Sweat trickled down the nape of Nyanchi's neck, but she refused to let her posture slump. Dry wood creaked under the strain of the bumpy, uneven terrain. Outside, the Scorched Wastes stretched for miles, a barren graveyard of red sand and jagged obsidian rocks. Thorne rode ahead on a massive, six-legged reptilian beast, his broad shoulders tense. Golden mane-like hair blew in the hot wind, dusted with grime and sand. Watching him, Nyanchi analyzed his posture, noting the slight droop of his shoulders and the way his hand hovered near his empty canteen. Her fingers tapped a rhythmic beat against her knee, mimicking the ticking of a corporate clock. A blue, holographic interface floated before her eyes, visible only to her. System notifications flickered in her peripheral vision, detailing her current status. Energy levels of her companions were dropping rapidly, and the surrounding environment was registered as highly hostile. If they did not find water within the next three hours, twenty percent of the escort would suffer from heat stroke. Thorne pulled his mount to a halt, raising a hand to signal the caravan to stop. Dust kicked up around his boots as he dismounted, walking back toward Nyanchi’s carriage. His jaw was clenched tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he yanked open the wooden door. "We rest here for ten minutes," Thorne growled, his voice gravelly from dehydration. "Do not leave the carriage, human. The sun will cook your soft skin in seconds." Nyanchi looked down at him, her expression a mask of cool indifference. "Your men are flagging, Chieftain," she said, her voice smooth and devoid of panic. "And your mounts will not survive another three miles without hydration." Thorne scoffed, his amber eyes flashing with irritation. "We are lions," he snapped, his grip tightening on the frame of the door. "We endure. The desert does not break us." "Endurance is a poor substitute for logistics," Nyanchi replied. "Your pride is currently costing you valuable military assets. If your warriors collapse, who protects this caravan?" He stared at her, stunned by her blunt, transactional tone. "And what do you propose, female?" he sneered, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. "Are you going to pray to the heavens for rain?" "No," Nyanchi said, tapping her fingers against her thigh. "I am going to locate water. But it will cost you." Laughter rumbled in his chest, dark and mocking. "You play games while we bake in the sun," he said. "There is no water in the Scorched Wastes. We have crossed this path for generations. The nearest oasis is a day's march away." "I do not play games, Thorne. I close deals," Nyanchi said, her eyes locking onto his. "If I find a viable water source within walking distance, you will grant me full access to your clan's inventory records once we arrive." "And if you fail?" he challenged, leaning closer, his scent of dry earth and musk filling the carriage. "I will double my tribute to your treasury," she replied without missing a beat. "Deal," Thorne grunted, stepping back. "Show me your miracle, human." Stepping out of the carriage, Nyanchi ignored the blistering heat that instantly blasted her skin. Closing her eyes, she summoned the Mother of Beasts System interface in her mind. "System, run a geological scan of the immediate area. Locate underground water veins." Ding. [Scanning radius: 1 kilometer. Scanning...] A green grid expanded across her mental map, slicing through the layers of sand and stone. Three hundred meters to the north, a bright blue artery pulsed deep beneath a cluster of black volcanic rocks. "Point your men toward those rocks," Nyanchi said, gesturing to the formation. Thorne looked from her to the barren rocks, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Are you mad? That is solid obsidian. There is nothing there but heat." "Dig," Nyanchi commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. With a reluctant growl, Thorne ordered three of his strongest warriors to begin excavating the base of the rocks. Minutes dragged by, the heavy thuds of their stone axes echoing through the silent, shimmering heat. Nothing but dry dirt turned up at first, and the warriors began to murmur in frustration. Just as Thorne opened his mouth to call off the dig, a sharp crack echoed through the air. Cool, clear water erupted from the fissure, spraying high into the dry air like a liquid geyser. Shouts of disbelief and joy erupted from the lion warriors as they rushed forward, cupping the precious water in their hands. Thorne stood frozen, his eyes wide as he stared at the gushing spring. He turned slowly to look at Nyanchi, his expression shifting from skepticism to a deep, begrudging respect. "You are a strange female, Nyanchi," he muttered, his voice low. "No human should have been able to find that." "I specialize in finding hidden assets," she replied, her face remaining neutral despite the small thrill of victory. While the warriors drank and refilled their canteens, Nyanchi walked toward the supply wagons, her analytical eyes scanning their cargo. Empty crates and tightly rationed bags of dried meat caught her attention. These proud lions were traveling light, not by choice, but because their stores were dangerously depleted. A severe food shortage was ravaging their home territory, a detail Thorne had carefully tried to hide. If she could secure a monopoly on their food supply using her system's agricultural functions, she could make them entirely dependent on her. Control the resources, control the beastmen. This was not a marriage of survival; this was a hostile takeover. Her mind raced with calculations, mapping out the trade routes and resource allocation she would demand once they reached the Lion Clan's fortress. Suddenly, the sand beneath them shifts violently, and a colossal, skeletal sand-worm, corrupted by the Ruin's miasma, erupts directly beneath Nyanchi's carriage.

Chapter 11: Dividends of the Desert