BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!...
A series of nonstop explosions echoed from the far distance, kicking up clouds of dust, with bursts of white light flashing across the horizon.
EeDechi grabbed her telescope and spotted someone under siege way out there—rows of gaunt skeleton soldiers surging like a tidal wave toward a lone figure.
"Let's go check it out." EeDechi made the call on the spot, powering up the yacht and giving the order without a second thought.
"No harm in taking a quick look," Barrett said, peering through his brass telescope at the fight, a bit worried. "But we should avoid any detours. If we're heading deep into the desert, we'll need to ration the water in our tanks."
...
Antilene hovered in mid-air, her black-and-white dress torn to shreds, both hands clutching a massive cross-shaped scythe, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of her mouth. A huge fireball shell whistled through the air toward her, like a blazing meteor.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!...
From behind a sand dune, several thick, dark steel cannons fired, launching more fiery magic projectiles that arced across the sky straight at Antilene. Once done, the black iron barrels retracted back behind the dune.
Wave after wave of battered-looking skeleton soldiers, gripping rusted iron blades, staggered forward in a clumsy charge toward Antilene.
Right below her, a man with his left hand wrapped in bandages leaned against the corner of some ruins, while a terrified camel trembled and crouched beside him.
Antilene clenched her jaw, floating in the air with eyes blazing like the sun and her black-and-white hair drifting like seaweed. To protect her last remaining companion below, she'd already activated her Innate Talent Blood Requiem, committing to a fight to the death.
That's right—her followers were down to just one. When they first entered the Eight Greed Kings desert, the elite warriors from the Black Scripture had joined her, enough to pass for a full caravan.
In the treacherous, monster-riddled wastes of the Eight Greed Kings desert, humans were nothing—fragile as flowers in a sandstorm, crushed without mercy.
Even the Slane Theocracy's top fighters fell one by one under the endless assaults, their lives reaped like young crops by the whipping sands.
Those snarling beasts, along with the undead soldiers howling "Offer your flesh and blood to the Skeleton Queen," dragged her comrades deep into the desert, stripping their bones and devouring their meat, their screams swallowed by the shifting sands.
When she encountered EeDechi, Antilene had only three warriors left with her, and now, just the last one remained.
"Forget about me! Get out of here!" The man leaning against the wall corner shouted himself hoarse, blood oozing through his bandages, his once-pristine white cloak now caked in dust.
Antilene turned a deaf ear, keeping up the swing of her cross-shaped great scythe to shatter the fireballs hurtling from the sky. The scythe whipped up fierce gales, smashing the relentless waves of skeleton soldiers.
"Antilene, You're the hope of our Slane Theocracy. I don't have the clearance to know what you're doing in the Eight Greed Kings desert, but I believe you can save our nation. Please go—don't bother saving me anymore." The man shouted with great effort, his head resting on the camel's back, coughing up a mouthful of crimson blood from the corner of his lips.
Antilene said nothing; she'd never been one for words. But she didn't leave, still pointlessly battling the unending onslaught. If she couldn't even save this one person, what right or power did she have to save the masses of the Slane Theocracy?
Through the smoke of the explosions, Antilene caught a vague glimpse: at the crest of the sand dune, a dull yellow skeleton stood tall, bizarrely dressed in a red silk gown, its hem trailing across the sands.
Lacking any flesh, the dull yellow skeleton in that red gown looked just like a coat rack with a garment hung on it.
Could that be the Skeleton Queen? An absurd notion flashed through Antilene's mind. She wanted to charge over and hack the skeleton to pieces, but the barrage of cannon fire exploding right in her face forced her to halt.
The distant gown-clad skeleton raised its arm like a puppet on strings, and more skeleton soldiers clawed their way out of the desert, swarming toward Antilene's position.
Antilene let out a bitter laugh—she wasn't some unyielding reef, couldn't hold out forever against the crashing tide of skeleton soldiers. Below her, the man had already drawn his dagger, ready to slit his own throat and end it, refusing to be her burden any longer.
Is this how it ends? I really am worthless, can't even protect my final companion. Antilene slowly closed her eyes; she had no energy left to stop his suicide.
BOOM!
Like a gleaming silver blade slicing through the heavens, a white streamlined yacht burst onto the scene, carving through the horde of skeleton soldiers like a ship through stormy waves, ripping their assault wide open.
The person standing at the front of the yacht, swinging and slashing with her giant sword, was none other than EeDechi—the Divine Envoy she had once despised. Antilene's eyes lit up, her heart suddenly overflowing with gratitude and joy. The one from the prophecy who could save the Slane Theocracy had come to save her.
EeDechi stood firm on both feet, rooted like a tree to the yacht's bow, her giant sword pointing ahead and smashing through the horde of skeleton soldiers with overwhelming force, sending severed limbs and bone shards scattering in all directions.
From afar, the cannon muzzles hunkered behind the sand dunes took aim at EeDechi and the others. "Bang bang bang bang bang!", the blasts rang out nonstop, seven or eight fireballs tracing parabolic arcs as they hurtled toward them.
"Franco!"
EeDechi's face darkened. She turned back and bellowed into the cabin a few times, but got no response. Barrett popped out from the cabin, shoving the trembling Franco up to the front.
Franco tried to duck back into the cabin, but EeDechi grabbed him, hoisted him up, and propped him forward like a human shield.
The massive fireballs were about to smash right into them. Franco hurriedly chanted his spells, waving his magic wand. Mana solidified into shape, forming a cyan light shield at the bow that slammed hard into the fireballs, unleashing an earth-shaking explosion with flames roaring skyward.
In the thick smoke, the yacht pierced through the dust-choked sky, its white hull completely unharmed. The yacht raced to the corner of the ruins, where Barrett stretched out an arm and yanked the bandaged man aboard.
...
At the crest of the distant sand dune, the skeleton in the red gown lowered its arm, took a step back, and vanished into the desert. The nearby skeleton soldiers stopped crawling out from underground, dragging their mangled frames as they scattered and fled.
Yellow sand blotted out the sun. Antilene summoned a fierce wind, scattering the dust. She slowly touched down, hand pressed to her chest, and gave EeDechi a gentle bow of her head. "Thank you for rushing to our aid, Divine Envoy."
The bandaged man, slumped on the yacht, stared in shock—it was the first time he'd seen Antilene bow. After all, back in the Slane Theocracy, she never lowered her head even to the Pope or the Black Scripture commander. She'd always been proud and distant.
"You're welcome," EeDechi said with a generous smile. "Where are you headed? I could consider giving you a lift. After all, it seems like you're here in the Eight Greed Kings desert to take on Ainz too."
"We're going to," Antilene said, lifting her head high, "no—I'm going to the Sevenfold Heavens."