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ILIAS VAN PAYNE

When we rode into Orisa, passing by a group of what seemed like fifty people camped outside of town. They wore tethered clothes and tired eyes. A middle-aged man with tattoos on both his biceps seemed to be the leader of whatever they were. Wherever he went, a young blonde girl wearing spectacles stuck by his side.

Our first stop was the Rohan Company, where we sold our horses. Jaime asked the worker about the people camped outside.

"We call them Desperados," the worker explained. "They are desperate people who want to cross the Great Sand Sea but don't have enough funds to join the expedition. Every couple of months, people who are in the same boat congregate outside of Orisa and attempt to cross the desert their own way."

"Desperados," Roxy said. "I remember people from Roa talking about Desperados that succeeded. So that's what that word meant."

"Why would they cross it without a guide?" Jaime questioned.

The worker brushed a horse. "They are desperate. Maybe they're on a deadline, maybe it's something weighing down their hearts. As they see it, the reward of making it to the other side of the desert is worth any risk, even their lives."

"How many usually survive?" I asked.

"If the group is decimated by monsters, a few are lucky to make it back."

"How about actually crossing the desert?"

"The desert has an iron will. But once in a while, a handful of Desperados whose will is stronger than iron will defy the labyrinth and successfully cross."

"Do you know anyone who's made a trip into the desert and survived?"

"Yes, and he's made more than one trip. He's an archaeologist trying to find the lost civilizations within the Great Sand Sea. He's made about eleven trips into the desert and he's come back every time. Albeit a bit beaten up."

"But to be fair, this archaeologist guy isn't trying to cross the desert," Roxanne pointed out. "He's just looking for things and retracing his steps."

"Still. Going into the desert and coming back eleven times is something unheard of. I've lived here all my life. This man is the first person to truly shock me."

The office to register for the expedition party was a small box. Inside was only a bulletin board posted with information about anything and everything about the desert labyrinth. Behind the desk was an eccentric girl who greeted us.

"My name is Mrs Robinson! I'm going to be the main guide for the next expedition which is tomorrow. I'm glad you dropped by. Many die because their supplies and gear were unprepared."

"What do we need?" Roxy asked.

"Stock up on a lot of dried and canned food. There's not a lot of game in the desert and hunting is a rare luxury. Bring enough provisions for a month just in case. Next, bring enough water and, if you have the money, I recommend buying this bottle." Mrs Robinson reached into her bag and produced what she was talking about. "The desert air is dry, but there is still moisture, especially at night. This bottle uses heat and cold to condense water for drinking. And speaking of night, just because it's a desert doesn't mean to only dress for the heat. Bring things to keep you warm at night because the desert becomes a tundra when the sun disappears. The sun is a funny thing in the desert. At the beginning of the day you hate it, by midday you get used to it, and when night falls you'll yearn for it. And you'll repeat that over and over. Also, we don't pick up or help hitchhikers. If word that a person who didn't pay joined us because he was lost, many people would start to walk into the desert to avoid our payment. Anyone who helps hitchhikers will be kicked from the expedition right then and there."

Mrs Robinson rambled on and on for an hour. The twins and I didn't want to seem rude, so we patiently listened. Jaime (thank the gods for her) excused herself and pulled us out.

Before leaving, Mrs Robinson recommended a shop for us to get the appropriate clothing. We stopped by and bought the garments that Vienna suggested.

Jaime and the twins got white linens covering their entire bodies and see-through veils to go with their headscarves.

I changed into a linen shirt and pants under a brown free-flowing robe with wide arms. I bought a headwrap for my head.

Before shopping for supplies, we rented rooms at an inn and dropped off our things. I left my staff as carrying it around will only get in the way of how many things we can bring back. I did take my old wand and held onto a handful of bullets just in case.

Jaime, still in love with her two new swords, took all three with her.

"There's a chance we might not see each other tonight," Roxy pointed out. "Either way, let's meet here tomorrow two hours before the sun rises so we won't be late."

"Here." Roxanne tossed me two pouches of coins. "You and Jaime's share of the money."

The twins only wanted to collect what they needed and rest for the day. Jaime, however, wanted to go sightseeing so splitting up from the get-go was the logical move.

We spent about three hours filling up giant expedition backpacks with the list of items Mrs Robinson suggested. We left enough room for our regular clothes clothes as they were the only belongings we had taken with us from Gilead.

We dropped off the bags before going back out to explore the town.

Jaime dragged me into an armoury. She wondered for a long time which sword she should get, but I reminded her that she already had three cursed swords on her hip. Instead, she used up her share of the money to buy underwear armour while I wasn't looking.

"Why would you buy that, it's so impractical?"

"It's not impractical."

I pinched her side. "A bug can ignore the armour and bite your skin right here. I can't imagine such a great warrior dying to a mere mosquito."

When asked to do a refund, the shop owner guided us to the sign right outside the store that stated no refunds.

I sighed. "Fine, keep it. But wear that under your clothes. I don't want you walking around like Vienna."

Because of Jaime's mismanagement of funds, I decided to hold onto our assets for the remainder of our trip back to Gilead.

Since Jaime dragged me into a weapon shop, it was only fair that I dragged her into a bookstore that housed grimoires, wands, and staves.

"Look at how many grimoires there are. There are so many types of bestiaries too."

Compared to the rest of the books that were simply stocked on shelves, each grimoire was displayed and attached to a charmed chain. The cheapest grimoire was a gold coin—the same exact price as a trip across the desert. In the end, I decided not to buy anything and save the money we had.

We can start splurging once we are making a steady income from the Adventurer's Guild.

"You're not going to treat yourself?" Jaime asked as we pushed through the crowd.

"The stuff they had wasn't anything new. Besides... Book!" Talking Book puffed beside me. "I have this and I wrote down all the good spells from my father's study."

"I completely forgot you had that thing."

"Sometimes I do too."

"Oh, can we go back to the armoury?" she asked. "Since we're going into a labyrinth, I decided that I want another sword to turn into a cursed artifact."

"Absolutely not. You've already wasted so much on useless armour. Besides, the three you have are perfect. Clash for defence, Intermission for offence, and Sting for chaos. You don't need a fourth one."

"What about you then? I already treated myself so you should treat yourself too. We finally have money so we're not going to cross unless you do."

I sighed. "Fine. Let's try to look for stuff that interests me."

"By the way, how much money do we have all together?"

"You didn't even tell me how much your armour cost. Let me check."

I pulled out my purse and began counting.

A boy our age wearing a brown jacket and a wide-brimmed hat flashed by. With one swift gesture, he swiped the purse from my hands and disappeared among the denizens.

On instinct, I pointed my staff, turning the ground beneath him into a quagmire. But I had left Aurora Ventus back at the inn and the phantom staff I held summoned the quagmire a few feet behind my target.

Damn it!

Jaime made chase. "Ilias, cut him off!"

She disappeared within the crowds in pursuit of the thief. Using the old wand I hadn't touched in a while, I launched myself and hovered in the air. It used up much more mana than I expected.

This kid is dressed similarly to Tony and Florence, so I'm going to guess that he's also a gunslinger. I'm going to have to be careful because I'm an easy target to hit when I'm floating in the air.

I located Jaime's green-haired head and pinpointed the boy's wide-brimmed hat ahead of her. I flew after them, waiting until there were no forks or alleyways ahead.

An elf with many piercings and tattoos ran parallel to the boy. He looked a couple of decades older than Askeladd.

"Clint! Throw it here!" the tattooed elf called out, waving his hands.

So the boy's name is Clint. Are they working together?

"Clint! Clint!"

Once they had passed the last alleyway, I sent an air slash to knock down Clint. But before he stumbled, he managed to toss our money to the tattooed elf who was quicker and more agile.

Clint looked like he was about to tackle Jaime, so I flew into him first. Jaime gave us a quick glance before continuing the pursuit of the tattooed elf.

Clint made several back rolls away from me, giving himself distance before producing a pistol.

I was right!

I'm going to have to take care of Clint first before helping Jaime take our money back. She took care of Messina on her own so hopefully, she won't struggle without me.

The thief-boy aimed at me.

"Zenyatta!" I screamed.

"Ubasha!" the Stand screamed, putting a bubble between us.

Clint's bullet phased through the bubble, hitting me in the shoulder. I winced at the searing pain before having Zenyatta punch away Clint's remaining shots.

Gah! I wasn't fast enough to imbue my mana in the bullet that hit my shoulder.

By the time the last bullet was fired, the streets had emptied themselves. Even the workers in the nearby glass factory fled from their building.

Zenyatta can't envelop a bubble around its user—that was the one limitation it had. I thought putting a bubble between us as some sort of shield would work. However, the bubble really had no way of protecting its user.

If the bubble was positioned in a way that will inadvertently protect me from an incoming attack, the attack will phase through the bubble and anything inside, keeping them safe but hurting me.

So I'm better off having Zenyatta punch the bullets away.

Once Clint needed to reload, Zenyatta grabbed a bullet from me, flicking it accurately to Clint's pistol and knocking it out of his hand. The flicked bullet landed in the middle of the street.

I can't kill Clint. First off, he's just a kid. Secondly, we can use him as leverage against the tattooed elf.

The boy's movements were quick. The moment he lost his pistol, he produced another one and aimed for my head.

Of course he's carrying more than one gun. Hell, he might even have a third.

With not enough time to grow and fire the rose bullet, recall Zenyatta back to my side to punch away the shots, or flick another bullet to disarm Clint, I dove into the closest building that had an open door—it so happened to be the glass factory.

Numerous of glass panes were attached to chains that hung from frames in the ceiling. Many of them were clear, but a select few were painted and depicted scenes from history and legend.

The floor had scattered crates filled with equipment, bags of sand and limestone, and burning furnaces. Not to mention there were vases and fragile sculptures everywhere. This building had no windows but was adorned by copious pipes that kept the inside well-ventilated.

This meant there were only two ways out. The entrance where I came from and the back door on the other side.

Glass was a confusing material. They were as brittle as a dried leaf but could decapitate a man when broken.

There was no way I could run to the back door before Clint could follow me inside and I was not about to risk slicing myself open by flying through the crowded building.

Summoning Zenyatta, I used one of the bubbles as a projectile, shooting through glass and blowing off the back door's lock, causing it to swing open. With one leap, I hid behind one of the crates, making it look like I escaped through the back.

I grimaced as I healed and put pressure on my gunshot wound.

Zenyatta's bubbles not being able to protect me was something I saw coming. But imbuing mana into a bullet that hits you before it stops isn't as easy as Tony made it look.

It's a skill he must've learned to develop over years of having Guns And Roses. I've only had it for three weeks and I was unconscious for two of those.

Clint observed the factory without stepping through the doorway, his gun was drawn and ready for another six shots.

Without warning, he jumped backwards through the door, landing on his back and adjusting his aim above the doorpost.

He's making sure to check his blind spots before entering. Whoever taught this kid taught him properly.

Still on the ground, he kicked the door closed to make sure no one was hiding behind it. He then opened it, making sure he had an escape route just in case something were to go wrong.

Clint noticed the back door and contemplated following my false trail. However, he stood where he was and stared at the floor.

What caught his attention?

It didn't take long for me to notice my mistake—my trail of blood. Or rather the lack thereof leading to the back door.

Clint knows I'm still in the building and he's blocked off the entrance. He could easily shoot down anything that tries to escape through the back exit.

He didn't know where I was. If he did, he would've riddled me full of bullets. The fact that he hadn't done so meant he was afraid of me popping up and attacking him.

Without moving, Clint began shooting down the chains that were holding the glass panes from the ceiling. Each window crashed into a million shards. The ones that broke in midair sliced through crates and bags of raw material like guillotines.

A glass pane hung right above me. I had to get out of here sooner rather than later. Clint shooting it down was an inevitability and losing my head was something I didn't plan on doing. Again.

There was one opening I could take advantage of and that was the pistol's bullet capacity. His first pistol was flicked far away which meant Clint didn't have time to grab it before pursuing me. He was using his second pistol.

Every six shots, Clint had to reload his gun. This took two seconds.

The next time he runs out of ammo, I'm going to pop out and have Zenyatta flick a bullet to disarm him.

There was one miscalculation. Clint was already staring right at me—using one of the fallen window's reflections. He wasn't only breaking the windows to cut me down, he was also using their reflections to check for blind spots!

Clint shot down the glass pane above while still having three shots in his chamber. With the blade-like window barreling down on me, I had only one course of action left.

"Epitaph!" I screamed.

Time slowed down to a halt, devoiding the world of colour.

One second.

The window above shattered midair. Not only was the glass sharp enough to cut me in half, but the pointed ones could impale me. I couldn't risk Zenyatta punching the shards into smaller pieces. The Stand was bound to me, so if it sliced open its arm, mine would carry the same wound.

Two seconds.

Now the second problem.

Clint's eyes were focused on me and his gun was already aimed at the crate I was hiding behind. The boy had pinpoint accuracy, so I couldn't rely on blind luck—though I would'ver never relied on it in the first place.

Three seconds.

Either I stayed where I was and risked being turned into a human pin cushion or I popped out and risked being turned into a human target.

There was only one thing I could do to ensure my survival.

Four seconds.

I sacrificed a year of my life to move for one second during this time stop.

Zenyatta carried me on its back before launching itself behind a new cover where no reflection revealed its blind spot. As we glided on the ground, I had Zenyatta launch one of its bubbles at Clint.

Five seconds have passed.

Time will now resume!

The window that would've otherwise sliced me in half came crashing down on the box I hid behind.

Clint took a quick moment to analyze why my reflection wasn't where I was. To him, I would've simply disappeared in the blink of an eye. However, I couldn't use this moment of confusion to my advantage.

Clint figured out where I was, pointing his pistol at the window above me.

But how does he know I'm here? Where I am is the only place where he can't see! It's the only blind spot remaining!

Of course! He could see everything except one place which meant I could only be where he couldn't see me!

He pinpointed where I was in a matter of seconds through the process of elimination.

But before he could pull the trigger, Zenyatta's bubble bounced off his gun, knocking it out of his hand and out of reach.

"Give up, Clint!" I ordered, revealing myself and approaching him. "We won't report you, we just want our money back. You've got no more guns to shoot me with. You can try to run or fight back, but my Stand is faster and stronger—not to mention that I can fly."

Clint raised his hands as Zenyatta's featureless face stared into his eyes. Out of nowhere, a third pistol materialized right into Clint's hand, phasing through his palm so Clint was holding it immediately.

A third gun!

What is it? A cursed artifact that can be summoned just like Talking Book or is it some sort of alchemy that lets him summon a weapon?

That doesn't matter. What does is that Clint now has a third gun with at least six additional shots!

The gunslinger ignored Zenyatta, aiming the pistol right at my head before pulling the trigger.

Zenyatta had no way of jumping between us in time to punch the bullet away nor did I have the time to unsummon and resummon the Stand in front of me.

I chuckled as the gunshot radiated within the factory. "It's a good thing I took the possibility of you carrying a third gun into account."

Clint had inhuman accuracy. To him, it would've looked like his bullet would blow my head open. But his shot only grazed my ear, tickling it with air.

"!!!" Clint reacted.

He adjusted his aim and fired another shot, only to miss.

"Zenyatta's original master, Mondatta, explained that the bubble can't protect its user." I began to approach him. "As you know from earlier, even when I put the bubble between us, your bullet phased through because deflecting it would indirectly protect me."

I was now six metres closer which meant I was a bigger target. Clint adjusted his aim, pulled the trigger, and missed his third shot—this time by a good eight inches.

"But just because Zenyatta's bubbles can't protect me physically doesn't mean I can't use it in other ways."

Clint shot his fourth bullet and missed. He only had two shots remaining.

"Look closer."

The gunslinger ignored me for a moment and finally noticed the absurdly large bubble between us.

"Remember that small bubble that knocked away your second pistol? While you were focused on where it landed, I grew it into the monstrosity you've only now picked up on!"

Clint's eyes were wide open, taking in the gigantic bubble he couldn't see.

"You must be asking yourself how the bubble is making you miss when it can't protect me, right?" I grinned. "I can envelop anything inside a bubble, even objects. When it's a hot day out, don't you ever wonder why a mirage plays with your vision? It's because hot air distorts and refracts light differently than normal air."

Clint shot a look at the furnaces before using up his penultimate bullet to miss me.

"I trapped hot air from the furnaces inside the bubble and because this place is nice and ventilated, the hot air in the bubble and the normal air around us is messing with your head. Your accuracy is one of the best I've ever seen, so I had to take that away from you. What I'm trying to say is that where you see me and where I am are two completely different places."

Clint couldn't rely on his vision. So he relied on luck and shot his last bullet randomly. It would've hit my heart if Zenyatta hadn't punched it away in time.

His third gun dematerialized as he ran for the pistol we disarmed him from.

"So three guns is all you carry. Now you're desperate to get one back."

I popped the bubble.

"Ora!" Zenyatta screamed as it connected a fist to Clint's face, sending him flying out the door and back onto the street.

Whatever that third gun was, it could only fire six shots at a time. Which means that this kid is out of weapons.

Clint got up, grabbing his hat as he fled from me. No—he wasn't fleeing. He ran with something in mind.

His first gun!

He used Zenyatta's punch to launch himself far away from me and closer to the first gun he was disarmed from.

As he grabbed it off the ground, I grew a rose from the bullet in the middle of the street that Zenyatta flicked earlier. Using it, I disarmed Clint once more.

"You're not the type of person to just give up, even when it's clear that you've lost," I sighed as I stood above him. "You're a crafty one, so I can't take the risk."

Zenyatta knocked Clint out before carrying him in its arms. Just as the military arrived, we left the scene in pursuit of Jaime and the tattooed elf.

With time to breathe, I stared at Clint's tanned and slender face.

I'm certain this is our first meeting, but I swear I've seen this familiar visage before... Who in the world is this boy?