howling sound of the Desert, and when it was still, the silence was akin to the primordial chaos of ancient tis.
The gentle and the ferocious coexisted harmoniously in this ancient world, much like the complexities of human nature.
In the midst of this endless sea of sand, countless cal leather tents spanned over ten miles, with cals obediently lying on the ground, encircling the tents.
In the encampnt, columns of cooking smoke rose straight into the sky as if they were pillars supporting the heavens.
Amidst the heat-warped air of the sky that turned it into a gauzy blur, a dense swarm of black dots appeared from afar, slowly making their way overhead the cluster of tents.
Cutting through the fiercely hot air currents, the forms of the black dots grew more distinct.
They were bald, muscular n with wings at their ribs, their ears adorned with large golden hoops.
The grey and sparse massive wings cast vast shadows onto the ground.
Wrapped in cal leather armor studded with iron, they each had noses hooked like talons, dark as cast iron, and their lofty gazes shimred with an untad light, fearless.
After circling above the camp a few tis, the bald n spread their wings and soared in the sky, then began to dive downwards and fold their wings to land in front of a luxurious and large tent.
The montum of their landing kicked up countless grains of sand and dust in front of the tent, making the cals lying on the ground sneeze unsatisfactorily with the churned up irritation.
As the bald strongn touched down and folded their wings, the lavish tent curtains, adorned with pearls and Cat’s Eye Gems, were swept aside by two guards at the entrance, and a lean and tall figure stepped out of the tent with a bow.
This was an extrely handso man with arched eyebrows that winged upwards into his temples, his pale face boasting a pair of high-twisted mustaches, and though his eyes were bloodshot, they emitted a gentle light that only a wise and benevolent ruler would cast upon his hardworking subjects.
Around his head, exquisite silks were wrapped in thick bands, emblazoned with fine gold thread, and at the right angle, a bird feather glead like a ruby, perfectly manifesting nobility and grace; hanging from his jade belt at the waist was a crystal pendant shaped like a clean-cut pyramid, a clear gem hosting a tiny figure identical to the man himself, as if an ancient insect sealed in amber.
However, this tiny figure was alive, mimicking the beautiful man’s movents, a sight of wonder.
“My commander!” One of the sturdiest bald, hook-nosed n, clutching a corpse, strode forward and knelt on one knee before the handso man, gently laying the body on the sandy ground and bowing his head deeply.
The bald, hook-nosed n behind him also assud a neat formation and knelt on one knee, respectfully casting down their eyes in front of the handso man, as if in the presence of royalty.
“Bring my cal milk, to quench the thirst of the brave Isco tribe vulture warriors first,” the man known as the commander said lightly, casting a glance at the body on the ground and then waving to the guards behind him.
Upon hearing these words, every half-kneeling vulture warrior’s stone-cold face softened with a touch of emotion.
Without any words of thanks, they expressed their feelings with heavy bows of their heads.
The cal milk poured from the golden spouted pitcher, with a fragrance sweeter than honey, moistened the throats of the vulture warriors and nourished their hearts.
“Hashmiyan, stand and speak,” the commander extended his hand adorned with a large jade ring, helping the still kneeling chief of the vulture warriors to his feet.
“My commander, as I led twenty of my n to fly to the first stop, the Suwit Oasis, we discovered many bodies along the way…” Hashmiyan slowly stood up, dipping his fingers into the dried milk at the corners of his mouth and constantly twisting the large gold hoop on his ear, and spoke to the commander with a hint of unease: “…These bodies, not a single enemy among them, all warriors from Kalimantan City.
I fear…
I fear Ali Dai has lost the Suwit Oasis.”
The commander did not speak but crouched down to flip the body on the ground over.
This corpse was once a strong Mojie warrior from Mulan, with large bones and a muscular physique, evident by the calloused forefinger and the base of the thumb that indicated his proficiency with a sword.
Now, he was just a body whose cal leather armor was curled with a large gaping slash, a wound so deep it instantly made the commander’s pupils contract—a blow from a blade over a ter wide, penetrating completely from shoulder to chest to inflict such an open wound, with large patches of blackened blood stiffening the leather.
“He was Sadeqi,” the commander murmured, looking down at the body on the ground and sighing softly, “He has a wife at ho as beautiful as the Euphrates River and two children as lovely as Golden Palms.”
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