Not long after setting off, the small Sandships that had clustered together to form the first group began to spread out.
It was true that the festival had a designated course, but there were no preset roads across the desert, so the so-called course was only a general heading.
For example, if a giant sand dune lay ahead, whether to climb over it or detour around it to the left or right was entirely up to the Sandship's pilot.
It was completely normal for two competing Sandships to be hundreds, even a thousand meters apart laterally, which was precisely why going off course happened so easily.
That was where the pacer ship's main role came in.
That large Sandship, decked out like a pirate vessel and constantly blaring a raucous mix of music and cannon fire, served as the best beacon for the competitors to calibrate their course.
Whenever they realized they had strayed too far, they would steer back closer to it so they would not end up lost.
Once the large Sandship truly got moving, although it was not as agile in turns as the smaller Sandships, its straight-line speed was actually higher, so there was no worry of it being left behind.
If someone were looking down from the sky, they would see the large Sandship kicking up billowing clouds of sand and dust like a great whale cruising the sand sea, while the small Sandships chasing it resembled a shoal of sharks hunting the whale, circling one another and constantly vying to push ahead.
Altaïr and Asa had pulled off a small trick at the start, but the tiny advantage they had managed to eke out at the signal was long gone.
Piloting a Sandship was a task that heavily demanded skill and experience. As the primary pilot, Asa was naturally top-tier, but his partner Altaïr was somewhat amateurish.
Facing complex terrain and shifting winds, Asa often had to make emergency adjustments to the heading and the hull's trim without time to call them out, and Altaïr's reactions would lag half a beat.
Once or twice was of course fine, but over many instances, it inevitably affected the ship's speed.
Thanks entirely to Asa's efforts, they were still barely holding on within the leading pack, but it was already difficult to outpace the most skilled duos at the very front.
Behind his sandproof face mask, Altaïr's face was taut. He was naturally quite competitive, and although he had never expected to place from the very beginning, the feeling of dragging his partner down was extremely unpleasant.
Yet a lack of piloting skill and experience was not something that could be compensated for by gritting one's teeth and trying harder. He could only muster every ounce of focus, fully cooperating with Asa's driving to minimize any mistakes.
"Hey! Don't tighten up so much!" Noticing the shift in Altaïr's mood, Asa shouted a warning. "Your body will get stiff, and it'll be tough to last the whole course!
"Relax a bit. Just treat it like we came out to race ships for fun!"
Asa's words snapped Altaïr back to himself. He hurriedly adjusted his breathing and loosened his muscles, easing himself out of the tense state he'd been in earlier.
"That's it! Steady the ship's center of gravity, and leave the rest to me!"
As he spoke, Asa adjusted the wheel and sails, steering toward the pacer ship three or four hundred meters ahead. "We'll use a trick and stick right behind it! That way, we won't need to turn so often, and you can anticipate your adjustments based on its movements!"
"Got it!"
"And remember to fasten your goggles and veil tight! Most people don't do this for a reason. Get ready to swallow sand the whole way!"
The two of them maneuvered the bright red Sandship, angling it diagonally to close the gap.
Soon, they were positioned just off the rear flank of the pacer ship, which continuously emitted what could more accurately be described as a series of bizarre loud bangs rather than music.
Two other teams had similar ideas, likely planning to save energy by drafting behind the pacer ship before unleashing a burst of speed in the middle and later stages of the race to overtake those further ahead.
The sand and dust kicked up by the pacer ship ahead constantly lashed against their faces; without the sandproof goggles, they would not be able to keep their eyes open at all.
But Altaïr suddenly felt like everything clicked.
During their training with the Sandship fleet, their main focus had been on how to maintain formation, how to encircle a target, and how to adjust the small Sandships' postures based on the movements of the Dragonship, Hozan-maru, or the Jhen Mohran.
To put it plainly, it was closer to the situation at hand than to what they had been doing before, slithering through rolling dunes like a slippery fish.
The red Sandship's sailing posture grew steadily swifter and more stable.
As the ship's primary operator, Asa had of course noticed these changes. As he figured out the reason, he could not help but laugh out loud.
"Had I known this was all it took, why'd we waste all that effort earlier? Pfft! Got sand in my mouth. Let's be a bit shameless and just tail them like this. At the final ten kilometers, we'll figure out a way to break out and see if we can fight our way forward!"
"Got it!"
—--
On the foredeck of the pacer ship, Nymera hoisted the Rathalos Cannon and fired an entire drum of Flaming Ammo into the sky as casually as if she were setting off fireworks, the shots booming out in a series of "thump-thumps." Watching the clusters of fire burst in the air, she let out a long, satisfied breath.
Kamura Village was a place that valued decorum; daily restraint and adherence to etiquette had become habits. It was only after becoming teammates with Isis and Altaïr that she had gradually begun to loosen up.
But the kind of complete liberation she'd experienced these past two days was truly a first for her since childhood.
If Master Yomogi saw this, she'd be very angry... Actually, maybe not. Master Yomogi would probably join in the fun. But Master Iori might get angry... oh, who cares!
Beaming, Nymera deftly swapped in a fresh drum, pulled back the bowgun bolt to chamber a round, and was about to let loose another burst into the sky.
Mochi the Cohoot glided down to land on her shoulder and viciously pecked at her ear.
When Nymera had gone wild "setting off fireworks" moments ago, the ship's hull had pitched violently, and a few misaimed shots had nearly knocked the bird right out of the sky.
After indignantly pecking both of Nymera's ears until they turned red, Mochi let out a series of coos, relaying the information she had just seen to Nymera.
She had called out earlier from the air, but it was too noisy below to hear anything, so she had no choice but to fly down to deliver the message, only to nearly be hit by the shelling. Right now, the bird was absolutely furious.
After soothing Mochi, whose neck feathers were all puffed up, Nymera quickly made her way to the helmsman steering the pacer ship.
"One o'clock, about three kilometers out, a school of Cephalos is active. I recommend avoiding them."
"Understood. Thank you."
The helmsman gave her a grateful look before bellowing orders for the crew to coordinate adjusting the sails and changing course.
The pacer ship was large enough and carried Hunters, along with armaments like Heavy Ballistas on board, so a Cephalos pack attack was of little concern.
But the small Sandships following its beacon were a different story. If the racing ships were not led clear in time, plowing headlong into a school of Cephalos could easily spell disaster.
At that moment, a crew member produced a yellow SOS Flare and launched it high into the sky.
Alerted by the pacer ship's movement, the racing vessels also adjusted their bearings, steering well clear of the area several kilometers away where that school of Cephalos was active.
—--
"Ahahaha!"
On his red Sandship, Asa roared with laughter.
They followed close behind the pacer ship, so the moment it turned, they could match it instantly.
But those racing Sandships hundreds of meters or even farther from the pacer ship would have to trace a wide arc to adjust course along with it, wasting precious time.
Altaïr, the professional Hunter, however, did not share Asa's excitement. Instead, he frowned.
The pacer ship's sudden course change could only mean one thing: they had spotted Monsters.
If it were just a few Jaggi, or a single Barroth, there would have been no need for the pacer ship to turn away. When dozens of ships large and small approached, those Monsters would simply clear out on their own.
What could force the pacer ship to make that call was either a high-threat Large Monster like a Diablos, or a social, group-moving species like a Cephalos school.
Neither scenario was a welcome one.
Altaïr glanced skyward and spotted Mochi the Cohoot circling overhead.
With a Cohoot on surveillance duty, avoiding a pack of Monsters was no trouble. But if you ran into one pack, it meant there could be plenty more nearby.
A focused Hunter party could slip nimbly between the cracks of Monster territory. But this was a loose, scattered fleet of countless ships.
Could they really evade every danger zone where Monsters lurked, time and time again? Clearly, this race was no safe pastime. Then again, the barren Great Desert had always been a land of equal parts risk and opportunity. Even Loc Lac's Autumn Harvest Fest and the Val Habar Hunters' festival were, at their core, about snatching a feast from the jaws of Elder Dragons.
"Great Desert folk" had long been a byword for "brave," "reckless," and "unafraid to die."
As if sensing Altaïr's misgivings, Asa laughed and hauled on the rigging, letting the sail fill perfectly with the shifting wind. "This course has already been scouted and refined again and again. It's the route with the fewest Monsters."
"What's a handful of Monsters, anyway? We'll just ride right over them!"
(Translated by yourtl.app)