"Your... donkey cart, how many years has it been since you last washed it?"
Punk sat on the edge of the cart, holding his breath.
"If you have a ride, you should be grateful.
What, did the noble Master Mage grow up in a pile of spices?"
Kane sat cross-legged inside, lazily chewing on dried meat while idly spinning his spear against the cart's wooden railing.
The two had already left Mork Village, making their way toward Konora City.
Punk had no intention of arguing with Kane.
Instead, he focused on practicing a divination spell, hoping to avoid any potential undead threats.
They had set off at dawn.
At this moment, the smaller sun, Mira, had climbed past the horizon, while the larger sun, Chicasa, still lingered below it.
The journey across the wasteland would take five days.
The baron had prepared supplies, stuffing them into a coarse linen bag and placing them onto the mold-ridden wooden cart.
Then, under Punk's expressionless gaze and Kane's helpless sigh, he brought out a... donkey.
The baron, slightly embarrassed, forced a smile.
"A red-eared donkey, a specialty of the Camos Kingdom—hardworking and obedient."
Horses, being a key asset in warfare, were expensive.
Even among impoverished nobles, a baron who couldn't afford a horse was rare.
Punk had inspected the donkey at the time.
A tuft of red fur stood at the tip of its ears, giving it a somewhat adorable appearance.
The creature pawed at the dirt with energy, but still, Punk doubted that this shabby cart and a mere donkey would be enough to cross the wasteland.
Now, sitting inside the cart, Punk realized that his initial concern was misplaced.
The real problem wasn't whether the donkey could make the journey—it was himself enduring the journey.
A foul stench permeated the air, making it seem like he was riding a mobile dung heap rather than a donkey.
He nearly cast Lesser Catapult on it out of sheer frustration.
Unfortunately, abandoning the donkey would mean traversing the wasteland on foot.
That option was even worse.
Kane, unbothered by the stench, lounged in the cart, facing the donkey's rear, happily chewing on jerky.
"I thought mages were supposed to be refined—"
Kane swallowed his mouthful of food, gulped down some ale, and smirked.
"But you don't talk much, do you?"
Punk ignored him, shifting upwind as much as possible while retrieving a parchment map from his robe.
The map, old and yellowed, depicted the rough geography of the Camos Kingdom.
The small wasteland they were crossing lay on the kingdom's border, adjacent to the Bealen Mountains.
Mork Village and the other thirty-odd settlements sat at the junction between the wasteland and the mountains.
At the end of the wasteland flowed the Bebeiro River, and beside it stood Konora City.
Punk's assessment?
This kind of uninhabited borderland was the perfect place for some evil group to establish an evil base and plan their evil schemes.
Not that he cared.
If anything suspicious appeared, his only plan was to stay far, far away.
He wasn't interested in investigating world-destroying plots—or even something as trivial as stolen candy.
Kane, evidently, shared the same mindset.
After failing to engage Punk in conversation, he turned his full attention to demolishing his jerky and ale.
The way he tore into his food made it seem like he had a personal vendetta against it.
Punk had already noted that Kane was the type to mind his own business and let others freeze to death for all he cared.
The best he could be considered was neutral lawful, but based on his lack of chivalry or any genuine sense of duty, neutral chaotic was more accurate.
"Hey!"
Kane suddenly hopped off the cart, startling the donkey.
He stretched lazily before matching pace with the moving cart.
At that moment, Punk finished casting Lesser Foresight on his map.
The spell allowed him to detect potential dangers ahead, though the information it provided was vague.
The results made Punk's pupils shrink slightly.
He immediately replenished the energy on his Lesser Mage Armor.
Normally, such enhancement spells lasted around twenty minutes.
Though stacking them more than three times risked magical interference, Punk habitually renewed them every ten minutes to ensure uninterrupted protection.
The fact that he was reinforcing it now, in under ten minutes, meant one thing—
Something ahead was dangerous.
"Kane," Punk said calmly,
"my divination spell detected a large threat ahead.
We might need to change course."
Kane's response was oddly specific.
"Would that large threat happen to have flushed skin, stand over three meters tall, and sport a sharp horn on its head?"
Punk furrowed his brows.
"The spell's details are somewhat vague—"
He lifted his head and paused.
Seven to eight hundred meters away, an ogre was roaring in excitement, clearly in the mood for a meal.
"…Yes. I can confirm that now."
Kane clicked his tongue.
"Damn it, what kind of prophecy is that?"
Punk ignored him, recalling everything he knew about ogres.
These savage, man-eating monsters possessed thick, magic-resistant skin, brute strength capable of crushing boulders, and near-regenerative vitality.
However, they were also incredibly stupid.
A fully grown ogre typically had the strength of a third-rank warrior, but due to their natural advantages, their combat ability often rivaled a fourth-rank fighter—the peak of the apprentice level.
A troublesome opponent at their current strength.
And now, the ogre had spotted them.
It clutched a massive wooden club and stomped toward them with aggressive intent.
"So,"
Kane spun his spear playfully, tapping the shaft against his palm,
"are we running or fighting?
Because I swear, if we ditch the donkey, I will be very unhappy."
Punk glanced at him.
Could this guy not speak so indirectly?
He remained expressionless as he tucked the map back into his robe and picked up his staff from the cart.
Then, he hopped down lightly.
"If we fight, we should at least draw it away.
No need to risk your precious donkey."
After finishing his sentence, Punk cast Lesser Haste on himself and sprinted to the ogre's right flank.
Kane muttered a curse, flipped Punk off, and quickly followed.