A hand grabs on a high cliff’s edge, and with her strength, the girl throws herself to the sky and lands on the greensward of the Great Steppe.

“Finally.”

Deborah mumbles as she lays her eyes upon the vast scenery of the Great Steppe of Suntos, spanning almost one third of this continent according to the map. A neverending field of grass that stretches to the end of the horizon, without any sight of trees and forests. The windy weather gives this empty land a bit of life, but there is no sign of living animals in what Deborah can see.

Well, it is Winter.

It’s only natural for lives in the North to head South in order to escape the Winter cold. Although while the grass is still green, and there is zero probability for the sky to snow, the wind itself has already carried the coldness of Winter along with it. That is enough for animals to make their southward journey, the same applies for the Beastmaster nomadic tribes, whose livelihood depends on their animal companions. The only exception, for some reason, is the Aherin tribe, who never head South even during Winter. They stay mostly in the Northern region of the Great Steppe, and only head to the central steppe when the weather becomes too unbearable, but never further than that…at least according to the notes on Nilrem’s map.

From Deborah’s position on the map, the Aherin tribe would camp southeast from here, near the mountain range leading to the Arahas desert in the northeast. After calculating the distance, Deborah assumes it will take about a day travel to their camping site, but with the energy she got from eating the mother boar, if Deborah goes full speed with her legs, it won’t take more than half a day.

The sooner the better.

Deborah doesn’t want to waste more time, if she does, who knows what tragedy would befall to things around her from her mere presence alone? No more! Deborah no longer wants to be the cause of pain and suffering for others. That’s the more reason for her to quickly seek the guidance of the Aherin tribe.

With all her strength in her legs, Deborah runs toward the endless steppe. The wind attacks her as she amps up her speed to surpass even the fastest horse, but not once does she yield to the force of nature. Flying grass and dirt combined together to form a huge cloud behind the trail left by Deborah’s charge, almost making the female dragon look like a living tornado. When she has the momentum on her side, nothing sort of another dragon can make her stop her run.

It doesn’t take long for Deborah to reach halfway from her destination in the span of an hour of restless running. The run is uneventful, the empty environment without any animals around helps. Deborah is actually grateful for this, as it means there won’t be a need for her to cause more troubles than needed.

But it seems like it won’t be necessary for Deborah to cause troubles, because troubles seem to know how to find her instead as three horse riders come out of their hiding place in the blind spot of the hills around. All three riders approach the running Deborah with their horse barely catching up, but Deborah isn’t ignorant enough to speed up and run away from her pursuers. With a quick glance, she realizes these people are nomads, thanks to their nomadic clothing that she saw once from the brave swordsman whom she defeated. They have bows strapped on the back, and the same type of curved swords like the one used by her enemy, but they are currently inside the sheath attached to their horses. It’s unknown whether they are hostile or not, but for the moment it doesn’t seem like they intend to attack her.

Maybe they are members of the Aherin tribe.

Deborah halts her track. The momentum still drags her on the path for a good ten meters before she finally stops her run, leaving behind a trail of messed up dirt and grass. Deborah quickly finds herself surrounded by the ominous riders, but they have yet to draw their weapons. The leader of the three riders is a man in his early thirty. When they finally get her trapped inside the circle made by three horses, the leader speaks.

-Stranger, state your busine…wait, that seal on your stomach…a Dark Seal!

It’s strange for someone to begin their greeting by a remark on the other’s stomach, but seeing as they won’t talk like that without a reason, Deborah decides to follow through with it and looks back at her stomach. What she finds is a hole on her shirt, not enough to reveal what she’s hiding behind her clothes, but it is still revealing enough to point out to the dark seal of Anul on where her bellybutton ought to be.

That place, the same place the boar stabbed me with her tusks…

-Only Anul’s chosen can bear the Dark Seal according to legend. That means you hail from Eostre continent, the demons’ continent!

The lead rider draws his curved sword out of its sheath, and quickly followed by his fellow riders.

-Wait, this is a misunderstanding! There’s no need for violence! I can explain!

Deborah yells back at the riders using the common tongue of humans. She understands what they said, and she’s sure it is mutual on their end, but the riders have no intention to back off, even when Deborah tries to negotiate to no avail.

-First bandits, now demons! I have enough!

The lead rider charges at Deborah with his sword raised. The horse moves like a part of his body. The rider and horse rush at Deborah in unison, and throws a slash aiming at her head. But Deborah is already prepared the moment they drew their swords, she dodges by dashing backward. But the other riders aren’t there just for show. One of them takes advantage of her blind spot and gives Deborah a slash on the back.

-Arghh!

Deborah groans. To her, a wound like this is but a scratch, still, her body still knows pain. A bit of her bare and silky white back is revealed from the slash, with her red blood flowing down from her wound. But a fire quickly emerges from the cut and mends itself back, quickly returning her back to its former beauty.

-What in the world…!?

The three riders are in awe before Deborah’s healing powers, giving Deborah enough time to exploit their mistake and runs away before their eyes with the fastest speed she can muster. If they are real nomads of the Aherin tribe, then staying here to be attacked by them will prove counterproductive. Certainly Deborah understands it’s best not to cause any grudge before asking someone for a favor, but sadly the three riders can’t see her as anything but an intruder to their land.

-She’s getting away! After her!

The lead rider yells, and just as he commanded, all three of them follow after the running Deborah. Deborah’s own running speed is fast, but the riders’ horses prove to be faster than she expects. Deborah lacks the momentum to achieve the top speed she can muster, but the horses are already halfway from catching up to her. Their sprinting speed is abnormally fast for normal horses, and while Deborah herself isn’t an expert on horses, she understands this type of horse surely can only be bred and rode by the Aherin tribe, the beastmasters of horses.

The horses have nearly caught up to Deborah, but Deborah starts to regain her momentum, running further away from the range of their sword. But the riders have another trick up their sleeves. They sheathe their swords and draw out their bows. Even when riding in high speed, the riders have no trouble aiming their bow and drawing their arrows. As soon as they find the perfect spot, the riders unleash their arrows.

-Ughh!

Three arrows find their mark in Deborah’s back. Deborah’s hardened skin proves too tough for the arrows to penetrate, but still they manage to do some damage before her body’s regeneration power pushes the tips of the arrows out of her back. Nonetheless, the arrows prove annoying enough to slow her down a bit, just as the riders intended. And thus, they continue their “hunt”, with Deborah as their prey. Deborah manages to dodge some of their incoming arrows, but the pauses between her dodging have seriously hindered her running speed, enough for the riders to almost catching up with her. It won’t take long until their blades reach her flesh once again.

I have enough of this!

And true to her thought, Deborah sudden turns back from running away and heads straight toward her pursuers, only seconds away from clashing into each other. Deborah has her own sense of pride, and being hunted down like a dog doesn’t sit right with her. Slit pupils appear on her eyes, as well as her fangs laying bare. Before the lead rider’s horse rams into her, Deborah holds out her arms and tackles the horse. The sudden clash sends the rider flying, while Deborah still has her feet held firm on the grassland, with the horse hovering on the air, being kept that way by Deborah’s powerful embrace. The impact probably hurts the horse somewhat, but it still draws breath as Deborah lets it go of her arms. All of this happens as the remaining riders watch in awe, almost forgetting their mission for a moment.

-Enough is enough! I don’t want to fight. But if it’s a fight you want, then come!

To further proves her act of intimidation, Deborah’s arms quickly cover themselves in red scales, furthering emphasize the image of a living female dragon, if they even know she is one. But the impression is already enough to make the riders hesitate. Their horses are startled and try to walk away from the dragon girl despite them being well bred and trained, not to mention being rode by their chosen companion. Nonetheless, it seems like her bluff works, and the other two riders no longer have the intention to test out her claws firsthand.

Deborah turns her gaze to the lead rider. He has already stood up from the fall, but from the lack of fighting will of his companions, the man can only watch as the situation develops in the way Deborah wants it. But he has yet to give up. The man pulls out a whistle from the pocket of his nomad clothing. With all the strength of his breath, he blows the whistle. The sound is similar to the noise of an angered horse, but it does nothing magical after the rider is finished. Is it a simply a bluff? Deborah thinks. But the answer quickly reveals itself.

Deborah hears the sound of galloping horses. From afar, a group of riders reveal themselves out of nearby hill. Their number is roughly thirty, but all of them look like well-trained riders. They wear the same nomadic clothing as her own pursuers, it isn’t hard to make them out as the riders’ tribemates, and seeing the sight of an unknown stranger threatening their kin prompt them to do the most obvious thing to do in this situation.

All thirty horsemen draw their weapons and charge at Deborah in a spearhead formation. Knowing they will get in the way, Deborah’s former pursuers pick the better choice to flee the scene, leaving the fighting to their reinforcement. The oncoming riders charge at Deborah like a waterfall, no matter what she’ll do, this won’t end without someone shredding blood. A sweat drops down from Deborah’s cheek as she clenches her fists in preparation for battle.

But a miracle happens. Someone blows another whistle, and the sound makes the oncoming riders split themselves into two groups before the clash with Deborah. They are circling around her, but none attacks despite having already drawn their weapons. Nevertheless, they don’t seem to have the intention to let Deborah go peacefully.

The riders however aren’t currently her concern. Her attention is now focused upon the one who blew the whistle that stopped the riders from bloodshed. That person is standing on the nearest hill around, riding a black but old horse, just as old as its rider - the wrinkled woman in nomadic clothing and a turban covering her head. Yet it is unwise to judge this old woman from her aged looks, as she commanded the riders to stop their attack in a single blow of whistle.

-Are you Deborah Draconis?

Yells the woman on the top of the hill.

-I am!

Deborah yells back to reply.

-I am the chief of the Aherin tribe. I have been expecting you, daughter of dragons.