Though officially just attached temporarily to the Western Border Army, Lancer barely got a night's sleep before setting out with Liver at dawn the next day.
But one detail puzzled him—their unit seemed to lack any Teigu users?
He held his tongue, conscious of his own newcomer status. Yet, when the time came to depart, an awkward reality quickly surfaced.
"You… don't know how to ride?"
Although Liver's expression didn't flicker in the slightest, Lancer was certain the man was holding back frustration.
"Forget it. Just share my horse. Once we enter the desert proper, horses won't help us anyway."
Come to think of it, normally camels would be the obvious choice for desert travel. But perhaps due to the Empire's cavalry mounts being crossbred with Danger Beasts, they stubbornly relied on horses.
The expedition against the western tribes involved a full five thousand troops, but Lancer's own "Special Operations Team" numbered just over ten men, leaving their job anything but easy.
Their task was reconnaissance—to scout ahead and confirm whether their designated targets had shifted. With only three days' worth of food and water, missing their marks once might be tolerable, but repeated mistakes would surely doom the whole campaign.
The team departed at dawn. By the time Liver led them to the Empire's outermost western outpost, it was already noon. Drenched in sweat beneath the blistering sun, Lancer deeply regretted not crafting himself a nice Cephalos Armor.
He could've easily bought an Iced Drink from [SUPPLIES], providing at least four hours of blissful relief. But to maintain a facade of normalcy, he reluctantly rejected that enticing idea.
"Captain Liver, where to next?"
He'd asked before leaving, but Liver had brushed him off, saying, "Military secrets—once we're enroute, I'll let you know." Strangely enough, none of the others had asked—perhaps because they were veterans, already used to such secrecy?
The answer was actually quite simple: unlike Lancer, who'd stumbled into soldiering halfway, these career troops understood clearly that their job was simply to follow orders, no questions asked.
"Hmm. Our mission this time is verifying whether the smaller oases along the desert fringe have changed. After confirming that, we'll attempt to infiltrate deeper into the desert and sabotage the larger oasis settlements. That's about it."
After explaining, Liver noticed Lancer's blank expression and sighed quietly. According to his superiors, this new recruit had great strength but utterly lacked common sense, having never properly enlisted before. Yet Liver hadn't realized the gap was this wide.
"Our war with the foreign tribes has lasted since the Empire's birth. Although our ancestors drove these tribes into the wastelands and deserts beneath our feet, these people's resilience has exceeded expectations. Quietly, they multiplied once again. Over centuries, our predecessors repeatedly tried exterminating these pests for good, but regrettably… these tribes have already become too entrenched in the desert. Eradication's no longer realistic. Eventually, a certain general devised a different method—"
Was it Lancer's imagination, or had the outpost suddenly turned colder?
"If we dispatch an army for outright extermination, the tribes inevitably unite. Even if we massacre many, we can't penetrate deeply enough into the desert to finish them all off. Instead, ten or twenty years later, they regroup for revenge, slaughtering and pillaging countless Imperial citizens. Since complete extermination isn't feasible, why pursue it? The general suggested an alternative—and acted accordingly. Our main targets became the larger, deep-desert settlements, while small ones near our fortresses are swept clean every few years—though we deliberately spare one or two. That way, after every sweep, some deep-desert dwellers inevitably resettle at the fringes…"
Liver's detached delivery made the entire explanation even more chilling. Listening closely, it sounded as if he didn't view these "foreign tribes" as human at all.
Yet Lancer had another lingering question…
"Doesn't anyone among the tribes catch on?"
Liver chuckled darkly. "Ha—of course they do. But someone always thinks they're the lucky one. Maybe they'll be spared this time? Besides, from their perspective, gambling on staying put is safer than futilely storming fortresses or raiding nearby villages. After all, what if they survive?"
Liver's voice dripped with mockery, leaving Lancer speechless.
He wasn't a native Imperial, so he couldn't fully grasp ordinary citizens' indifference toward tribal lives or the soldiers' outright hatred. But neither did he argue against it. Just as before, he lacked the qualifications to challenge them—no different than his inability to stop Mado Kureo from hunting Ghouls.
All he could do was refuse to dirty his own hands. After all, he was just an ordinary man.
...
Frankly, the tasks that followed were excruciatingly dull. The unit trudged endlessly through the desert in camouflage, halting at safe distances from each oasis to observe whether settlements were nearby.
During these operations, Lancer took charge of inner-perimeter security. Perhaps because his weapon was too conspicuous for stealth work, or simply because they thought a rookie should watch rather than act, he was sidelined.
Until one night—
"We've confirmed every location marked on the map. Next, we move deeper into the desert…"
Liver's perpetually solemn voice sounded unusually hoarse this time. Yet no one responded—not even Lancer. Speaking felt pointless, and for over half a month, he'd faithfully obeyed Liver's directive to "keep quiet as much as possible."
Indeed, during missions, the entire squad had communicated almost exclusively through hand signals. Having kept silent so long, Lancer worried that if he tried speaking now, his throat might fail him.
Nevertheless, Liver's words ignited excitement within him.
This damned boredom is finally ending!
He'd nearly gone insane staring at nothing but sand day after day.
In sharp contrast to Lancer's anticipation, however, his comrades wore serious expressions. They knew the real danger had just begun. Historically, casualties occurred most often at this stage—but the looming threat also lit a fire within them. If they managed to destroy an undocumented tribal settlement deep in the desert, they could practically taste their coming promotions and raises.
It was a gamble—a perilous one, yet full of promise.