If I, a death row inmate, am not to become a demon, am I to become a member of the Imperial Guard?

The night wind raged across the desert.

It has no shape, yet it carries countless invisible knives that scrape across sand dunes, across rocks, and even across people's faces.

The flames in the fire were blown about erratically, and the skinny man had to keep adding dry, thorny grass to keep the light and heat barely going.

Scarface, Stone Roller, stared intently at the flickering flames. The firelight cast shadows on his scars, making them appear like a sleeping snake.

He hadn't spoken for a long time. Zhou Yang knew he was thinking of his dead brother, Shidun.

In this vast desert, brothers are sometimes everything to a family.

"We can't stay here too long," Stone Roller suddenly spoke, his voice rougher than the wind and sand. "It's too open here. The wind will carry our scent far away."

As he spoke, he stood up and walked to the camel lying down. The camel was peaceful, its eyes closed, slowly ruminating.

Zhou Yang also stood up. He looked around. Nothing but darkness. He felt as if he'd been thrown into a bottomless vat of ink.

"Where are we going?" Zhou Yang asked.

"Let's find a place to spend the night." Shi Gun patted the camel's hump. "A windy spot."

He pointed to a low-lying area between two sand dunes in the distance.

"The wind will be faster and stronger from there. We're on the leeward side; we can use a canvas to block it and that will last us all night." Shi Gun spoke slowly, but every word was full of experience.

The skinny man understood what he meant. He immediately set to work, untying a large roll of thick canvas and several long wooden stakes from the camel's back.

Zhou Yang also unloaded things from another camel. He was stronger than the two men combined, but he seemed clumsy at this kind of delicate work. The rope was always unruly in his hands, and the knots he tied were crooked and twisted.

Shi Gun glanced at him, said nothing, and walked over. In a few quick movements, he untied the knot that Zhou Yang had made a mess of, and then, using a technique that Zhou Yang couldn't understand at all, tied a new, secure knot.

"Learn it," Shi Gun uttered.

Zhou Yang nodded silently. He knew he lacked many things. These survival skills in the desert were more important than brute strength.

The three of them did not say a word and began to set up the temporary camp.

Shi Gun was in charge of directing. He stamped several marks on the sand with his feet to indicate where the wooden stakes should be driven in. The skinny man wasn't very strong, but he was quick and agile. He was responsible for pulling open the heavy canvas and using his body to brace against the fierce wind that almost blew people away.

Zhou Yang became the main laborer. He was responsible for pressing the three thickest wooden stakes into the sand with his bare hands. The sand was loose, and with his strength, the stakes went in more than halfway. He then tamped them down with his feet, and they didn't budge.

The wind howled in my ears, like the wailing of countless wronged souls.

The canvas was unfurled, like a giant sail. It took the stone roller and the skinny man all their strength to secure one side of it to the wooden stake driven into the sand.

"Pull!" the stone roller roared.

Zhou Yang grabbed the other end of the canvas and pulled it backward with force. The canvas made a loud "whoosh" sound, as if it would be torn to shreds at any moment.

He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensed, and the sand beneath his feet sank back.

Finally, the other side of the canvas was also secured.

A slanted windbreak wall was erected. They then used the remaining fabric to create a small space in the corner.

The three of them went inside.

The wind subsided instantly. The bone-chilling cold was kept out. The small space, huddled together with three people and a camel, actually felt a bit warmer.

They moved the fire inside, and the smoke drifted out through the gaps in the canvas, only to be quickly dispersed by the wind.

After doing all this, all three of them were covered in sweat. The wind was still howling outside, but a sense of peace had settled in inside.

Zhou Yang leaned against the camel's warm body and finally caught his breath. He felt a long-lost weariness. Not physical, but mental. He hadn't let his guard down since escaping from the rubble.

Now, in this small, makeshift camp, he felt alive again.

He took the parchment scroll out of his pocket.

No, it's not sheepskin. Holding it in my hand, the texture is strange. It's not like leather, nor like paper. It's somewhat like bone, yet very flexible. Twisted lines are drawn on it, dark red, as if drawn with someone's blood.

This is the fragment of the Blood River map that he obtained from Fang Tian.

He didn't have time to examine it closely in the rocky valley. Now, by the light of the fire, he spread it out.

"What is this?" The skinny man leaned closer to take a look, his face full of curiosity.

"A map," Zhou Yang said succinctly.

"A map?" Stone Roller also turned his gaze. "Where would you get a map of this godforsaken place?"

Zhou Yang didn't explain. He just stared at the patterns on the map.

These lines were chaotic and disordered, like a tangled mess. But Zhou Yang knew there was a mechanism at play. He remembered Fang Tian mentioning that it needed a "catalyst" to activate it.

He hesitated for a moment, then bit his fingertip until it bled.

A drop of blood oozed out.

He pressed the blood droplet in the center of the map.

Strange things happened.

The drop of blood didn't spread; instead, it seemed to come alive, beginning to wander along the dark red lines on the map. Its speed was astonishing, like a tiny, extremely thin snake crawling on a spiderweb.

The entire map seemed to come alive. The lines that were originally static began to glow faintly and flow.

Zhou Yang held his breath.

Stone Roll and the skinny man were also stunned, their mouths agape, speechless.

A few seconds later, the drop of blood finally stopped in a corner of the map.

The light grew brighter and brighter, eventually converging into a single point of light the size of a soybean. This point of light was located in the northwest direction of the map.

Beside the spot of light, several blurry ancient characters slowly emerged.

"Black...wind...eye?" Zhou Yang tried to decipher the words.

He looked up at the stone roller: "Do you know this place?"

Shi Gun's expression changed. He leaned closer, staring intently at the three words, his brows furrowed into a knot.

"The Eye of the Black Wind..." he repeated slowly, a hint of apprehension in his voice, "What, is it there?"

"What place is that?" Zhou Yang pressed.

"A graveyard," Stone Roller said in a deep voice. "Legend has it that it's the lair of desert storms. The winds rise from there year-round. No one who goes in ever comes out alive. But..."

He paused.

Zhou Yang's heart skipped a beat: "But what?"

"But there's water there." Stone Roller's gaze swept across the map. "It's one of the few permanent water sources in this desert. The spring is located beneath a crack in the ground, and no matter how strong the wind blows, it never dries up."

Water source.

These two words were more important to Zhou Yang than any treasure.

They're running low on water. They can only last another day at most. If they don't find a new water source, they'll turn into dried-up corpses in the desert before the Heavenly Principle Cult catches up.

"Let's go there." Zhou Yang made the decision immediately.

"No way," Stone Roller shook his head. "It's too dangerous. The area around the Black Wind Eye is full of quicksand, and the terrain is complicated. The most dangerous thing is the wind there; it can blow you and your camel into the sky. Going into the Black Wind Eye to find water is practically suicide."

"Do we have any other options?" Zhou Yang asked rhetorically.

The stone roller fell silent.

The skinny man looked at him, then at Zhou Yang, his face full of embarrassment.

Yes, there was no choice. Either gamble your life in the eye of the storm, or wait to die of thirst in the desert.

Zhou Yang carefully put the map away. He already had a target. Northwest, the eye of the storm.

Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a very slight disturbance made his nerves tense up again.

It's that camel.

The beast, which had been quiet until now, suddenly began to move restlessly, making low growling noises in its throat, exhaling hot air from its nostrils, and revealing fear in its big eyes.

The skinny man noticed it first. He patted the camel's neck, trying to soothe it, but the camel became even more agitated.

"What's wrong?" Zhou Yang asked.

Shi Gun reacted even faster. Instead of looking at the camel, he suddenly squatted down and pressed his ear to the sand.

This action made Zhou Yang's heart jump.

Experienced desert dwellers use this method to determine whether there is a sandstorm or a large group of people in the distance.

Outside, the wind still blew.

But Shi Gun's expression grew increasingly solemn. He closed his eyes, his brows furrowed, as if trying to discern some sound mixed in with the wind.

After a full half minute, he slowly raised his head.

His face looked terrible, even worse than when the Black Wind Eye was mentioned earlier.

"Something's not right," Shi Gun uttered.

Zhou Yang didn't speak, he just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Shi Gun did not answer immediately, but instead reached out and picked up a small handful of sand from the ground. He held the sand up to the firelight.

By the flickering firelight, Zhou Yang could clearly see that it was not sand at all.

It was a layer of extremely fine powder. Its color was darker than the yellowish sand, with a hint of gray. More importantly, in the firelight, this powder seemed to have a slightly damp sheen.

"This is..." Zhou Yang asked, puzzled.

"The loose soil crushed by horses' hooves." Shi Gun rubbed the powder off his hands, his voice as cold as ice. "They didn't just chase us all the way to the Valley of Chaotic Rocks; they've already got up behind us."

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted.

He immediately lay down, imitating the stone roller, and pressed his ear to the sand.

This time, he heard it.

Hidden between the howling winds was a rhythmic, almost inaudible rustling sound.

The sound was very soft and dense, like silkworms nibbling on mulberry leaves.

But Zhou Yang knew that wasn't it.

That was the sound of horses' hooves on the sand. Many horses, under the cover of night, were slowly approaching their direction.