Sand and grit filled Kane’s throat.

  With every breath, it felt as though he were swallowing red-hot iron filings.

  Three days.

  He had dragged Crag for three days without rest or sleep.

  His lips were cracked, peeling in layers of dead skin. At the edge of his vision, the horizon warped and shivered in the heat waves, looking as if it might melt away at any moment.

  Crag’s body was a mountain of burning heat.

  Waves of intense energy radiated from him constantly, searing Kane’s skin. Great patches of charred obsidian skin had sloughed off, revealing mangled, raw flesh that continuously seeped pale yellow interstitial fluid mixed with streaks of blood. The air was thick with the foul, cloying scent of scorched protein.

  Crag's breathing was so faint it was nearly nonexistent.

  Had it not been for the final, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Kane would have thought he was dragging a rotting corpse.

  Stumbling again, Kane used every ounce of his will to steady himself. His parched eyes were a roadmap of burst capillaries.

  He couldn't keep going like this.

  He stopped, his gasping breaths coming out harsh and raspy, sounding like a broken bellows.

  He scanned the surroundings. Relying on a scavenger’s instinct, he spotted a jagged, rotting wooden plank protruding from beneath a nearby dune.

  Hope.

  Grit-toothed, he set Crag down temporarily and stumbled toward it.

  It was an abandoned wheelbarrow. The wheel had rotted away long ago, but the frame was mostly intact.

  It would have to do.

  Kane hauled Crag’s massive frame onto the wooden boards—a process that drained the final dregs of his strength. He found a length of rope, tied one end to the frame, and wound the other tightly around his own body.

  "Ugh!"

  He strained against the weight.

  The coarse rope instantly bit into the open wounds on his shoulders.

  Agony flared. His vision went black, and he nearly lost consciousness.

  He looked down at the unconscious Crag on the cart. Images flashed through his mind: the sea of fire that swallowed everything, and the giant figure that had transformed into a wall of stone to shield him.

  When Old Tock died, he had just stood there, watching, unable to do a damn thing.

  This time... no.

  Kane clamped his back teeth together until the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. He leaned forward, throwing his entire body weight into the rope.

  One step.

  Then another.

  Across the soft sand, he left two uneven, staggering trails of blood.

  ...

  Time froze when Kane appeared at the entrance of the canyon where the Stoneborn tribe resided, hauling the makeshift cart.

  Several Stoneborn warriors armed with massive stone spears spotted him instantly.

  They dropped from the cliffside like falling boulders, landing with a heavy thud. The sheer pressure of their presence surrounded Kane.

  When their eyes fell upon the cart and saw Crag’s horrific state, the heavy atmosphere turned explosive.

  "Roar!"

  Furious low growls rumbled from deep within their chests.

  "Human!"

  A hot-headed young warrior, his eyes bloodshot with rage, lunged forward. His shovel-sized hand seized Kane’s collar, hoisting him clean off the ground.

  "What did you do to our brother?!"

  The sensation of choking took hold as his feet left the earth. Kane didn't even have the strength to struggle. He simply raised his bloodshot eyes and stared coldly at the face twisted with anger.

  His voice was raspy enough to shatter, yet it carried an indisputable calm.

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  "If you don't want him to die... take me to your Elder."

  The young warrior, Flint, was momentarily stunned by Kane's expression. His grip instinctively loosened.

  Right then, an old, steady voice echoed from deep within the settlement.

  "Stop, Flint."

  The crowd turned as an elder, significantly smaller and leaner than the other tribesmen, approached slowly, leaning on an obsidian staff.

  His skin was etched with deeper furrows, the stony textures ancient and intricate, bearing the weight of a thousand years of wind and frost.

  The leader of the Stoneborn—Elder Granite.

  Elder Granite waved a hand, and the young warrior named Flint reluctantly let go.

  Kane’s legs gave out, and he slumped onto the ground.

  The Elder’s gaze didn't linger on Kane. It fell directly upon Crag on the cart, and his calm, well-like expression instantly became incredibly grave.

  He stepped forward quickly, knelt, and extended a rough palm marked by the passage of time. He pressed it gently against Crag’s charred chest and closed his eyes.

  The surrounding Stoneborn held their breath.

  In the canyon, only the sound of the wind remained.

  After a moment, Elder Granite opened his eyes. Deep sorrow and helplessness reflected in his murky pupils. He stood up and announced to his people in a heavy voice:

  "His bloodline power was forcibly triggered at the brink of evolution, only to be interrupted by a sinister flame... Now, he has only a single breath left to sustain him."

  "What!"

  "Crag!"

  Suppressed cries and grief rippled through the tribesmen. The looks they cast toward Kane were once again filled with undisguised hostility and murderous intent.

  Elder Granite turned to Kane, his sharp eyes scrutinizing him intensely.

  "Did you harm him?"

  Kane leaned against the wooden cart, his face calm. He didn't offer an excuse, stating the facts in the briefest possible terms.

  "Kunlun Corp incendiary grenades. A heavy truck explosion. He did it to save me."

  Elder Granite listened in silence for a long time. Finally, he let out a long sigh—a sigh heavy with the helplessness of fate.

  "I understand... Triggering the bloodline's potential should have been a great blessing, but instead, it has become his death warrant."

  He paused, then continued, "There is only one way. It requires a relic containing vast and pure energy to reignite his dying life-fire and help him complete this final step."

  Hearing there was still hope, the eyes of the surrounding tribesmen lit up again.

  But Elder Granite’s next words snuffed out that spark completely.

  "The Tinder Crystal our tribe has guarded for generations would be the best choice."

  His voice was thick with pain.

  "But... it was stolen by the Iron Hand Gang. Without the crystal, I can only place him in the Heart of the Ancestors cave. Using the residual energy there, I can keep him alive for one month. After a month, even if the Ancestors descend, they won't be able to save him."

  One month.

  Those words felt like two mountains pressing down on the hearts of every Stoneborn present.

  Hope had turned into a desperate countdown.

  Everyone bowed their heads. Even the impulsive Flint could only clench his fists, his massive frame trembling slightly.

  At the canyon entrance, a suffocating silence took hold.

  In the midst of this dead silence, a voice—raspy enough to shatter—suddenly rang out.

  "An item of vast energy?"

  Kane braced himself against the ground and shakily stood up.

  "Will this... work?"

  Everyone’s gaze snapped toward him.

  Under dozens of stares filled with doubt, confusion, and a final sliver of anticipation, Kane painstakingly unwrapped the tattered cloth stuck to the blood and flesh on his chest.

  He placed the silver lead box he had guarded so fiercely against his chest onto the ground.

  Click.

  The lid opened.

  A wave of energy—soft, pure, yet so massive it made the heart skip a beat—instantly surged outward.

  The crystal creation, pulsing slowly like a living heart, lay quietly within the blue gel.

  The energy circuits on its surface pulsed with alternating light and shadow, emitting a mesmerizing blue glow that cast a dreamlike hue over the shocked faces of the surrounding Stoneborn.

  "This... this is...!!"

  Elder Granite’s pupils contracted to pinpricks. He stumbled forward a step, almost pressing his face against the box, greedily drinking in the sensation of that impossibly pure energy.

  An unprecedented light erupted within his murky, aged eyes. His voice trembled with extreme agitation.

  "An artificial creation... but this energy... it’s enough! It is absolutely enough!"

  "Heavens!"

  "By the Ancestors..."

  Suppressed gasps of awe rippled through the tribe. Every Stoneborn looked at that box no longer as a mere object.

  It was a holy relic.

  It was the hope of salvation!

  Elder Granite snapped his head around, staring intensely at Kane. The ecstasy on his face rapidly faded, replaced by an unprecedented gravity.

  "Boy, I must tell you the truth."

  He spoke each word with startling clarity.

  "To save Crag with this, the item's energy will be completely drained until it is nothing but scrap. Its value is enough to buy an entire city like Blackrock Town."

  "Are you... certain?"

  The ultimate interrogation lay before him.

  A city.

  Or a big, stupid oaf he had known for less than half a month.

  Kane’s gaze was nailed to that pulsating blue "heart."

  A city...

  Old Tock had spent his whole life patching things up, wanting nothing more than a tin shack where he could sleep through a sandstorm.

  And this thing could buy a fortress-city.

  He could stop being a "Corpse Dog." He could have his own private army. He could seek revenge for Old Tock like a man, rather than a stray cur.

  His fingers unconsciously brushed the edge of the box.

  Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught the massive figure on the cart. He saw the charred, hollow crater on Crag's chest—the wound earned while shielding Kane from the blast.

  Old Tock was dead, leaving him nothing but the world's malice.

  If this big idiot died too... what would be left for him?

  Kane suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.

  To hell with it.

  He didn't want to experience that feeling ever again.

  Without a shred of hesitation, he reached out. Snap. He slammed the lid shut with total finality.

  That soft sound felt like a blade cutting something within his heart, severing the shortcut to a life of lonely, gilded wealth.

  He raised his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Elder Granite's scrutinizing gaze. His voice was raspy, yet the two words he uttered were crystal clear.

  "I'm certain."

  The words were soft, yet they carried the weight of a mountain as they crashed into the hearts of every Stoneborn present.

  The entire tribe fell silent.

  Flint, the young warrior from before, felt his stony face flush crimson. He lowered his head in shame.

  The way every Stoneborn looked at Kane changed completely.

  Elder Granite looked at him deeply, his gaze filled with an inexpressible complexity.

  Finally, he nodded solemnly and deeply toward Kane.

  "The Stoneborn owe you a life."

  He hesitated no longer, turning to command his people.

  "Lift Crag! Bring the 'heart'! Follow me!"

  He led the way personally. Several of the strongest warriors carefully lifted the cart, while two others carried the silver lead box with the reverence of pilgrims.

  The group moved quickly toward the deepest part of the tribe—the dark, ancient sanctuary of the cave.

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