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Who’s the killjoy here? Sand thieves? All of them were wiped out, and yet some dare to come out still? What in the world is this ‘King of Sand Thieves’?

The devastating impact of the Flying Knights’ dragon-slaying fight on the sand thieves had left the desert scarce of them. Almost all of the ones capable of forming a group had been summoned, only to be crushed and scattered in retreat.

Surviving in the desert, dispersed and relying only on individual strength, is very difficult. So during the general battle, the casualties among the sand thieves might have been just over a thousand. But after they scattered, at least two to three thousand would have died.

Out of five thousand sand thieves, less than a fifth would have survived.

Badly weakened, it would be hard for the sand thieves to cause havoc for a while. Under such circumstances, could there still be a ‘King of the Sand Thieves’?

Negris and Rogge exchange a glance and stand up abruptly. Ange, who had been planting crops with his Boundary-crossing Hand, stands too, with a soul flame flickering fiercely in his mind.

“No need to get angry, let Rogge handle it,” Negris tries to hold Ange back. A mere sand thief warrants Ange’s personal intervention? That would discredit his minions.

But Ange doesn’t sit down. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Too many auras.”

“Too many auras, too many people?” As the sand thieves enter the village, Negris finds their number to be in the mere twenties. The few leading the group are well-equipped, draped in light armor, while those following them are pathetically bare.

Two even wear cloaks, their eyes hidden, leaving it unclear whether they’re sand thieves or slaves.

“Where are the others? More outside?” Negris flies up with a flap of his wings to look outside the village. The night is thick, nothing is visible.

So few people daring to call themselves the ‘King of the Sand Thieves’? I tip my hat to them.

Yet when he turned his head, he saw Ange wielding the Scythe of Death, ready for battle. His uncharacteristic sternness makes the pack of thieves seem like a vast army.

Seeing this, Negris has to start taking things seriously. Landing next to Ange, he asks, “What have you noticed?”

“Too many auras,” Ange repeats his earlier words.

Staring blankly at the sand thieves, where are the ‘too many auras’?

The leading sand thief, a weather-beaten old ‘farmer’ with dark skin, is typical of most sand thieves. In the desert’s winds and sun, even the softest skin quickly roughens. From this appearance, there’s no doubt they are sand thieves.

There may be only around twenty of them, but that’s enough to wreak havoc in a hundred-home village. This is what Domit thinks, too.

Recently, power dynamics in the desert have shifted frequently. Once well-known sand thieves have one-by-one disappeared. It’s said they were wiped out while attempting to slay dragons, leaving a lot of vacant territory in the desert.

Those who had used to shy away from standing out, like Domit, began to stir. He’d never dared raid villages before because most villages had the protection of sand thieves and had to pay taxes to these same thieves.

Along the way, they indeed didn’t encounter any large groups of sand thieves. They only met two people in cloaks in the sand-dune area, who asked Domit to escort them to the nearest place with food and water. In return, they offered two Demon Crystals.

Although Domit is a sand thief himself, he’s willing to act as escort if the price is right. But whether it’s safe is another thing.

And he also had a little trick up his sleeve. The cloaked men wanted to be escorted to a place with food and water right? There’s water at Fallen Dragon Lake, salty water, some food too, although it’s not much.

What would the expressions on the cloaked men’s faces be when they saw a lake of saltwater and paltry rations? Would they still want him to escort them away?

If they did, the price would change, such as their entire fortunes and their lives?

Most of the villages along their path were in ruins. Some were completely deserted, while others had only some emaciated, zombie-like figures that didn’t seem worth robbing. But then just as they were nearing Fallen Dragon Lake, they happened upon a bustling village with music and laughter.

Listening carefully, they realized that a wedding was taking place. At the mention of a wedding, all the sand thieves could hardly contain their excitement.

A wedding means young women. It takes half a month to travel through the desert on stallions. Realizing there were young women, which sand thief could hold back?

They were driven wild with excitement by the thought of tying the groom to a post and watching their smooth-skinned bride. It was all so thrilling they could hardly stay in their saddles.

To prevent retaliation from other sand thieves though, Domit decided to take on a resounding name: King of the Sand Thieves.

As far as he knew, sand thieves had no king. If this village had someone protecting it, let them take it up with the King of the Sand Thieves.

“You surely know that in this vast desert, a bride’s wedding night is to be sacrificed to the King of the Sand Thieves??” Domit repeats his earlier statement, but this time in a roar. His minions fall in with the statement, drawing their swords with a clanging noise, creating a murderous atmosphere.

But strangely, the villagers look at each other, confusion marking their faces. Eventually, their gaze shifts to Ange and the rest. With a dragon master present, the twenty-some sand thieves pose no threat at all.

Following the villagers’ gaze, Domit and the others look over. The first thing they see is Little Angel, donning a white dress, tender, and glowing. Their eyes light up at the sight.