As the sun rose again over the vast wasteland, the gale that had raged all night ceased abruptly, as if a giant hand had pressed a stop button. The tumbleweed clusters, which had been tumbling and bouncing, gradually came to a halt, scattered irregularly across the plain like sesame seeds sprinkled on a large, oily pancake.
After waiting another ten minutes to ensure the calm would last, the people from Cinder Town finally emerged from their vehicles and hiding spots. To Michael's surprise, they began diligently collecting pea-sized tumbleweed seeds that had fallen during the night's storm, stuffing them into their pockets. Linda and Kaoru explained to him that these seeds were a treasured resource—pressed into nutritious cooking oil highly valued by even the elite of Vanna City, and purchased by merchant caravans like Hawk's. The dried tumbleweed stems also served as crucial winter fuel, despite their irritating thorns.
Michael joined the gathering, enjoying the simple, communal atmosphere and the company of the two women. However, his lighthearted mood was contrasted by Old Lameleg, who approached with a still-grim expression. When asked about their next steps, Michael confidently outlined his plan to return in a few days, better prepared with construction materials like steel and cement to build a more fortified, secure mining outpost capable of withstanding attacks. He assured Old Lameleg that they had sufficient coal for warmth and that he would ensure food supplies.
The convoy then began the slow, four-hour journey back to Cinder Town, navigating carefully around the large, room-sized tumbleweeds littering the route. Their return was met with cheers from the townsfolk, buoyed by the news of their victory and the safe retrieval of the captives.
Upon entering his quarters, Michael received more good news: the seriously injured young man, Li Hao, had finally awakened. Michael visited him upstairs, where the boy, swathed in bandages but in good spirits, was resting. When offered a reward for his bravery, Li Hao made a simple, unexpected request—not for a wife, as Michael had jokingly suggested—but for a pair of the cool, large sunglasses Michael often wore, believing they looked incredibly stylish. Michael agreed with a wry smile.
Yet, even amid this relief and minor triumph, Old Lameleg's concerns persisted. Seated atop a vehicle, holding on tightly as it jolted along, he gazed at the horizon, his face etched with a deep, unspoken anxiety that the recent victory and practical plans could not dispel.