Yarra's Adventure Notes-Chapter 1311 - 97 Sighing Desert

The silver Mia, the blue Luscia, and the blood-colored Lilith—three moons hung high in the night sky, casting three shades of moonlight over the endless sands, adding a touch of dazzling color to the monotonous yellow of the desert. Looking up, the fierce gales that perennially dominate the skies of the Sighing Desert howled past, carrying with them countless fine grains of sand. The powerful wind pressure was like a gigantic invisible trap; each grain of sand a high-speed, racing blade intent on tearing apart any invader daring enough to enter the territory of the wind.

If one were to survey the land from above, they would only see an expanse of pure golden yellow stretching from their feet to the horizon. Undulating sand dunes followed one after another, appearing beautiful and intoxicating from afar, but only by being truly amidst them could one feel the unique terror of this land of death—the dry, searing terror. Through this veil of terror, all one could see was despair, an irresistible despair. For over three thousand years, countless adventurers had set foot in this world woven of death and despair, but the majority of them had completely fallen apart amidst the boundless sea of sand, reduced to scattered white bones that were deeply buried by the constantly shifting sands, erasing their last traces from the world.

If a traveler stood in the midst of the desert during daylight and looked around, they would only see sand dunes and sands that all looked identical, unable to distinguish between them or find any reference points, incapable of determining their own position or that of their destination. The scorching sun was like a furnace spewing flames, and the blistering hot wind was like a greedy demon from the depths of hell, engulfed in flames, ravenously devouring the moisture from the traveler’s body, leaving them without even the capacity to sweat and cool down. The anxiety of being lost accelerated the loss of fluids, almost allowing one to feel their body temperature rising degree by degree under the blazing sun. Thirst and dry heat made the traveler desperately seek the refuge of water, but a long journey through the maze had already depleted the last drop of water they carried. The notion of finding a water source was even more improbable; there were no water sources above or beneath the Sighing Desert, a fact well recognized in the Yarran World.

Without water, the lost travelers could only continue to endure the pain of thirst and dry heat, pressing on in their will to survive, their lips gradually becoming dry and cracked, and their throats starting to hurt as if scorched by fire. They tried to distract themselves with other thoughts, but unfortunately, in the Sighing Desert, there was no water, nor any living creature. The birds in the sky, snakes and lizards on the ground, poisonous insects lurking in the sand, and tall green cacti—all life was absent in the Sighing Desert. As far as the eye could see, there was only the unending horizon of yellow sand, monotonous, dull, not only failing to distract but intensifying the despair within.

Soon, the lost travelers would feel suffocated, nauseated, and weak, as a parade of agonizing sensations swiftly followed one another. Their vision blurred, their steps grew heavier and heavier. Perhaps, in their very last moments, weary eyes would glimpse an oasis at the far end of the horizon, a lush patch of green teeming with water plants, with clear lake water rippling in its center, sweet fruits growing everywhere, and even Country of Sand inhabitants leading their livestock across the oasis. Such a sight could inspire hope in the heart of the despairing, spurring them to muster their last ounce of strength and head towards the oasis, and then... with a blissful smile on their faces, they would forever slumber in the sea of sand, never to awaken again.

This is the main reason why the Sighing Desert is known as the most terrifying region in the Yarran World. Drought and disorientation—in this desert, the vast majority of direction-finding skills are rendered useless. Only a small number of people know how to enter and leave the desert successfully. These capable guides have even compiled a set of regulations for surviving in the Sighing Desert, passing them down through word of mouth amongst each other. But even with these skills, every year there are still a few seasoned guides who, along with the teams that hired them, disappear into the desert, never to return again.

However, no matter how people view the Sighing Desert, whether with fear, anger, or a desire to conquer it, it holds no significance to the desert itself. It remains silently in place, unchanged by the will of living creatures, like a seasoned and steady hunter, quietly waiting for the next prey to unknowingly walk into its deadly trap, waiting for the next victim to become part of its body.

The foremost survival skill in the Sighing Desert, and one that is repeatedly emphasized by all who think of it, is to rest during the day and move at night. For this, guides don’t even need to explain the reason—just one journey into the Sighing Desert would naturally make anyone understand the significance of this rule.

During the day, the desert is as hot as hell, and the sandy ground can even be used by Pannis to cook food. But at night, it immediately turns bone-chillingly cold. If you were to stand in an open spot wearing daytime clothes, within a few hours, you’d be frozen into an ice sculpture by the penetrating cold wind and dropping temperatures. This phenomenon of extreme heat and extreme cold has always been an unsolved mystery in the academic world. Many scholars have delved into the desert hoping to unravel this enigma, and then... they never returned. However, there is now a mainstream hypothesis within the academic community: the Cold Energy from the eastern Perpetual Icefield and the scorching energy from the western Forest of Death meet right at the Sighing Desert. The two energies entwine, neither able to prevail, resulting in this phenomenon of extreme heat by day and extreme cold by night. As to whether this hypothesis is true, to this day no one has been able to provide a definitive answer.

The night desert should be silent, devoid of life, with nothing but the sound of the wind. However, a sudden noise of sand being tossed into the air breaks the stillness, and a mound forms beneath a sand dune. Amid the swirling sands, a person bursts out from beneath the sand. If there were others around, perhaps they wouldn’t have to endure the torment of the dryness; they might just be scared to death by this sight.

The person who emerged vigorously shook their body and head, trying to rid themselves of the sand clinging to their skin. Nevertheless, this action invariably reminded one of a certain kind of animal that does the same thing after falling into water. After shaking off all the sand from his body, Pannis emerged from the yellow sands, still wearing the white robe he had on several days ago when he met Flare in the mountain hollow. Fortunately, the sun had just set not long ago, and the temperature was still quite high, saving him from the misfortune of being frozen to death on the spot.

"Damn Sighing Desert, this is exactly why I hate this place the most," grumbled Pannis, taking off his boots and pouring out a large amount of fine sand. Looking up, he used a few fingers to gesture at the moon for a while and then nodded in satisfaction. "Good, just one more night of walking and I can finally finish this."