Sand Mage of the Burnt Desert Chapter 1
[Translator – Peptobismol]
Chapter 1
Tick!
During the silent night when everyone was deep in sleep, a quiet snap of a thread echoed softly.
Suddenly, the boy's eyes snapped open.
Silent as a feline, the boy rose to his feet and fixed his gaze on the iron gate.
A tiny room barely large enough for two grown-ups to stretch out in.
Lacking any windows, the sole way out of this tight space was through the narrow iron door.
Breath held tight, the boy watched the door handle intently.
Click! Click!
The noise of the handle twisting rang out.
Even though he stayed perfectly still, the sound boomed in the ears of the already alert boy.
Clunk!
At last, the lock gave way, and the door creaked open just a bit as a figure peeked inside.
Gripped in the intruder's hand was a dagger as long as a grown man's forearm.
Not used to the dark yet, the man crept in carefully, groping ahead.
The boy held his breath, taking in every detail.
Blissfully ignorant, the man ventured deeper into the space.
That instant arrived.
Tick!
A sharp snap rang out from under the man's foot.
It was the trap the boy had prepared earlier.
Bang!
“Oof!”
In a flash, a heavy thump and the intruder's cry exploded together.
A short dagger now stuck out from the man's flank.
Crafted by the boy to fire the blade when triggered.
Ignoring the trap he'd set off by stepping inside, the man faced a brutal consequence.
“Argh! What the…?”
The man twisted on the ground, yelling in pain.
Right then, the boy who had been lurking quietly sprang into action.
Thud!
The boy launched from the floor, straddled the man's chest, snatched his dagger, and pressed it against his throat.
Bewilderment filled the man's stare at the boy.
“Ugh! This little bastard…”
“I wondered who crept in like a feral cat—turns out it's the neighbor from next door.”
The literal neighbor from the adjacent room.
The man's quarters were right beside the boy's.
He'd wandered past the night before too.
His face was ugly, and that sinister glare he shot the boy lingered in memory.
The boy patted the man's cheek lightly.
“Hey, mister! Even so, isn't robbing your neighbor going too far?”
“How'd a thing like that end up in a rat hole? You punk! Better release me now. Know who my brother is?”
“No clue, mister!”
The boy feigned surprise, while the man under him scowled.
“He's an Awakened One. One who wields magic.”
“Lie better at least. Think I'd buy that an Awakened One's brother holes up in this dump?”
“It's real. I'm crashing here short-term for certain reasons.”
“Then handle your stuff quietly instead of breaking in to steal from a kid, right?”
“Hah! Damn brat, you saw a magic stone right there—expect me to ignore it?
“You actually spotted it?”
The boy tsked his tongue.
By sheer luck, he'd scored a tiny magic stone.
First time clutching one, he was admiring it when the next-door guy must've glimpsed it.
The boy cursed his own slip-up.
The slum, dubbed Beggar’s Den or Ant Hole.
A haven for destitute folks barred from Neo Seoul Colony, where laws and manners vanished.
Here, the mighty crushed the feeble and seized all they owned.
Weakness was crime, strength was privilege.
Zeon, the boy, grasped these slum rules deeper than most.
Born and bred amid the squalor.
His first recollections started in a Beggar’s Den within the slums—from toddling steps, forced into begging.
No fond memories from the Beggar’s Den.
Beaten for meager earnings, thrashed for overeating.
At a certain age, he wrenched free from the Beggar’s Den.
Not merely departing.
But sneaking away undetected while the leader dozed, vanishing clean.
Thus, the Beggar’s Den boss still hunted Zeon.
Zeon was a name he picked himself.
Needed something to claim his existence.
The name meant little; it just sounded badass, so he took it.
He liked it plenty.
Survival demanded everything from him.
Pickpocketing, stealing—all but murder, he'd tackled.
Aware that slacking in slums spelled doom, he'd rigged traps even in his room. That caution had preserved Zeon.
Zeon mulled over the man's fate, pinned beneath him.
If the brother's claim as Awakened One held, peril loomed.
Suddenly, cunning light sparked in the man's eyes.
Swoosh!
A blade slid from the man's sleeve.
His backup dagger for dire moments.
“Die, you little brat!”
Roaring, the man slashed wildly.
Zeon dodged back swiftly.
Venom in his gaze, the man chased Zeon.
He flailed the dagger, hell-bent on slaying Zeon and claiming the magic stone.
“Ugh!”
Zeon wrestled desperately with the man awhile.
Plop!
Soon, flesh yielded to steel with a sickening sound.
“Argh!”
Screaming, the man crumpled, dagger buried in his chest.
Staring at Zeon in utter shock, the man shuddered and breathed his last.
“Shit!”
Zeon slumped to the floor.
First kill ever for him.
The chilling feel of the dagger sinking into flesh haunted him still.
“Fuck!! Why'd you have to break in…?”
Zeon glared at the corpse.
[Translator – Peptobismol]
He knew killing was inevitable someday. To endure uncrushed in slums, unavoidable.
Yet today? Unforeseen.
Zeon shook it off.
Dead man's brother an Awakened One? Trouble.
Vanish the body fully? Impossible. Slums teemed with eyes; hauling a corpse unseen? No chance.
Leave it, flee fast—smarter.
Decision made, Zeon bolted.
He bolted the door on the room with the body, then slipped out.
A street evoking old Hong Kong's Kowloon Walled City unfolded.
Dilapidated shacks jammed like coops, rooms jumbled chaotically into a twisting maze.
Zeon melted into the labyrinth.
***
“Fuck! He really was an Awakened One. My luck's rotten, but this bad?”
Zeon grumbled aboard the steel-plated armored bus.
The man he'd slain had a genuine Awakened brother.
Not low-tier—a B-rank Awakened One.
F-rank pursuit was deadly; B-rank? Catastrophic.
Neo Seoul boasted scant B-rank Awakened Ones—barely a hundred.
To commoners like Zeon, B-rank meant elite.
Caught? Worse than death.
Furious over his brother's demise, he hunted Zeon.
Brother's robbery attempt? Irrelevant.
Wrong or not, blood tied them.
A slum rat like Zeon killing him? Outrageous.
“Pathetic escape today, but I'll avenge this for sure, Lee Jiryung.”
Lee Jiryung—the Awakened One on his tail.
Lightning Magic specialist.
Lightning Magic ranked fearsome for raw might even among mages.
Top-tier among B-ranks.
Like Zeon, Lee Jiryung knew slums inside out. Neo Seoul native, slum-born.
He'd charted Zeon's hides and paths meticulously.
Cornered, Zeon took the bus.
Armored transport from Neo Seoul Colony to outer Magic Stone Mines.
Beyond colony walls, even Lee Jiryung's power couldn't easily trace him.
‘Never imagined boarding this willingly.’
Zeon gnawed his lip.
Beyond Neo Seoul Colony: desert.
Endless crimson sands, barren of green.
The scorched red wastes hid horrors galore.
Sandworms and armored beetles burrowed below; above prowled fire wolves, horned hyenas.
Scavenger bands ambushed colony convoys too.
Safety nowhere.
Thus, subhuman slum life beat desert death—poor clung near colony.
Beasts shunned colony proximity oddly.
Nearby slashed monster risks, so Zeon stuck to slums. But Lee Jiryung's vendetta evicted him.
“Damn it! If only I'd Awakened…”
Century past, Earth desertified.
Ninety-plus percent humans wiped; survivors scraped by on sandy ruins.
Awakened Ones turned the tide.
Suddenly, some survivors unlocked powers.
Body enhancers, magic wielders.
Awakened Ones, they were dubbed.
New world's overlords.
Neo Seoul pampered even F-rank Awakened.
Zeon? Peasant filth.
His death? Unremarked.
Thus, Magic Stone Mines bus it was.
Dolsan Mountain mines, seventy klicks from Neo Seoul.
All yielded Magic Stones fed Neo Seoul.
Magic Stone power fueled the mega-city.
Mining demanded bodies aplenty.
Narrow tunnels forced pickaxe toil.
Brutal conditions killed miners nonstop.
Labor perpetually short.
Neo Seoul waved through mine-bound bus riders—no IDs, no questions.
Thus Zeon rode to Magic Stone Mines.
‘Survive the mines come hell or high water. Then crush Lee Jiryung.’
Zeon stared out the window, resolve blazing, as the bus packed with miners.
All destined for the pits.
“Hey, kid! Mines-bound too?”
A bulky man beside Zeon chatted up.
Muscled frame suited mine work volunteer.
Zeon snapped back.
“So what?”
“Kid's got a tough glare. Still, watch your back in the mines.”
“Why?”
“Place crawls with pervs hungry for a pretty weakling like you. Heheheh!”
The man leered over Zeon head to toe.
‘Fucking creep.’
Zeon read the intent clear.
Slums brimmed with man-lusters; many eyed him.
Slim build, striking features.
Boyish edge aside, handsome youth.
Without vigilance and grit, he'd been prey endless times.
Zeon toyed with his sleeve-hidden dagger, timing the strike on his seatmate.
No kill needed—hamstring him, cripple, deter mockers.
Bottom-feeder survival tactic.
But concern faded quick.
The armored bus lurched forward.
Soon beyond Neo Seoul Colony, into desert expanse.
Vast red dunes outside awed bus riders.
Even the lecher gawked slack-jawed at the sea of sand.
Bus a mere grain amid crimson waves.
Zeon whispered.
“We'll make the mine safe, yeah?”
Instant regret.
That cursed tongue.
Behind, red sands surged as something barreled beneath.
Giant sandworm pursued.
“Shit! Sandworms don't prowl here.”
Then, mocking Zeon outright, the behemoth erupted from sand, smashing busward like a comet.
Whoosh!
Zeon watched the chaos unfold slow-motion clear.
‘Fuck! Sandworms flying now?’
Bang!
Monstrous blow rocked the bus.
[Translator – Peptobismol]