The Alchemist's Guide to Flesh and Blood Ascension

The chill emanating from the frosting milk pudding permeated this gradually drying oasis...

It seemed so extravagant.

The sand armor lowered its head slightly, as if it wanted to reach out and take it, but its hands remained suspended in mid-air for a long time—the heat on its gauntlets would "destroy" this precious coolness.

Furthermore, how could its body, forcibly formed by alchemy and magic, possibly possess a digestive system designed for "eating"?

"Thank you, but..." The repeated voice carried a hint of weariness, and said with self-deprecation, "But for someone whose sense of taste has turned to dust, this is too extravagant."

Yunevo and Iseria exchanged a glance, and the armored figure continued, "If you really want to give me this luxury... could you give me a few more minutes?"

It "removed" the gauntlet, or rather, the dark golden gauntlet turned into quicksand in a single thought, revealing a hand hidden beneath the gauntlet, composed of what appeared to be jet-black mist.

Shila-

As the sand eagle held the cream jelly as if it were a precious treasure, its "palms" suddenly emitted bursts of "steam"—a sign that it had been "scalded".

This is something it realized shortly after its birth...

What the Zehrhalan people cherish as a "water source" is "highly poisonous" to it.

However, the sand armor's hands, which held the creamy jelly, were very steady. Although contact with the "water source" would not cause it any real damage, it would bring it unforgettable pain.

It no longer stayed in place, but transformed into a sandstorm to catch up with the traveling caravan, looked at the child in the caravan who had left his hometown with the adults, and then handed over the frosty milk jelly without hesitation.

Only a few breaths had passed when the sandstorm swept back, carrying the unique voice of the sand armor: "Sorry to keep you waiting..."

Yonivore waved his hand, his gaze shifting from the fallen believers to the "eyes" who thought they were well hidden and had been observing from the shadows.

The royal guard of Zerhalan.

"Go back, I'll take you... back to Zerharan," Sand Armor's voice was somewhat low, "The royal family has always seen me as an inescapable thorn in their side, but they've found other ways..."

……

The way the residents of Zerhalan outside the city looked at the Sand Armor was... very strange.

The guards on the city wall exchanged glances, and it seemed as if an undercurrent of "conspiracy" was surging throughout the city.

Once it entered the city, rumors began to circulate.

On a sweltering day, a man with a physique far beyond that of an ordinary person, wrapped tightly in a yellow cloth, hid in the shadows and casually exclaimed, "Have you heard? That armor... there's no face underneath."

In Guzerhalan, where the church's influence was involved, people's level of trust in the word "gods and ghosts" was alarmingly high.

So naturally, the man could easily cause a terrifying hurricane by simply fluttering the butterfly's wings.

"No face, then it's a ghost... a monster?" A vendor nearby chimed in, fiddling with the bottles and jars of water on the table.

"I've heard that it's the oldest curse in this desert... a monster that devoured the entire oasis!" A passerby seeking shade under the shed couldn't resist joining the conversation.

"Yes! Isn't that a monster?" The man looked around, then lowered his voice and said, "The church elders said there's a reason it protects caravans..."

"What's the reason? Tell me!" the vendor said urgently.

The man chuckled and pointed with his rough hand to a bucket of water on the table, clearly looking parched.

The vendor cursed him as a scoundrel, but people can't resist their love of gossip... So he scooped up a ladle of water from the storage jar, carefully walked down from the shop, and handed it to the man.

"Ah, that's refreshing!" The man downed the water in one gulp, smacked his lips, and then said with satisfaction, "That armor... you've all heard about it since your elders, right... hasn't it never asked anyone for payment?"

Passersby and vendors nodded.

"That's right! That's because... all the merchants who reached the end of the trade route had their souls cut off! That's how that evil core keeps beating, isn't it?"

"Bullshit! I've traveled from Hart to Zelharan countless times, and I've never seen it come to harvest souls!" the merchant retorted.

"That's because there are important figures from the church here..." the man retorted loudly. The people from the ancient church appeared just in time, and before anyone else could react, they grabbed the man and dragged him away.

Only passersby and vendors were left standing there dumbfounded.

Malice lurks in this gradually drying oasis...

But they are too easily accepted.

Several believers, mingled among the crowd, were quietly picking up stones of various sizes...

Snapped!

A stone struck the shoulder guards of the sand armor with precision, producing a crisp metallic clang.

"Get out of Zerharan, you soul-devouring monster!"

The shouts grew louder and louder, and among them were... merchants who had been protected by it, and children with innocent faces.

Thoughts can indeed be manipulated so easily in this closed era.

"Silence! No noise is permitted in Zerkharan!"

The newcomer was a well-dressed captain of the Imperial Guard, riding a camel used for daily patrols. He held his head high, deliberately avoiding the sand armor, as if afraid that the quicksand would stain his expensive leather boots.

Sand Armor stepped aside without saying a word.

"Why?" Iseria, who was not far away, gently tugged at Yunevo.

"This is called information warfare. When a person's power is not controlled by authority..." Yonivo said calmly, "the best way is to 'destroy it'."

In his view, the people of Guzerharan were just like those of the present-day city of Hart.

The church controls the thoughts of most people and the vast majority of information channels.

Only if they want the world to know will the world know.

"Shouldn't we... go help it now?" Iseria pressed.

Yunevo pinched his cheek, shook his head gently, and continued, "No rush. If we make a move now... it will only confirm our identity as an 'accomplice of the evil god'."

"Oh...so are we in the shadows?"

"You could say that we are the 'free variables' in this script."

The sand armor didn't turn back, didn't retaliate, and didn't make any threatening moves. It simply continued forward, ignoring the people spitting at it.

After all, it also felt that it deserved its fate.

A gentle sandstorm brushed across Yunevo and Iseria's faces; it was a reminder from the sand armor...

Keep up.