Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4
Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2019-12-18 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Martial Arts; Adventure
Description: He got his revenge, but instead of triumph, Hadjar was left with only loneliness and emptiness in his soul. Death had come for him, and he was ready to give himself to it, but then a fleeting memory gave him new hope, a way to make amends, and this reignited his desire to live and fight. He decided to do the impossible – make the Gods change their minds and take responsibility for their failures, make them resurrect his parents and friends, and prevent the terrible betrayal that started it all. To do this, Hadjar will go to the Empire, traveling through the endless Sea of Sand. What peril will

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Land of War

Book X

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2021 Kirill Klevanski

All rights reserved.

No part of this book can be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko

Translated by Julia Kharkova, Marina Zikic

Edited by Damir Isovic

Cover designed by Julia Jdanova

Illustrated by Valery Spitsyn

Contents

Chapter 831

Chapter 832

Chapter 833

Chapter 834

Chapter 835

Chapter 836

Chapter 837

Chapter 838

Chapter 839

Chapter 840

Chapter 841

Chapter 842

Chapter 843

Chapter 844

Chapter 845

Chapter 846

Chapter 847

Chapter 848

Chapter 849

Chapter 850

Chapter 851

Chapter 852

Chapter 853

Chapter 854

Chapter 855

Chapter 856

Chapter 857

Chapter 858

Chapter 859

Chapter 860

Chapter 861

Chapter 862

Chapter 863

Chapter 864

Chapter 865

Chapter 866

Chapter 867

Chapter 868

Chapter 869

Chapter 870

Chapter 871

Chapter 872

Chapter 873

Chapter 874

Chapter 875

Chapter 876

Chapter 877

Chapter 878

Chapter 879

Chapter 880

Chapter 881

Chapter 882

Chapter 883

Chapter 884

Chapter 885

Chapter 886

Chapter 887

Chapter 888

Chapter 889

Chapter 890

Chapter 891

Chapter 892

Chapter 893

Chapter 894

Chapter 895

Chapter 896

Chapter 897

Chapter 898

Chapter 899

Chapter 900

Chapter 901

Chapter 902

Chapter 903

Chapter 904

Chapter 905

Chapter 906

Chapter 907

Chapter 908

Chapter 909

Chapter 910

Chapter 911

Chapter 912

Chapter 913

Chapter 914

Chapter 915

Chapter 916

Chapter 917

Chapter 918

Chapter 919

Chapter 920

Chapter 921

Chapter 922

Chapter 923

Chapter 924

Chapter 925

Chapter 926

Chapter 927

Chapter 928

Chapter 929

Chapter 930

Chapter 931 ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...544

Chapter 932

Chapter 933

Chapter 934

Chapter 935

Chapter 936

Chapter 937

Chapter 938

Note from the author

ASH The Legends of the Nameless World

The 11th book’s PRE-ORDER

German version

What to read next

LITRPG groups

HELLO ALL!

My name is Kirill Klevanski and you are reading my adventure LitRPG wuxia saga.

The whole story is planned out and will have 2000 chapters. Now the story has almost 1500 chapters spanning 18 books.

10 books are translated into English and released.

To read the story from the beginning click the link:
Dragon Heart: Stone Will

…Enjoy your reading…

Chapter 831

“M y Queen!”

Elaine turned and nodded at General Moon Lian. A long, thick lock of copper hair covered the General’s left eye and the scars of past wars. If one looked closely, the leather strap and rivets of her eyepatch could be seen peeking out slightly from underneath the lock of hair. The injury that Lian had received during the battle against the Black Gates sect had some magical properties to it, and even after Lian had become a true cultivator, it still hadn’t healed.

“Stand up, dear Lian,” Elaine said kindly.

Her heavy, Spirit level armor clanked, and the hem of her silver coat bearing the emblem of the Moon army slid upwards and off the floor as the General stood at attention. They were alone in the hall. Its stone walls were covered with tapestries woven from precious threads. The scenes of battle from the past that were depicted on them occupied Elaine’s thoughts when she wasn’t busy with her duties.

“My Queen,” Lian repeated.

She held her fist against her heart, bowed her head low, and then snapped back to attention. Elaine sighed and went out onto the balcony. A beautiful garden stood at the foot of the tower. In the center of it, near the lake, were several hills. They were covered in lush grass and dotted with flowers. Birds nested in the soft grass on the slopes of the hills. Occasionally, when the wind blew, the moss-covered stones of the old tower peeked out from between the green blades of grass.

On the other side of the lake, where the meadow ended, there were several tombstones. All of them bore the surname ‘Duran’, except for a single tombstone, which was made of black granite and had no inscription at all.

“So many years have passed, Lian,” Elaine sighed. Subconsciously, she touched the hilt of the flame-wreathed, Imperial level blade that she had received so long ago in the ancient cave from the Tree of Life. “How long are you going to hold on to this grudge of yours?”

Lian grabbed her wide, studded belt tightly with both hands and gritted her teeth as she turned toward one of the tapestries. It depicted the battle against the nomad tribes. The sky and the earth were covered in flames, terrifying creatures filled the sky, giants were throwing their horses around like toys, and all the while, roaring cannons and hissing cannonballs did their grisly work. Lian still remembered that battle as if it had happened yesterday, not nearly fifteen years ago. Moon Leen, the first General of the Moon army and one of her predecessors, was depicted on the tapestry, fighting in the center of the battlefield. In the corner, two small figures, a black-haired and white-haired swordsman, were flying on an unknown creature. If she hadn’t known where to look, she would’ve missed them.

“On this day, fifteen years ago, the Moon army defended our homeland, my Queen,” Lian nodded. “The whole country is celebrating this monumental occasion. You should go out and mingle with the people.”

Elaine stared at the black headstone. Her gaze seemed distant as the memories flashed before her blue eyes. The gentle breeze made her golden hair flutter, and it shone in the sunlight.

Over a decade had passed since the Moon army had captured the Royal Palace. As time inevitably marched onward, everyone had grown older, and some of them had even become wiser, but the Queen didn’t appear to have changed in the slightest. She was still the most beautiful woman in all the Northern Kingdoms. All these years, Kings, Princes, and Dukes had been courting her. However, none of them had been able to find a way to win her fiery heart. Elaine touched the hilt of her sword. None of them had been able to stop her blade…

“Lian, you-” Elaine turned around, then she abruptly stopped talking.

A tall, lean man strode into the Hall of History, which only a few officials of the Kingdom were allowed to enter, after kicking the door open. He had sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and piercing, unpleasant gray eyes. His emerald cloak, embroidered with the Darnassus Empire’s coat of arms, quietly rustled as he walked.

As soon as he entered the hall, Lian and Elaine, who were both Heaven Soldiers, felt an incredibly heavy aura press down on them. This was the aura of the Governor from the Empire who’d been assigned to Lidus, a Spirit Knight.

“You’re delaying deliveries again, Elaine!” His voice was sharp and grating on the ears.

Lian, moving to intercept the Governor, nocked the heavy bow she wore over her shoulder and aimed it at him.

“You are talking to the Queen, Governor!” She growled. “Show some respect!”

The Governor merely glanced at Lian, but she felt as though someone invisible and incredibly strong had just punched her right in the stomach. She staggered, crouched, and spat out blood.

“Know your place, you one-eyed dog,” he hissed as he walked past Lian, who was trying to catch her breath.

Elaine gripped the hilt of her sword, but didn’t show any emotion. She knew that even if she got lucky enough to defeat the Governor, it wouldn’t do her any good. At best, the Empire would demand payment for the damages caused, which would do even more harm to Lidus’ already strained economy. In the worst case scenario, they would send several legions to Lidus, eradicating the Duran family, and the country would then be run by corrupt Generals. Almost all of them, with the exception of Lian and a few other loyal people, had already sold their loyalty to the Governor.

“I don’t see why you’re angry, Richard,” Elaine said as calmly as she could manage.

“What? You can’t see the problem?” The Spirit Knight’s voice made deep cracks appear in the floor.

I’ll have to pay the builders to repair the floor again... and the treasury is already in a miserable state!

“Should I take your useless eyes, then? Then you’ll be like your favorite one-eyed dog!”

Elaine tried to draw her blade, but failed. The Governor was faster. In what seemed like a single step, he moved several feet toward her. His slender, strong hand closed around Elaine’s wrist. He forced the Queen’s sword back into its scabbard.

“Stupid woman,” he growled. “The war with Lascan is on the horizon! The Empire needs more Solar Ore!”

“We’re already giving you everything we can,” Elaine said through clenched teeth. “A tenth of the population is working in the mines.”

“I don’t care! Send more people!”

Elaine choked with indignation.

“Do you understand what you’re asking of me, Richard? This will destroy our country!”

“Your country?” The Governor imitated her mockingly. “It’s more likely to be destroyed by your folly, wench, or by Lascanian troops.”

He gave her a look she was all too familiar with. Many of her suitors looked at her with longing, but he never bothered to hide the lust in his gaze.

“You know what I want,” he whispered in her ear. He moved his free hand to her hair and playfully twirled a lock of it around his finger. “You’ve been rejecting me for more than a decade, Elaine… I’ve been patient for long enough… By the gods, I’ve been patient for too long! But right now, I don’t know if I’ll even get to see the next rainy season… By the demons and gods, if you’re the last person I get to fuck before I die, then so be it!”

“No!” Elaine screamed as he moved his hand down and started tearing her dress off.

“My Queen!” Lian nocked her bow again, but a quick strike from the Spirit Knight broke her arms. The General collapsed, screaming in pain.

“You’ll be mine-”

“I would advise you, Lieutenant, to release Baroness Elaine Duran, ruler of the Barony of Lidus.”

The Governor turned around. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“What the fuck?” He barked.

“Shall I repeat myself?” The man who’d spoken asked him dryly.

A group of people came into the hall. The tall, stately men and women were dressed in Heaven level armor. All of them had white capes embroidered with the red coat of arms of the Empire. A fair-haired and bright-eyed young man walked at front of the group. He exuded the aura of an advanced-stage Spirit Knight. He held his winged helmet in his hands, and at his hip hung a scabbard that contained a broad saber. The medallion of the military forces of Darnassus was displayed prominently on his chest. Judging by the image on it, this young man was no lower than the rank of a junior officer.

“What are troops from Darnassus doing here?”

The young man looked from the Governor, who appeared to be terrified, to the proud and unbroken Baroness.

“So this is what the Mad General’s sister looks like...” The young man whispered admiringly.

Everyone there was shocked by his words. Lian’s eyes flashed even as she lay in a puddle of her own blood.

“My General...” she whispered.

“Who are you?” The Governor roared.

“I told you to release the Baroness.”

No one saw what the young man did, but a moment later, he was sheathing his sword. The Governor stared at his hands in disbelief. Or rather, at his stumps. Flailing around and screaming, he took a step back, hit the balcony rail, lost his balance, and fell over. His scream faded as he slammed into the ground below and his head split open like a pumpkin, drenching the rubble in gore and blood.

“My Lord, you-“ Elaine, having recognized the man’s coat of arms, covered her torn dress with one hand and tried to grab the railing with the other.

“Baroness Elaine Duran,” the soldier bowed deeply. “Milady… I’m just a junior officer in the army of Darnassus. I don’t deserve your politeness.”

“But, I don’t understand…”

The young man took out a scroll that had the Imperial seal on it.

“By decree of his Imperial Majesty, Morgan the Fearless, the Kingdom of Lidus is hereby officially recognized as part of the Darnassus Empire. According to the law, from this day onward, it will be a Darnassian province and ascend to the rank of Barony!”

The nine soldiers who’d followed the young man into the hall immediately saluted and bowed to Elaine.

The former Queen, and now Baroness, didn’t have time to process anything. She heard a terrible hum behind her. When she turned around, she saw dozens of mythical flying ships pierce the clouds. Warships and freighters alike were hurrying toward the capital of Lidus. And not all of them bore the red Imperial crest.

A tear rolled down Elaine’s cheek.

“Brother...” She whispered.

Chapter 832

“D amn Lascanians,” the captain of the military ship ‘Whisper of the Grave Wind’ growled. The two-deck caravel had three masts and six sails, as well as eighty cannons, forty on each side. It was heading for one of the border forts, Fort Darigon.

“What is it, boatswain?” The captain asked.

When the boatswain entered the richly decorated cabin, he found his captain was doing what he usually did: holding a bowl of brew and standing over sky maps covered in various tools.

“The latest news from the capital, sir,” the boatswain handed the captain a sealed envelope.

“Something at last!” The captain, leaping over the table, snatched the envelope from the boatswain’s hand and tore the seal off. “Everyone says the war is coming, but the Lascanians haven’t left their steppes yet.”

Opening the letter, the captain read the reports from Darigon. Fortunately, the mail birds moved much quicker than even the fastest of ships.

However, rumors claimed that, in the capital, the quickest ship ever made, the ‘Fury of the Mortal Skies’, had recently been built. The captain honestly couldn’t even imagine how any ship could be faster than a corvette.

“What does it say, captain?” The boatswain asked after noticing how rapidly the captain’s expression was changing.

“The great swordsman…” The captain sat down on the table and almost dropped the letter. “The great swordsman Orune was executed by the Emperor.”

The cabin was silent for several long seconds.

“W-what?” The boatswain asked, stuttering due to shock.

He’d spent at least two decades on the captain’s ship, survived many raids and forays into the steppes, as well as pirate attacks. And yet, he’d never seen the captain as shaken as he was right now. Darnassus didn’t have many great heroes. Orune was one of them, one of the pillars upon which the country’s military might was based on. How could the Emperor execute one of them and deal such a huge blow to Darnassus’ might just before the war started?

“They say Orune took a disciple,” the captain wiped the sweat from his brow, “and was executed for his disciple’s past sins.”

“What?”

“Fucking laws!” The captain threw the letter down on the table. “Orune took his disciple’s sins upon himself and submitted willingly to the Emperor’s sword!” He repeated.

The boatswain stepped back, and once his back hit the wall, he slid down it. He held his head in his hands and stared at the red carpet that covered the cabin floor.

The upcoming war between Lascan and Darnassus was the largest war the seven Empires had seen in millennia. And, at a time when the scales were constantly tipping, one of the great heroes had just died in such a stupid way.

“Damn it! Who chooses disciples like that?” The boatswain slammed his fist against the cabin wall. “He didn’t take any disciples for so long and just sat on his Storm Mountain!”

“Then he took one and fu-”

The captain’s cursing was drowned out by a war drum that meant ‘all hands on deck’. The captain and the boatswain exchanged glances. They briefly got stuck in the doorway as they rushed out, and then ran out into the narrow corridor. As they climbed the stairs to the upper deck, they looked out over the Lascanian steppes.

“When did this happen, captain?” The boatswain asked quietly.

“A day ago,” the captain replied in the same, quiet tone.

“Then,” the boatswain took off his battered hat and said softly, “only the gods can help us now.”

A multicolored stripe stretched out across the entire horizon. It looked like a gathering storm, but the stripe soon split into many points — ships bristling with cannons. Each ship bore the coat of arms of Lascan — two crossed feathers that gradually turned into a sword and a spear. The symbols were clearly illuminated by the setting sun.

The drum sounded a second time.

“You need to get to the bridge, captain,” the boatswain said breathlessly.

“Of course,” the captain replied dazedly, as if snapping out of a trance.

As he was running up the stairs to the bridge, soldiers and sailors were coming out onto the deck. Many of them went over to the cannons and opened the gun ports.

“Move your asses!” The captain roared as he replaced the helmsman at the wheel. “Man the guns, you sons of bitches! Unfurl the sail! Turn the broadside toward the wind! Send messenger birds to all the forts!”

The soldiers and sailors, their weapons drawn, stood at the sides of the ship and began to aim at the enemy ships.

“Today, all of us, sailors and soldiers alike, will go to the house of our forefathers! But before that, we will do our duty!”

“Yes, sir!” Hundreds of voices responded in unison.

The captain opened his locket and looked at a small portrait; in it, a young woman was holding a child in her arms. This portrait had been sent to him only a week ago: his wife had given birth to their first child. It was a boy.

“For you, son,” the captain whispered, then shouted at the top of his lungs, “Open the cages! Release the birds!”

The wrought-iron bars of the messenger birds’ cages opened on the port side. Dozens of winged postmen scattered across the sky.

The Lascanian fleet had already turned into an approaching tsunami. A volley made by hundreds of cannons working together thundered across the sky.

The captain spun the wheel and the maneuverable caravel avoided most of the cannonballs. The ones that reached the ship disappeared as the ship’s magical shield flashed upon impact.

“Fire back, you bastards!” The captain roared. “Fire!”

Dozens of cannons being fired all at once shook the side of the caravel. Gunpowder filled the sky. The captain held the wheel firmly. Thinking of his son and wife, he steered the ship straight for the enemy line. He didn’t turn around or even think about escaping. If they couldn’t protect the messenger birds, the information about the enemy fleet might arrive too late. There was maybe an hour left, perhaps two at most, until the enemy armada encountered another Darnassian ship. But even those couple of hours could play a crucial role in the war.

“For my family,” the captain whispered, and stepped hard on the power pedal. Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, a magical hieroglyph flashed brightly. The caravel immediately sped up, rushing toward the enemy.

The captain, biting his lip, pressed a hidden carving at the base of the wheel. The ship’s storage crystals began to absorb a huge amount of power. So much, in fact, that they couldn’t hold it and started to overload. The ship turned into a huge bomb.

“Burn in the abyss, you damned Lascanians!” The captain shouted.

When the Lascanian ships were only a few miles away, three riders on winged creatures suddenly flew out from beneath the cloud cover. They were led by a warrior with red hair and a short, red beard. Covered in armor decorated with iron winged lizards, he opened his left hand. A magical hieroglyph flashed in his palm. A bright blue light spread out over the darkening clouds. His eyes suddenly turned into glowing crystals.

“The great hero Taniged…” The captain whispered. Turning toward the soldiers and sailors, he tried to say something encouraging to them, but failed.

Behind the red-haired rider, a huge copy of his hand formed out of the dark clouds. A bright blue light surged out from the center of this newly-formed giant palm. The ‘Whisper of the Grave Wind’ disappeared as the giant hand closed around it. There were no screams, explosions, debris, or even a drop of blood. When the haze cleared, not a single trace of the caravel remained.

The riders, joined by a dozen others, set off in pursuit of the messenger birds. They caught all of them. Well, almost all of them… One managed to escape the clutches of the lizards.

Chapter 833

H adjar woke up in a familiar place. However, Hera didn’t appear to be in the infirmary. Instead, a Nameless level guard was sitting next to him. He was a well built, middle-aged warrior. He’d leant his heavy, massive warhammer against Hadjar’s bed. If not for the special enchantment that covered the Imperial level artifact, its weight would’ve caused it to break through the floor of the infirmary. Hadjar couldn’t even imagine how much a warhammer like that weighed. The guard was a good match for the weapon — broad-shouldered and imposing, with a gaze as heavy as his hammer. His gray hair had been arranged into multiple braids, and metal beads had been woven into his beard.

Hadjar looked at the man a little more closely and suddenly felt strange. It felt like being the heavily armed General of the Moon army, standing on the border with Balium, and calmly waiting for the ambassador of that country to come out and talk to him, probably over a needlessly lavish feast.

“The first few days after attaining a Kingdom are always hard.” The warrior’s voice sounded like a hammer striking an anvil.

Hadjar looked at the warrior again. Even though he was seated, he still looked as tall and magnificent as a mountain. He’d removed his strange armor, revealing his rough skin and the numerous scars on it that merged into a pattern.

“You’ve started to sense other cultivators’ Kingdoms,” the man continued, “If you don’t learn how to hide your own, you’ll be the first target in any battle.”

Right after the man said those words, the feeling that Hadjar was standing on someone’s border disappeared.

“You’re... The great hero Baligor? You possess the True Hammer Kingdom. You are the brother of His Imperial Majesty’s wife and-”

“An outcast of the Eternal Mountain clan,” Baligor showed him an ugly scar on his left shoulder, similar to the one Galkhad now had after he’d disowned his family. “Maybe that clan is destined to always lose its junior heirs…”

Hadjar gradually remembered what had happened. He recalled going to the arena to fight Laris Dinos, who’d been ensnared by Einen’s clever scheme. They hadn’t had a poison potent enough to kill a cultivator as strong as Laris, but they’d had one strong enough to frighten him. Unknowingly, Laris, in his desire to take revenge on the people who’d poisoned him, had bribed the judges and rigged the  pairings in the fights. That had been their plan all along.

But at the time, Hadjar hadn’t realized that his Master, the great swordsman Orune… Hadjar swallowed and shook his head…

During the battle, after grasping the Sword Kingdom, he’d defeated Laris. The last thing he’d heard before falling unconscious was that the war with Lascan had begun.

“The war!” Hadjar threw off his blanket and tried to get up, but Baligor’s hand stopped him.

With a light nudge, the great hero pushed Hadjar back into bed.

“Commendable zeal, Darkhan,” the Head of the guard corps said, “But where will you go to fight? And whom?”

“I... I…”

“You’re just a soldier now, like the rest of us. Until you get new orders, you’ll follow the old ones.”

“And what were my old orders?” Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the man.

“In your case, you simply need to rest. His Imperial Majesty was too rash when he broke your Kingdom. That never goes well for a cultivator.”

Hadjar remembered something else. He had no idea what Morgan had done, but it had felt as if death itself had struck him in the stomach.

“And you were sent here to…” Hadjar secretly began to inspect how his energy body was doing.

Apart from some minor injuries, it was in perfect health. His Call, the Black Blade, and the Quetzal bird were all ready to burst into reality at any moment and take part in any battle.

Hadjar had no idea how, but Baligor sensed what he was doing. The great hero laughed. It sounded like thunder.

“You’re strong, Hadjar Darkhan, no doubt about it,” the man said, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye, “but not so strong that one of the great heroes was sent to guard you.”

It didn’t sound like bragging, more like a simple statement of how strong the Head of the guard corps truly was. He was one of the legendary warriors of the Darnassus Empire. There were only a few people who could match his might. And now, after Orune’s death, there was one less.

“Then why are you here?”

Baligor frowned.

“What do you know about the Kingdoms, Darkhan?”

Hadjar noticed that Baligor didn’t call him ‘boy’ or ‘young warrior’, but used his actual name. This demonstrated a certain degree of respect, which Baligor was openly showing. Given the relationship that Hadjar had with the guard corps, it was a very strange way to address him.

“My Master,” Hadjar said, choking up for a second, “told me that they were divided into four different levels: Baronies, Counties, Duchies, and the True Kingdoms.”

“He didn’t tell you anything else?” Baligor asked.

“Not a word.”

They stared at each other for quite some time. Hadjar was well aware of how strong Baligor was, but he’d played these kinds of mind games with far more unsettling opponents before, so he didn’t allow himself to look away. However, he really wanted to.

“Orune, may his forefathers accept him with open arms, was right to not tell you any more than that,” Baligor concluded. “Knowledge of this level can harm those who aren’t prepared for it... Remind me to tell you about the Kingdoms and their differences later.”

“Later?”

“Yes.” Baligor got up and, as easily as one would handle a feather, he lifted his huge hammer. He slung it over his shoulder and headed for the exit. “Hurry up, Hadjar Darkhan. All warriors who possess a Kingdom have been summoned to the Council of the Empire. The war has begun. It’s time to consider how we’ll respond to their opening attack.”

Hadjar arched an eyebrow.

“Darigon has been destroyed, Darkhan. I came here because, like Orune, I knew Frederick Mancey. Considering how much he praised you, I wanted to tell you about his death in person. Now hurry up, we don’t have much time. The Council is about to begin.”

***

A man with long, white hair was squatting over the body of the General of Fort Darigon. Sabers were sticking out of the corpse’s back. Standing up, the man took a deep breath. He struck his chest with both fists.

Everything was burning. The once majestic fort had been reduced to ashes and embers, burned to the ground. Mountains of bodies piled on top of each other were burning in a blue fire, and thick, putrid black smoke rose toward the sky. But this smell seemed to be the man’s favorite.

“Can you feel it, mother? I’m sending the souls of these Darnassian bastards to you, mother. And they’re just the start!”

Looking down, the man smashed the head of General Frederick Mancey to pieces with a single kick.

“I hope you’re waiting for me, Hadjar,” the swordsman spat. “Soon, I’ll come for you and everyone you care about. I’ll burn this damned country to the ground! I’ll turn Darnassus into a graveyard! Do you hear me, Hadjar Darkhan? I’m Derek of the Steppe, the greatest hero of Lascan, the chosen of the God of War!”

Chapter 834

D uring his last visit to the Forbidden City, Hadjar hadn’t had time to explore the huge Palace, which was the home of the Imperial family. In his defense, he’d been too preoccupied with helping to prevent the assassination attempt on His Imperial Majesty, which the latter had actually arranged. That’s why he’d only seen the infirmary, the corridors leading from it to the garden, the garden itself, the ballroom, and the small room where he and the Princess had gone to talk in private.

Now, as he followed the great hero Baligor, Hadjar finally had the opportunity to admire the decor of the Palace, not because he was all that interested in it, but to avoid thinking about the fall of Fort Darigon. He had several fond memories of that place and the steppes near it.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“What?” Hadjar snapped out of his musings. He looked around and nodded.

Everything appeared to be ancient and incredibly valuable. Every tapestry, every painting, every step was oozing with history. All of them depicted ancient wars in which Darnassus was involved. The Empire, long before Hadjar had even been born, had been fighting for its right to exist under the sun. All of these had been heroic battles in which some had died, and others had risen to glory on a path paved with their bones.

“I don’t like this place,” Baligor suddenly said, “instead of honoring the living, they pay homage to the fallen. It’s like living in a crypt. It isn’t surprising that Darnassus as a whole thinks more about the past than the future.”

Hadjar looked at the mighty warrior who’d fought for Darnassus back when Lidus had been no more than a union of several cities. He must have had his own reasons for saying that. As a soldier, Hadjar understood the essence of these tapestries and paintings: this wasn’t just a tribute to the dead, but also a reminder to the living — become stronger and keep your enemies fearful of your blade. The one who followed this simple bit of advice wouldn’t become the bones others climbed over.

“We’re almost there,” Baligor turned at a statue of a gargoyle.

It was so realistic that it almost made Hadjar draw his Black Blade. As soon as he thought about how he should repel a possible attack, deep cuts appeared all around him — on the stones, and on the ancient tapestries and paintings as well. They were fatal to the ancient works of art. After the storm of energy and invisible, powerful sword strikes died down, only the stone statue survived.

“That’s a good way to get out of this situation,” the giant chuckled, scratching his beard. “Maybe I should’ve done this myself?”

‘I-”

“You didn’t mean to, I know. You’ll have to learn how to control your Kingdom. Just like every ruler has to learn how to manage theirs.”

Hadjar looked around. Everything within fifteen paces of him was covered in slashes. There was no doubt that if there had been any Spirit Knights or even initial-stage Lords there, they would’ve been killed. With the mere desire to draw his blade, Hadjar could now take the life of a Lord.

“That’s right, Hadjar Darkhan.”

Hadjar looked at the giant in surprise. The man’s eyes were locked on him.

“Beware your own power, Hadjar Darkhan,” Baligor looked even more serious than before. “Kingdoms are very rare. Few people reach this level on the path of martial arts. Little is known about them.”

Hadjar nodded a little stiffly.

“You need to know this,” Baligor squeezed Hadjar’s shoulder so hard that he clenched his teeth because of the pain. “The Barony gives you power over a territory of fifteen paces all around you. Any object within these boundaries is a part of your power. By putting all these pieces together, you can make an attack that will be twice as strong as one that doesn’t utilize your Kingdom.”

“What happens inside the Kingdom?”

“Consider enemies trapped in your Kingdom to be invaders. If they are weak, you’ll destroy them with your mere presence. If you are equal in power, you’ll weaken them a little. If they’re a bit stronger than you, you’ll be weakened yourself.”

“What if they’re much stronger than me?”

“Then what His Imperial Majesty recently did will happen to you again.”

Hadjar remembered how easily Emperor Morgan had destroyed his Kingdom and the consequences of him doing so.

“Enough talk,” Baligor shook his head. “We’re definitely late. After your outburst, Hadjar Darkhan, everyone has been glaring at the guard corps everywhere we go, and now its leader is late for the Imperial Council.”

Baligor squeezed Hadjar’s shoulder even more tightly. Only his immense willpower and the training he went through on the Storm Mountain allowed Hadjar to stay on his feet. The great hero snorted and they kept walking.

So, my relationship with the guards is still the same, Hadjar thought.

Perhaps Baligor hadn’t shown any animosity simply because he didn’t consider Hadjar to be a threat. Or perhaps he was aware of His Imperial Majesty’s scheme. How else could one explain the fact that Morgan’s most powerful bodyguard hadn’t been present when the Emperor had supposedly been in grave danger? Or maybe Baligor had been there but he’d… Damned schemes!

“Sir!” Two guards stationed at the low doors hidden beneath a massive stone canopy saluted.

At first, Hadjar didn’t understand why the guards on duty were only Spirit Knights at the initial stage. But after Baligor nodded at them and opened the doors, it all made sense. Hadjar was struck by such incredible power that if he didn’t have his Kingdom, which instantly covered him with a strong shield, he would’ve probably fainted. Golden protective amulets glimmered on each of the guards’ breastplates. At the end of the corridor, dozens of magical talismans that hung near the stained-glass windows glowed red. But even their magic wasn’t enough to completely block the effects, and the beautiful, multicolored glass shook slightly.

“General Baligor the Tenacious!” A familiar voice imbued with power and authority rang out. “You’re a little late.”

Baligor dropped to one knee, pressed a gauntleted fist to his heart, and bowed his head.

“Please forgive me, my General.”

Hadjar, imitating the great hero’s gesture, noted that, like Orune, Baligor called Morgan ‘General’, not ‘Emperor’. Hadjar didn’t know much about the history of Darnassus, but something told him that this was of grave importance.

“Join us, General Baligor. We were just discussing the small matter of our homeland’s survival.”

Chapter 835

W ithin the spacious room was a large table made from rare wood that could seat 50 people. Up to this point, Hadjar, and most of the other inhabitants of Darnassus, had believed that there were only about ten people who possessed a Kingdom, but the war had apparently forced many forgotten cultivators out of their hidey-holes.

Hadjar even recognized some of them. For example, the Heads of the major clans. Brustor Dinos, who looked like he’d aged a hundred years since Hadjar had last seen him, was sitting next to… his wife. That was surprising because a person couldn’t come to this Council as someone’s companion, they could only attend it if they possessed a Kingdom of their own.

Now that Hadjar had truly realized the power of this level of weapon mastery, he understood why the criterion for attending was not the level of cultivation, but the level of that very same mastery. If even a single Spirit Knight who possessed a Kingdom could destroy a dozen ordinary Lords, then what was the point of inviting the latter to the Council? That meant that there wasn’t just one owner of a Kingdom in the Predatory Blades clan, but two.

The Head of the Eternal Mountain clan was also seated at the table. Wearing a tank top that showed off his huge, powerful muscles, Danahead sat in a chair, but even then, he towered over everyone there.

Next to the giant sat another, younger, slightly shorter and less broad version of him. It was Danahead’s eldest son, Bromhead. His name reminded Hadjar of the mercenary, Brom, so he felt a certain wariness toward the senior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan.

As soon as Hadjar sat down at the table, he noticed the giant’s displeased look. He hoped it wasn’t aimed at him, but Baligor instead.

Agvar Marnil and his eldest daughter were also present, as well as Salm Tarez and his eldest son, who also studied at ‘The Holy Sky’ School. His real name, not the pseudonym by which the majority knew him, was Ymir. Hadjar didn’t know why the Tarez had hidden his name so carefully. Orune, who’d told him about it, hadn’t shared the reason why…

Drunken Leaf, the strongest disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, was there as well. His name was rather old-fashioned, as such names hadn’t been in use since ancient times, even before the Potter’s time. The disciple was sipping something very intoxicating from a bottle.

Hadjar also spotted Silsh Saloum, but not his father. Next to him sat Charon, his Master, who was nervously drumming his fingers on the table.

Hadjar recognized a few more disciples from ‘The Holy Sky’ School, and a couple of cultivators that he’d seen at the Tournament.

He also had no trouble identifying Akena’s brother. The heir to the Imperial throne of Darnassus glared at Hadjar. He was the same young man who’d come out of the forest near the Lake of Dreams with the most trophies. Back then, he’d been dressed in some strange skins, but now he was wearing an expensive outfit.

“Fucking shit!” Hadjar hissed in annoyance.

He’d tried to pull his chair up to the table, but had nearly pulled out some of his hair instead. For some strange reason, after he’d grasped the Kingdom and ended up in the infirmary, his hair had grown to an abnormal length and now fell to below his waist. Pulling it into a thick ponytail with a blue cord, Hadjar fixed the issue. Maybe it was a side effect of the potions the court healers had treated him with…

“General Dekoy Schuver.”

The man known throughout Darnassus as the most dangerous person in the Empire stood up. People who opposed the crown were more terrified of General Schuver than they were of the Demon Prince, as he was the only General who, even in the most peaceful of times, was never idle. He was in charge of the Secret Office, an organization that, in peacetime, collected information about the discontented people of the Empire, collected tribute (they’d sent the Governor and the Legion of ‘green cloaks’ to Lidus), and hunted enemy spies. That last duty was why the Secret Office terrified even the most law-abiding citizens. Hadjar, not counting his time in Lidus, had never encountered them before, and that was only because the oaths of ‘The Holy Sky’ School were thorough enough to ensure that disciples would generally be excused from internal investigations.

During a war, the Secret Office would keep fighting against spies and also collect intelligence on their enemy. As Hadjar already knew, any military council always began with a report from the military intelligence office. The Council of Darnassus convened by His Imperial Majesty differed from the councils of the Moon army only in its scale and scope. The essentials remained the same.

Schuver was thin, with sharp features and piercing eyes, and he emanated incredible strength and power. Even the wrinkles that covered his face didn’t seem to age the chief scout of the Empire in the least.

“My Emperor,” he nodded to Morgan. “According to the latest reports from yesterday, the Lascanian Army has advanced about two thousand miles into our country.”

A heavy silence fell over the table. Even taking into account the size of Darnassus, which made two thousand miles an insignificant distance, the figures were still frustrating.

Advancing into the Empire didn’t just mean a simple march along convenient, paved roads. No, this was an endless battle against garrisons, border formations consisting of many golems, as well as traps in the form of large-scale charms and spells. The enemy managing to cover two thousand miles in just two days, given all of the above, was maddening.

“What are our garrisons doing?” Danahead slammed his fist on the table. The table only shook a little. Hadjar now understood why it had been made from this particular material... “Two thousand miles in just two days! How is that even possible? How many of our people died, old friend?”

Dekoy is his friend? Interesting!

“Almost two hundred and forty thousand soldiers. As for civilians, almost one and a half million… By the way, our grain supplies will be reduced by 0.25 percent in the future.”

“Given how full the vaults are,” a man dressed in purple clothes said, “Even if we lose ten percent of the fields, the Empire can survive eight unproductive years.”

“What?” Danahead cried. “Are your ears full of shit, Arshan? Nearly two million of our people died in the first two days of the war! And that’s only one front! Who did they even send to that front? Why are there so many casualties?”

“Thank you, my friend, for letting me get back to my report,” Dekoy narrowed his eyes slightly at him, and Danahead immediately raised his hands in an apologetic, conciliatory gesture. “Two of the six great heroes we know of are fighting on the southeastern front.” People immediately started whispering. Many hadn’t known that Lascan now had six great heroes instead of just four. “Taniged the Cloudy, a former pirate and an initial-stage Nameless who possesses the True Cloud Kingdom.”

“Another great mage hero,” Mentor Markin sighed. Hadjar hadn’t noticed him.

“And,” General Schuver continued, “Derek of the Steppe. The son of an insignificant Baron from the Lascanian steppe. He earned his nickname by completely exterminating the steppe orcs…”

Hadjar felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It was hard to breathe…

“He has a fanatical hatred for Darnassus. He’s also one of the dark horses of this war. He fought with sabers before, but now he wields twin swords. He even possesses the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords.”

Everyone whispered nervously. Hadjar stared at his hands. They appeared to be drenched in blood. Blood he would never be able to wash off.

Chapter 836

“T he True Kingdom of the Twin Swords?” Brustor Dinos jumped to his feet. “How is that even possible? Even that fucking bastard Orune was never able to attain the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords! How did the son of some crummy Baron gain such abilities?”

“Do you doubt my words, Head of the Predatory Blades clan?” Dekoy asked calmly.

“I don’t doubt your words, General Dekoy. I doubt the words of those who gave you this information.”

For the first time since the Council had begun, Emperor Morgan showed a bit of interest in what was happening. He turned toward the speaker.

“The identities of my sources are highly classified, and-”

“We know that, General Schuver,” the Emperor interrupted him. “But… I have to agree with the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. The true Kingdom of the Twin Swords sounds too farfetched. If you wanted to make it clear to the Council that this war is headed toward the complete annihilation of one side, you succeeded.”

“My Emperor,” Dekoy bowed. “I hope the following words will be enough to persuade you: we can all see that General Frederick Mancey isn’t with us today. The General, may his forefathers accept him, fell alongside Fort Darigon.”

The cultivators exchanged glances. Judging by the whispers that Hadjar heard through the buzzing of his own thoughts, General Manсey had possessed a Kingdom at the County level, which was considered an outstanding achievement.

“The fort and the General were both taken down by a single person — Derek of the Steppe. In the southeastern front, he and Taniged the Cloudy are our main concern.”

“What our main concern is, General Schuver, will be determined by the Generals,” a stately, middle-aged man grumbled. A medallion shone on his chest, making it clear that he had the highest rank amongst the Generals, second only to the Emperor himself.

“Yes, sir!” Schuver said, “My Emperor, the report is finished!” He saluted and sat back down.

Hadjar spent some time desperately trying to convince himself that the Head of the Secret Office had been telling them about some other Derek. That it was some kind of ridiculous coincidence… But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was just fooling himself. Regardless of how Derek had gained the power, he was the one who’d destroyed Darigon all on his own. And he was also, along with Taniged the Cloudy, leading the enemy troops on the southeastern front.

A detailed map of the Empire was sitting on the table, or at least as detailed as modern cartography could manage. There were still a large number of ‘white spots’, but the general boundaries and paths were clearly indicated.

General Schuver finished his report and then unfurled the scaled-down map across the table. The route Derek and Taniged’s forces were taking was marked with arrows. By the High Heavens, they weren’t even heading toward the capital. They were heading southeast, toward the Five-Headed Serpent River that flowed through most of the Empire and came close to the Northern Kingdoms. How? How had Derek known about Hadjar’s homeland? Where had he found this new power? Hadjar had no idea.

“Thank you for your report, General Schuver,” the Emperor said, and then took the pointer and moved it along the path the enemy army was taking. “What an interesting route…”

“It’s plain ridiculous. The southeastern border has always been our most dangerous and unapproachable area. There are lots of mountain ranges and forests, not to mention various monsters and wild tribes. There are also constant storm fronts and monsters in the sky as well, along with various anomalies. All of this makes this route almost impassable for the enemy, but because of those obstacles, we also can’t protect that area.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant-General Tsarie,” the Emperor replied with a bit of annoyance. “We already knew all of that.”

“I beg your pardon,” one of the country’s top Generals immediately bowed. For some reason, Hadjar already liked and even trusted him.

“So, they aren’t advancing toward the capital,” Morgan drawled. “What do you think about that, esteemed gentlemen?”

General Schuver was the first to raise his hand. Taking the pointer from the Emperor’s hand, he began to trace the riverbed.

“Perhaps they want to stop the Five-Headed Serpent River at the source. That way, in a few years, the river will dry up and famine will affect the northwestern parts of the Empire.”

Before anyone else could comment, the Emperor took the pointer back.

“If they were planning to starve us, General Schuver, they wouldn’t make it a priority. They certainly wouldn’t have taken this path, especially with such a great force traveling at such a reckless speed.”

General Schuver apologized and sat back down.

“Anyone else?”

Quite unexpectedly, Salm Tarez rose from his seat.

“Your Imperial Majesty, my son and I are new to this Council and-”

“Get to the point, Head of House Tarez. Every word you say is another mile of our land disappearing beneath the feet of the Lascanians,” the Emperor responded calmly, but his point was clear.

“Forgive me.” Salm said, and took the pointer from him. He pointed at one of the white spots on the map. “There is an anomaly in this region, and-”

“We can see that, Salm,” Danahead muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’m glad to hear that you and your son haven’t lost your sight. The Eternal Mountain clan is very fortunate. Anyway, this anomaly contains an artifact from an ancient tomb. Will you allow me to speak openly, my Emperor?”

“If anyone hasn’t taken an oath of secrecy yet, do so now,” Morgan ordered.

Several people, including the still stunned Hadjar, cut their hands and recited the oath.

“My sources claim that the tomb of a noble from the Dragon Lands can be found there, my Emperor,” Salm said.

Everyone was shocked by the news. Some looked at the people sitting next to them in disbelief, some drew back from the map like it was going to burn them, and others just sighed wearily.

“Calm down!” The Emperor’s voice, imbued with power and authority, silenced the murmurs. “We’ll discuss how you got your information about the Dragon Lands and its tombs later, Head of House Tarez. For now, tell me what exactly could’ve drawn the Lascanians’ attention.”

“Simply put, we got the information because we are who we are.” Salm shrugged. “We’re merchants, and trade has no bounds, my Emperor. The scroll that contained the information about the tomb was given to me several centuries ago by a prominent collector from Lascan.”

“It might’ve been planted disinformation!” General Schuver said instantly.

“It could have,” Tarez agreed. “But we merchants know how to find out whether we’re being told the truth or not.”

“Investigate the collector,” the Emperor ordered.

“Forgive me,” Salm bowed. “But that’s not possible. The collector and his family died during torture. We only have their personal medallions to confirm their identities.”

“Check the medallions.” The Emperor wasn’t surprised to hear that the Tarez had tortured someone. “What’s in the tomb, Salm?” He asked more forcefully.

“Several Divine level artifacts.”

There were whispers again. The war between the two Empires was a high-stakes game and Divine level artifacts could very easily tilt the balance.

“Okay.” Morgan nodded. “General Schuver, figure this out. I expect a full report by dawn tomorrow.”

“Yes, my Emperor.”

“Any other ideas?”

The room fell silent. Hadjar raised his hand.

Chapter 837

“I have something to say, my Emperor,” Hadjar declared as firmly and as confidently as he could manage. The news about Derek had really shaken him.

“For those who don’t know, the newest member of our Council, Hadjar Darkhan, possesses a Sword Kingdom at the Barony level. He was also the disciple of the late great hero Orune.”

Everyone seemed to already know this, but even at these extremely urgent meetings, there were rules that had to be followed, and introducing new members was obviously one of them. Hadjar got up, walked around the table, and took the pointer from the Emperor. He looked into Morgan’s eyes without fear, but, surprisingly, he didn’t see any hatred in them, only regret. Was His Imperial Majesty truly grieving the loss of his enemy, the swordsman Orune? Well, it did make some sense… After all, with the death of Hadjar’s Master, the Darnassus Empire had lost one of its biggest trump cards.

The reason behind the Council’s concern was that Lascan now had six great heroes, while Darnassus only had four. And except for Baligor, none of them, including the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, were present.

“I am certain, my Emperor, that they are indeed moving toward the source of the Five-Headed Serpent River-”

“Thank you for your support, Darkhan,” General Schuver interrupted him. “But it isn’t customary for anyone in this Council to voice the same opinion twice. If you wanted to draw attention to yourself, now is really not the time.”

“-but not for the reason that the venerable Head of the Secret Office proposed,” Hadjar didn’t take the bait and ignored Dekoy’s provocation.

“Come on, Darkhan, spit it out already!” Danahead hissed.

There were those who liked to listen, and those who preferred to talk instead. The Head of the Eternal Mountain clan was clearly the latter sort.

“If they travel along the Five-Headed Serpent River,” Hadjar pointed directly at the Northern Kingdoms, “they will land near the borders of the Northern Kingdoms. And as soon as they cross the western border of the Sea of Sand, the doors to the Kingdoms of Balium and Lidus will be wide open to them…”

“The Baronies,” the Emperor corrected him. “They are now fully recognized Baronies of the Darnassus Empire, swordsman Darkhan. In fact, given the pardon you received recently, that makes you a Baron. You have a noble title now. You can ask the treasurers to give you the items you are entitled to because of your title.”

“Are you just afraid for your homeland, boy?” Danahead struck the table again.

“Only as much as everyone else here is,” Hadjar snapped back. “Of course I don’t want an enemy army to ravage my homeland. But no, I’m actually warning you that Derek may know about an ancient cave in the mountains of the Kin... Barony of Lidus.”

“Stop playing games, swordsman,” Mentor Markin unexpectedly interjected. “Tell us what you know.”

“The Tree of Life is in that cave,” Hadjar finished.

He had no idea how Derek could’ve found out about the Tree of Life, or how he would even find the well-hidden cave. But, for some reason, Hadjar was sure that Derek was searching for that very thing. Unfortunately, the other members of the Council weren’t. Everyone started laughing. Only the Emperor kept a straight face.

Hadjar hadn’t really expected a different reaction. He took out a knife and cut his palm, then swore that he was telling the truth. The only reason he hadn’t instantly turned into a ‘golden torch’ before was because the Emperor had accepted his price to obtain Ana’Bree’s heart. Otherwise, Hadjar would’ve broken his and Elaine’s oath to never, under any circumstances, tell anyone about the Tree of Life in the Kingdom of Lidus. Except no such Kingdom existed now. That one word had saved him. His friendship with Einen and dealings with Helmer had changed him...

“Heavens help us…”

“I’ll have to ask you all to swear an oath of secrecy,” the calm Emperor demanded.

Admittedly, given that everyone had already sworn not to share any of the information they learned during the Council, the second oath was a bit redundant.

“So, there’s a Tree of Life in the Barony, and you, swordsman Darkhan, were able to meet it and still retain your sanity,” His Imperial Majesty Morgan rested his chin on his fist. “If this were a time of peace, I would’ve ordered the bards to compose a song about it.”

Hadjar put the pointer down and stayed where he was. This rule applied to every military council. Until the Emperor let him go, he had to stay there, ready to answer for his words.

“I beg your pardon, my Emperor,” Drunken Leaf said. He looked as if he’d just come from a cheap brothel. “But what kind of danger does the Tree of Life pose to us?”

“Did ‘The Holy Sky’ School forget to teach their disciples about good and bad as well?” Danahead grinned as he asked. All his children studied at the ‘Meltwater’ School and he relished the chance to mock a rival School’s top disciple.

Drunken Leaf, the strongest cultivator among the ‘The Holy Sky’ School’s disciples, didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the dig.

“For those of you who are uninformed,” the Emperor said, “The Head of the Green Hammer clan will explain.”

Agvar rose from his seat. He looked like an ordinary old man now. His hair wasn’t made of moss and his skin wasn’t covered in tree bark. Apparently, Agvar could change his appearance as much as he liked…

“The leaves of the Tree of Life can be used to make a concoction, one that is most commonly known as the Elixir of Eternal Life.”

The resulting silence in the hall meant only one thing — the cultivators there weren’t particularly impressed by what they’d just heard.

“A cultivator who drinks this concoction, according to the legends, will receive such a strong physical and energy body that only an Immortal will be able to kill them. However, they, unlike the Immortals, won’t be bound by the laws of the Heavens and the Earth.”

Hadjar was now convinced that fate really loved irony. Once upon a time, he’d met the Tree of Life. Then he’d met Derek. And by giving Derek a false reason to live, he’d created a monster that was now heading toward his homeland to gain the power to destroy all of Darnassus.

“The Tree of Life and the Immortals,” Danahead sighed and crossed his powerful arms over his mighty chest. “I can see that today is a day for fairy tales indeed!”

“The ancients said,” the Head of the ‘Moonlight’ sect began speaking in a deep, old voice without raising his hand. It was an organization that controlled a vast amount of territory, but preferred not to interfere in the affairs of the Empire. Seven cultivators of different genders and ages sat next to him. “That when myths come true, it is because the gods are reminding us that one day we, the mortals, will also be part of history.”

Chapter 838

“S pare me your lectures, Hashim,” Danahead snorted. “You sat in your steppes and didn’t so much as let out a peep. But as soon as the Tournament started, both you and the ‘Last Day’ sect suddenly arrived at the capital. Didn’t you also say that we’ve forgotten about the true path of cultivation here and are far too mired in the mundane?”

“When a threat appears, we, the people who live for the path of cultivation, will always come to the rescue.” Hashim bowed, as did the cultivators accompanying him.

Hadjar had only dealt with a sect once before — ‘The Black Gates’ sect. Given how that had gone, he was wary of sectarians. They didn’t fight, weren’t even engaged in politics or trade. They lived in their own little world and devoted themselves exclusively to the path of cultivation. All the combat experience that their followers received consisted mainly of many private tournaments, tournaments between different sects, including foreign ones, and their forays into the wilds.

“Well,” the Emperor shifted a bit and looked at the map, “We have an open southeastern front that needs to be protected. Tsarie, send the sixth and fifth legions there.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” the Lieutenant-General responded, “Neither the fifth nor the sixth legion would be able to stop Taniged the Cloudy and Derek of the Steppe. I think it’s time to send messenger birds to our own heroes.”

“The birds can wait,” Morgan ordered, cutting off any further arguments. “I highly doubt that Taniged and Derek will be on the front lines for any real length of time.”

“As you command, my Emperor,” Tsarie said, turned on his heel, and left the room, his robe trailing in the air behind him like the wings of a majestic bird.

“With all due respect,” the Head of the Secret Office added, “Lieutenant-General Tsarie was right: the legions won’t hold up against two great heroes without the support of our own.”

“They won’t.” Morgan was clearly already tired of discussing this topic.

“But-”

“They won’t have to hold up against them because Taniged and Derek will either go to the tomb that the Tarez told us about, or to the Tree of Life in the homeland of swordsman Darkhan. I assume they began their incursion now because of the death of the great hero Orune. Or perhaps it was because of some natural phenomenon, or maybe something to do with the movement of the stars. I’ll bet the dragon’s tomb and the Tree of Life are somehow connected. They’re too close to each other not to be.”

Technically, the distance between the dragon’s tomb and the Tree of Life was astronomical for mortals, as well as for any cultivator who didn’t have a skyship at their disposal. But for a Lord of the Heavens, it was just a few hours of flying away. Dragons, according to what Traves had told him, may his rebirth be calm and happy, could cover truly unimaginable distances with ease.

“That means that Taniged and Derek will probably go to the tomb first, and then continue on to the Tree of Life.”

“We could send legions to the Baronies of Balium and Lidus,” one of the Generals suggested.

“That would be unwise,” the Emperor answered. “This is just one of the things the Lascanians have planned for us. There’s only one front right now, more attacks will be coming soon.” He turned toward the Head of the Secret Office. “Are our counterattacks prepared?”

“The projectiles are already in the air, my Emperor,” General Schuver replied with a bow.

Hadjar, who was still standing near the table, had no doubt that Darnassus also had their trump cards. He had no idea what they were, but he didn’t question their existence. This war, a war that each side had been preparing for for centuries, couldn’t be contained to a simple confrontation between their navies and armies.

“What are we going to do about the tomb and the Tree of Life?” Someone at the table asked.

The Emperor smiled broadly and glanced at Hadjar. The latter shuddered.

“The answer is obvious,” He shrugged. “We’ll send a forward team.”

“What do you mean, my Emperor?” Schuver bowed. “Should I send messenger birds to the heroes?”

“Oh, don’t worry General, the Secret Office and our heroes won’t need to get involved. I will find a better use for both you and them. We’ll only need a small, fast, and well-equipped squad that already has experience with this kind of venture. In addition, even if they fail in their overall mission, this squad should still be able to get to the Tree of Life, which certainly needs to be found.”

Each word only confirmed what Hadjar had already suspected. When the Emperor rose from his seat and turned to him, there was no doubt in his mind.

“Swordsman Darkhan, did you, together with a few other disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, find Decater’s tomb in the Wastelands and awaken a horde of demons, which disappeared under mysterious circumstances?”

“I did, my Emperor,” Hadjar bowed.

“Will you be able to find the dragon’s tomb and take… whatever is hidden inside of it?”

Hadjar wanted to say no. Going to a place that was considered more perilous than the Storm Mountain and playing hide and seek with death, not to mention two of Lascan’s great heroes, was a suicidal task.

But, as soon as he remembered the mountains of the Dah’Khasses and the sight of Derek dying from soul wounds, he immediately replied, “I will.”

“Then put together a squad, swordsman Darkhan. You’re the one I’m putting in charge of this tomb raid. Who knows, perhaps the course of this war will depend on you.”

Hadjar saluted and was already turning toward the exit when Salm Tarez rose from his seat.

“My Emperor, no one knows that area better than my son. He’s spent many years studying the information we obtained. Please include him in the squad.”

The senior heir of House Tarez also stood up. Regal and handsome, he resembled Laris Dinos. The Emperor nodded. Ymir, after uttering words of gratitude and various assurances that he wouldn’t let the Emperor down, followed Hadjar out of the room. Baligor stood up suddenly.

“My General. Please include my subordinate in swordsman Darkhan’s squad.”

“Why?”

“He will be of great use in combat, and he is also the best mind in the entire guard corps. If they encounter a problem that can’t be solved with brute force, my subordinate will provide invaluable support.”

“Permission granted. Now, let’s continue…”

Further planning went on without Hadjar.

Chapter 839

“S wordsman Darkhan,” Ymir called out before Hadjar could walk out into the garden. “Swordsman Darkhan, wait for me!”

Hadjar slowed down, but didn’t stop. Ymir only caught up to him at the very exit of the Palace.

“We have to discuss a few things,” Ymir’s voice was as melodic as a songbird’s.

“What do you want to discuss, senior heir of House Tarez?”

“For starters, just call me Karein,” Ymir held out his hand and introduced himself using one of his numerous fake names. Hadjar reflexively shook his hand.

“Great,” He smiled. The handsome young man was considered a major heartthrob, second only to the late Laris. “I’ve heard about your connections, swordsman Darkhan-”

“It’s just Hadjar.”

Karein smiled again.

“Hadjar, I’ve heard about your connections with the aristocracy and-”

“What do you mean?”

For the second time in a row, Hadjar interrupted the eldest heir of one of the largest noble houses in the Empire. In any other situation, such behavior would’ve immediately resulted in a well-deserved punishment. But he didn’t seem to care.

“Well, the Head of the Predatory Blades clan made a public vow that he would send you to your forefathers. The Green Hammer clan hates you. House Geran has declared that they will never support you. The Poison Ivy clan has said the same thing as well. You shouldn’t count on the support of the rest, either.”

Hadjar raised an eyebrow.

“What about House Tarez?”

Ymir smiled even wider than before.

“Ignoring this,” he patted his ornate scabbard that held an Imperial level blade, “We are a merchant house. We only look for benefits and enter into agreements with those who will bring us said benefits.”

“And am I profitable?”

“Only time will tell,” Ymir said with a shrug, “but in the meantime, we’ll have to face a difficult adventure together. Death will always be at our heels. I want you to know that, no matter what happens, until we complete our mission, you can always count on my sword.”

Well, that was probably as honest as the son of one of the Empire’s slipperiest men could afford to be. Hadjar didn’t need to think too long about how to respond. He held out his hand and said, “And my sword is with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Hadjar.” Karein shook his hand and then turned back to the Palace. “I have a few other things I want to discuss with my father. Where and when shall we meet?”

Hadjar opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say. The Emperor hadn’t given him any real instructions, or even a map.

Ymir suddenly laughed.

“Come on, Hadjar. I’m just kidding. When General Schuver and his subordinates have prepared all the information for our mission, they will find you.”

“How will they… Ah, right, of course.”

“Precisely,” Karein nodded. “See you later, Hadjar. I hope we survive our upcoming mission.”

With a parting wave, he went back to the Palace. During their short conversation, he hadn’t shown any hostility or insincerity. On the contrary, he’d made it very clear that he would support Hadjar while it was profitable. He’d also made it clear that he didn’t care about Hadjar himself and just wanted to survive. He looked like a simple kid, but that image didn’t fit the son of Salm Tarez... and even more so, it didn’t fit the man whose brown eyes were full of a myriad of red lights. Lights Hadjar had seen before. He knew exactly whom he needed to talk to first…

***

Hadjar was standing in the same dark alleyway where, a little more than a month ago, he’d had a conversation with the Emissary of the Demon Prince.

“Helmer,” he called out. “Helmer, Lord of Nightmares. I know you can hear me. We need to talk. Hel-”

“Honey, if you only knew what you were pulling me away from!”

Helmer came out of the dark shadows on the wall like he was using a door. He was holding the same burning sphere in his hands he always did and wearing that same wide-brimmed hat that covered half his face. This time, he wore a light silk outfit, and his cloak was thrown over his shoulder.

“It isn’t every day that the best brothel in the Chaverie Empire offers discounts,” Helmer said with a sad sigh. “Why are you so tense? Do you want me to take you with me? Well, I certainly won’t take you back here after I do. You’d definitely survive the war if you stayed there.”

The demon uttered those last few words without any pretense of foolishness. He was as serious as only an ancient demon could be — one of the strongest among the Demon Prince’s subordinates, at that, and the demon who’d destroyed a whole horde of other demons in one fell swoop.

“I’m supposed to find out what secrets House Tarez is hiding, according to the terms of our deal.”

“Well,” Helmer grinned. “I’m hoping the Tarez will perish during the war. Then I’d be able to write off half of your debt and ask you to repay the other half later. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re getting too attached to me, Helmer.”

“I really am, Hadji,” Helmer spread his arms out. “You’re always neck deep in shit, and yet, you always survive. So, I think I should wait and see what happens to you next. Maybe I’ll even profit from it. You never know where you’ll find some profits and where you’ll lose them.”

“I’m flattered,” Hadjar grimaced. “Now, on to the point. You know about Derek, right?”

“Derek? What Derek? Ah, I remember! That kid you saved in the mountains of the Dah’Khasses. Well, I’ve heard about him. He basically chops everyone he meets to pieces. A real maniac, that one. You don’t want to meet him in a dark alley, lemme tell ya… I hope he’ll at least keep the brothels-”

“Helmer!” Hadjar interrupted. “Where did he get such power?”

The demon regained his true, serious countenance.

“Don’t ask me that question, descendant of the Enemy,” Helmer retorted sternly. “I already told you I’m not omnipotent or omniscient.”

“Who should I ask, then?”

“Me,” someone standing behind him answered.

The darkness in the alleyway dissipated beneath streams of golden light. Helmer grimaced and retreated to the last remaining corner of darkness.

Hadjar turned around. Near his face, a tiny creature hovered, flapping its wings.

“Freya…”

Chapter 840

F reya looked the same as she had a few years ago when Hadjar had last seen her at a waterfall in the mountains of the Dah’Khasses. Being almost a celestial, she possessed beauty that no earthly woman could match. Even though she was no taller than a man’s pinky, her small body radiated a bright, golden light and contained an incredible amount of energy. Hadjar had no doubt that if the dragon Master who’d been invited by Emperor Morgan were here, Freya would only have to snap her fingers to destroy him.

However, her presence didn’t affect the flow of the World River at all. Maybe it was a trait all fae shared, or maybe it was just a special Technique, but Hadjar couldn’t feel her using one.

“Did you give Derek his power?” Hadjar narrowed his eyes at her.

“Oh, he’s a clever one, isn’t he?” Helmer laughed from his shadowy corner.

“Shut up, monster,” Freya hissed. Despite her beauty, she could still look intimidating and even horrifying if she had to. “I’m only tolerating your presence because you recently did a favor for my masters.”

“Your masters…” Helmer said a little dreamily. “Are you some kind of dog? Do you obey all of their commands? Have you forgotten that you aren’t here because of your masters, but because I put you in charge of this idiot?”

Freya drew her sword from her scabbard a fraction. Nothing had really changed, but Hadjar sensed that, if she fully unsheathed her weapon, Dahanatan would simply disappear. There would be no explosion, no vortex of energy, just poof, gone.

Strangely enough, he wasn’t afraid. How could an ant be scared of a meteorite landing on its head? The ant was too small, and the meteorite was too big, they could never interact directly. Hadjar could only stare at her, but he couldn’t really see or comprehend the limits of Freya’s power.

“My debt to you has been repaid: I’m looking after this shitty two-legged beast.” Hadjar wasn’t even offended. “Go back to your darkness, demon!”

“To you, Freya, I’m the wisest Emissary of the Demon Prince.” Helmer appeared to have used his full title just now.

“To me, you are nothing more than-” Suddenly, Freya stopped talking. It didn’t look like she’d decided to stop being rude, but like something had stopped her forcibly. Something that was far more powerful than the fairy herself. The demon standing behind Hadjar laughed. A shiver ran down the mortal’s spine.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone, my dear lovebirds,” Helmer’s voice began to fade. “Don’t call on me recklessly, Hadji, because next time, I might consider it a favor.”

Hadjar shivered. It wasn’t the first time he’d summoned the Lord of Nightmares. So far, he’d been lucky and the demon hadn’t put a price tag on his appearances. But who knew what kind of mood he’d be in next time.

Soon, the feeling that there was a creepy monster standing behind him disappeared. Freya and Hadjar were alone. That didn’t make this any easier, though, as Hadjar felt far more threatened by her. As long as the demon needed Hadjar, it was unlikely that he’d harm his ‘investment’, which allowed Hadjar to feel somewhat secure in his interactions with the Lord of Nightmares.

“How did she die?” Freya asked suddenly. “How did Ana’Bree die?”

Hadjar took a second to think about how best to answer her question. In the end, he decided to tell her the truth.

“Helmer gave me a splinter from Ash’s staff.”

Apparently, tonight was shaping up to be something special indeed, because suddenly, Hadjar saw a very unexpected emotion on Freya’s face — a mixture of disgust and fear. Whoever this strange wizard nicknamed Ash was, he could instill fear even in an entity like this immensely powerful fairy.

“Filthy half-breed…” she hissed. “Old Gwel should’ve cut the boy’s throat instead of the umbilical cord. Or his father should’ve simply jerked off instead of fornicating with a mortal.”

He’d heard old myths and legends about the half-breeds made by the fae people, but nothing about their distinctive features.

“Was Ana’Bree your friend?”

“My friend?” Freya snorted. “She was my enemy. Ana’Bree belonged to the Winter court, and I belonged to the Summer court. We fought for eons until the gods came and put an end to our feud.”

Hadjar decided to take a huge risk.

“Do you remember the Enemy?”

Freya jerked back as if she’d been slapped.

“Do you really want to know more about your ancestor? Don’t be so surprised, Hadjar Darkhan. Anyone who is strong enough can see the karmic bond between you and the Black General. That’s more than enough to allow us to also see both your blood and spiritual kinship.”

“What? Blood kinship?”

Freya laughed so loudly that Hadjar was afraid that the guards would come to investigate what all the noise was about.

“You didn’t know? You really didn’t know? By the Great Spirits! You really didn’t know! You’re not just carrying a fragment of that monster’s soul, but also some of his blood!”

Hadjar took a step back and put his back against the wall. It turned out that his mother’s family, about whom even his own father hadn’t known much…

“By the Great Spirits, now I understand why Helmer is so interested in you. You, Hadjar Darkhan, are a walking mystery.”

“But the Enemy didn’t have any children!”

Freya laughed again.

“That one orc told you their story about the Black General, didn’t he? Think about it for a bit in your spare time.”

“But-”

Freya interrupted Hadjar, clearly indicating that she wasn’t going to answer questions related to the Enemy.

“I came here to warn you and restore the balance. Knowledge in exchange for knowledge. Derek, now known as Derek of the Steppe, received an Inheritance from the priests of the God of War.”

Hadjar had already suspected that the offended and angry novice from the temple of the God of War had given Derek power.

“That’s what I thought…”

“You thought! You should’ve thought about it a bit more when you decided to let that boy live! However, I don’t care about the affairs of mortals. I restored the balance, and now my conscience is clear.”

“Did you actually restore the balance, though?” Hadjar looked at her blankly. “This is what you call restoring the balance?”

“Knowledge in exchange for knowledge,” Freya shrugged. “An Inheritance is also a kind of knowledge. And I gave you knowledge as well. How you’ll use it is up to you.” The fairy mulled things over for a moment. “Just to annoy that damned Helmer, I’ll give you three hints as well, just like in the old fairy tales the human race loves so much. One — find the rainbow. Two — remember the gift. Three — don’t trust the half-breed.” Freya then disappeared as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Chapter 841

“C ome again?” Galkhad exclaimed as he slammed a bowl down on the table. He almost destroyed the table in the process. Hadjar doubted that the staff of the ‘Sun Stone’ restaurant were thrilled to see them back in their establishment. They couldn’t openly show their displeasure, however, as they were hosting a group of aristocrats once again. “So, instead of going to the front, we’ll be poking around in some bushes? My forefathers... My former forefathers would spit in my face if they met me right now!”

The fact that he’d renounced his family didn’t seem to be troubling him. He still wore a tank top and proudly displayed the scar left behind by his decision.

“Well, it isn’t that bad-”

“I expected nothing less from you, Dinos,” the giant drank another bowl. He drank more alcohol than any soldier Hadjar had ever met.

“Take that back, you rootless mutt!” Tom got to his feet and adjusted his blade.

“Make me!” Galkhad placed his hand on his axe.

“If you don’t calm down, you can both go to the front or an elf’s ass,” Anise hissed, then sheepishly added, “I’m sorry, Dora, I didn’t mean…”

The former senior heiress of the Green Hammer clan just waved her off.

“I’ve already grown accustomed to such sayings, as have most of my people,” she answered lightly.

Hadjar saw Einen move his hand toward an enchanted artifact lying next to him — a very powerful spear-staff. Hadjar didn’t know where the islander had gotten such a weapon, but he suspected that while he’d been spending his Glory points to advance through the Treasure Tower, Einen had simply bought a good weapon.

“What about the two new members of our group?” Anise cut off a bit of meat for herself and casually nibbled on it.

Hadjar smelled the Clay Boar steak (of course, the animal wasn’t actually made of clay, it just knew how to merge with the ground) and immediately gave his portion to the gluttonous Galkhad. After eating Orune’s food for so long, this steak was no better than garbage to him. Of course, if Hadjar were at the frontlines right now, he would happily eat it. But in times of peace…

He’d been sipping on the same bowl of cheap brew for the past two hours. Such a drink wasn’t available in an expensive restaurant like this one, and the servers had had to send someone out to get him a bowl of it.

“They’re Karein Tarez-”

“Is that his new alias?” Anise asked.

Hadjar shrugged. Everyone in the capital, without exception, knew that the senior heir of House Tarez used a lot of aliases. Many even knew his real name. But no one who didn’t want to become his mortal enemy ever dared to call him by his real name.

“And a member of the guard corps.”

“One of the Emperor’s bodyguards?” Tom was sprawled out on the pillows, inhaling from a hookah.

Darnassus was a multicultural and multiethnic Empire. Almost everything could be found here. If he felt homesick, and also wanted to spend a large amount of money, Hadjar could even order the national dish of Lidus — mushroom soup. Back home, it cost practically nothing, but in Dahanatan…

“A spy?” Einen suggested curtly. His hand was resting on Dora’s thigh. Sometimes, Tom glanced at the two lovers with a bit of fading rage in his eyes, but he never said or did anything about it. He seemed to have realized that even if he regained his previous position, he would gain nothing from marrying Dora Marnil, who’d lost her influence. Or maybe he’d just grown up.

“Probably,” Hadjar agreed. “The great hero Baligor didn’t show any hostility toward me-”

“If he had, you wouldn’t be sitting here.” Galkhad grinned.

“Maybe,” Hadjar said. “Anyway, he didn’t show any hostility, but... I don’t think he would’ve agreed to send a squad of people he doesn’t know on-”

“He knows me,” Galkhad interrupted him. “He’s smart-”

The giant stopped talking when Anise placed her small hand on his enormous forearm.

“...a secret mission from the Emperor himself,” Hadjar finally finished. “So, in summary, I’m as much in the dark as you-”

Once again, Hadjar was interrupted. This time by a whizzing sound. All five cultivators leapt to their feet and drew their weapons. Fortunately, the restaurant’s managers had placed them in a room with increased protection, so that their auras wouldn’t destroy the entire restaurant.

On the way to their meeting, Hadjar had managed to train with his Kingdom a bit, and he could now avoid using it accidentally.

“Fucking hell!” He grumbled, dismissing the Black Blade and sinking back into the pillows.

Embedded in the table, between the numerous plates, pots, bowls, glasses, teapots, and bottles, a striking arrow with bright white plumage wobbled slightly. A scroll was tied to its shaft with felt rope.

Einen started to reach for the arrow, but Dora grabbed his arm.

“Such an arrow shouldn’t be touched by someone who it isn’t intended for,” she explained. “Only the Secret Office uses these kinds of arrows. They employ them instead of messengers just to tell you that they always know where you are and what you’re doing.”

The room was silent for a while. Almost everyone who was somehow connected with any illegal activities was afraid of the Secret Office.

“Read it already!” Tom urged a little nervously.

Hadjar struggled a little but finally pulled the arrow out of the table, unfurled the scroll, and read what was written on it. Then he read it again to make sure that he’d understood everything.

“What does it say?”

“Tell us, barbarian.”

“Darkhan, stop getting on my nerves! Will we be riding goats and sheep or something?”

“Maybe a raft?”

“On actual water?”

“It’ll be great!”

“Shut up, you amphibian.”

“Land lubbers, all of you.”

Hadjar glanced at Einen in surprise. The fact that he was arguing with Tom Dinos showed that Einen regarded him as a worthy ally, if not a friend. It was amazing how circumstances could change things between cultivators…

“We’ll be flying,” Hadjar finally said. He rolled up the parchment and put it in his spatial ring. “On the caravel ‘Griffin Feathers’. It’ll take us to the border with the Karnak’Hacks region. Then we’ll disembark and continue on foot through the jungle.”

“On foot? Through the jungles of Karnak?” Everyone but Einen shouted in reply.

“These are the orders of the Emperor and General Schuver. We’ll receive all the necessary equipment and additional instructions from the captain of the ‘Griffin Feathers’.”

“Maybe we’d be better off getting stabbed in the head by the captain instead!” Galkhad squeezed the bowl he was holding so hard that it exploded in all directions.

“Are you afraid of the jungle?” Einen asked him in surprise. The jungle was his native environment.

“I’m not afraid of anything, except Karnak. Everyone here except you two had been told terrifying stories about it since we were little kids.”

“They say that there are demon-people living there,” Anise confirmed.

“And beasts that make even the worst of the monsters of the Storm Mountain look like kittens by comparison,” Tom added.

“And, after the wars of antiquity, anomalies that can destroy a Nameless also appeared there!” Dora shuddered and then took a sip of wine.

Anise fidgeted with the straps of her scabbard.

“The last expedition to that place, which consisted of forty Lords, two Nameless, and one great hero, was sent there before my great-grandfather was born.”

“And?”

“Nothing... They stopped sending mail birds after just two weeks... They all disappeared without a trace.”

Hadjar looked at the arrow from the Secret Office. Well, he had to pay for his mistakes one way or another…

Chapter 842

I n a dark laboratory, among the many bottles, beakers, pots, and other tools of magic and alchemy, sat a tired cultivator. When the light from the fireplace fell on his face, deep wrinkles and graying hair with purple streaks in it became visible.

Behind the man, who was leaning on his arms and sleeping, was a black sphere created from a strange, iridescent, and seemingly living material. It was serving as a prison for a blob of purple light. Sometimes, the blob would hit the walls of its prison. The sphere would then ripple, acting as if it were actually made of water.

“Just one ingredient,” Markin sighed. “Just one more ingredient and I’d have been able to make a Hundred Voices Pill.”

For several centuries, he’d been slowly refining the Hundred Voices Pill — an alchemical reagent that would be unparalleled not only in the Darnassus Empire, but even in the Dragon Lands and all of its seven vassals, which was a territory so vast that even a Nameless couldn’t see all of it during their lifetime. The pill had been difficult to make. Perhaps it was even the most complicated product of alchemy that had ever found its way into the hands of a human or the claws of a dragon.

Markin had found the recipe in the abandoned temple of a god by accident. As a boy, back when he’d been a barefooted beggar with a sick mother and ever-hungry younger siblings in a village of mortal peasants, Markin had fallen into a hole in the ground and been gravely injured. He’d been certain that he was going to die from his injuries, or maybe just hunger. So, he’d begun to pray to every god whose name he’d been able to remember.

Suddenly, he’d fallen even deeper, ending up in a cave hidden underneath a layer of the clay that he’d broken when he’d landed on it. Markin had had no choice but to crawl along the ground until he’d found himself in an ancient temple. And so began his ascent as one of the best magicians and alchemists in the Darnassus Empire.

Over thousands of years of cultivation, he’d kept this secret 一 the recipe of the Hundred Voices Pill. Using an ancient, complex spell that required many reagents and a lot of power, he could extract the Name from a cultivator’s soul. This Name contained the entire essence of a cultivator’s soul, their path of cultivation, the entire foundation of their spirit, and the basis of their external and internal energy. Unsurprisingly, in most cases, the cultivators had simply died after the extraction procedure. There had been a few particularly strong and persistent ones who’d managed to survive, but their fate had been terrible — they’d all become mad, mortal cripples.

After centuries of research and experimentation, Markin had been able to collect ninety-nine strong Names, all of them suitable for the pill. He was so close... He was on the verge of creating the pill that could grant him power that was a step beyond even mastering a Kingdom.

Even now, after grasping the True Magic Kingdom and becoming as strong as the great heroes, he continued to hide his power. It wasn’t time yet. That ill-fated night in the Forbidden City had almost ruined his plans.

To complete the pill, he needed the unique Name of someone who had an unprecedented potential in terms of internal energy, but didn’t have a drop of external energy. He hadn’t believed that such a cultivator could even exist. Until that barbarian had appeared at ‘The Holy Sky’ School. A swordsman from a distant region. A swordsman who didn't have any external energy…

Markin had decided to give the swordsman some time to grow, because the more internal energy he had, the stronger the pill would be. As time had passed, the swordsman had indeed grown stronger. But when the time had come to collect the reward for his patience, Markin had realized that the boy had slipped out of his grasp. That accursed Forbidden City! Markin had had to reveal some of his power, which had drawn the attention of the Secret Office.

Markin the Recluse … Markin the Weakling… Markin the Feeble… That’s what they’d called him behind his back and that’s why no one had expected him to possess a Duchy level Kingdom. For fifteen centuries, no one, except the rector himself, had even come close to a Barony level Kingdom in the field of magic.

Claiming that he had to attend to an urgent experiment, Markin had locked himself away in his lab. But the war had gotten too close. Markin had gone to the Council of the Empire, hoping to take Hadjar Darkhan and his Name.

Damn the Emperor!

He had stolen Markin’s rightful loot right from under his nose.

Damn the Emperor…

“Just one more ingredient,” Markin muttered to himself. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was already crazy.

One way or another, he would complete the Hundred Voices Pill. He would become the strongest! Someone that even dragons couldn’t oppose! Someone who would finally stop hearing his long-dead mother crying in his nightmares.…

Markin started. He wasn’t crazy yet. No, no, no… Not today… Not now…

Not now…

Not now…

Not now…

“Master?”

Markin woke up. In the darkness, he saw a silhouette.

“Another failure?” Markin sighed, uncorked a bottle, and drank another stimulant. How much longer could he hold on by drinking those? Most of his attention was focused on maintaining the Black River Surface sphere — a powerful protective spell that even the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School might not have been able to maintain.

“No one could’ve predicted that he’d be sent to Karnak’Hacks,” the shadow replied, “Or that he would grasp the Sword Kingdom within himself.”

Markin didn’t even have enough energy left to be angry. He didn’t have enough strength left to think. Had he really gone mad?

“All these years, I’ve heard nothing from you but reports of yet another failure. I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth my time.”

“With all due respect, Master, it would be much harder for you to get Hadjar without me.”

“Have you finally become brave enough to defy me after so many years?”

The shadow said nothing.

Markin drank another stimulant.

“Are you going with him?” He asked the shadow.

“I am.”

Markin nodded and put the bottle away in his spatial artifact. The poverty in which he’d been born, raised, and lived for a long time had taught him to be extremely frugal.

“If you fail this time, you’ll suffer a fate far worse than death. You can be sure of that.”

“I won’t let you down this time.”

The shadow disappeared. Markin opened his locket with trembling fingers, fingers covered in scabs that he hid in public with the help of magic. The locket always hung around his chest, near his heart. With purple, glittering eyes, he looked at the tiny portrait inside.

“Very soon,” he whispered. A purple tear rolled down his cheek, leaving an oily trail behind. “I’ll be strong enough soon. I promise. I promise… I promise… I promise... But not today… Not today…”

***

With a travel bag slung over his shoulder (not everything could fit in one’s spatial artifact, so, during a long journey, only the most valuable possessions would be kept there), Hadjar raised his foot to come aboard the ‘Gryphon Feathers’. With a sigh, casting a final farewell glance at Dahanatan, he made that first, fateful step.

He was troubled by a sense of déjà vu and some lingering doubts, but, nevertheless, he was the first to board the ship that was going to take them on another adventure. Would he be able to survive yet again and return victorious? Unlike with all his previous ventures, he really wasn’t sure he could manage it this time…

Chapter 843

F lying on the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ was almost identical to flying on the ‘Rukh’s Wings’, so, for the first few days of their quiet journey, Hadjar remained in deep meditation, sitting on the bow of the ship and almost touching the clouds with his feet. He first grasped the limits of his Kingdom’s capabilities and then tried to figure out how to get to the next level.

After witnessing the might of Orune’s True Sword Kingdom, Hadjar had no intention of lingering within the confines of a Barony. The fact that Derek had mastered the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords fueled Hadjar’s determination.

Derek… Even though Hadjar was immersed in meditation, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. Emerging from his meditation, he absentmindedly stroked the feathers in his hair. Steppe Fang, his wife, and their baby… Had they managed to escape Derek’s revenge, or would they forever weigh on Hadjar’s soul… Too many had gone to their forefathers ahead of their time because of him.

“I thought you’d be older.”

A short, stocky man was standing nearby, leaning on the shrouds as if they were a solid wall instead of rope. Hadjar would’ve presumed that he was a dwarf if he hadn’t known what they actually looked like thanks to Steppe Fang.

“Captain Next,” Hadjar bowed his head.

“I’m honored, venerable cultivator,” the captain replied, slightly taken aback.

Due to the heavy thoughts and emotions he was dealing with, it took Hadjar a moment to realize why the captain was surprised. He was used to being around people who didn’t even consider an initial-stage Lord to be worth their time. Now, aboard this military caravel, he’d found himself in a completely different setting. Ordinary sailors were on the verge of becoming true cultivators, privates were Heaven Soldiers at the initial stage, and officers were Heaven Soldiers at the advanced stage. The captain himself was a Spirit Knight at the initial stage. He and Hadjar would’ve been equals, but captain Next commanded a ship, and Hadjar, according to a letter from the Secret Office, was in charge of a squad consisting entirely of Spirit Knights ranging from the initial to the peak stages.

How had Anise made so much progress in just two years? Most people usually took several decades to cultivate as far as she had! Meanwhile, she’d become an advanced-stage Spirit Knight in just a couple of years… Perhaps it was due to her mythical Spirit — the True Sword Spirit. In the Wastelands, Hadjar had seen the power of Anise’s Spirit once it was fully unleashed. If she ever grasped the True Sword Kingdom and fully mastered her Spirit, there would be no swordsman equal to her in the seven Empires.

Right now, Hadjar had five people just as impressive as her working under him. Along with that, he also had the title of Baron and possessed a Kingdom (which was equivalent to a high noble title) and he’d served as a General in his homeland. So, it was no wonder the captain was surprised. To him, Hadjar must’ve been as intimidating and impressive as Orune, may his ancestors accept him with open arms, had seemed to Hadjar.

“Did you want to talk to me, captain?” Hadjar asked.

He continued to fiddle with the orc feathers without noticing he was doing it. His long hair, which he hadn’t dared to cut, fell all the way to the prow and over the edge of the ship, where it gently grazed the clouds. The ship’s magical shield, for some reason, allowed clouds to get past it.

“Only if I’m not intruding.”

Hadjar stared at Next. Judging by his appearance and aura, he must’ve been about seven centuries old. For a Spirit Knight, this was their prime, but at the same time, it was also when there was no hope left for any significant cultivation.

“Sit down.” Hadjar moved to the side and made room for the captain on the bow.

The captain walked over and sat down next to him. For almost a minute, they just sat there in silence.

“For almost five hundred years, venerable swordsman Darkhan, I-”

“Just call me Hadjar.”

The captain nodded gratefully and then continued:

“All this time, Hadjar, I’ve only been on land for a few decades and have never had the time to start a family.”

Hadjar cleared his throat.

“What do you mean by that, captain?”

“I didn’t have time to plant my roots, but trees don’t grow in the sky anyway. However, I’ve often seen others lose their roots. You, Hadjar, are the same.”

“I didn’t lose-” Hadjar wanted to say more, but something stopped him.

He looked northwest. Somewhere out there, many miles away, across the fluffy, white sea dotted with storms and rare flying creatures, was the newly created Barony of Lidus. It was also where Derek of the Steppe, the great hero of Lascan, that vengeful boy, was heading… If things went wrong, Steppe Fang and his family wouldn’t be the only loved ones Hadjar would have to mourn due to his failures...

“You’re strong.” The captain got up and headed back to the bridge. “You’re stronger than most people I’ve ever met. You’re so young, but have already achieved so much.”

“Thank you, captain.”

“This is not empty flattery, but a word of advice from an old sky wolf: become stronger. So strong that any fool who considers threatening your home would sooner decide to hang themselves with their own intestines than come anywhere near it.”

Hadjar caught the captain’s fleeting glance. In it, he saw the same pain the soldiers of Balium who’d taken up the flag of the Moon army had been marked by — an immense homesickness for a place that was long gone.

“A storm!” Someone shouted. “Southwest of us! Captain, we’re heading straight for the cyclone!”

“Our little voyage is getting interesting.” A mad smile appeared on the captain’s face.

Tapping his fingers against the edge of his tricorn hat, the captain, holding the hilt of his cutlass, ran toward the bridge. Hadjar tried to follow him, froze, and then hurriedly grabbed the shrouds. He suddenly felt like he was standing on an enemy border, like when he’d stood next to the great Baligor… Except now it was more intense, like the power of a vast Empire was about to come down on him.

Hadjar looked at the approaching storm. Occasionally, blue lightning flashed amidst the dark clouds. Hadjar peered at them intently until another flash revealed the silhouette of seven ships.

“This isn’t just a storm!” Hadjar roared at the top of his lungs and drew his Black Blade. “Lascanians! A Lascanian squadron is dead ahead!”

Chapter 844

I n a single move, Hadjar turned into a black dragon and appeared on the bridge, next to the captain who was already folding and putting away his telescope. Behind them, the first officer was shouting orders in a loud voice, and the boatswain was smacking everyone who seemed too slow to respond.

“Prepare for battle!” The captain announced firmly. “Unfurl all the sails. Open the gun ports. And change your clothes! A sailor should only meet their forefathers while wearing clean clothes!”

“Did you hear the captain, you bastards?” The boatswain was hitting people left and right. In this situation, everyone seemed too slow to him. “Faster! Faster!”

“Hadjar!” Familiar faces appeared in the crowd that flowed like a stream toward the deck. “Hadjar, what’s going on?”

The nobles and Einen, in full battle attire and with their packs slung over their shoulders, stood with their weapons drawn. Cultivators at their level could never be unprepared and caught off guard.

“We’re moving toward a Lascanian squadron,” Hadjar explained.

They looked at each other, pushed off the deck, and, distracting the sailors for a moment, easily jumped across over half the caravel and landed on the bridge.

“This isn’t a meeting room,” the captain grumbled, but that was the end of his complaints.

“Can we avoid them?” Tom asked.

Einen and Next answered him in unison:

“We can’t. The wind won’t let us.”

They looked at each other and, as if they’d rehearsed in advance, took out their telescopes at the same time.

“D-damn it,” Dora stammered.

Her friends immediately turned to her. She usually never swore, which meant that they were in far worse trouble than they’d originally thought.

“What’s the matter, Dora?” Anise asked, looking worried.

Despite the fact that Hadjar had grasped the Sword Kingdom, Anise was still seen as the strongest in their squad. Considering that he had no idea what kind of progress she’d really made in the past two years, this was possibly true.

“Storm clouds and blue lightning,” Dora said, pointing at the storm with a trembling hand. “Don’t you remember your father’s stories, Anise?”

Captain Next cursed.

“Do you mind explaining why we’re so afraid of a handful of Lascanian ships?” Galkhad asked what was on a lot of people's minds. He gripped the shaft of his axe, eager to fight. “In my opinion, we’ve been given a great opportunity to assist in the war.”

“The only thing we’ll be able to assist, honorable adept,” Next hissed through gritted teeth, “Is the sky monsters with their diet. What we’re seeing isn’t merely a storm, but the great hero Taniged the Cloudy.”

“Taniged the Cloudy? The one who started this war?”

“Yes,” the captain nodded.

Everyone swore.

“Even if we somehow get away from him,” the captain continued, “Rumors say that Taniged travels with Derek of the Steppe. We couldn’t escape from two great heroes even if we had the gods’ help and the support of three legions. And we don’t have either of those things.”

Upon hearing Derek’s name, Einen turned to Hadjar. The islander was aware of his friend’s adventures in the Lascanian steppes. Before the meeting at the ‘Sun Stone’, Hadjar had told him about his fears.

“What-”

“We need to distract them.” A familiar voice interrupted Tom.

They all turned toward it. Standing at the top of the stairs leading to the bridge was Ymir/Karein Tarez, leaning on the railing, dressed in the same expensive clothes he’d worn at the Imperial Council. He was chewing on a blade of grass.

Next to him stood a young woman. The blades on her belt and the way she held herself spoke of her great skill, which somewhat contrasted with her unusually curvy figure for a fencer. Hadjar was interested in seeing her form during a fight.

“I agree with Karein,” She said, and her tone was very strict and disciplined. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun and the look in her dark eyes was just as put together and sharp as the rest of her. “If we create a diversion…” She turned to Next, “Honorable captain, would you be able to escape through the clouds?”

Next thought about it for a moment.

“Maybe,” he said uncertainly. “If we get lucky with the wind, or get caught in an air current, we might be able to get away.”

“Wait,” Anise said, blinking at the new arrival. “Who are you?”

Karein didn’t need to introduce himself, so he just kept chewing on his blade of grass.

“Rekka Geran of House Geran,” She said. “A junior officer of the guard corps.”

Next choked on air, then snapped to attention with a salute. If the Secret Office instilled true terror into the souls of people, the guard corps, the defenders of the Emperor himself, demanded boundless respect instead.

“We thought you were planning to stay in the capital,” Tom said.

“No, honored junior heir.” Rekka’s tone was still just as cold and strict as before. “We came aboard a few hours before you did, and decided to spend some time in the lounge. Which you, unfortunately, never visited.”

Tom turned to the other nobles, “What is this Geran mouse hinting at right now?”

Hadjar moved to the railing of the ship, not wanting to get involved in the bickering. Right now, they had much bigger problems than two nobles sniping at each other.

“So, captain, would you be able to fly using a cloud as cover?” Hadjar repeated Rekka’s question.

“As I said before, it’s possible,” Next repeated, looking through his telescope again. “But I don’t see how we can distract them.”

“By using the bombs?” Rekka suggested. She apparently knew at least a bit about air combat, but a seasoned captain clearly knew more.

“At this distance, they won’t do us any good, and if we get any closer, we’ll be spotted. The shield is currently hiding us, but once they get a few miles closer, we’ll be visible.”

“What if the bombs are delivered using boats?”

“In this wind? I seriously doubt it,” Next shook his head.

“Well,” Rekka came closer. Hadjar could feel the scent of a grindstone and metal shavings as she did so, “I don’t see any other choice but to abandon ship.”

“With all due respect, venerable lady, you can see whatever-”

“Captain,” Hadjar interjected, “Release a dozen bombs.”

“Like I said, Hadjar, no boat could handle this wind!”

“Boats can’t, but I can.”

Hadjar stepped onto the railing. He turned to the nobles and gave his first order, “When you get to the jungles of Karnak, turn on the tracker so that I can find you.”

He spread his arms out and jumped off. The cultivators and a few sailors rushed over, but when they looked over the side, they didn’t see his plummeting figure in the clouds. Instead, a few moments later, the Quetzal bird soared up, leaving a trail of blue and black energy behind in its wake.

Chapter 845

H adjar was once again standing in the middle of a vast plain covered with grass that swayed in the wind. The grass was almost tall enough to reach his knees and it seemed to dance around the hill. Like before, there was a stone and a small tree, where a Quetzal bird, the symbol of freedom and fearlessness, was sleeping.

“Hello, my friend,” Hadjar held out his hand.

The bird, spreading its multicolored wings out, leapt from the branch and onto his arm. Its claws dug into Hadjar’s skin, but he felt no pain. The Quetzal’s long tail wrapped around his wrist. The Spirit’s black, shiny eyes asked:

“Are we going into battle, brother?”

“Yes. But first, will you let me soar with you through the clouds?”

The bird spread its wings again and cut through the air with a shrill cry. The tail feathers that had wrapped around his wrist and forearm sank into Hadjar’s skin. Then they went even deeper, until they merged with his muscles and veins. Finally, the Quetzal flew straight into his Core.

***

The world around Hadjar was very different now. It became clear to him, even during his long descent, that the storm wasn’t real. He could now see that there were, in fact, no clouds in it, and that it instead consisted of Cloud mysteries and some sort of alien power. It was the combination of the two that had filled the sky with something that resembled a storm. This was also why all the normal inhabitants of the sky were flying away as fast as they could. They simply couldn’t handle the disgusting, alien feeling.

There was no time to think about this. Hadjar touched the wind with his wing-hand, which sprung up beneath him and carried him toward the storm.

“Thank you, brother,” Hadjar whispered. Even though he knew that the wind couldn’t hear him because of the Sword’s mark, he couldn’t help but thank his ‘brother’. Their bond, one formed at birth, had been cut off by Hadjar’s stupidity, but he’d vowed to one day break these shackles.

Several bombs fell from the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ — barrels filled with magical gunpowder that also housed an explosive artifact inside of them. Hadjar picked them up with his will and calmly ran through the clouds. His feet touched their surface, and the hems of his Call’s cloak moved like fog behind him. Hadjar could even summon his Black Blade, but he didn’t. According to Orune, the Quetzal bird, which appeared to be woven from threads of foggy energy, and was holding a sword in its beak, was too terrifying. That was how Hadjar looked to the world around him when he used the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique. When he flew, he assumed the form of the Quetzal Spirit.

Faster! Faster! He mentally urged himself.

The storm clouds were approaching so quickly that it looked as if they were falling on Hadjar. Or like he was falling into a thundering abyss.

While assuming the form of the Quetzal, Hadjar could reach a quarter of the speed Orune’s ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique could once exhibit. However, Orune had been able to maintain that maximum speed for seventeen seconds, and Hadjar could only do it for a few heartbeats.

Cutting through the clouds and making them disperse in massive waves, leaving flashes of blue and black energy behind in his wake, Hadjar raced straight ahead to confront the storm and the great hero hidden behind it.

Derek…

***

“Captain! Stop!” A boy shouted from the crow’s nest of the scout ship that belonged to the sixty-fourth ship group of the first Lascanian front. “There’s a monster coming from the east! It’s countering the clouds! This is clearly not a naturally occurring anomaly.”

“If it’s a monster, why are you even mentioning anomalies? Are you drunk, you idiot?”

“See for yourself, captain!”

“Are you being rude to me, boy?” The captain took a telescope out of his shirt pocket.

The last thing he saw before a black sword pierced his throat was a flash of blue energy as the huge bird easily broke through the curtain of storm clouds created by the great hero Taniged.

The cabin boy who’d warned him about the monster’s approach couldn’t believe his eyes. A moment ago, it had looked like a feathered creature, and now it was landing on the deck as a dark-haired man clad in black and silver armor. In his hands, the man held a blade so black it looked as if it had been forged from darkness itself. The living darkness turned the captain, a mid-stage Spirit Knight, into a desiccated mummy that didn’t have a single drop of energy and vitality left.

Sailors and soldiers rushed to the bridge. The boy’s eyes met the sky-blue, crystal-clear eyes of the attacker. By the gods, those weren’t the eyes of a human, but of a feral monster! At that moment, he realized that they were all doomed. Then he heard his late mother’s warm laughter. The house of his forefathers opened its doors to him.

***

Hadjar unleashed his Kingdom. Everything within a radius of fifteen paces suddenly became his Sword, which immediately reduced all his foes inside this area to a fine, red mist.

Wanting to fully utilize his Kingdom’s capabilities in battle, Hadjar swung his sword. He put all of the Sword’s mysteries he’d grasped and a tenth of the energy stored within his Core into the swing.

At first, a simple but oddly long and wide crescent of energy surged out of the Black Blade. In less than a split second, claws and fangs emerged from it, then more, and then more still, until a hundred black dragon-swords burst out of the crescent. With just one attack, without even using a Technique, Hadjar sent a hundred sailors and soldiers to their forefathers.

His second and third attack, which conjured a swarm of deadly dragon-swords, turned the warship into a ghost ship covered in blood and riddled with holes. How many Heaven Soldiers and Spirit Knights had he just killed? Hadjar hadn’t even noticed the resistance of their defensive Techniques and artifact armor.

Turning toward the storm, Hadjar roared like a wounded dragon:

“DEREK!”

He didn’t have to call out twice. A column of golden light descended from the sky, and when it dispersed, all hope that Hadjar still had disappeared with it. It was him. It was the same Derek he’d fought against the Dah’Khasses with. The Derek that Hadjar had given a reason to live.

“Hello, my enemy.” He was a head taller and much broader in the shoulders now. He exuded power equal to what the great swordsman Orune had wielded. On his back, instead of sabers, rested two swords. His white hair swayed in the wind, and golden sparks danced in his eyes. “So, we meet again.”

“For the last time,” Hadjar spat.

He sent a mental order, and the bombs attached to the underside of the ship detonated. Hadjar had to fix his mistakes. Even if it cost him his life…

Chapter 846

A s soon as Hadjar’s will ignited them, the bombs turned into infernos of purple flame. With a roar, columns of all-consuming fire burst through the sides of the ship using the paths Hadjar had carved out for them. His recent attacks, which had cut through the stern of the ship, had actually been intended for this all along.

Each charge had enough power to destroy a peak-stage Lord who wasn’t expecting it and thus hadn’t used any defensive Techniques. But when it came to a Nameless wielding a True Kingdom…

Hadjar wasn’t sure if the charges would be enough to deal with Derek. Especially since the explosion lost a third of its power as it went through the many walls and floors to reach them.

Dozens of pillars of purple flame burst out from under the planks of the deck. Still obeying Hadjar’s will, they bent like flaming ivy and merged into a bright, blinding blade. No cultivator below the Nameless level should’ve been able to control such a large amount of alchemical flame.

The flaming sword swung toward Derek, igniting the air in its wake. The sword burnt reality itself for a few moments wherever it went. The waves of fire that spread out in all directions struck the other ships. Rising to a height of fifteen, or perhaps even twenty feet, they overwhelmed the magical shields and pushed the ships away from the epicenter of the explosion.

Sweat slid down Hadjar’s forehead. To withstand the strain, he’d had to use all his focus and determination. If Hadjar’s control had faltered, even for just a moment, if he’d let go of the fire, the first person to die in the explosion would’ve been him. His Call and body wouldn’t have been strong enough to survive the resulting backlash, let alone the explosion itself.

“Not bad.” Derek held out an open palm.

With this move alone, he almost split the sky in half. The unprecedented power of the ocean of steel scattered Hadjar’s will. It eradicated all traces of it. Hadjar took a step back and wiped the blood from the corners of his mouth. The purple flame blade turned into many flame threads that surged toward Derek’s palm after slicing through the shrouds, scorching the tattered sails, and setting the deck on fire.

As they condensed, the threads of flame flashed like a bright star. And with a flick of Derek’s wrist, it flew into the sky, where it exploded into a ball of flame that was more than a few miles in diameter. Like a second sun, it burned the clouds away. Only a small, scarlet spot now marred Derek’s skin.

“Was that your grand plan?” Derek asked mockingly, looking at his hand, which he was clenching and unclenching. Every time he did that, he created a gust of wind that pushed the ship in a different direction. What kind of power had the acolyte of the God of War granted him? “Not very impressive, to be honest.”

“To be honest,” Hadjar said, “That was just a distraction.”

Hadjar unclenched his fist, which was still smeared with the blood from his mouth. A scarlet drop trickled down his thumb and landed on an eerie, red crystal.

“NO!” Derek shouted, sensing a deadly threat. The True Kingdom of the Twin Swords flared up around him, but it was too late.

Darkness engulfed the sky over the Karnak jungle. In a radius of hundreds of miles, all lights went out and faded away. Nothing could be seen. Then death came…

***

Hadjar opened his eyes. He was standing on the threshold of a small, sturdy house in the middle of a meadow. Hundreds of different flowers stretched out toward the sky. He was certain that such splendor couldn’t be found even in the Forbidden City.

Hadjar bent down to pick a flower, but his hand went right through it. Only then did he realize that he couldn’t smell the flowers at all, and that the wind was simply passing right through him.

“Is this-”

“In a way, this is your forefathers’ home, yes.”

The first Darkhan was standing next to Hadjar, wrapped in a black cloak. Only his white-haired head was sticking out.

“What do you mean by ‘in a way’?” Hadjar was well aware that he’d just been standing on the deck of a burning Lascanian ship, opposite Derek of the Steppe, the great hero who could destroy him with just a snap of his fingers. Despite all of those concerns, Hadjar felt calm, and all his worries melted away.

“This is my home.” Darkhan gestured toward the flowers, straightened up, and then walked to the porch. “A place where I was once happy. After you die, you won’t come here. This isn’t your forefathers’ house, not really.”

Hadjar looked at the house in front of him. It was almost too small to be considered a house, but definitely too large to be called a shed or a cottage. It had a slightly crooked porch, a front room, a small bedroom, and a small kitchen that a wood-burning stove and a table could barely fit inside. In some places, the walls of the house, which had been made from logs, were so leaky that a finger could fit in between them. There were also patches of clay that glistened with morning dew.

The first Darkhan covered his eyes as he stood in the doorway. He ran his other hand over the door.

Hadjar remained silent. This was one of those moments when he wished he could disappear and let the other person have their privacy. He didn’t care that this man was the Enemy of everything and everyone, and was planning to devour his soul. He’d been honored by being brought here, a place so dear to Darkhan’s heart. Even though he was the guest of a foe, under these circumstances, he had to show some respect. Darkhan touched the door handle. It creaked, the hinges sang, and he stepped inside. Hadjar didn’t want to follow, but an unknown force pulled him inside as well. The door never actually opened, they simply went right through it, as it were some sort of illusion.

The front room led to the kitchen and the small bedroom. In that room was a simple bed with pelts and cheap burlap blankets, under which a woman was curled up. Her black hair was covering the pillow and a few locks of it fell on her sleeping face as she curled up, clenching the covers. Her brows furrowed like she was dreaming of something unpleasant.

Darkhan, standing by the bed, looked at her in a way that Hadjar had never seen before. He’d never seen any of his friends look at their beloved that way, he hadn’t even seen such adoration and care in the way his father had looked at his mother. It was as if her mere existence helped Darkhan make sense of everything, as if it was enough to dispel every worry and cure even the gravest of his injuries.

“Elerie,” Darkhan whispered in a tone of voice that made Hadjar’s heart clench in sympathy.

So much warmth, pain, and terrible longing all condensed into that one word... Was this true love?

Chapter 847

V ery carefully, like he was afraid that a single wrong move could disturb the woman’s rest, Darkhan gently sat down on the edge of the bed. This kind of concern coming from a being that the combined forces of the gods, demons, and Spirits couldn’t destroy shook Hadjar to his very core.

Darkhan reached out to touch her hair, his hands shaking. Without actually touching her, he gently moved his hand back and forth over her head. There was so much tenderness and care, but also pain and despair, in his every action. The deep pain was tearing him up, like a starving beast that had ripped all the way through him and sunk its teeth into his very core. This was the pain of loss, and not just the loss of a woman, or even the meaning of his life, but something indescribable. A person could go on living without meaning, as many often do, becoming pale shadows of their former selves. But without whatever he had lost, even taking a single breath more was true agony. Darkhan was so tender and careful with her that it could only compare to a mother carefully taking her newborn into her arms for the first time.

He reached for Elerie, but didn’t dare touch her. There was a hole in his soul. Hadjar saw the huge chasm that had settled within his distant ancestor. Finally, he understood what Freya had been talking about. His mother, Queen Elizabeth, had indeed inherited a fragment of Darkhan’s spirit, as well as his blood.

“Darling…” Darkhan whispered in a trembling voice.

Without touching her, he stroked her hair, and his dark eyes were warm and full of agony. Even if his heart was torn out, or his soul ripped apart, or… No, nothing could compare to the pain he felt right now. He didn’t cry. Even an ocean’s worth of tears wouldn’t have been enough.

Darkhan leaned forward like he was going to hug her and promise to save her from the world. But instead, he suddenly got off the bed and retreated to the darkest corner… Merging with the shadows, he stopped and just stared at Elerie, who was sleeping peacefully. Her frown disappeared and her breathing became steady.

“Let’s go.”

It was clearly difficult for Darkhan to turn away from her, but he did it. Together, they went back to the flower meadow. A moment later, they were standing on the hill in the center of the endless plain. Sitting down, the Black General leaned back against the stone Traves had once sat on and stared up at the endless sky.

“Why did you show her to me?” Hadjar asked.

“You should know who you’ll be meeting at your forefathers’ house one day,” he answered. “The little fairy wanted to undermine your resolve with her words.”

Hadjar didn’t ask how the Black General knew about his conversation with Freya. Hera had claimed that the poison would keep the Enemy trapped inside his soul. But whatever had happened in the Wastelands had allowed the Enemy to get much closer to the surface of Hadjar’s consciousness.

“I promised to teach you the other half of my ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique after you grasped the Sword Kingdom.”

Hadjar remained silent. The Enemy was wrong. It wasn’t Freya’s words that had shaken Hadjar, but what he’d just shown him instead. Had that been the fairy’s plan all along? If so, she was far more cunning than Helmer.

“The Third Strike, my disciple-”

“I’m not your disciple.”

“As you wish.” The Enemy continued to stare at the sky. The wind ruffled his cloak. “But if I teach you something new that you didn’t know before, I’m your Master, aren’t I?”

“As you wish,” Hadjar shrugged. “But I have bad news for you: all of my previous Masters have gone to their forefathers.”

“Luckily, I’m immortal.”

Hadjar chuckled. As far as he knew, there was no such thing as true immortality in this world: even the gods could be killed by demons and he’d even met the Shadow of an Immortal once... In this accursed, nameless world, the struggle for life and power never stopped.

“The Third Strike, my disciple, is yours now.”

Hadjar wanted to repeat that he wasn’t his disciple, but didn’t get a chance to do so. The wind blew, and Darkhan dispersed into the endless world of grass and clouds like a fine mist.

Hadjar felt the flow of information and power rush into him, into his mind and muscles, penetrating deep into every fiber and every cell of his body. The flow filled Hadjar with the knowledge and ability he needed to use the Third Strike of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique. Once it was done with his physical body, the flow began to work on Hadjar’s energy structure. It expanded the channels required to use the ‘Vacuum Sword’ Strike.

If not for the Black General’s Inheritance, Hadjar would’ve had to spend at least three decades just to fully prepare his body for the demands of this incredible sword Technique created by the greatest swordsman who had ever lived.

As for his energy body, it would’ve needed centuries of cultivation, and then he’d still have needed just as much time to practice the attack, as it combined all of Hadjar’s energy, all the Sword mysteries he’d mastered, and the very essence of the Sword itself.

Regardless of where it was used, the attack wouldn’t be aimed at an opponent. Rather, it was kind of similar to Orune’s movement Technique. All the power of the Technique, which would be directed toward a point in the air, would eventually create such a powerful vacuum as it cut through the air itself that any foe, within a range of a hundred steps, would be instantly drawn toward the person who’d used the ‘Vacuum Sword’ Strike. Once in the Technique’s clutches, they could only hope that the one who’d used the attack didn’t have enough time or energy left to hold out their sword, otherwise, they would end up impaled on it.

Once it was all over, Hadjar was left standing in the middle of the plain, breathing heavily. Wiping his lips clean with the back of his fist, he suddenly remembered that, in the physical world, he was on a ship that was falling from the sky.

“DEREK!”

Chapter 848

T he capital of the Darnassus Empire was surprisingly calm and quiet. The streets of the city, which had just recently been full of people, were now empty. Only occasionally could one spot a small group of people moving around. They stealthily ran from building to building, avoiding any wide streets and main avenues, huddled in alleys, all the while heading toward the gates. The guards’ colorful cloaks, armor, and horses, which clanked due to their steel-studded harnesses, were a common sight. Officially, the Tournament of the Twelve wasn’t over, but all the guests had already left Dahanatan. Along with many of its locals.

Almost everyone, no matter how strong of a cultivator they were and no matter how many centuries they’d lived, had been hoping for a miracle, despite the fact that the stench of war had permeated every part of the Empire by now. And when the miracle hadn’t happened, and the Emperor himself had announced the beginning of a general mobilization, the people had finally realized that it was time to focus on their own survival.

Those who hadn’t been mobilized had left the capital and the western region of the Empire. Some had moved to the hastily constructed settlements at the north and south. Others, on impulse, had gone to the far regions in the east. The rest, who hadn’t lost faith in themselves and their path of cultivation, had gone westward. There was no better way for a cultivator to test and improve their skills than battle.

Moreover, no one had abolished the main law of any war — everything that had belonged to the person you’d killed would belong to you from then on. During a war in the Empire, a variety of treasures would disappear and appear: artifacts, alchemical reagents and products, Technique scrolls, the Cores of various monsters, and so on.

In addition, the Emperor was offering generous rewards, including promotions and even a noble title for the most deserving. So, the old people fled from the coming war while the young people welcomed it as an opportunity to ascend, or to leave their mark on the world.

In this unfortunate emptiness, the lonely figure of a horseman who’d entered through the South Gates looked a little strange. He was wearing a plain, loose cream-colored caftan, and a turban covered his hair. The horse he rode in on wasn’t the best breed of desert horse. No passersby even paid attention to this rider who bore a mail carrier’s medallion.

However, there was something so special about him that the guards let the rider pass without even asking for a fee or verifying the authenticity of his medallion.

As soon as he crossed the central avenue and entered a narrow spot between two streets, a man wearing a similar turban appeared in front of him. Instead of a caftan, however, this man wore expensive clothes.

“Minister Ju.” The cultivator who’d descended from the sky bowed.

His vertical pupils were fixed on the rider, who nodded, dismounted, and saluted in the way of the Dragon Lands.

“Chin’Ameh,” the Minister greeted, crossing his arms over his chest. His brown eyes changed to a bloodier, red color and his pupils became as sharp and narrow as a needle. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I, Minister Ju.”

Hidden in the shadows of the street, they stared at each other in silence. Neither of them felt any fear, only respect coupled with even greater suspicion and distrust.

“What is the Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion, the great Chin’Ameh, doing here?” Minister Ju finally asked.

“I came here at the invitation of Emperor Morgan,” he replied. He didn’t feel particularly obligated to justify himself to the Minister — their power was pretty much equal, after all. The difference in their social status was so insignificant that Chin’Ameh could just turn around and leave at any moment. “He wants me to take the best of the Darnassian younger generation back to my Pavilion.”

“Why is the strongest mage in the Dragon Lands catering to the wants of the ruler of some human rabble?”

“Because I don’t think of humans as rabble, Minister Ju,” Chin’Ameh said coldly. “Let’s face it, the progress that took the Dragon Lands more than four eras to achieve took the humans eight times less to emulate.”

“What do you mean by that, Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion?”

“What I mean is clear to everyone except the elite of our country. One day, the humans will rise so high that they will also rise up against us. By the High Heavens, that rebellion will only lead to blood and pain.”

“You’re saying dangerous things, Chin’Ameh,” Ju warned, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t forget that you’re only allowed to breathe by the grace of His Imperial Majesty.”

“We all are,” he shrugged calmly.

The Minister took a step forward. Chin’Ameh’s famous carved staff appeared in his hands. It was clear that any further attempts to invade his personal space wouldn’t be tolerated.

“You can wear this mask of integrity for as long as you want,” Minister Ju growled, his voice losing its human qualities, “but we both know who you really are and what you truly want… Traitor!”

That last word was spat out by the Minister. Chin’Ameh’s face showed a mixture of rage and understanding that, no matter how equal in power they were, attacking an official of the Ruby Palace meant signing your own death warrant.

“And what are you doing here, Minister?”

“I’m looking for a young dragon who, without permission, left the confines of the Dragon Lands and interfered with a vassal territory’s independence.”

Chin’Ameh’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“If there was a single representative of the Dragon Lands here, you can rest assured that, no matter how I feel about you, I would’ve personally brought them back.”

“That, as much as I hate to admit it, I have no doubt about, Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion. That only makes this young scoundrel even more dangerous. The people mustn’t learn about our rule.”

“Am I detecting fear in your voice?”

“If you aren’t afraid of the Emperor’s wrath, Chin’Ameh, then you’re a fool.”

He wanted to laugh in the Minister’s face. He wanted to tell him that he’d found this ‘young dragon’ a long time ago... but he couldn’t.

“I suspect that you, old wizard, know more than you’re letting on.”

“I already told you, Minister. If I had found this young dragon, I would’ve reported it immediately.”

“You-”

Minister Ju was interrupted by a sudden surge of indescribable fear. It squeezed his heart, looked inside his soul, and left him feeling as if the Minister had just experienced an encounter with some terrifying monster. By the High Heavens, everything that could frighten the Minister this much lived in the most guarded territories of the Dragon Lands, and given his power, there were very few creatures with that kind of might to begin with.

At first, the Minister thought that this was the result of a curse, but when he looked at Chin’Ameh, he realized that the Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion was experiencing the same fear he was.

“What is thi-”

“I don’t know, Minister, but I’m sure it doesn’t bode well…”

They both turned their gazes toward the jungle of Karnak. It was thousands of miles away, but even so, all the way from the capital of Dahanatan, a small, black star could be seen flashing momentarily in the clear, daytime sky.

Chapter 849

“H adjar!”

Tom, who’d been standing closest to him, tried to grab Hadjar by the hem of his clothes, but failed. Darkhan leapt off the edge and disappeared into the clouds. For a moment, all the cultivators were shocked. Then they saw the Quetzal bird, woven out of many blue and black energy threads, fly out from underneath the ship.

Rekka Geran recoiled and found herself leaning against Karein Tarez. Instantly stepping aside, she turned to him, only to find him in even greater shock.

“What was that just now?” Karein asked slowly.

“Release the bombs, captain!” Einen shouted, bringing everyone back to their senses. Einen yelling was quite a rare phenomenon.

“What? Ah, yes.” Captain Next adjusted his tricorn hat, grabbed the brass neck of the communication tube, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Release all available charges!”

The hatches opened and bulky barrels rolled out into the sky. Streams of blue wind separated from the bird. They picked up the charges and carried them along.

“What is he up to?” Anise went over to the railing and stood next to Einen. “How is this even possible?”

“It’s an Imperial level meditation Technique,” Rekka breathed. “There’s no other way to explain it. Only an Imperial level meditation Technique would allow him to transform into his own Spirit and-”

“You’ve never seen Hadjar fight before,” Galkhad said, “How do you know what his Spirit looks like?”

Rekka looked at the giant as if he were an idiot.

Dora cursed again, which made the others look back at what was happening on the vanguard ship of the Lascanian squadron. With just two attacks, Hadjar had annihilated every living soul on that ship, and turned it into a sieve. His terrifying sword slashes, even at this distance, made most of the sailors and soldiers grab their weapons for comfort. The members of Hadjar’s squad, who were far more powerful, stiffened and turned pale. Anise alone withstood the pressure of Hadjar’s power and Kingdom.

“There’s Derek of the Steppe,” Karein said sourly.

A tall, white-haired swordsman landed in front of Hadjar, leaping over several ships in one bound. They exchanged a few words, after which Hadjar detonated the charges.

“Fucking barbarian!” Einen shouted.

Unexpectedly, Hadjar’s aura didn’t disappear, but instead became even stronger.

“Well, well. They weren’t lying.” Karein gripped the railing tightly. “Poor Laris. He had no idea who he was dealing with.”

Everyone on the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ watched as Hadjar bent and subdued the pillars of purple flame with his will alone. No one could believe that a relatively undistinguished cultivator was capable of such a feat. Forming a flaming sword from the fire of ship bombs and burning the neighboring ships with it, Hadjar directed it at the enemy.

“Come on, barbarian! Send him to his forefathers!” Galkhad shook his fist.

The great hero Derek of the Steppe turned the flame sword into a small fireball, then threw it into the sky.

“Hold on!” The boatswain roared. “Brace for impact!”

He gave the command on time, but several sailors and soldiers still didn’t manage to save themselves. When the shield of the Darnassian ship was struck by a fiery wind, a dozen people who were unable to keep their footing were thrown overboard. Their screams were drowned out by the roar of the flames that devoured their bodies.

“By the Great Turtle!” Einen grabbed captain Next by his shirt and shouted at him, “Remove the shields, captain! Put all your energy, every last drop of it, into a descent, or we’ll all die here!”

It was clear that he wasn’t shouting because he feared the great Lascanian hero, but something else entirely. Captain Next promptly gave the command. The shields were gone. The cinders landed on the sails, making them smoke and leaving many charred holes behind.

It was only thanks to the safety ropes that the sailors and soldiers who’d survived the first impact didn’t soar into the sky when the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ plummeted through the clouds. The storm cloud created by Taniged the Cloudy was rapidly turning into a faraway dot, but even so, the echo of an incredible Technique still reached the ‘Gryphon Feathers’.

“What’s going on?”

“What is this?”

“By the demons!”

“Forefathers, save me!”

“Gods help us!”

Everyone felt like they were already dead, but, instead of reaching their forefathers’ house, a hungry abyss began to devour them instead. The sky above them turned black. A cloaked figure was clearly visible in this darkness. It exuded an aura of such immense power that it bent the streams of the World River, tormenting them with its mere presence. His black cloak somehow looked even darker than the darkness surrounding them. His hair was whiter than the first snow.

The man waved his hand and a strip of absolute darkness tore through the universe. What he did next looked so terrible that the sailors and soldiers who didn’t look away instantly turned gray, and those who were weaker died from the horror.

The ‘Gryphon Feathers’ looked like a ghost ship as it emerged from the darkness: it had numerous holes all over its surface, torn sails, decks drenched in blood, shattered cannons, broken storage crystals, and disrupted hieroglyphs. The cultivators, covered in cuts and deep wounds, hung unconscious on the safety ropes. Many of the strongest, Imperial level armor sets were reduced to scraps. The metal had dug into skin and muscle, slicing through flesh and crushing bones. Their Cores were completely empty, and their energy bodies were so damaged that a little bit more harm would’ve made them join the already departed. Blood dripped from the falling ship. It soon disappeared into the jungle.

In the sky, after the devouring darkness disappeared, there was no trace of the Lascanian squadron or the storm cloud. Nothing was left, just the clear sky, in which black flashes appeared occasionally. Flashes that looked like the silhouettes of a sword. Among them, the man in the black cloak gradually faded and disappeared. The wind ruffled his hair, and his eyes were fixed on the sky. If someone had been nearby, they would’ve heard a horrible threat:

“I hope you can hear me, false gods. Soon, I’ll return and destroy this world.”

The world that had survived the attack of the Black General’s soul fragment froze in terror.

Chapter 850

A fter opening his eyes, Hadjar at first thought that he’d fallen into the abyss of the demons. He was lying near a bright bonfire and black figures dressed in colorful clothes were dancing around him, rattling bone and stone beads.

A bonfire that was meant to burn an initial-stage Spirit Knight, whose veins were filled with the blood of a Lord of the Heavens, and whose energy body had been strengthened by the orcs’ Wolf Broth? It was difficult to even imagine who could’ve started such a fire and what kind of wood was being used to maintain it.

“Ulsha ashani kumkum,” the figure nearest to him said to Hadjar. The creature put a hand on his chest as he tried to get up, and Hadjar cried out because of the unexpected pain, then sank back into deep oblivion. Before that, he could smell the rain and see long, black hair. He wondered who it belonged to.

***

“Derek!”

The man who’d fallen from the sky and landed in kind Annette’s village shouted something in his language and tried to get up. The Nature Speaker of the Tekmet tribe put his hand on the man’s chest.

“Calm down, warrior! Hush-hush,” he passed a little of his power through his body and into the stranger’s natural flows. Normally, this tiny amount of power couldn’t even hurt a baby, but the stranger, who was missing half of his soul, couldn’t bear it and fainted from the pain.

“Speaker!” Annette leapt up from a mat. The rings in her brown hair danced as she moved. “You’ll kill him, Speaker!”

“Shut up, Annette!” A tall, broad-shouldered man barked at her. Bare-chested, wearing only a multicolored skirt and braided sandals, he looked menacing and spoke in a stern tone. His chest and forearms were covered in oval scars, as if someone had sewn beads under his skin. “You brought an outsider to the tribe! You broke the rules! Now you also dare to address the Speaker without permission?”

Annette immediately crossed her arms over her chest so that her hands rested on her shoulders and her elbows covered her stomach. She knelt down and touched the ground with her forehead.

“Forgive me, Pathfinder!”

The man just shook his head.

“This isn’t how I raised you,” he whispered softly, so that only Annette could hear him. Then, turning to the bony, bald man whose jet-black skin was decorated with a complex, scarlet pattern, he asked, “May I ask you a question, Speaker?”

“Permission granted, Pathfinder,” the man responded, not looking up from his task.

“What’s wrong with the stranger?”

The Speaker took some leaves from an earthenware bowl, put them in his mouth, chewed them, then spat the mixture into his palm. He lifted the stranger’s head, pinched his nose, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, the Speaker placed the mixture on his tongue. The stranger swallowed automatically, coughed, and began to twitch and convulse. The Speaker’s minions surrounded him and held his limbs and torso down.

“Be careful. Do you want Annette’s pet to go to the Eternal Springs ahead of his time?”

“So he won’t die, Speaker?” The strangely scarred man asked.

“All of us, Pathfinder, will one day return to the Eternal Springs and embrace the Firstborn. But this warrior’s time has not yet come.”

“What makes you think he’s a warrior?”

The Speaker took his bowls and, after whispering something into them, threw them into the fire. The flame hissed, erupted upwards, and then died down.

He made several gestures and stepped into the flames. Even though they were so hot that they could destroy a Lord, they didn’t cause any harm to the man who didn’t even have the aura of a simple practitioner.

When he stepped back onto the mats that covered the ground beneath the leather walls of the tent, he looked the same as he had a moment before, except for the occasional flicker of crimson light within his tattoos.

The Speaker sat down cross-legged to the right of the Pathfinder. Annette, a girl in the bloom of youth that wore a strange garment made up of many beads, stayed in her strange position. Her skirt, narrower and tighter than that of the males, barely covered her powerful, muscular calves.

“Tell us your story, Annette,” the Speaker said.

If anyone else had ignored the Pathfinder’s question, they would’ve instantly incurred his wrath, as it was a terrible offense to treat the words of the Pathfinder lightly amongst the Ahari people. The only exception to this rule were those who were on par with him, like the Nature Speaker, the person directly responsible for the survival of the tribe in the Green House.

“Thank you, Nature Speaker,” Annette said, straightening up and adjusting her odd clothes. “Two hours south of here, I communicated with the water Spirit in the lake-”

“You shouldn’t communicate with the Spirits of the elements, daughter!” The Pathfinder’s eyes showed a mix of anger over his daughter’s disobedience and concern for her safety.

“Quell your inner fire, Pathfinder.” The Speaker put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m talking to your daughter right now, and you’re listening.”

The Pathfinder’s eyes continued to burn with anger, but he didn’t dare open his mouth again.

Annette shivered. She could already feel the wet branches of the Weeping Tree hitting her thighs. Her father wouldn’t let her off so easily and would tell her mother, who would undoubtedly punish her thoroughly. But that would come later, right now, she had to answer the Speaker’s questions. Annette didn’t dare look up and meet his eyes. Since her childhood, she’d heard stories about Nature Speakers, and was in awe of them.

“When the Spirit of the lake answered, I tried to create the First Form-” She stopped and turned to her father.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” the Speaker whispered, “Hearing a Spirit at your age is a great achievement. If you manage to create the first Five Forms before the last moon of the year, I’ll think about granting you some of my knowledge.”

The Pathfinder glanced at the Speaker, but said nothing. He respected the laws and traditions, and wasn’t going to be disrespectful. Her mother would punish her later anyway.

“For a moment, I thought that I had succeeded, but then the world was swallowed by darkness.”

The other people, upon hearing these words, made strange signs in the air.

“Go on, child.”

“When the darkness disappeared,” she looked at the stranger who was breathing heavily, tightly wrapped in the leaves of the healing tree. “He fell from the sky and into the lake. He was so badly injured that, at first, I thought he was dead. But when I got closer, I heard him moaning and realized he was still alive. I might’ve made a mistake by bringing him to our village, but, father, Nature Speaker, I couldn’t do anything else! He was alive and I didn’t want him to die because of my negligence!”

“Whether you made a mistake or not, child, only time will tell. Now we must make sure that the stranger survives the night. Since you brought him to our village, you will join me and my minions in keeping him alive.” The Speaker patted Annette on the head, and then turned to the Pathfinder. “It’s your turn now, my brother.”

“I think you’re too soft on your niece,” he grumbled as he got to his feet. “Maybe it’s because the Green House took your children.”

“Maybe, my brother. Now leave my tent. There’s a long night ahead of us, and I don’t want your inner fire to harm the stranger. He’s already close to leaving for the Eternal Springs.”

As he left the tent, the Pathfinder muttered, “He better go there,” and, even more quietly, he added, “Otherwise, we’ll be the ones who end up in the Eternal Springs.”

Chapter 851

W hen Hadjar opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was a pair of sky-blue eyes. They were so bright that they matched his. They belonged to a beautiful girl with jet-black skin. The figures he had mistaken for demons in his delirium were actually people with pitch-black skin. Perhaps, if he’d been a native of the Darnassus Empire, he would’ve been really confused by this. But, given his past on Earth, he was just a little surprised to actually encounter black people in this world.

Einen’s paranoia had rubbed off on him though, so he still used his Gaze to make sure that the dark-skinned girl had nothing in common with demons. She had a strange energy body, or rather, she had something instead of it. Hadjar had never seen anything like it in his life. Instead of a Core, channels, and threads, she had a kind of haze with a bright star within her solar plexus.

“Kum-kum,” the girl said, “Ashani dukati kaheni ushmail’ sariza-”

“I don’t understand,” Hadjar interrupted her, wheezing.

[Adaptive translation and speech recognition activated]

The tablet that he’d received from the Key in the Mage City flashed in Hadjar’s mind. He’d assumed that it was only thanks to the tablet that the neural network had been able to create the training mode which he was now using. After studying the Technique contained within it, he’d been able to improve his cognitive abilities. The more time passed, the more noticeable the effect of his accelerated cultivation was. And now, he somehow understood that the language of the tablet was almost identical to the one the strange girl was using.

“Lay still, warrior,” she repeated, smearing something over a hideous cross-shaped scar on his left side. “Don’t move. With these injuries, you’ll need another week of rest to recover.”

“Thank you,” Hadjar whispered with dry lips.

The girl jerked away from him. She pulled back the hem of her skirt, drew a dagger, and then pinned him down, putting the dagger to his throat.

“How do you know our language, stranger?” She hissed.

Her black skin, the beads of sweat on it glistening in the firelight… Orune would’ve found her immensely attractive, but Hadjar just wanted to survive.

“I travel a lot,” he said, “and have the memory of a Spirit Knight.”

“A Spirit Knight?” The girl became curious. She looked to be about eighteen. “The Spirits don’t have knights! Are you delusional, or just mad?”

What? The Spirits don’t have knights? What does she mean by that? Technically, she’s right, but the classification of the cultivation levels and stages is known even in the Dragon Lands!

“I don’t know,” Hadjar wheezed. He saw a jug behind the girl and reached for it with his hand. “Water…”

She didn’t dare to get off her captive for a while. But, after realizing that he wasn’t going to hurt her, and that he couldn’t even if he wanted to, she got up and went over to the jug. She did all of this while keeping a wary eye on him.

She was a real beauty and Hadjar gladly kept an eye on her as well. Everything about her, from her strange, beaded top and knee-length, colorful skirt, to the way they accentuated the features of her body, was captivating. He could’ve sworn that he’d never seen legs that muscular and well-toned on any other woman in the empire.

“Drink.” She handed him the jug.

He took a sip, coughed, and then greedily drank more. After he emptied half the jug, he wiped his lips and paused. To his delight, he realized that it was the cleanest and tastiest water he’d ever drunk in his life.

Being a Spirit Knight and fully aware of the processes that had taken place in his body, he realized that if he drank this water for a year, or a year and a half, it would remove all the impurities that had been left behind after he’d become a Spirit Knight. Damn it! In Dahanatan, it would cost him no less than ten thousand coins per bowl to buy this kind of water.

“Where am I?” He could speak more easily now.

The girl shook her head, “I’ll ask the questions here. You’re here because of me.”

“Alright,” Hadjar agreed.

It would be stupid to argue with someone who was holding a dagger to his throat, in a tent surrounded by at least two dozen armed and very strange people. Thanks to Orune’s training, Hadjar was able to sense their presence despite their best efforts to conceal themselves.

“What’s your name?”

“Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.”

“Where do you come from?”

Hadjar was about to reply, but suddenly realized that this wasn’t the easiest question for him to answer.

“Why are you silent?” The girl narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m coming up with an answer,” he confessed. “To be honest, I have no idea what to call it. Well, okay, so, I’m from the capital of Darnassus, Dahanatan.”

She fluttered her long eyelashes a couple of times.

“What is a ‘capital’ and a ‘Darnassus’?”

Hadjar almost cursed. Where had he ended up?

“Where did you find me?”

“I already said that I’ll be the one asking the questions here,” the girl pointed her dagger at Hadjar’s chest. “So, we’ll continue-”

“Hey, you, behind the tent,” Hadjar turned toward the exit. “I’m grateful to you for saving me, and I’m willing to pay the price you set for that, but let’s talk face to face, as is proper.”

Hadjar hoped they would answer him.

At first, nothing happened, but then two men came in. They were clearly related, even though they were very different. A broad-shouldered, scarred man and his thin, tattooed counterpart. The first also had a strange energy structure, and the second… Hadjar swallowed. It was impossible. Absurd. Ridiculous. But it was also true.

The thin man with the strange-looking, pulled-back hairstyle had the same aura as the mages from the vision given to Hadjar by the Shadow of the Last Mage.

“I welcome you to my home, North Wind. I’m Iblim, the Pathfinder, and this is my brother, Ablim, the Nature Speaker. Now, let us talk.”

By the High Heavens! What is this crazy place?

Chapter 852

L ooking at the two of them, Hadjar felt like this was almost funny in a way. His current situation with these strange people reminded him of the Black General’s time in Mage City. Moreover, this was his second time going on a sky voyage, getting injured, falling from the sky, and then getting picked up and treated by the locals. Maybe they would ask him to fight against some demons as well?

Iblim, the Pathfinder, who was decorated with strange scars, sat down in front of Hadjar on the skins that were piled on the floor.

Examining the interior of the tent, Hadjar assumed that these people didn’t know about chairs and pillows. He realized that he was lying on a very fluffy pelt instead of in a bed.

“You came down from heaven,” Iblim took a stick from the fire and swung it. Hadjar didn’t feel any disturbances in the flows of the World River, but the smoke streaming from the stick’s charred end turned into the image a falling man. “We want to know why. Who are you?”

The other man, Ablim, the Nature Speaker, stood behind his large brother. He crossed his arms over his lean but muscular chest and stared straight into Hadjar’s eyes. Hadjar had been stared down by a variety of entities, from spoiled nobles to creatures that could kill half of Dahanatan with only their will, and not once had Hadjar looked away. Until today. It was impossible to look directly into the dark eyes of the Nature Speaker. There was something about him that affected his very core. It was something that he didn’t even understand.

“I’m from the Dark Storm tribe,” Hadjar replied.

Iblim and Ablim looked at each other. They seemed to be wordlessly discussing something. The girl, who hadn’t introduced herself, was adding firewood to the fire. The twigs crackled merrily as they disappeared into the flames.

Apart from the three of them and Hadjar, there was no one else in the tent, but Hadjar clearly remembered that when he’d woken up before, there had been a lot more people around.

“What are you looking for in the Green House, man of the Dark Storm tribe?”

Hadjar asked his neuronet about the Green House, and it gave only an old quote in response: ‘The demons of the Green House are invisible at night and quiet in the daytime, bringing death with their yellow claws’.

Well, the nails of these people, as well as their teeth, were whiter than those of many nobles. This, combined with the medicine that was healing his physical and energy wounds before their very eyes, suggested that their alchemy was better than what was practiced in Darnassus.

“May I ask a question, honorable Pathfinder?”

Iblim narrowed his eyes. The firelight danced across his face and Hadjar saw that the man had strange tattoos instead of eyebrows. They were made up of some odd hieroglyphs that even his neuronet couldn’t recognize. So, Hadjar immediately gave the command to memorize that tattoo.

“I don’t know what ‘honorable’ means, but I hope you didn’t just insult me in my own home.”

So, the laws of hospitality were still respected even in this strange place. The fact that they didn’t know the word ‘honorable’, which had existed in the seven Empires even back when they’d been the Hundred Kingdoms, made it clear that they had lived in seclusion for a long time, maybe even since the destruction of Mage City…

“Please forgive me if I’ve offended you in any way,” Hadjar bowed slightly.

All three of them made signs in the air and recoiled. The one who called himself the Nature Speaker reached for the fire. A part of the flame seemed to come to life: it separated from the fire and wrapped itself around the man’s palm. The light filled his numerous tattoos. The man uttered words that Hadjar’s neural network translated as ‘The Third Form: Subordination’.

The flames that had wrapped around Ablim’s hand suddenly took the form of a fiery... boomerang — a weapon that Hadjar had never seen in this world before, but remembered from the films back on Earth.

Despite the fact that Hadjar didn’t feel even a hint of energy disturbances in the streams of the World River once again, or mysteries, or anything of the sort, he clearly understood that if this boomerang hit him… Well, perhaps if he managed to summon his Black Blade and Call, and activated the Sword Kingdom to protect himself, he would escape with only serious fractures and burns from the hit. Otherwise, he’d end up dead.

“In the Green House, man of the Dark Storm tribe, it’s considered an insult to bow to people in the manner you just used,” Iblim said rather sternly.

“I meant no harm!” Hadjar replied. “I don’t know your customs, but I swear I had no intention of offending you or your gods.”

Hadjar mentally said goodbye to his friends and sister. The Nature Speaker swung the fire boomerang and almost threw it, but then the girl stood between them.

“He’s a stranger!” She exclaimed. “He’s as stupid as a baby and as blind as a water mole! Don’t take away the gift of the Eternal Springs from him!”

“Annette!” The Pathfinder’s voice was stern.

“Father,” the girl fell to her knees. She put her hands on her shoulders, crossed her elbows on her stomach, and touched her forehead to the ground.

“Your mother is washing clothes by the river, and she needs help.”

“Yes, father,” the girl, rising to her feet and not daring to meet anyone’s eyes, left the tent.

At the very threshold, she paused and even slightly jerked her head in Hadjar’s direction, but, not daring to turn around, she still went outside. Hadjar glimpsed the busy village through the beaded curtain.

“She’ll be a great Hunter.” Ablim lowered the boomerang and, with a flick of his wrist, dismissed the fire. “I can feel the breath of the Firstborn on her skin and hear the whisper of Nature in the rustle of her hair.”

“You love your niece too much, brother,” Iblim smiled a little, and then turned to Hadjar. “Bowing to the Defiled is a great insult in the Green House. But it is a lethal mistake to mention their false name.”

Hadjar realized that they were talking about the gods. Or rather, about their history, which he’d learned about thanks to Steppe Fang.

Chapter 853

“L et’s start from the beginning, man of the Dark Storm tribe.” Iblim got up and walked over to a wicker basket. Taking out an odd, dried fish, he threw it to Hadjar. Then he took out two more. Keeping one for himself, he gave the other to his brother. “What are you looking for in the Green House?”

Hadjar bit into the fish he didn’t recognize. It was dry, hard, smelled of unfamiliar spices, but was overall quite tolerable. He’d had worse, far worse…

“You can call me Hadjar.” Deciding that it was necessary to establish at least some sort of connection, he acted in accordance to what he’d been taught by South Wind and life. “First of all, Pathfinder and Nature Speaker, I would like to apologize for all my words, both the ones that have been said and the ones that will be said.”

“Speak freely, stranger,” Iblim waved his fish around. Hadjar clearly sensed that Ablim was the stronger of the two, but he was staying silent. “My daughter, Annette, despite her youth, carries the wisdom of our people. She’s right, you’re just a stranger, and so, we’ll treat you like a small child that hasn’t been initiated by the Firstborn yet.”

“Thank you. Before I answer your questions, Pathfinder, I need to ask my own. Would that be alright?”

Once again, the brothers exchanged glances and discussed something silently for a short time. He couldn’t discern if they had a telepathic connection or the same thing Einen and he had.

“You can,” Iblim nodded, “but I can’t promise that I’ll give you the answers.”

“Thank you,” Hadjar said.

The fish they’d given him was difficult to maneuver: it hadn’t been cleaned, the scales flowed in different directions, and with each bit of skin he tore off, some meat was lost. However, the two brothers finished their snack quickly and Iblim went to get some more.

They could’ve been doing all of this to make him lower his guard. Ablim was still staying near the fire during their conversation. The flames reached toward his palms. They quivered as if they were breathing. Perhaps Hadjar was just being paranoid.

“What you call the ‘Green House’ is the jungle of Karnak’Hacks?”

Judging by the way the flames flickered, he’d said something wrong again, but the two brothers didn’t lash out. The Nature Speaker remained calm, and the Pathfinder only froze for a second.

“Do you know what that name translates to from the language of our Ancestors, Hadjar?”

It was obvious that he didn’t, but Hadjar still answered him:

“No.”

“The Land of the Impure.” Ablim, with a deft movement of his index finger’s nail, cut off a layer of scales from the fish, then nimbly picked up the meat and immediately put it in his mouth. “Once upon a time, before the Heavenly Land of the Speakers was empty, those who were like us were taken to the Green House. Those with skin the color of the night sky.”

“Is the Heavenly Land of the Speakers the Mage City? The Floating Island?”

“That was what the pale people called it. But that was a long time ago and those who called us the Impure have long since disappeared. But we remained, and we are the last keepers of Knowledge.”

Hadjar looked at Ablim again. His tattoos no longer seemed like just decoration or a traditional thing, but something sacred and mysterious instead.

“So, are you, Nature Speaker, a mage?”

Hadjar had no idea what he’d done this time, but Ablim looked displeased, and even offended. Noticing his expression, Iblim laughed. He smiled so widely that his tattooed gums were visible. How painful had getting those tattoos been?

“In the Green House, Hadjar, you can’t speak to the Nature Speaker without asking and getting permission first.”

“Got it.” Hadjar cleared his throat and looked into Ablim’s eyes. Having prepared himself, he was able to withstand the pressure of the man’s incomprehensible power. “May I speak to you, Nature Speaker?”

They looked at each other, and finally, Ablim answered:

“It’s the Pathfinder’s job to deal with unwise children.”

Iblim gave his brother a quick glance, and then sighed somewhat wearily. Hadjar realized that he hadn’t received permission. Well, he would get a chance to speak to this strange man, who was the only mage for many miles around, eventually. It should be said that, in the seven Empires, he was a kind of miracle, as mages were considered extinct.

“But you’re right, Hadjar. ‘Talesh’ is translated from the ancestral language as ‘Speaker’. But it’s too difficult to comprehend for those who don’t have Knowledge. Therefore, it was simplified to Ash, which means mage or wizard.”

For some reason, ‘Ash’ seemed familiar to Hadjar, but he couldn’t remember from where.

“It’s a great honor to meet a mage… I mean, a Speaker.”

Ablim turned away. The strangers’ words meant nothing to him.

“Pathfinder,” Hadjar asked Iblim, “did you know that your Green House is a part of the Darnassus Empire?”

“All I know, Hadjar, is that the Green House is a part of the Cosmos, a grain of it. Tiny. Invisible to the sands of time. Just like any other tribe, no matter how big it is.”

“So, you do know.”

Iblim said nothing. Instead, he got up, went over to another basket, rummaged through it for a while, then pulled out something and threw it to Hadjar. He caught it in midair. In the palm of his hand lay a jade medallion, darkened by age. In the center of it was the symbol for ‘Life’, at the top, intertwining in a bizarre pattern, was the hieroglyph for ‘Power’, and the base of the whole thing was the elongated symbol for ‘Earth’. ‘Power over Life on Earth’ — the coat of arms of the Imperial Family and the Darnassus Empire as a whole.

“This is all that’s left of those who came here before, claiming that we, the Green House tribes, belong to someone.” Iblim’s eyes flashed. “Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, do you also want to claim that we belong to the Darnassus Empire?”

Chapter 854

W hat had Anise said? An expedition consisting of forty Lords, two Nameless, and one great hero had been sent to these jungles and then disappeared without a trace. Hadjar now understood why that had happened; if there were at least a dozen people like Ablim in Karnak, then... Of course, Ablim was strong, however, he wasn’t strong enough to kill a great hero. Something was wrong here…

“I wasn’t going to claim that, Pathfinder,” Hadjar held the medallion of the fallen warrior of Darnassus in his hand. As someone from the same military, he felt a certain connection with those people from the past. “Can I have this?”

“You can.” Iblim shrugged and sat back down on the pelt. “Did you ask your questions, Hadjar?”

“I did.”

“Then it’s time you answered mine. Think carefully before you say something. We are going to treat you like an unreasonable child, but even children are sometimes punished for their misdeeds.”

Hadjar nodded.

“I’ll ask you again, Hadjar, what are you doing in the Green House?”

Hadjar put aside the rest of his fish and settled down more comfortably on the pelts. No matter how this conversation turned out, at least they wouldn’t kill him – they’d brought him into their home and respected the laws of hospitality. But he still had to be prepared for anything.

“The Emperor of Darnassus, Morgan the Bold, sent me to the Green House. He didn’t know that people lived here and-”

“The pact between the tribes of the Green House and the Imperial Family of Darnassus was signed forty thousand years ago,” the Nature Speaker suddenly interrupted Hadjar. “That isn’t a long enough time for cultivators,” he spat out the last word, “to forget about old agreements.”

Hadjar didn’t know what this pact had been about. That damned Morgan was once again playing his own game and not telling him anything about it! How else could one explain the fact that he hadn’t warned his squad that they would encounter people who weren’t very keen on strangers in the jungles of Karnak? Hadjar understood perfectly well that if Annette hadn’t brought him here, and he’d come on his own instead, with his Call and Black Blade, he would’ve been met by Ablim’s fire boomerang. He’d also just found out that the ‘higher ranks’ of the Green House tribes were aware of the existence of cultivators.

“So, Hadjar, why were you sent here?” Iblim’s tone hinted that he wasn’t exactly welcome in their tribe.

“I can assure you that this has nothing to do with your tribes,” Hadjar replied, although he was no longer so sure that Morgan hadn’t included them in his schemes. Hadjar hated those, especially if he didn’t understand them.

“Why did the Emperor of Darnassus send one of his men to us?”

Hadjar cleared his throat, “The war between the Empires of Darnassus and Lascan has started.”

Iblim shrugged, “The tribes fight all the time: for food, territory, survival... This is no reason to send a pale man over here.”

The disgust with which the Pathfinder uttered the word ‘pale’ was comparable only to being forced to bathe in a barrel of dung.

“The Lascanians, including two of their strongest fighters, came here and-”

“I’ve lost the path of your story,” Iblim said. Hadjar noted that they used ‘path’ instead of ‘thread’ here. “You just said that the Emperor of Darnassus sent you here, and now you’re telling us about these Las… Lascanese...”

Hadjar almost laughed. Lascanese... it sounded so funny to him, he really had to remember it for later. Well, that meant that they knew about Darnassus, but didn’t know about the neighboring lands.

“I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for the Lascanians. They crossed the border of Darnassus and are heading here in search of an ancient tomb that belongs to a Lord of the Heavens.”

The flame flickered once more and moved toward Ablim’s hand, and his brother’s gaze became even heavier than before.

“This is a secret, Hadjar, that not even most Pathfinders and Speakers know of, unless their tribes are among those who pass down the Knowledge.”

“Pathfinder, this secret is now known by the entire elite of Darnassus! And Lascan as well.”

“Well,” Iblim crossed his arms over his powerful chest. “If they want to disturb the peace of our patron, they can feel free to come here. They’ll suffer the same fate as their predecessors.”

Hadjar sighed heavily and shook his head. This was the reaction he’d feared.

“You won’t be able to sit this one out, Pathfinder. No one can. The war will affect everyone, even the most remote corners of the Empire.”

“The Green House protects its sons and daughters, stranger,” Ablim hissed. He hadn’t dismissed the flame and let it return to the fire, it was still swirling around his hand. “And those who want to enter its territory will go to the Eternal Springs.”

Why aren’t you listening to me? Hadjar screamed internally. “That battle in the sky, which you probably saw, was just the beginning. I might’ve been able to kill one great Lascanian hero, but there was another one there with him. Taniged the Cloudy will look for the tomb. When the Lascanian Emperor learns that Darnassians are also looking for it, he will send reinforcements immediately. Soon, the jungles will be crowded with the best of the best. There will be carnage and bloodshed!”

“You’re right, Hadjar. Blood will be shed,” Iblim’s eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty determination, “the blood of pale people.”

“No matter how strong you are, no one can fend off the power of the Empires! Lascan will send military flying ships here if necessary. A single salvo from a ship of the same class as ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’ would be enough to destroy your entire tribe.”

“Is that a threat, stranger?” The fire boomerang reappeared in Ablim’s hand again.

“No. A fact. You’ll have to step out of the shadows, or-”

“Or what, Hadjar Darkhan?” Iblim narrowed his eyes at him.

“Or show me where that tomb is located. I’ll find out what the Lascanians want, take it, divert them from your lands, and-”

“Impossible!” The brothers shouted in unison. “No one, including you, Hadjar Darkhan, will ever enter the tomb of the Lord of the Heavens. And that’s final.”

“At least give me some basic directions!”

“Impossible.” Iblim rose to his feet, and his brother put the flames back into the fire. Together, they headed for the exit. “We didn’t call you, Hadjar Darkhan, but you still came. Now, you have two options: stay here and try to become a part of our world, or join those whose green stones are in my basket.”

They left the tent, and Hadjar cursed his rotten luck.

Chapter 855

S etting aside a crutch made from an Ormonga Tree, a kind of tree that grew everywhere in this area, Hadjar sat down on the sturdy grass. He was sitting on the bank of a river and looking at the clear, blue sky.

The first week of his life with the Shuk’Arka tribe had come to an end. He’d found out that they were one of the five largest tribes in the Green House, and also one of the ones who passed down the Knowledge. It was because of their teaching skills that their tribe had grown so much… The other tribes of the Green House that wanted their children to get a good education sent them here. According to Hadjar’s estimates, the Shuk’Arka tribe had at least forty thousand people. It was a drop in the ocean by the standards of the Empire, but it was worth noting that almost everyone Hadjar had met had turned out to be a most unusual person.

To begin with, everyone over the age of ten had the same strange energy body Annette had — it looked as if some kind of energy haze was floating inside them, and in its center were multicolored stars which shone brightly.

Hadjar had seen six different colors of stars in the local Speakers. This had nothing in common with the clear and strict energy structure the Cores of cultivators in the seven Empires had.

The title of Pathfinder designated that person as a sort of leader. It was called that because the people here didn’t build houses, didn’t have many possessions, didn’t use mounts, and didn’t farm. They simply wandered from one area to another, and the Pathfinder led the way for them and chose the new place they would stay in.

Unlike cultivators, the locals constantly needed water and food. Special, chosen people harvested water from the river, as well as fruits, roots, and useful leaves. These people were called ‘Collectors’.

Usually, they were accompanied by several ‘Hunters’, who were responsible for hunting. Their weapons were simple spears tipped with animal bones, bows and arrows, slings, and boomerangs. They were all so skilled with them that it seemed like they had at least grasped the One with the World level of weapon mastery. Nevertheless, Hadjar couldn’t sense any Weapon mysteries from them.

But, every time he watched the locals use magic, he felt the hair on his head stand on end. He’d seen a Hunter approach a tree, touch it, whisper something, and the tree trunk had seemingly come to life. A branch shaped like a spear shaft had grown right out of it. A moment later, it had fallen off and turned into a proper shaft.

The tribespeople could also control water. For example, that time when Annette had stretched her hand out toward the water’s surface, which had then divided into multiple parts and formed balls of water. Hadjar had seen the same type of magic before, in the visions shown to him by the Shadow of the last mage in the Sea of Sand. The others could do the same with all four of the basic elements, as well as, horrifyingly, with blood and sunlight.

They called their magic ‘Forms’. The more Forms a tribe member could create, the more powerful they were. The strongest among all of them, who knew all five Forms, was called the Nature Speaker. They were also a sort of local shaman, healer, and even a healer of souls.

Hadjar wrote all of this down, just in case. There wasn’t much need for it, but such simple actions helped him concentrate.

He also secretly checked what was happening in the area from time to time with his Gaze. Four Hunters were always watching him. They switched out every day. He’d underestimated their intelligence because of their simple way of life.

“Damn it all!”

Touching his spatial ring, Hadjar focused his mind on the artifact stored inside of it. After he pulled out the small, wooden die with an arrow carved on its side, he sent a small spark of energy into it. The arrow lit up with a grayish glow, then separated from the die, rose a couple of inches into the air and... Just froze.

Cursing again, Hadjar placed the artifact back into his ring.

“What happened to you?” He whispered.

These past few days, he’d already taken the artifact out dozens of times and tried to find the magic mark that his squad had been supposed to activate. Unfortunately, they hadn’t done so. Hadjar refused to even consider the possibility that the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ had crashed. Most likely, the cultivators either couldn’t activate it, or the signal couldn’t reach Hadjar’s artifact due to some mystical reasons. Hadjar still had no idea where his squad was, so he didn’t try to escape. He could’ve turned into a Quetzal bird and flown away if he’d wanted to. But since Hadjar had no idea what kind of power the Nature Speaker actually possessed, he wasn’t going to risk it just yet.

“Once they realize that you are writing down the pattern of their shift changes, they’ll alter it.”

Hadjar watched Annette come out of the water. He wasn’t sure if she was pretending not to know how gorgeous she looked as the water trickled down the beads of her top and farther still, to the soaked skirt that was sticking to her.

He didn’t immediately get what Annette was trying to say. She’d already approached him and, with a wave of her hand, completely removed all of the water from her hair and clothes. It collected into a small water ball, which she threw into a nearby bush. Hadjar heard someone hiding in the bush swear up a storm, but his neuronet couldn’t translate the curses.

“Thank you for the advice,” Hadjar smiled and put his notes back in his ring.

“Can I talk to you, Hadjar?” The girl asked.

He was delighted, as he’d been avoiding her this whole time so she would come to him. And she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Chapter 856

A nnette sat down next to him. Seeing as tribe members weren’t forbidden from talking to him, the Hunters guarding him didn’t interfere.

Hadjar’s gaze followed her thick braid down her shoulders and lingered on her collarbone. The two years he’d spent training in complete seclusion had made his need for company so strong that the night he’d spent at a brothel had barely quenched his thirst at all. However, he could still keep himself in check.

“Tell me about the outside world,” she asked exactly what he’d expected her to ask.

For some reason, beautiful girls who lived in an isolated society were always attracted to this ephemeral ‘outside world’. Hadjar had already visited several regions in this world, but, so far, he hadn’t found this mythical ‘outside world’. Perhaps it was just the symbol of a universal search for a better life.

“What exactly do you want to know?” He asked.

Annette, after glancing at the bushes, lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Tell me about cities.” Her blue eyes were filled with curiosity and fear. “Is it true that they are made from stone and metal, and that hundreds of tribes live in them?”

He had no idea where Annette had learned about the cities of the Darnassus Empire.

“More like thousands of tribes,” Hadjar said with a smile. “Hundreds of thousands, even.”

“Hundreds of thousands?” Annette gasped. The fire of curiosity in her eyes grew stronger, and her fear gradually faded, but Hadjar needed it to disappear completely. “How can so many people even live together?”

“They can, trust me, and there are so many wonderful things in them that I can’t even describe them all. I’ve been to many cities and have even spent the past few years in a city that’s rumored to have more inhabitants than can be counted.”

Her mouth opened a little in wonder, and Hadjar couldn’t help but notice how plump and pink her lips were. Many women, even after becoming cultivators, spent great sums on alchemical ointments and potions to achieve a similar look. Alchemists earned quite a bit from the beauty products they made.

“There are so many different people, too! Some wear cloth around their heads, tied into complicated patterns. There are people taller than me, who are so big their shoulders are as wide as the stone used for drying fish-”

“People that big can’t possibly exist!”

“I’m telling the truth! And there are those who have eyes as narrow as a sewing needle-”

“How do they see?”

“I sometimes wonder about that myself… I’ve also seen people whose ears are sharper than an arrowhead and who turn into trees when they grow old.”

“Do they turn into trees because of their union with Nature?”

Hadjar had no idea why they did that, or whether all of them turned into trees, or just their Kings.

“I don’t know,” Hadjar shrugged. “These are secrets they keep to themselves.”

Annette nodded in understanding. After all, her tribe had a lot of secrets like that as well.

“When you fell from the sky,” Annette hugged her knees and looked up, “There was a storm. And a very large flying boat came out of it.”

“That was a skyship,” Hadjar explained. “That’s what we call really big flying boats. The largest of them could fit three Shuk’Arka tribes inside of it.”

Annette’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I’ve never seen something so big, even in the old drawings,” she muttered.

Hadjar wanted to ask what drawings she was referring to, but didn’t. Whatever drawings Annette had found were surely older than the seven Empires. That meant that no skyships could be depicted in them. The only exception was the expedition that had disappeared in this area, but it was unlikely that they’d been carrying any drawings with them. What, by all the demons, was going on in this damned jungle?

“Annette,” Hadjar called her name to snap her out of her daze.

“What?”

“You said you saw skyships.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you see the drawings that were on them?”

“I did, but not very clearly… I would’ve seen them more clearly if you hadn’t landed on me.”

Hadjar smiled. The girl smiled back. Her pearly whites would’ve made virgin snow feel envious.

“Did you see this?” Hadjar drew the Lascan Empire’s coat of arms on the ground with his index finger, so that the Hunter could see it too. It was the symbol for ‘sky’ being cut by a sword and impaled by a spear.

Annette stared at it for a moment, and then answered:

“Yes, there were three of them, but none of them reached the ground. They all fell apart.”

“And the people?”

“I didn’t see any people,” she said.

“No people at all?”

“Maybe there were some,” she shrugged, “But I was too busy dragging you to the Nature Speaker’s tent to notice them.”

Hadjar smiled again. Over the course of the three decades of his life, he had found that a ‘mysterious’ smile was the best way to react to any slippery situation when talking to girls.

“Did you see one like this?” Hadjar drew the Darnassian coat of arms and held his breath.

Annette looked at it carefully and didn’t speak for a while. His heart raced.

“I think I did. But it came before the others. The darkness that had bitten the sky didn’t touch it.”

Hadjar breathed a sigh of relief. So, the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ had managed to survive. Well, now that she was so engrossed in their conversation, it was time to ask what he’d planned to ask her all along.

“Can you show me the area where it land-”

The rest of Hadjar’s question was drowned out by a roar and screams. Annette jumped to her feet and turned to look toward the east. There, above the green canopy of the jungle, a streak of scarlet lightning shot up into the sky.

“That’s the signal!” She put her hands over her mouth. “The Tugance!”

“Tugance? What is Tugance?”

Chapter 857

A nnette didn’t get a chance to answer him. The four Hunters who’d been watching Hadjar came out of the bushes. One of them, a tall, slightly skinny young man who was covered in tattoos and wore a leafy loincloth started talking:

“Annette, come with me.”

“But-”

“Annette!” The young man said sternly, to Hadjar’s surprise.

Annette lowered her eyes and followed the young man. One Huntress gave Hadjar a disgusted look and then followed after them. They soon disappeared into the bushes. Hadjar was left alone with two angry, large men. They both held elongated, flat clubs with animal fangs embedded in their edges.

“What is Tugance?” Hadjar asked them.

He didn’t fear these Hunters. He no longer needed a crutch to walk, but he still did it for show. Whatever the Nature Speaker had given him had worked even better than Hera’s medicine.

“It’s not a what, but a who,” one of the warriors boomed. “Come with us, pale stranger. It’s dangerous to stay here.”

Without arguing with them, Hadjar, pretending to still be injured, picked up his crutch and, leaning heavily on it, followed them. When they left the riverbank and entered the camp, to Hadjar’s surprise, it was deserted. Forty thousand people living in a relatively small area usually created an endless amount of background noise, but now everything was quiet. The ‘streets’ between the tents were empty, and the place looked abandoned.

“What’s going on?”

“None of your business.” One of the Hunters poked Hadjar in the back with his club. “Keep walking and don’t ask stupid questions.”

Right now, it was difficult for him to feel like he was a guest of the tribe. However, he knew there was no point in snapping at the two Hunters. Maybe the Nature Speaker had sent them here on purpose. After all, they were members of the tribe, and he was a stranger. If they beat him, it would be reasonable to assume that he’d deserved it. If he beat them, however, it would be considered an unprovoked attack. No ruler could ignore such an insult, including Iblim the Pathfinder.

“Where are we going?” Hadjar asked as they led him through the eastern part of the camp and into the jungle.

“Straight ahead.”

Hadjar had loved forests since childhood, but jungles were different... Walking even just a few feet through the jungle took as much effort as a person needed to get themselves out of quicksand. It was so dense that it was impossible to get through it without the aid of a knife or a dagger.

Somehow, no matter which leaf you pulled at, there were more and more leaves connected to it, turning them into an impassable wall. Even though Hadjar was a strong Spirit Knight, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to get through this jungle alone.

The Hunters paved a way through the foliage with their clubs, and it took a lot of effort. There was barely enough light to see anything, even though it was the middle of the day. Hadjar barely saw his own hand in front of him. At the same time, he was constantly being prodded from behind with a jagged club. So, it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t noticed that they’d arrived at a high, rocky hill.

One of the Hunters went over to a rock, put his hand on it, and whispered something. There was no manipulation of external energy involved, so it wasn’t a spell. Nevertheless, a part of the rock wall moved aside and opened a passage to a huge cave illuminated by glowing spheres embedded in the ceiling.

Inside the cave, there were children and several gray-haired women. It was a place designed to shelter those who couldn’t fight. Whatever was happening on the eastern border of the camp, it would apparently require the strength of all those who could use ‘magic’ and hold weapons in their hands to deal with.

“Go in.” The Hunter pointed his club into the cave. “Stay quiet. Don’t make a single sound.”

“I can help.” It wasn’t pride, but honor that prevented Hadjar from accepting a chance to hide. As long as those who’d saved his life were fighting, he couldn’t hide away and do nothing. “I can fight.”

“You aren’t trusted, stranger. You better just sit down and-”

Hadjar didn’t bother listening to the Hunter. Instead, with a deft movement of his wrist, he knocked the club out of his hands and, before the man could react, hooked his legs with one of his own, hit him across the back of the head, and pushed him inside the cave. The rock behind the Hunter turned solid. He hadn’t hit him too hard, he’d be alright in a minute.

“Which way?” Hadjar thrust his hand forward and the Black Blade appeared right under the other Hunter’s Adam’s apple.

Living without half his soul and with an inability to use external energy, as well as the two years he’d spent on the Storm Mountain, had taught Hadjar how to deal with mages. The hunter pointed with his club. Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the man, and he moved his sword slightly. The Black Blade cut the man’s skin and black mist greedily latched onto the Hunter’s energy body. The man turned pale and moved his club thirty degrees to the left. Hadjar tilted his head to the side, but the Hunter didn’t move his arm any further.

“Thank you.”

Hadjar, turning into a black dragon and carving a path forward for himself, rushed in the indicated direction. The closer he got, the stronger of an aura he felt, and he soon realized who Tugance was. It was a demon.

Chapter 858

H adjar stared at one of the most terrifying and incredible sights he’d ever seen. The blooming jungle had turned into rot. The stench was so awful that he had to breathe through his mouth. The fallen trees were sinking into something gray and bubbling. The mighty trunks that he could’ve only cut down with the help of his Kingdom had been destroyed by this substance so easily and so quickly that almost no trace of them remained. Putrid, acrid, eye-watering smog rose into the air, covering the clear, cloudless azure sky with a gray cloud of death. The sparse streaks of light that managed to break through the deathly column looked like bright, white lightning. Even birds rained down in droves, all of them dead.

The earth, which was also suffering from the decay, glowed with a strange, green light. Spreading out in an odd, spiraling pattern, the glow was coming from a terrifying creature, originating from the ground right under its feet. It had two huge, leathery wings that looked like a mixture of a Dah’Khass’ wings and the wings of an angel from Earth. The monster’s head was actually a horned helmet that looked like a skull. Green light streamed out from beneath its visor, turning everything in the area into rot.

The same light, dripping down like it was a viscous, green liquid, came from an eerie-looking hammer that the demon clutched in its clawed hands. It was a two-sided, heavy warhammer. The sides of the hammer looked like the heads of desert dogs, and their elongated ears looked like fangs and spikes all at once. The demon, clad in dark green armor decorated with skulls, was about seven feet tall, and had an aura equal to a mid-stage Nameless.

“Fo-o-o-o-o-d…” The demon’s voice sounded like a haunting combination of an animal’s growl and a nightmarish rumble.

The demon was holding the Huntress who’d been watching Hadjar a couple of days ago. Her body was gradually disappearing into the murky, gray, bubbling substance. Soon, the demon held an energy haze with a bright star in the center that was an exact copy of the Huntress herself.

Hadjar felt the Black Blade appear in his hand, growling like a hungry monster. A flood of images instantly appeared in his mind. They made it clear that the sword was eager to devour both the Huntress’ soul and the demon.

“Gluttonous asshole,” Hadjar growled.

After Hadjar had grasped the Sword Kingdom, his trusty sword had constantly been demanding food. According to Orune, there was a simple explanation for this — a Sword Kingdom, especially a True Kingdom, had a power that not all Imperial artifacts could handle. A cultivator wielding a True Kingdom and a Divine level artifact was a truly deadly foe because the two were a good fit together.

“Fo-o-o-o-d…” The demon drawled again, and opened its mouth.

What Hadjar had initially thought was a helmet was actually the monster’s head. Its green fangs bit into the soundlessly screaming energy. Given the hunger of the Black Blade, that was definitely the Huntress’ soul.

“Now!” A shout came from one of the five groups of Shuk’Arka warriors.

It was being led by Iblim, the Pathfinder. He had several hundred of his warriors with him. He raised his hands toward the sky and said a few short words. Hadjar was close enough to hear them, but for some reason, he couldn’t understand a single one. The others raised their hands as well. Something powerful happened. So powerful that Hadjar assumed a fighting stance without even realizing he was doing it. His energy surged within him, and he stopped himself from summoning his Sword Kingdom. He still wanted to keep it hidden to use as an ace up his sleeve.

Iblim chanted, “The First Form: Unity!”

“Holy sh-” Hadjar’s curse was drowned out by a roar of stone.

Where Iblim had stood just a second ago, there was now a stone giant. Fifteen feet tall, it held a club in its stone hands. Every step the stone giant took should’ve created an echo of incredible destructive power, but... there was none. Or rather, almost none, just light bursts of power that spread out in the area. Even then, they only broke the branches of trees that hadn’t gotten caught in the green glow of the spreading rot.

“What’s going on here?” Hadjar tightened his grip on his sword.

He’d never seen anything like this before. The greatest battle he’d ever witnessed had been the one between the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School and the great swordsman Orune. The echoes of their Techniques colliding had spread for many miles around and crushed everything that had been standing in their way.

Here, the energy was so concentrated that the echoes seemed to be a disadvantage, and not a ‘secondary’ power. Every step the stone giant Iblim took created a real earthquake. There were cracks in the ground, and waterfalls of rot flowed into them.

“F-o-o-o-o-o-d…” The demon repeated.

When it finished devouring the Huntress’ spirit, it abruptly stretched out its hand toward the sky. A stream of gray mass filled with a green glow shot up from under Iblim’s stone feet.

Hadjar instinctively recoiled. That gray pillar had incredible power. The demon that had just devoured the Huntress’ soul was a frightening sight, but its ability to create something comparable in power to an Imperial level Technique with just a flick of its hand was even more frightening.

The stone giant cut the pillar in half with his club.  With a mighty leap that cracked the ground and sent out a gust of wind that crushed the nearby trees, he covered the distance between them almost instantly and brought his club down toward the creature’s head.

“F-i-i-i-ght!” The demon roared.

It raised its hammer and swung it so that the stone club struck between the desert dogs’ fangs. The shockwave that erupted outwards after their clash sent clumps of rot and green slime flying through the air. A sphere of misty mud formed and expanded until Hadjar got in its way.

As he raised his sword, he suddenly realized that if he didn’t use his Sword Kingdom’s mysteries to block, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. The Black Blade flashed with a bright, piercing light that instantly coiled into the shape of a dragon’s scaly tail. The resulting defense, to his surprise, was equal to a Heaven level Technique, but didn’t take any energy from his Core. The attack was so powerful that Hadjar, despite his best efforts, was pushed back a few steps.

When the haze cleared and the mist settled, Hadjar stared at what was left of the demon — a pile of bones sinking into the mud, some crumpled and decaying armor, its mangled hammer, and atop it all, a bright, red stone.

His Black Blade roared like a hungry tiger, and Hadjar suddenly realized that this red Core was a great power stone.

The momentary joy on his face was abruptly replaced by understanding. None of the warriors had been triumphant. Most had been knocked unconscious after creating the stone giant. The Pathfinder himself was in no hurry to regain his true form. Brushing the slime off his club, he turned northward.

Hadjar looked around. There were no more than five hundred warriors here, but the battle clearly required at least ten thousand of them. Where were the others?

From the direction Iblim was looking at, an aura even stronger than before surged out, and then a Phoenix rose into the sky with a roar of flame and a shrill cry. This was only the beginning of the battle.

Chapter 859

“S tranger!” The stone giant Iblim roared. “What are you doing here? Where are your guards?”

“I want to help,” Hadjar answered honestly, noting that they were ‘guards’. “And the guards chose to stay with the children and the elderly.”

Iblim turned to him. The stone giant’s eyes were precious stones.

“You’re too weak to fight a Tugance. Go back and ask the Firstborn for protection.”

Hadjar didn’t listen to the Pathfinder, he was too busy looking behind him. The magic Phoenix spread its wings. Waves of wind appeared, conjured by the flapping of its iridescent wings. They were so hot that they burned the air itself. Fireballs, turning into miniature stars as they tore through the air, landed on the treetops. But there was no forest fire. As the fiery stars slid down the leaves of the trees, they turned into miniature copies of the Phoenix and flew away into the jungle. The Phoenix turned into a huge, blazing inferno and struck the ground. A fiery tornado tore through the northern parts of the jungle.

So, the demon hadn’t come alone, and the fact that Iblim had dealt with one demon didn’t mean that he’d be able to defeat the others, the ones the rest of the Shuk’Arka warriors were probably fighting against right now.

“I once destroyed an entire tribe of Tugances,” Hadjar boasted about his victory over the Dah’Khasses.

“Take him away!” The Pathfinder ordered, but it was too late.

Hadjar sensed where a battle was being fought and, turning into a black dragon, rushed straight into the thick of it. He did so not just because he wanted to repay a debt to the Shuk’Arka people, but for several other reasons as well. First of all, he needed to win their trust. And nothing was more trustworthy than helping them in their time of need. Second, Hadjar simply couldn’t sit idle while a battle was raging nearby. He was a cultivator who wanted to soar up the ladder of cultivation, and in order to do so, he had to fight strong foes.

Landing right behind one of the Hunters, Hadjar was just in time to cover himself and the Huntress with the Sword’s mysteries. A black, silver-scaled, ghostly dragon tail wrapped around both of them. The wave of green light that struck it left behind a web of cracks on its surface. As it sank into the ground, it turned the area into an acrid swamp.

Moving the Huntress to the side, Hadjar sent a stream of energy into his feet, while simultaneously summoning a tenth of the power of the ‘Path through the Clouds’ Technique. This allowed him to stand on any surface, even liquid ones. Well, it was a far cry from flying, but it might help him in this battle. His battle against the Potter’s soul fragment was proof of that.

“Great ancestors, give me courage,” Hadjar whispered, “As on this day, you may soon meet me.”

Something terrible was happening in the jungle... Everywhere he looked, there was gray liquid. The trees sank into it, hissing and decaying. The corpses of birds and animals that had been flayed alive disappeared into the gray, gurgling mass. Hundreds of the Shuk’Arka warriors were dying, their hands still reaching for the sky that was covered in a hazy, putrid smog.

A charred body landed next to Hadjar. He was surprised to see himself in the fading gaze of the boy. Not so long ago, he’d thought that it would be great to exchange his bulky Call armor for something more practical. Maybe it was because of his Kingdom that the previously heavy and bulky armor, resembling a moving fortress, had turned into light leather armor with metal rivets. It fit snugly around his body. The cape was gone, too. It had been replaced by a scarf and the semblance of a semicircular, armored skirt that started at the joints of his greaves and breastplate and extended to the ground while leaving his legs completely free to move. The armored skirt also helped him maintain his balance in some mystical way. That was why it had been so easy for Hadjar to execute so many high-speed maneuvers lately.

Snapping out of his shock, Hadjar grabbed the boy’s hand, but didn’t feel his weight. The boy’s arm, up to the elbow, had remained in his hand, but the warrior himself, his eyes glassy, had disappeared beneath the sludge.

Recoiling, Hadjar once again assessed the battlefield. Several thousand warriors, who were doing the impossible thanks to their strange Form magic, were fighting against seventy demons, each of them equal in power to an initial or mid-stage Nameless. An army consisting of seventy Nameless ones! They could’ve destroyed Darnassus if they’d wanted to, but they couldn’t handle the jungle people who didn’t know about cities, cultivation, or artifacts. But they did know about Forms.

Three young women wielding spears attacked a demon using a triangle formation. The demon looked similar to the one that had been killed by the stone giant Iblim.

“The First Form: Unity!” The girls shouted in unison.

They were suddenly enveloped by a green glow. Hadjar felt the breath of Nature in their Form. The speed at which they began to move was amazing. Their attacks, which were generating green rays of energy, were as lethal as a Divine level Technique.

They were very successful at holding the demon back, but they still couldn’t break through its defenses. Off to the side, one of the warriors held out a hand.

“The Second Form: Incarnation,” he chanted.

A bright blue lightning bolt shot out from the center of his palm. Merging with a dozen other lightning bolts the Hunters around him had sent out, it crackled through the air. Evaporating the swampy sludge in its wake, it took on the vague shape of a spear as it flew at the demon.

The three women spread out and plunged their spears into the ground. Instead of the word ‘Form’, they whispered something else, something Hadjar heard but couldn’t grasp, just like with the stone giant Iblim.

[Request processing…

Error…]

Error? What was going on here?

Their spears suddenly turned into... trees. The young, thin trees, instead of reaching for the sun, reached for the demon. By constricting it from three sides and pinning it in place, they left it completely defenseless against the lightning bolt.

The bolt of lightning, which was as long as a battering ram, pierced the monster. It exploded with green light, sending bloody chunks of putrid flesh flying everywhere, and a scarlet stone — the demon’s Core — fell into the swamp.

Just thirteen people, whose power Hadjar couldn’t even determine, had destroyed a demon equal in power to a Nameless at the initial stage. And the Dah’Khasses had been planning to take over the seven Empires, including the jungle of Karnak? They would’ve been-

“Look out!”

A demon struck out, aiming for Hadjar’s side. Barely managing to angle his blade in front of its attack in time, Hadjar flew a few steps to the side. A hammer came down on the spot where he’d just been standing. A wave of green light spread out, instantly destroying several Shuk’Arka warriors. In less than a heartbeat, skin and flesh began to slide off their skeletons.

A demon much larger than the others, with a denser aura, and two pairs of wings, hovered next to Hadjar.

“You know, I haven’t killed a Nameless yet. You’ll be my first!”

Hadjar mentally dove into his soul. After summoning the Quetzal bird into the physical world, he unleashed his Sword Kingdom.

Chapter 860

A blim, who’d just used the Fifth Form and was now gathering power to use it again, suddenly felt threatened. He turned around and summoned fire, turning it into two boomerangs, and was just about to attack, when he realized that the threat wasn’t directed at him or anyone else in the Shuk’Arka tribe. The power was strong enough to make everyone nearby fear for their lives. This power wasn’t coming from another Nature Speaker or Pathfinder, but from the pale stranger.

Behind the young man, a Quetzal bird spread its wings.

“Another abomi-”

Ablim’s eyes widened in shock. When he’d been young, he’d taken part in the battle against the warriors from the Darnassus Empire. He’d seen them subjugate their own Spirits and draw out every ounce of their power without hearing their cries of pain and humiliation.

But Hadjar Darkhan seemed to be working together with his Spirit. The proud Quetzal bird, which was considered impossible to tame as it was impossible to tame freedom, spread its wings and joined the stranger’s weapon. After that, Hadjar suddenly transformed, not in appearance, but something inside of him, and the world around him as well, changed.

Ablim couldn’t see the newly-created line, but he felt that if he crossed it, he’d find himself in the domain of Hadjar Darkhan. It was both frightening and fascinating. However, Hadjar wasn’t…

“He’s strong,” the Speaker nodded absently as he muttered, “But not strong enough.”

Several more demons appeared next to the Nature Speaker, and he once more focused on his own fight.

***

“The First Strike: Flying Sword!”

Along the length of the Black Blade, the pattern of a soaring Quetzal bird shone with a silver light. It was flying through the clouds toward the edge of the sword, but so far, it couldn’t cover more than the first third of the blade.

Hadjar used his Sword Kingdom and the first stance of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Techniques. Previously, without his Kingdom, and only the Black General’s Inheritance, he hadn’t been able to use the full power of his ancestor’s Technique.

Thanks to mastering his Kingdom and the small bit of insight he’d gained from observing the stone giant Iblim, Hadjar was now able to use the ‘Flying Sword’ far more efficiently. Instead of making a tsunami of huge dragon-sword strikes, Hadjar conjured just one.

Once he swung his sword downwards, a black dragon raced forward. It was only three feet long, but it was so dense and bright that it looked like it wasn’t just a union of mysteries and energy, but an actual dragon instead.

When Hadjar unleashed the power of the ‘Flying Sword’, the echo that resounded throughout the area was leagues above what his Techniques had been able to create before. It was still a whirlwind of power and sword slashes, but there were far fewer of them this time. Also, each sword slash now represented a genuine threat even to these demons. They couldn’t penetrate their armor, but they did cut their leathery wings.

Given that his opponents were at the Nameless level, this was more than enough, as he was a simple Spirit Knight at the initial stage.

“E-e-e-ne-e-e-m-y-y-y,” the demon’s eyes flashed with green fire.

“Fucking shit!” Hadjar swore.

The creature unfurled its four wings and blocked his attack with its hammer. Hadjar felt as if he’d just struck a mountain instead of an actual opponent. Green clouds of rot and smog erupted from the mouths of the desert dogs. When they collided with the black dragon, they enveloped it in a dense haze.

Hadjar spat out blood. Almost seventy percent of his attack had been stopped by the haze, and what remained had been blocked by the heavy warhammer.

The demon snarled and waved its free hand. A stream of green light assumed the form of a dog’s mouth and surged toward Hadjar’s right side. He couldn’t block it with his sword, so he used his will to cut through the space behind him. He was instantly sucked into the vacuum, and the dog’s mouth, instead of hitting him, slammed into a warrior fighting nearby. The man’s upper body was bitten off. Entrails fell and blood gushed out from the ragged wound that had split his body in half diagonally. In less than a heartbeat, his bones disappeared into the muck, and his flesh peeled away and evaporated.

After imbuing his Kingdom with his will, once he was five steps away from the demon, Hadjar brought all his power down directly on the enemy. The creature shivered. Due to the Kingdom’s pressure, it lost the ability to move for a moment. Small cracks appeared along its armor, and thick, bluish blood gushed from its wings.

“The Second Strike: Drawn Sword!” Hadjar roared like a Lord of the Heavens.

Behind Hadjar, a strip of darkness cut through the air. Only as thick as a finger, it left small holes in all the trees that were in its way. No matter how many of them there were, it didn’t lose any momentum.

Hadjar disappeared in a black flash, leaving behind only the afterimage of a snarling dragon’s maw. He appeared next to the demon and struck it in the chest. His sword thrust was so fast that it left a black haze behind as it sliced through the air.

The demon, despite all its power, didn’t manage to block his attack in time, and the sword slammed into the area where its solar plexus ought to be. The armor around the point of impact cracked, then burst apart in a shower of iron bone shrapnel. Hadjar was surprised to learn that this wasn’t actually armor, but part of the creature’s own body.

Blood drenched the Black Blade, and it greedily absorbed and processed it, adding it to its own energy structure.

Behind the demon, an ocean of roiling darkness exploded, with dragon-slashes appearing and disappearing inside of it. Everything within 250 feet disappeared in a flood of the Sword’s mysteries.

“E-e-e-e-n-e-e-e-m-y-y-y!” The wounded demon snarled and swung its hammer.

The ghostly dragon tail instantly wrapped around Hadjar, and a vacuum appeared behind him. It pulled Hadjar back into a hole, but it wasn’t fast enough. The hammer scraped his torso. The ghostly dragon scales shattered into energy shards, and Hadjar spat out blood again.

His Core emptied halfway all at once, which was just enough to save him from instant death. One hit from the Nameless’ warhammer had almost been enough to kill him outright, even though he had Traves’ heart beating in his chest and the Wolf Broth running through his veins.

As he charged the demon once more, Hadjar felt a tremor in his legs. The Call, the Black Blade, the Quetzal, the Kingdom — all of them required an incredible amount of energy to sustain. Hadjar had no more than ten, maybe fifteen seconds left. That meant that it was time for him to use his trump card.

Raising his sword, Hadjar shouted, “The Third Strike: Vacuum Sword!” Then he swung his sword as quickly as he could manage.

***

Iblim had almost reached the main battle when a huge vortex of darkness shot out into the sky. It tore through the haze with which the demons had covered the sky, and headed somewhere higher still. It roared and then spread its two huge wings.

A second later, a wave of power swept through the Green House. It ripped trees out of the ground, crushed stones, and dried streams, drawing them into the center of the vortex. Iblim had to ram his stone arms into the ground to avoid being pulled in as well.

“By the Eternal Springs...” the Pathfinder whispered.

Chapter 861

I t was one thing to know what a Technique could do, and quite another to witness it firsthand. When Hadjar had first swung his sword, he couldn’t have even guessed what would happen.

The Techniques he’d used before had been created by swordsmen, but not by those who’d fully dedicated themselves to the path of the Sword. The Black General, however, had done just that. His whole being had been invested into the power that the Sword had given him. Never had there been a swordsman greater than the first Darkhan, and one would probably never arise in the future, either.

And now Hadjar possessed the Technique created by a swordsman amongst swordsmen. Thanks to his Kingdom and his great mastery over the essence of the Sword, he could unleash the Technique’s power.

The Black Blade didn’t make a single sound. Using every drop of the power that his Kingdom had bestowed upon him, his sword flew through the air like a fang. However, it didn’t plunge into the enemy, but into the space in front of Hadjar.

The third stance of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique, without any doubt, combined the power of the first and the speed of the second stances as it seemingly plunged into the void itself.

When Hadjar moved the blade, directing a significant part of his energy reserves into the Technique, it looked like nothing had happened at all.

But then, right in front of Hadjar, within striking distance of the Black Blade, a small, growing gap appeared. Before the world began to shake, a yellow eye with a vertical pupil flashed from inside the gap.

In the next instant, the gap closed, but the power it released was monstrous in its scale and destructiveness. Carving a path several feet deep in the sludge itself, a tornado of black wind shot out into the sky, created by countless identical sword strikes. Everyone’s eardrums threatened to burst as they heard the roar of a dragon.

Breaking fully through the haze that covered the azure sky, the tornado suddenly split in half, turning into two shapes that looked like a pair of wings. The suction force of the tornado was so great that it uprooted the ancient trees that hadn’t yet been devoured by the green, acrid light.

Tons of gray slime and decomposing matter started getting sucked into the tornado as well. Once inside, they turned into tiny drops, which soon disappeared. Hundreds of huge, strong trees turned into dust and also disappeared somewhere within the tornado composed of thousands of rapid and sharp sword slashes.

Hadjar had had no idea that the Black General’s Technique could conjure such power.

The demons fiercely resisted the pressure of the power, but were ultimately crushed. Their wings were broken. Those that were closest to the epicenter of the Technique were dragged along the ground, and their limbs were torn off and scattered everywhere. Defenseless and wounded, they were then finished off by the Shuk’Arka warriors, who, just like Hadjar, weren’t affected by the currents of the Technique.

All of this wasn’t even the true power of the Technique, but an echo that, no matter how hard Hadjar tried, he couldn’t control. It was merely a third of the amazing power that was contained within this particular stance. The rest of it dispersed in the form of an all-consuming tornado.

The true target of the Technique, the four-winged demon, was equal to a mid-stage Nameless. It had thrust its hammer deep into the ground, and was fiercely flapping both pairs of wings to resist its pull. But, Hadjar’s Technique didn’t weaken, not even for a moment. With each tree, demonic limb, or blob of gray slime that disappeared inside the tornado, the Technique only grew stronger. The tornado expanded, covering a larger area and assaulting the very space around it.

Hadjar suddenly realized what he had to do next. Even before his sword finished arcing through the air, he shouted:

“The Second Strike: Drawn Sword!”

The black streak that pierced the tornado didn’t dispel it, but absorbed all of the accumulated power of the third stance instead. Their symbiosis, which conjured the silhouette of a huge, coiling black dragon whose body and fangs were made from swords, struck the demon. It opened its mouth and screamed, spilling green light everywhere. It wounded the huge dragon, but couldn’t stop it. Once it was inside the attack, the demon was obliterated by countless sword thrusts.

When the dust settled, the aftermath was a horrifying sight to behold. The demon’s feet were all that remained of it. And behind that, the broken trees, streams of water, and gradually disappearing gray sludge had fallen into a deep trench that was at least 120 feet wide. The trench itself, which gradually narrowed toward the end, stretched out for almost a mile. Not a single tree, rock, patch of grass, or animal could be seen anywhere near it.

Hadjar swayed. He gripped Annette’s shoulder. She’d suddenly appeared next to him at some point. His heart was beating faster than ever before. Had he really done this? Had it truly been his sword and his hands that had reproduced a Technique of such power? He hadn’t even grasped the County or the True Kingdom level of weapon mastery yet.

He still couldn’t completely extinguish the echo of his Technique. He was restrained by the Sword’s mark, and his neural network was stubbornly showing him that he could only use 4.8% of his maximum potential. Nevertheless, Hadjar Darkhan, a Spirit Knight at the initial stage, had destroyed a demon equal in power to a mid-stage Nameless. How strong was the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique in its true form? How monstrous was the last, fourth strike, which the Black General hadn’t yet revealed to him? Hadjar now fully believed that Erhard, the Last King, had been able to conquer all of the Hundred Kingdoms and unite them into the first human Empire and-

“By the Eternal Springs and the Firstborn One!” She suddenly moved away from him. He turned and saw Annette covering her mouth with her hand and bending over a boy’s body. It was the same boy in whose gaze Hadjar had seen his own reflection. “This is Hackat’s son.”

“Who... is... Hackat?” Hadjar asked with great difficulty.

After such an intense battle, there wasn’t much strength left in him, he barely had enough energy left to grab the red crystal Core of the four-winged demon and hide it inside his spatial ring.

“He is the Nature Speaker of the Tulep’Kharus tribe.”

The expression on Annette’s face made it clear that this didn’t bode well.

Chapter 862

O ver the years he’d spent traveling, Hadjar had seen many cultures and had established friendly relations with a lot of people, but these tribes were very different from anything he had ever seen before.

The victory celebration in the Shuk’Arka tribe looked more like some ritual meant to summon Spirits that he’d seen the orc tribes use. Or like a shaman’s descent into a deep trance, like in the Bedouin tribes. Or the dancing of drunken villagers in the Barony of Lidus.

Drums hummed, creating a rhythm that blended with the rhythm of one’s heart and soul. The tribe members were covered in white patterns that depicted skeletons, animals, or trees. They danced around the fire. They stomped their feet, hit their tambourines with their hands, imitating the movements of birds and monsters, and then came together in a circle and moved away, hiding their faces from the fire.

The flames rose toward the sky in hot, blue bursts that obeyed the rhythm of the drums, then returned to their never-ending, chaotic dance.

“Was word sent to the Tulep’Kharus tribe?” Iblim asked.

He accepted a large plate from the man sitting next to him. A small roasted boar could’ve easily fit on it. It was covered in leaves that had some lumps on them. Judging by the smell, they were very spicy.

“Yes, Pathfinder.” The Hunter who’d passed him the plate nodded. “They’ll know by morning that we didn’t manage to save their Speaker’s son.”

“By morning…” Iblim repeated.

The tribe’s calm attitude toward the battle with the demons was amazing. As well as their farewells to the dead.

After Hadjar had defeated the leader of the demons, the battle had quickly come to an end. The dozens of demons injured by the black tornado had been easy prey for the Hunters. They’d finished them off in minutes. The creatures that had survived had been killed by the stone Iblim, who’d crushed the Nameless level demons as easily as if they’d been simple mortals.

“Why is this boy’s death such a big deal?” Hadjar whispered to Annette, who was sitting next to him.

That evening, after the battle, he’d been seated in a circle of people who, he realized, had done the most in the last battle… They ate first and drank first, and, for some reason, didn’t dance.

As was typical for such small societies, the need to ensure a strong younger generation was very great here as well. Young men and women came up to the ‘heroes’, took them by the hand, and led them to some tents or bushes… Fortunately, the drums were so loud and the night was so dark that it didn’t affect the atmosphere of the victory celebration. However, no one approached Annette or Hadjar. There were those who refused, but the young people didn’t get upset at this and simply extended their hands to someone else nearby. Apparently, making babies wasn’t a very big deal around here. Or, more likely, they always needed more tribespeople.

“The Tulep’Kharus tribe is the second largest tribe in the Green House,” Ablim answered Hadjar instead of Annette.

Hadjar turned to meet the Speaker’s eye. In the battle against the demons, out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar had seen Ablim’s Fifth Form. It had been an astounding performance made up of equal parts horror and incredible firepower. Even the best of the Empire’s mages, the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, would have a hard time matching such might.

“Their Speaker’s bloodline is strong. In their tribe, the title has been passed down from father to son for ten generations. And in all that time, we, the Shuk’Arka tribe, have taught their sons.” Iblim explained.

“Why don’t they teach them themselves? Don’t the other major tribes of the Green House have the right to also impart the Knowledge?”

“They do.” Iblim said. “But many moons ago, the Council of Pathfinders and Speakers took away the Tulep’Kharus tribe’s right.”

Hadjar wondered if all the Speakers were as strong as Ablim, or if their power over the elements varied from tribe to tribe. A dozen such mages could replace an entire army. And if they had artifacts, it would be too frightening to even imagine. What amazing power existed so close to Dahanatan, just two days of flight away…

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business, stranger!” Ablim hissed. “You’ve already been told too many things that you shouldn’t know anything about.”

Hadjar felt a little disappointed. With his participation in the battle, he’d hoped to establish a good relationship with the tribe, but apparently, his plan hadn’t worked out.

“Calm down, Speaker!” Iblim suddenly laughed. He slapped his knees and turned to Hadjar. “Tonight is the evening of a victory. We are glad we survived the battle with the Tugances and we rejoice for the fallen. They met their darkness with dignity. Now that they’ve gone to the Eternal Springs, they will embrace their Firstborns, who will whisper to them about how proud they are of their glorious life and lead them through the darkness to the new world. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet our fallen as soon as tomorrow, in the form of a ray of sunshine, or the cry of a newborn, or a breath of fresh air, or the song of a bird.”

Hadjar didn’t understand much of what he’d just heard, but apparently, the beliefs of the tribes weren’t that much different from the beliefs of the people of the seven Empires. The Pathfinder’s words were greeted with shouts of approval.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” Iblim said loudly, without paying attention to the dancing people. “You’ve proven yourself in battle. You destroyed the Tugances’ Pathfinder. You disobeyed my word, but you did it for good. Ask of anything your soul desires. If I can, I’ll fulfill your request.”

Iblim’s speech sounded a bit strange to Hadjar, but perhaps it was because of the translation of his neural network. Some mistakes were inevitable.

Hadjar, without taking his eyes off the Pathfinder, said:

“I want your Knowledge.”

Immediately, the camp turned dead silent. The drums stopped. The laughter and shouting subsided. The passionate dancing died down, and even the huge fire seemed to crackle much more quietly.

Chapter 863

“W ho do you think you are?” Ablim shouted angrily. Behind him, the fire shot up into the sky and horrifying visages appeared in it. “Your head should be cut off and impaled on a stake, so that it stands as a reminder to children about what happens to those who lose their minds!”

A murmur of approval passed through the ranks of the Shuk’Arka warriors.

“You’ve proven yourself worthy, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.” Iblim looked serious. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll share the Knowledge with you.”

Anyone else would’ve backed off immediately. It was one thing to disobey the host’s orders and help them in battle, and quite another to try and take the secret that was crucial to their tribe’s survival. And yet, he wouldn’t have been Hadjar if he’d given up so easily.

“Isn’t the Shuk’Arka tribe a Knowledge-transmitting tribe?” He asked, sitting still. “Didn’t you say that you taught everyone who came to you for Knowledge?”

“Everyone who is of our blood!”

The flames had subsided, but Ablim’s eyes still looked like two terrifying, dark holes. Hadjar couldn’t even look at the Speaker directly.

“You and I fought together, side by side, against those who aren’t of our blood!” Hadjar replied harshly. “We shed their blood, the demons’ green blood. And I didn’t see that my blood was any different from yours.”

“Let’s check right now!” Someone shouted.

“Let’s bleed the pale stranger!” Another voice added.

“Let him try and say that again without his head!”

“The pale man thinks he’s one of us!”

“Where’s my club?”

“SILENCE!” Iblim’s roar instantly drowned out all other sounds. The Pathfinder rose and approached the man who’d shouted first. He punched him, sending the warrior flying. He landed by the other warriors. “When the Pathfinder and Speaker are talking, the others are silent. That’s the law! Anyone who breaks it will get to know my club!”

The crowd quieted down, but even a single spark would be enough to start a fire once again.

“Only our ancient customs and laws,” Iblim raised his hand to the sky, and then pointed at the jungle, “Only they separate us from the oppressors of the past and from the beasts that live in the Green House. Only they helped us survive the many moons that have passed since our exodus from the lands of the pale oppressors!”

Suddenly, something happened. Hadjar couldn’t sense what it was, but it was definitely something very significant, mystical, and incredibly ancient. It was as if time had whispered the sweet words of a child’s lullaby directly into his ear and then tried to wrap him up in a blanket of serene oblivion.

An old man stepped out of the crowd. Compared to him, all those whom Hadjar had used to call old could easily pass for babies. With each step that his thin legs wrapped in cracked skin took, stars faded and empires fell.

“Keeper of the Past,” the tribe members whispered, and they parted to let the old man pass. They pressed their hands to their shoulders, crossed their elbows over their stomachs, and bowed deeply to him.

When the old man approached the fire, an incredible thing happened: Iblim and Ablim bowed as well.

“Keeper of the Past,” the Pathfinder straightened up and said proudly, “the Shuk’Arka tribe is honored to welcome you.”

The old man, leaning on a carved staff of the strangest shape, stared at Iblim in silence. The Pathfinder grew nervous under the old man’s gaze. From behind the Keeper, a boy suddenly peeked out. He was leaning on a miniature replica of the Keeper’s own staff.

“You’re right,” even though the Keeper of the Past was whispering, he could be heard as clearly as thunder, “Our customs separate us from the pale oppressors.”

“Thank you, Keeper of the Past,” Iblim bowed again.

“But,” the old man continued, “perhaps your memory is getting fuzzy, Pathfinder of the Shuk’Arka tribe, and you’ve forgotten the words of your father and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father... You’ve forgotten the stories we teach our children so that they know both their roots and can see the path forward.”

Iblim was silent. Everyone was silent. Only the old man spoke:

“Many moons ago, our two heroes, Kharum and Tulukh, were servants and slaves in the floating city of the Speakers. With their lives, they paved the way to our bright future. They stole Knowledge from the stone chambers of the pale oppressors and brought it to us, making us equal to the Talesh, the Speakers. That’s how they became the first Pathfinder and the first Nature Speaker. Since then, we’ve passed this Knowledge on to everyone who comes to us.”

“But only people of our own blood came to us before!” Ablim stepped forward and stood in front of the old man. “The descendants of those who lived in slavery for eons came to us! Those who endured endless torture and humiliation came to us. People of the same color as us came to us.”

“The same color?” The old man laughed dryly. “If I don’t go to the Eternal Springs soon, my skin will become whiter than that of North Wind.”

Hadjar had no idea how the old man knew his name, but right now, he didn’t really care.

“And yet-”

“And yet,” The Keeper of the Past interrupted Ablim, “How do we differ from Talesh if we deny the Knowledge to a person who has shed blood with us and for us just because of their skin color? How do we differ from those who oppressed us for eons? Have you forgotten the words of your fathers and the songs of your mothers? Have you strayed from the path of true harmony? Have you forgotten that Nature loves all her children equally? Yellow, black, brown, white, red… We are all equal. We are all its children. Kharum and Tulukh taught us this. It’s the law according to which our tribes live in the Green House. And it’s how our children will live. And woe be unto us if we forget that just because North Wind has a different skin color.”

There was utter silence. The tribespeople averted their eyes from the old man.

“Keeper of the Past,” a smile appeared on Ablim’s lips, “He hasn’t been initiated. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to find a person in the entirety of the Green House who’ll agree to take him to the Mountain of Elements!”

“I’ll do it,” Annette suddenly proclaimed. “I’ll lead North Wind to the Mountain of Elements. I’ll speak for him before the Firstborn. I’ll show him the Eternal Springs.”

“Daughter, you-”

“Well,” the Keeper interrupted Iblim, “As long as our tribes have such daughters, we are not yet doomed. So be it.”

The old man raised his staff and struck the ground with it.

Chapter 864

S trangely enough, while sitting completely naked on a pelt near a small table in a tent and waiting for all the preparations for his Initiation ceremony to be completed, Hadjar was thinking about something else entirely.

The Black Blade inside his soul had just finished devouring the demon’s red crystal Core.

“Analyze,” Hadjar gave the mental command.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

72.481% left until the next evolutionary stage of the Black Blade object]

This meant that the Nameless level demon’s Core had given his sword only a 1.5% boost, whereas before gaining the Kingdom, such a substance would’ve added at least 10% to the overall progress. Was the Black Blade so closely linked to Hadjar’s soul that the changes in it brought changes to his sword as well? If that was truly the case, it went against everything Hadjar knew about the path of cultivation. However, over the past eight years, he had encountered so many things that contradicted the seven Empires’ teachings about the path of cultivation that it really shouldn’t have surprised him at this point.

“Fucking hell!” Hadjar swore as the magic compass’ needle once again responded with complete stillness. Wherever Einen and the others were, they still couldn’t activate the energy beacon. Without it, it would be impossible to find them in the jungle of Karnak, which was the size of the Barony of Lidus.

So, all that was left for Hadjar to do was to endure the fur of the pelt tickling his ass and wait for his Initiation to finally begin.

After Annette had volunteered to be his guide to the Mountain of Elements, the Shuk’Arka camp had turned into a busy anthill. The Keeper of the Past, who apparently held some unique position in the hierarchy of the tribes, had given one of the tents to Hadjar. The latter hadn’t resisted. He didn’t feel threatened by the old man. His instincts, developed over many perilous years, told him that the Keeper was just curious and a little bored.

Several Hunters had taken Hadjar to the tent and told him to undress. Again, Hadjar hadn’t argued. He’d taken off his clothes and sat down by the fire, naked. He could only guess what was going on outside based on the sounds.

Soon, he heard familiar, light steps and inhaled a familiar scent. But he wasn’t shy. After all the things Hadjar had been through, it would’ve been silly for him to be shy about a little nudity.

“You have broad shoulders.” Annette pushed aside the beaded waterfall that served as a door and stepped inside. “Your clothes made you look thin.”

She moved around Hadjar and stood in front of him. She was completely naked as well. He could finally get a good look at everything that had previously only inflamed his imagination. Admittedly, this was one of the rare occasions where reality was better and more tempting than the fantasy. Her waist seemed even smaller than it actually was due to how powerful and thick her thighs and hips were. He was also dazzled by the sight of her bare chest. Many women would’ve done anything to have such a full, yet perky bust. In Dahanatan, only the wealthiest of the noblewomen could afford special alchemical ointments that would make their breasts stand so high and ample. On Earth, only the best surgeon’s knife could’ve created such perfection in both size and form.

Annette’s thick, black hair, which had been woven into small braids, now cascaded like a thick waterfall down her back, and her bright blue eyes glittered in the firelight.

She was breathtaking, and many men would’ve sold their souls to the Demon Prince just to have a small chance to be with her. But not him. He admired her beauty, and wasn’t even embarrassed by his body’s reaction to her, but he didn’t make any advances. He calmed himself and focused on the task.

She glanced down for a second, blushed, and whispered before looking away, “You will have strong children, Hadjar Darkhan.”

“What is that?” He asked, pointing at the bowl that the girl was holding.

“It’s Shalgush paint. It’s made by Nature Speakers from magic wood at the hour when the stars shine most brightly.”

Hadjar hadn’t expected such a detailed answer, but apparently, Annette was really nervous.

“Can you tell me what’s going to happen?” He asked.

Annette stole another quick glance at Hadjar’s manhood. He tried not to let on that he’d noticed her doing so.

As the girl knelt beside him, he felt the uncontrollable desire to pull her close and… She felt that sudden urge, too. They froze as their eyes met. Despite the fact that he saw that same desire reflected in her eyes, he knew that this was not the time nor place. She instantly realized that they wouldn’t be acting on their desires right now and, a little disappointed, she looked back at the bowl.

“I’ll paint ancient symbols on your body with this. After that, following my instructions, you’ll paint the same symbols on me. After that, we’ll go to the Mountain of Elements, where you’ll try to hear the name of your true, natural self.”

Apart from the fact that they both needed to be covered in a foul-smelling substance, Hadjar didn’t understand a thing about this ritual.

“Why are we naked?”

Annette’s eyebrows rose slightly in genuine surprise.

“Because the paint should be applied to your body, not your clothes,” she explained.

“Okay.”

“Lie on your back,” she ordered.

Hadjar obeyed. Annette bent over him and began the process. The gentle touches of her fingers as she made the symbols drove him mad. It was so sensual, and she covered every single inch of his skin… He had no idea how he was managing to hold back, but with a lot of effort, he stayed still.

Then she lay down beside him and handed him the bowl.

“Follow my instructions,” she whispered, “And try to be gentle.”

Her bright eyes sparkled playfully and teasingly. Oh, High Heavens help me!

Chapter 865

W hen everything was ready, the Keeper of the Past entered the tent.

“Keeper!” Annette wanted to jump to her feet, but the old man shook his head and gently stopped her with his staff. She remained seated.

Hadjar realized that it was unusual for the Keeper of the Past to participate in the ritual.

“Today, I’ll say the sacred words,” the old man, leaning heavily on his staff, sat across from Hadjar and Annette. Once he was seated on the other side of the fire, he untied a belt with many pouches and pockets from his colorful clothes. “When I finish speaking, you’ll be able to go to the Mountain of Elements.”

“Yes, Keeper,” Annette said with a nod.

“You’ve already been initiated, Annette, so you know what’s coming.”

“Yes, Keeper.”

“But this time, things might be different. North Wind wasn’t born in the Green House. He came here in his own way. Another sun shone on his path. Other Firstborn are waiting for him in their fields. His world differs from ours.”

“But you said-”

“I said,” It would seem that it was acceptable for the Keeper to interrupt other people, “That he’s just as human as any of us. And that is true. But just as the Duluk bird has many different kinds, so do people. We are all the same, but at the same time, by the will of the Primordial, we are also completely different.”

Upon hearing the word ‘Primordial’ Annette made a few signs. So did the Keeper of the Past. Hadjar just lay on his back and tried to understand what was going on.

“Now it’s your turn, North Wind,” the old man turned to him.

Their gazes met and, unlike with other ancient entities’, the old man’s eyes weren’t filled with time, but with... serenity. The serenity of a mountain that had weathered so many storms that it had ceased to notice them at all.

“When you and Annette go to the Mountain of Elements, be prepared for three temptations.”

“Just three?” Hadjar chuckled. “I’m not trying to brag, Keeper, but I’ve faced this kind of trial and temptation before.”

“I know,” the old man nodded. “The White Bird’s feathers in your hair tell me that you’ve met the Free People of the Yellow Grass.”

“You know about the orcs?” Hadjar was surprised.

“They fought the Talesh once. They called the pale oppressors ‘defilers of the Knowledge’ and ‘companions of the false Primordial’. The oppressors hated them, too. The war between them only stopped when the Yellow Grass People left this land and settled far away.”

Only to then disappear because of a foolish young man’s revenge…

“North Wind, whatever you experienced during your stay with the Yellow Grass People, it isn’t like what you’ll find on your way to the Mountain of Elements. So remember my words: if you give in to temptation even once, you won’t be able to climb the Mountain of Elements and you will forever wander the boundless space instead.”

“Actually, I didn’t see any mountains in the jungle and-”

Hadjar looked at the pouches in the old man’s hands, then at the bonfire, then at the magic marks on his and Annette’s bodies.

“Oh, holy-”

As was tradition, Hadjar didn’t get to finish speaking. The Keeper threw something into the fire, and then, falling into a deep trance, began to sing something. His lips moved, something changed in the world, the flames of the fire froze, then rose all the way to the top of the tent, but Hadjar couldn’t understand a single word.

And then something happened. Something invisible and swift. When Hadjar opened his eyes again, it was nighttime. The stars were shining. Their constellations weren’t like those in the seven Empires. The grass under his feet was soft. There were trees around him. Fireflies were dancing above some bushes. They were big and bright, just like the stars.

Looking closer, Hadjar suddenly realized that they actually were stars, not fireflies. He reached for one of them, but it flitted away into the dense jungle with a sound that vaguely resembled a child’s laughter.

The path he was standing on shone with a gentle, calm, greenish light. It was pulsing and heading northward. Following the pulses with his eyes, he saw a mountain piercing through the clouds, its wide peak hidden somewhere amongst the unfamiliar stars.

“Let’s go.”

Annette stood next to him. She looked different somehow: stronger, more confident and proud. As if she’d turned into a wise woman in an instant… The patterns on her body glowed silver. They stung his eyes, and Hadjar turned away.

“Don’t just stand there, Hadjar!” Her voice sounded like it was being distorted by water, and the world was suddenly enveloped in a haze of thick smoke. Everything was shaking. Reality itself was unsteady. “Run! The darkness is coming.”

Hadjar ran after Annette. In this ocean of smoke that was catching up to them, he could only navigate by the fading light of the path and the glittering silver of her patterns.

She ran through the forest quickly and easily. Hadjar tried to keep up with her, but she was like a storm that carried houses away, and Hadjar was like a spring breeze that could maybe ruffle a sailor’s hair.

“Wait,” Hadjar tried to shout, but only a whisper escaped his lips.

Hadjar tried harder, but suddenly realized that he could barely move. The path beneath him became soft and sticky, like the sludge in which he’d just recently fought the demons.

“Wait! Annette…”

Hadjar reached for the silver light, but Annette had already disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, he fell. He was falling into darkness, and above him, as if behind a pane of glass, was the dark forest. Annette, who’d come back to the spot where he had been standing, was slamming her fist against the glass and shouting something. Hadjar couldn’t hear her. He just kept falling deeper into the darkness.

The mysterious forest above him turned into a shining star. A hundred thousand more stars soon appeared.

He was lying in a familiar bed in an equally familiar room. It was a hospital on a hill, and the city lights were spread out below it.

“I did say that I’d endured this kind of trial before,” Hadjar sighed.

He thought that he’d said this out loud, but when he heard the mechanical voice coming from his laptop’s speakers, he tensed up.

“Is it really that bad?”

Hadjar shuddered.

Impossible, he thought.

In the corner of the room, a girl was sitting on a chair. An acoustic guitar rested in her lap, and she strummed its strings.

No… Not her…

Chapter 866

T he girl’s name was Helen. The same man who’d taken him from the orphanage and brought him to this hospital had also sent this girl to him. But Hadjar wouldn’t find that out until much later.

Right now, he was looking at Helen’s black hair and her fingers, which were skillfully plucking the strings. She drew out the warm, pleasant sound of the guitar with ease. Her music was as elegant as her body and as melodious as her voice. Very few people could sing as well as she could.

Hadjar had first heard her perform on the radio — a nighttime broadcast, which was a timeslot reserved for things that weren’t all that popular. Only night owls like gamers and insomniacs listened to the radio at such ungodly hours. That was her audience — people who wouldn’t really appreciate her songs, but would still like her voice…

Radio hosts often joked about how such a pretty girl should’ve performed on TV instead, and she usually joked back that, on the radio, she only had to deal with comments about her voice, and if she was on TV, she’d have to deal with various remarks about her looks, a lot of which would be creepy at best.

She was amazing. When Hadjar saw her in his room, he instantly wanted to caress her cheeks, run his fingers through her long, curly hair, and look deep into those languid, green eyes. He couldn’t do that, but he could make songs with her. One, two, three… Electronic music with a live voice accompanying it was nothing new, but what they did together rocked the charts.

In less than six months, she became a huge hit worldwide. Concerts, tours, talk shows, roles in blockbusters… She was incredibly happy. She often joked that she didn’t have to tolerate rudeness anymore, but those who brought her the wrong cup of coffee did. By the way, Helen hated coffee, and she much preferred strong strawberry tea.

At first, she spent every evening with him. She played the guitar, knowing that he couldn’t get up and kick her out since he could only move his right hand. She laughed, teased, brought him food and drinks, listened to music with him, and played her own. Day after day, she got on his nerves.

Then, out of the blue, she didn’t show up one night. At first, he was happy, then confused, and then he did everything in his power to find her. As he found out through social media, she was so exhausted that she’d fallen asleep in the hospital and had never actually left. That was when he wrote his first song for her, which became a smash hit, topping the charts.

Soon after, a music video was made. She, of course, stared in it herself, while he was represented by a character with a laptop for a head.

People began to recognize her in the street, and even sent her flowers.

“Don’t be jealous, Phantom of the Hospital,” she joked.

They both loved the musical, ‘The Phantom of the Opera’. They even tried to go and see it together at one point.

“I think you’ve been cooped up here for too long.” she burst into his room one day and declared this with utter confidence.

She was more radiant than the sun, her snow white smile brightening every room she entered. The pure, positive energy and charm she exuded attracted those who sorely lacked such a thing in their own lives. But all of that energy was inaccessible to them, as all of it went straight to the bottomless abyss that was his soul.

“How do you expect me to go anywhere with you?” The computer’s mechanical voice asked.

“Just like Stephen Hawking attended all sorts of events! In an electric wheelchair! You’ll be like…like that bald guy from the X-men…”

“Professor X?” He grinned.

“That’s right!”

“I don’t think that’s even possible…”

“Have you ever been on a plane?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve only ever been in a car… Twice! The first time, I came to the intensive care unit, and the other time, I came here.”

“Hmm…” She pretended to ponder this conundrum. “Well, planes have these magical things, you know, to help you get on board — ramps.”

“I know what those are.”

“Then it’s settled! In two weeks, ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ will be shown on Broadway. You and I will take a chartered flight. Twelve hours later, we’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic. Have you ever been to New York?”

“Oh, of course. I visit it almost every day. As well as London and Hong Kong. Sometimes, I go to all those cities at the same time.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a lame sense of humor?”

“You’re one to talk, miss one hit wonder... You’d rather work on your songs and-”

Helen spun on her heel, laughing. Her figure was perfect.

“Be serious!” The mechanical voice continued. “Maybe if you were as skilled at strumming that guitar as you are at making fun of me, you’d actually hit the notes for once. I heard there’s a really good cybernetic hand being made in Japan, maybe it can help you fulfill your dream of becoming a passable guitarist.”

“Oh yeah? Would it help me play, or help you be handsy, you pervert?” She giggled.

“Hey, that isn’t what I meant!”

“I have to tell everyone that you’re a pervert!” Helen pulled out her phone. “The shocking revelation will be trending for days!”

“Ugh, do what you want!”

Laughing again, she showed him her Twitter. Her latest tweet was a selfie of both of them with the caption: Wait for the premiere of ‘The Phantom of the Opera’. I’ll force this hermit to come out and see it!

* * *

“Is it really that bad?” She asked, looking at his frown.

She was wearing a marvelous evening gown, holding a guitar in her hands, and there was an electric wheelchair next to her.

“Hurry up or we’re going to be late.”

Despite her high heels and expensive dress, she didn’t hesitate to help him get into the wheelchair. He had a joystick instead of legs, and a tablet instead of a tongue. He was wearing a tuxedo. On his atrophied body, it looked like a burlap sack had been thrown over a scarecrow.

“I want to go to the helipad,” he said.

“Right now?”

“Please. I haven’t seen the sky in so long…”

“Alright.”

They left the room he despised and went down the hospital hallway to an elevator, up a ramp, and arrived at the helipad.

A gust of wind caressed his hair. The circular metal platform made a strange sound as the wheels of the wheelchair moved across it. Bright lights twinkled around the perimeter, and stars shone overhead. Somewhere at the foot of the hill lay a city. It had been built on the granite banks of a black river. A copper statue of a horse rider towered over it, and the domes of temples rose above the old, mysterious streets. He both loved and hated this city.

Moving the joystick, he drove to the very edge of the platform. Below him, an ocean of darkness and lights spread out. The drop from two hundred feet up would be like a flight to freedom, and his destination would be oblivion. The price of all that would be a single moment of pain.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Carefully, she approached him and stared at the city lights.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” She asked.

He said nothing. If he could’ve cried, he would have.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time.” She was so pure, so bright, and so beautiful, just like the city below. “I love you.” She was so deceitful, so dirty, and so fame hungry, just like the city below. “And I don’t care what people say, I don’t care what problems lie ahead, I want to be with you.” She smiled like she always did, and it looked faker than ever.

“Check my coat pocket,” The robotic voice responded.

“What…” The way she pretended to cry only confirmed to him that she was an amazing actress. Directors would love her. She took out an envelope from his coat pocket.

Without even waiting for her to open it, he turned the wheelchair around and headed back to the elevator.

“You got it all wrong!”

Inside the envelope were photos of her and the man who’d brought him to the hospital. And photos of her with other men as well — heads of recording studios, various labels, corporations, famous actors, athletes, and musicians… There were a lot of them. He was very grateful to the person who’d sent him the photos.

Helen went to ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ with a famous director. A week later, he had the operation that installed the neural network into his body.

***

“North Wind!” A voice came through the haze. “North Wind!”

Hadjar opened his eyes. He was leaning against a tree on the green-lit path and breathing heavily. Annette, who was still glowing with a silver light, pulled him toward the mountain.

“Hurry up, Hadjar!”

“All right… I just need a couple of seconds…” He croaked. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Annette waited for a moment and then continued running. Hadjar took a step forward and almost fell over. It was painful. He clutched at his chest, moved his hand away, and stared at it. It was covered in blood from his old, almost forgotten, emotional wound.

He wiped his hand on the tree and looked up at the dark mountain.

“You won’t break me,” he growled, and then ran after Annette.

Chapter 867

T he leaves of the bushes cut his legs and feet, but instead of blood, his memories spilled out onto the glowing path. The more the path absorbed, the more difficult it was for him to take the next step.

“Don’t turn around, Hadjar,” Annette shouted, running ahead of him.

The symbols on her body started to fade. The mountain was still far away.

The emotional wound that had opened up after the first temptation was dragging Hadjar down. The memories that oozed out of it made it hard to breathe.

“Don’t give in to the darkness, Hadjar!” Annette shouted.

Her glittering, silver silhouette was lost somewhere amidst the foliage. The jungle around him grew denser. The vines began to wrap around his arms, and each step took immense effort. He reached inside his soul to summon his Black Blade, but found nothing. A moment later, he was falling through the jungle path once again.

Annette gestured and opened her mouth soundlessly. She was trying to say something. The jungle flashed, turned into a distant star, and then the image seamlessly transitioned into a lit cigar…

“I didn’t want to bother you with this,” she whispered.

It was pouring outside. It was a cold, heavy kind of rain. No one liked this kind of weather, but in this city, it was a frequent occurrence.

Hadjar adored it. He liked to watch the drops stream down the window of his hospital room. Often, he’d observe a race between two droplets and get very upset when the one he hadn’t been rooting for won. He loved it because this rain reminded him that he was still alive, despite everything. Still breathing and feeling. Whenever he got an opportunity to go out onto the balcony, he tried to catch the droplets as if they were something special.

“I’m really sorry... it was terribly stupid of me.”

The cigarette flew away, toward the lights of the busy city. Its scarlet light disappeared amidst the stoplights of cars on the freeway.

Helen was holding the photos that had been sent to him and her phone. On its screen, there was a string of texts and photos proving that someone had tried to blackmail her.

“It was stupid of you not to tell me,” he said.

It was so easy to believe that all these photos were nothing more than incredibly convincing fakes. It was so easy to believe anything when he wanted to be deceived. It was so easy when Helen showed him exactly which photos the photoshops had been created from.

Well, he’d always suspected that the patron who’d put him in the hospital had a special preference when it came to bedmates. And the photos in Helen’s phone could certainly destroy the career of this ambitious man.

“How much did it cost you to get these photos?” The mechanical voice asked.

Helen smiled. She was still crying. Her tears mixed with the rain.

“You don’t want to know,” she shook her head with a rueful chuckle.

It suddenly dawned on him. Recently, she’d stopped driving her Royce and had started going everywhere by taxi…

“Your car…”

“I’ll buy another one.” She waved his concerns off.

“Are detectives that expensive these days?”

“Not really,” She laughed through her tears, “But when you hire seventeen detective agencies at once, it costs a pretty penny.”

“Seventeen ... If I’d known, I would’ve paid for three more.”

“A whole three agencies?” She put a hand to her chest. “You’re so generous-”

They heard the roar of a helicopter heading toward the hospital. It was carrying some important person. Meanwhile, in the streets below, three ambulances were stuck in a traffic jam. In this world, money was power. Even he, a cripple who couldn’t control his own body and whose drool flowed through a special tube that wound behind his ear and was hidden under his long hair, understood that much.

“We should probably get out of here,” Helen said, tucking away a stray strand of hair and watching the huge, white helicopter approaching.

Her dress was soaked and clung to her body, showing off her amazing figure. And through the wet cloth, he saw the outlines of the most enticing black lingerie he’d ever seen in his life.

“Okay.” The mechanical voice responded.

They left the helipad together. When they reached the stairway entrance, she wrung out her midnight black hair while he moved onto the ramp.

The elevator doors opened. The screens inside that usually displayed vitals and the like were off right now. The cold, glossy surface only showed the young couple right now.

They stood in awkward silence. Helen was busy wringing the water out of her hair. It was obvious that she was just finding ways to avoid talking to him.

You might think that a person with so little control over their own life would be terrified of everything, but he’d never been a coward. He wouldn’t avoid a difficult conversation.

“What you said on the roof-”

“Let’s go outside!” Helen said loudly and with a big smile on her face. She always did this when she wanted to avoid discussing something awkward…

“Outside?” He repeated, confused, but it was already too late.

When the elevator doors opened, Helen got behind him and, turning off the controls of the wheelchair, pushed it toward the main elevator. He cursed and waved his hand agitatedly, but a few minutes later, dodging nurses and two doctors who tried to stop them in the lobby, they found themselves out on the street.

It was still raining…

Chapter 868

W hen was the last time he’d gone outside? Well, the longest trip he normally took was from his room to the hydro-massage department located at the other end of the floor. He’d never agreed to any other procedures. Even when his damned patron had brought in the most famous rehabilitation professionals from all over the world, he’d just gotten on their nerves. They’d all given up quickly.

And as for the hydro-massage department... He didn’t have any silly delusions or hopes regarding it, but there was a radio playing there, and the room had incredible acoustics. One of the nurses he’d bribed would turn on the radio for him at night. It was there that he’d first heard Helen.

She was walking next to him along the empty sidewalk… To his left, there was a cold, dark river. Trapped in the equally cold embrace of granite embankments, it spanned the entire city, but the city had never become a second Venice like its founder had hoped it would.

They were heading toward the main avenue of the city. Helen talked endlessly. She waved her hands around and pretended to march as she explained something to him about music videos and parades. It was a ridiculous sight since she was dressed like she was going to a gala.

He really did enjoy the dark, the cold, and the rain. He loved it, in fact. But right now, as he watched Helen’s green eyes, he longed for the rain to stop and the moon to appear, so that they could see the old houses, palaces, and temples.

Unlike the southern cities, this city sometimes actually fell asleep. And right now, at four in the morning, the streets were deserted.

“God, you’re the best conversationalist on the planet!” Helen exclaimed, snapping him out of his musings. If he could have, he’d have flinched in surprise, but instead, he just slammed his hand down on the keyboard.

“Opkjbhe.” The mechanical voice said.

“Did you just come up with a name for the next song?”

Despite the rain, she looked perfect. The minimal makeup she had on was clearly waterproof and high quality as it hadn’t been ruined in the slightest. But even without it, she looked beautiful. The kind of beautiful many spent thousands trying to emulate. Plastic surgery had been elevated to almost an art form in this day and age, and wealthy people could afford to become this beautiful. She hadn’t spent a single dollar on her good looks, though.

“Are you planning to talk to me at all? Is the fresh air getting to your head?” Helen laughed again.

“You’re beautiful,” the speaker crackled. The computer had been affected by the rain.

Her laughter stopped immediately. Helen turned away and looked toward a wide avenue. There were only a few lonely cars, a fence around a cathedral, and a couple of college students falling asleep on a bench to be seen.

“How come you aren’t already taken, Casanova?”

“I don’t know,” was his reply, followed by a shrugging emoticon on the screen. “Maybe it’s because I can only move one hand.”

“As long as you can move at least one finger, you can make a woman very happy,” Helen joked.

“Pervert... Your music should be in porn, not on greatest hits lists.”

“If it was in porn, that porno would instantly become the best one ever made!”

“Oh no, I’m going to be pushed into the road by your overly inflated ego.”

“Great!” Helen stuck out her tongue. “Maybe one of the cars will fix your face.”

They fell silent for a second, then she started laughing again. And he twitched the corners of his lips and hit the armrest with his hand.

It was raining. Her dress had turned into something completely obscene, and his wet tuxedo... hadn’t changed at all. They laughed and chatted.

“It feels so good.” Helen closed her eyes and let the rain fall on her face.

The drops fell over her eyelids, trickled down her cheeks, and ran down her hair. She was smiling.

And then she began to cry so inconsolably that he’d have given anything to be able to get up and comfort her. Summoning all his willpower, he tried to move his feet, but they refused to take even a single step forward, or twitch, or even feel a twinge of phantom pain, anything.

He imagined himself standing up, hugging her from behind, and whispering the most important words to her. Not ‘I love you’. These were cheap, meaningless words. A real man would say: ‘Everything will be alright’, ‘I’ll always be by your side’, or ‘I’ll never let go’. These were the impossible promises, much more difficult to say and keep than ‘I love you’, which made them so much more frightening, and yet so much more meaningful at the same time.

He wished he could kiss her tearstained cheeks in the rain, bury his face in her hair, and hold her. They wouldn’t say a word, the rhythm of the rain and their hearts would be deafening by itself. No words would be needed, the tight embrace and its warmth would do all the talking.

“I’ll hold you!” He wanted to type, but his hand froze over the keyboard.

His drool flowed down the tube, disappearing into the machine behind him. His crooked legs were stuck in special metal braces, his neck was bent at an odd angle that was only made worse by his dislocated jaw, and even his torso was asymmetrical and leaning forward in an unnatural position.

So many people out there fought for equal rights: for women, for different races, for people with different sexualities, and so on. And yet, a lot of those performative activists were just that, performers. They looked away when they saw people like him and locked them up in hospitals to rot away, just so they wouldn’t have to look at them. He’d tried to ignore this injustice, to bury himself in his music and feel better, but with each passing day, he felt his soul growing colder.

“Sorry,” Helen wiped her tears away and composed herself. “Let’s go for a drink!”

“Isn’t a walk enough?”

“I’m serious! Have you ever been to a bar?”

Laughing, she headed down the avenue. He followed her, and even through her tears, her laughter was still music to his ears.

Chapter 869

H adjar reached for the only thing that could save him from drowning in his memories — a hand covered in glowing silver markings.

“Don’t give up, North Wind!” Annette’s voice was almost inaudible.

It was drowned out by the rain. By the High Heavens, he hated rain. Why did everything bad in his life have to be connected to rain? Fucking hell! It was way too corny! Rain… Why not a volcanic eruption? A hurricane? A sunny day? Whoever controlled fate was either melodramatic, or just thought it was super ironic and funny this way.

“Don’t give up, Hadjar! Fight your darkness! Otherwise, you’ll never be able to come into the light!”

Everything shifted and morphed right before his eyes.

“Get up, big guy!” She pulled him up and helped him stand. “If you don’t do this yourself, I’ll carry you to the Mountain! Imagine the shame of needing someone else to drag you to the Firstborn!”

Together, they walked through the rain-soaked jungle. Sharp leaves continued to cut Hadjar’s legs. More memories spilled onto the glowing green path. The old wound on his heart that he’d long ago forced himself to bury was open again and growing wider. It was only now, as he watched the blood pour from his body, that he understood what the magic symbols were for: they were surrounding every emotional scar that he’d received over the years, trying to close them back up. They held them closed like stitches that were as thick as ropes, but nothing could close the biggest one.

“Move, you pale bastard!” Annette snarled. She was pulling him deeper into the jungle.

Hadjar stared at the raindrops landing on the leaves, barely moving his feet. He stared at the pools of blood, seeing scenes from his past. A past that, along with his blood, was pouring out of him.

“Helen…” He whispered.

He stumbled and fell for the third time.

“Fight, North Wind!” He heard someone cry out before the darkness closed in again. “Remember who you are! That is the only way you can pass the trial!”

***

“A trial?” He blinked. They were standing under an awning that covered the stairs to a basement bar. He knew there were a lot of these kinds of bars along this street. “What do you mean?”

He felt like he could see a jungle in the glow of the neon sign. Maybe he was going crazy? They said mountain climbers sometimes went crazy because of the pressure drop and the thinness of the air when they climbed high enough. Maybe there was also a similar effect when a person lived for years on a high hill, on the ninth floor of a hospital, and didn’t even leave their room all that much?

His fingers moved across the keyboard.

“I don’t know,” the mechanical voice responded.

“I don’t know…” Helen mimicked him. “If my presence is such a trial for you, how are we going to watch ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ together?”

“I have no idea.” The shrugging emoticon popped up again. “I’ll pretend I came alone.”

“You’ll have to try very hard to pretend that you came anywhere,” she laughed.

Some people might’ve thought that she was being insensitive and cruel, but this was the kind of humor he appreciated.

People only treated him a few different ways, none of which really sat right with him. There were those who ‘respected’ him. They were probably the only fans who didn’t want paparazzi photos of him and only consumed his songs. There were those who hated him or were disgusted by him, and blatantly told him to kill himself. But the ones he was really hiding from in the hospital were the ones who felt ‘sympathy’ for him. He didn’t need or want their pity.

And then Helen had suddenly come into his life. She was never soft on him, never pitied him, she called him out on his bullshit, joked and laughed with him, made music with him, took care of him, but all with respect and within certain boundaries. He felt like a real person when she was around. Not like a burden or an eyesore, but like his miserable life actually had some meaning to it.

“What’s the name of this bar?” The mechanical voice asked.

“I have no idea,” Helen shrugged. “I’ve never seen it before.”

They were standing under a bright, neon red sign which read ‘DH’. There was an image of a woman with angel wings next to the ‘D’, and a man with a devil’s tail and trident next to the ‘H’. They were eyeing each other through the letters.

“The ‘DH’ bar... I’ve never heard of it.”

“There’s a lot of small bars around here.” Helen led the way down the stairs. “They open and close down every day.”

“How do you know that?”

Oddly, the small basement bar had a wheelchair ramp, so he was able to follow Helen down.

“I needed to provide for myself somehow...”

A car rushed past. Their newest track was blaring on the irritatingly loud speakers.

“Great choice, dude!” Helen shouted. “But you’re still an asshole!”

The driver flipped them off as he vanished into the distance

“What was I talking about again? Oh, right, I worked in some bars and performed there in the evenings.”

“I thought you worked at the Bulgakov bar.”

Helen nodded and opened the door, which had been done in the style of old westerns. “I did, but then Lana showed up. Her act was more popular.”

“Morons…”

“Her voice was more powerful… It doesn’t matter now, though.”

“Yeah, you’re a star now.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Helen laughed. “The bar closed down.”

They passed through a narrow corridor and entered the bar. Strangely, it seemed somehow familiar to him.

“Look, there’s a free table over there,” Helen pointed to a round table for two that was right next to the bar.

He followed her, already regretting this little adventure. He didn’t yet know that this evening would change his life…

Chapter 870

T here was no menu on the table, only a pyramid-shaped sign that read: ‘Please wait until a waiter comes over’. And on the other side, it said: ‘If they don’t come, then you aren’t suited for our bar. Let’s part as friends’.

He couldn’t decide whether this was the worst marketing move of all time or the best one.

“I’ll just go to the ladies’ room real quick,” Helen smiled, left her purse and phone on the table, and headed for the bathroom.

He didn’t mind. He wasn’t afraid of sitting alone in unfamiliar places… He wasn’t…

The atmosphere of the bar, despite the aggressive red color of the walls, was rather pleasant. Some musical instruments stood on a small stage, leaning against the far wall: a simple acoustic guitar, clearly repaired several times, with a sign over it that read ‘Baby’. A shabby, old piano which, apparently, had been moved and dropped more than once. And resting on it, in a briefcase, was a violin. It was the oldest of the bunch. The rest of the musical equipment was new: a bass, two electric guitars, a drum kit, as well as a pair of amplifiers and speakers.

The bar was small and must’ve had good acoustics.

Surprisingly, despite the late hour, there were quite a lot of people here. A group had even gathered at a corner table near the wall, lounging on long sofas. In the center of this group sat a young man and woman.

“Tim!” Someone at their table shouted. “Can I be your best man?”

“No, Royce, that’s my job,” someone else laughingly replied.

The guy had a silly smile on his face as he looked into his girlfriend’s eyes.

“It’s too noisy in here.”

“That’s okay, Weasel…”

There was another group that was sitting closer to the stage. There were even more of them than the wedding planning party… And among them was a female foreigner who had copper skin and curly black hair. She was clearly from South America.

“Are we going to get to play today or not?” She whined.

There was also a group of five teenagers. Who let them in? They were drinking juice and eating an apple pie. It smelled incredible.

A lone white-haired man in a shabby raincoat was drinking at the bar and reading a book.

Some dude wearing an expensive pinstripe suit and shiny shoes was sipping whisky with his pinky finger extended, but his gaze was icy and sharp.

A shady person was lurking in the corner and furiously typing something on their laptop while drinking vodka directly from the bottle.

“Good evening,” someone said.

“Podfgbip…” He twitched in surprise and hit the keyboard.

“I don’t think we have that on the menu, but I can ask the chef to make a special order. If the stars are in alignment, and Mercury is in the third house, he’ll prepare it.”

“Good evening,” the mechanical voice said.

“If you say it’s good, then it is,” the waiter shrugged.

This was probably the strangest waiter he’d ever seen. A scar ran from his left eyebrow to his right cheekbone, but didn’t disfigure his face. His eyes were very strange. He didn’t know what was off about them, exactly, but they were strange. He gave the waiter a nickname. He called him ‘Scar’ in his head.

“My companion will be back soon,” even the mechanical, lifeless voice suddenly sounded a bit warmer. “She likes a cocktail that has a lot of different spirits mixed in, as well as citrus juice… It’s red-”

“A Pomegranate Long Island.”

He was surprised at the speed and ease with which Scar identified the cocktail from his bad description. He didn’t have a notepad or pen in his hand, either. He apparently wasn’t going to write it down and looked like he already knew what they’d order anyway.

“And a salad made from iceberg lettuce and chicken-”

“A classic Caesar,” Scar said.

“Thank you very much,” the emoticon on the screen had a big, dumb smile.

He hated it, but he couldn’t change the settings. His grasp on technology was terrible. He’d once managed to break a flash drive. How? This was still a mystery to the tech support people that had tried to recover a lost album for him.

“What about your order?”

“My order?”

“Well, I’m standing in front of you, talking to you, and taking your order. Not his,” Scar pointed behind him.

There, behind the bar, near the reflective wall comprised of bottles of alcohol, stood the bartender. He was as tall as the waiter, but his appearance was wildly different. There wasn’t anything unusual about him, and the nickname ‘Softie’ immediately came to Hadjar’s mind. The look in his kind, warm eyes was endearing. His wide smile and slightly overweight figure only complemented this image. You’d gladly tell this person all about your troubles and share all your secrets with him, and even ask him for advice…

“Unfortunately, I can’t drink in my condition.”

“We have drips.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Absolutely not. Our bar is famous for being able to serve any guest who suits us.”

“And I suit you?”

“Of course!” Scar replied instantly and fervently. “So, I can get you a drip with the same drink your companion will be enjoying, if you like.”

‘I’ shone on the screen and his hand froze in bewilderment.

“Oh, how nice of you to come over,” Helen appeared behind Scar.

He was afraid that the usual star-struck behavior would now begin. But instead, with casual, practiced movements, Scar pulled back a chair and invited Helen to sit down.

“I’d like to-”

“Your companion has already ordered a Pomegranate Long Island and Caesar salad for you,” Scar interrupted her. “I’m sorry, but you can’t cancel, change, or add to your order at ‘DH’. You only get to choose it once.”

Helen looked at him and smiled, “What strange rules.”

“What a strange bar,” he typed in response without hesitation.

“Well, how about that drip?” Scar asked.

“A drip?” Helen gasped.

Chapter 871

“A re you kidding?”

“As I already told your companion, no, I am not,” Scar was calm, but Helen was clearly annoyed. “So, what will you be ordering?”

He didn’t feel like eating or drinking right now. Then it dawned on him. His fingers flew over the keyboard again.

“You’re able to serve any customer, right?”

“Any client who suits us,” Scar corrected. “That’s right.”

“Will you fulfill any order?”

“Absolutely.”

“I want ‘Stand By Me’ on vinyl.”

Vinyl was very rare in the mid-twenty-first century. No one knew why. Scar smiled, but not in the way that people usually did when trying to save face in a bad situation, but victoriously instead, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.

“Of course,” he said, and went over to the decorative brick wall.

He took a shiny coin from his pocket and tossed it into the old jukebox — it consisted of a few buttons, two columns of records, and a speaker. He hadn’t noticed it when they’d first entered the bar.

“Have a nice evening,” Scar said, taking the pyramid sign and retreating to the bar.

They were left alone. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, then laughed again.

Ten minutes later, Scar brought the cocktail and salad. Helen immediately started eating, and once she was full, they started chatting about all sorts of things. Some were complete nonsense, and some were complicated concepts like freedom or honor.

“How do you like that?” Helen slapped the table, her cheeks red from the alcohol. “They decided to blackmail me with porn. Me! With porn! It’s outright disgusting, and even sexist!”

Everyone knew how different the views were regarding sexually active men versus sexually active women.

“You seem like a real feminist.” The mechanical voice joked.

“Would you like to be photoshopped into pictures with sweaty women you don’t even know?”

“Maybe.”

“Pervert!”

Helen took another sip of her cocktail, wiped her lips with a napkin, and threw herself into a discussion about an ever-present struggle. Then they talked about something revolutionary — a flushable toilet paper tube, which was a thing that had been invented at the beginning of the century. It was one of those strange 4AM conversations that only happened with the help of alcohol and a lot of laughs.

“No, I’m serious,” he stood his ground. “Imagine an engineer sitting on the porcelain throne and coming up with this genius idea. He has to go to his office and continue working, but the toilet paper runs out. So, he needs to figure out how to get out of this situation… And that’s why he poured his heart and soul into it!”

“No, no, no,” Helen didn’t give up. “It’s just a quick fix he thinks of so he doesn’t need to waste time and can go back to his space exploration!”

“Then why do flushable toilet paper tubes already exist, but space isn’t being properly explored?”

“It’s probably because of... because of...” Helen frowned, clearly drunk, “…because of porn!”

“You’re at it again!”

“I am not!”

“You see sex everywhere-”

“No, listen, it’s all because of…”

They laughed and chatted. The windows of the bar were covered, so there was no way to figure out what time it was from just looking at them. It wasn’t until Helen’s phone vibrated that they realized it was already dawn outside.

“We have to go back,” the mechanical voice said.

“That ‘go back’ sounds so poetic.”

She was clearly nodding off after her food and drink.

“You know, no one else probably says it like that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like you’re from another world. Not from here... Not like everyone else.”

“You’re drunk, Helen.”

“Maybe... Maybe that’s why I fell in lo-”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

Damn it!

If he could’ve moved, he would’ve punched Scar. The waiter had appeared right next to their table out of nowhere.

“Yes, it’s time to go.” The mechanical voice said. Unfortunately, it couldn’t reflect his emotions.

“Maybe you’d like to stay a bit longer?”

“No, thank you. We’ll be going now. Check, please.”

“At least stay for another half an hour,” the waiter persisted, “Until the album finishes playing.”

He listened. After Ben King’s album, other performers had played, and now a pleasant, feminine voice was singing. He didn’t recognize it, but it was incredible: powerful, and so deep that his soul froze.

“No, we’re leaving,” Helen said suddenly and harshly. “I can’t stand her.”

She got to her feet, gripped the edge of the table, shook her head, and then staggered toward the exit.

“Fucking Lana,” he heard Helen say before she disappeared into the corridor.

He took his hand off the keyboard, placed it on the joystick, and headed toward the exit as well.

“Please,” Scar blocked the way, “Just one more song.”

He didn’t answer him, just drove straight ahead. Scar wisely moved aside and went back to the bar, watching him go.

***

“You’re breaking the rules again,” Softie, who was wiping glasses, gazed at the waiter. He put the dirty glass down on the counter, leaned back on his elbows, and stared at the jukebox. Scar blinked, and the record, as if by magic, changed to the cripple’s music.

“I don’t understand electronic music, but it has a certain feel to it.”

“Are you ignoring me?”

“You always ignore me, why can’t I ignore you?” Scar shrugged.

“You break the rules too often.”

“It would be better for him to stay here.”

“That isn’t up to you to decide.”

“Not up to you, either.”

“I don’t interfere.”

“Oh, believe me, my old friend, I can see what you normally do.”

“Trust me, my old enemy, you won’t be able to see anything if you don’t clean up table seven.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Softie threw the towel he was holding over his shoulder. Scar raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and went over to table seven.

***

As they went back up the avenue and toward a bus stop, something made him turn around. The morning fog was thickening. Maybe it was because of that that he couldn’t see any sign of that strange bar… It looked like there was just a solid wall at the base of the house. Stupid light playing tricks on him.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

Chapter 872

“D o you have a cigarette?”

In modern times, this was quite a strange request to make since cigarettes had been banned around the world after being classified as heavy drugs. So, this phrase could only be heard from comedians, old TV shows, and muggers nowadays. A very odd group came out of the alleyway. They were wearing leather jackets with metal studs, high lace-up boots, and strange-colored pants.

Understanding the rules of the game, Helen handed them her clutch.

“That fast, gorgeous?” One of them, the smallest and frailest of the five people, was clearly disappointed. “Shall we play a little first?”

“Play with your bitches.” Helen didn’t show any fear. Maybe she was too drunk to care, but, knowing her, she probably just didn’t feel threatened. “You got what you wanted, now go away.”

“What I wanted?” The guy took out a knife and pointed it at Helen. “I haven’t gotten what I want yet.”

“Try and get it,” she snorted.

The man’s eyes narrowed, “Are you really that confident?”

“Puny,” one of his friends said.

“What?”

“It’s Helen.”

“Who the fuck?”

“Not fuck, Helen.” Calmly, the girl spat at his feet. “Go fuck yourself, you filthy bastard.”

“What did you just say?” He swung the knife, but his tall companion caught his hand.

“Forgive him,” he boomed. “His parents dropped him on his head as a child, so he’s a bit dense.” Squeezing the little guy’s wrist so hard that he groaned in pain, he took the purse from him and returned it to Helen. “Have a nice evening, and I’m sorry we bothered you.”

He turned and walked back toward the alley. The other three lowlifes hurried after him. Only Puny stayed behind to pick up the knife he’d dropped.

He watched the scene silently. His and the would-be mugger’s eyes met and he saw anger and hatred flare up in them.

“Go away, bitch,” he hissed at Helen. “I don’t know who you are, but you got lucky today.”

“That isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever been called.”

“Fuck you.” He gripped his knife so tightly that his fingers turned white. “Get the fuck out of here and get your freak-”

Helen’s fist collided with his mouth. Blood mixed with broken teeth spilled out onto the pavement. It had been a strong punch.

“Bitch!” He leapt forward.

She would’ve dodged if she hadn’t been wearing high heels. Those damned high heels! She stepped on the hem of her dress. As if in slow motion, he watched her stumble and fall backwards. Her leg went up and accidentally struck the guy’s legs. He lost his balance and fell on top of her.

Later, the coroner wouldn’t be able to determine what exactly she’d died from: the knife that had stabbed her heart, or the traumatic brain injury she’d received from hitting her head against the curb. In less than three seconds, Helen was dead.

“What have you done, you idiot?”

“I... I… I…” The blood-drenched man shouted. “Shit! Bitch! It’s all his fault!”

“I’ll strangle you, you bastard!” The big guy who’d come running back picked up Puny by the scruff of his neck. “You just committed a murder! We only wanted to play a prank, you asshole!”

“Murder?” The scrawny guy had completely lost touch with reality. “Impossible! My first semester is starting soon! My dad promised me a new car!”

“What car? We’re all going to prison!” Some other guy from their group shouted.

“Why? He did it by himself.”

“We’re still accomplices!” The big guy continued to yell, grabbing the small guy by the shoulders.

“No! No! Let’s just kill the freak and get out of here. There are no cameras in this area! And even if there were, they wouldn’t be able to see anything in this fog.”

“Kill him? Kill someone else?” The big guy pushed him away and plopped his ass down on the pavement. “If you’re so smart, you can do it.”

Puny rose, his legs shaking and unsteady. He picked up the knife and headed toward Hadjar. He held the knife, still dripping with blood, to his throat, but he didn’t even raise his good hand to defend himself. He didn’t even see the guy looming over him. He didn’t see the four frightened guys huddled around them both.

He just stared at Helen’s glassy eyes and her black hair, which was spread across the stones of the old pavement. Crimson streams ran down her body.

He didn’t remember much about what happened next. He heard the sirens of a passing police car. The startled guys scattered. The car was passing by on completely different business, but, due to the suspicious activity, drove into the alley. They were all found and arrested three days later.

The ambulance arrived. Some EMTs put her body in a black bag and loaded her feet first into the ambulance. They took him as well, and headed to the hospital.

He sat in his stupid wheelchair and stared at the glossy reflections that the white lamps made on the black surface of the bag that contained her body.

They stopped. It was still raining when they arrived, and as they brought him out, the morning rain mixed with his tears as they both slid down his face.

***

“That’s mental!” The laptop speaker screamed at top volume.

“It’s business,” a sleazy man said. “Helen was a long-term project. A lot of money was invested in her by very important people. She still had several concerts ahead of her, a movie, not to mention launching her own brands of clothing, cosmetics, perfume… We can’t lose all that.”

“But we’ve already lost the most important thing — Helen.”

“Let’s not go over what happened that night. No one is to blame and-”

“You’re to blame! I’m to blame! Everyone is to blame!”

“Perhaps. However, we aren’t dealing with legal matters right now, but money. Fortunately, surgeons can make miracles happen nowadays. We’d already selected some understudies and doubles in case Helen’s schedule became too packed and she couldn’t keep up.”

“You want to-”

“We’ve already done it. All you have to do is sign a non-disclosure agreement and continue writing music for her.”

He felt sick. He felt dirty. He was a powerless freak. He hadn’t been able to save her life, and now they wouldn’t even let her rest in peace.

“You know what’ll happen to you if you refuse. In two weeks, you’ll be released from here and sent to a shelter. The conditions there aren’t even remotely as good as these.”

“I have money and-”

“You don’t have any money. All the accounts are registered to your patron, who, by the way, also invested in Helen. More than anyone else, actually.”

Fucking hell!

“Sign the documents, and I give you my word that you’ll never see or hear from me again. If, of course, you continue to make songs for us. Don’t worry about the lyrics, we’ve already gathered together a group of capable people. Not like you, of course, but if you want-”

He signed and tossed the folder at the door, “Get out!”

The man got up, straightened his suit, picked up the folder, and, standing in the doorway, without turning around, said:

“That’s what I thought.”

He hated himself.

***

Holding the knife he’d stolen at lunch to his neck, unshaven and unwashed, he stared at the city lights. On the screen of his laptop was a photo from the first page of a well-known tabloid. On it, Helen and a famous director were at the premiere of ‘The Phantom of the Opera’.

Except it wasn’t Helen. Not his Helen. He’d betrayed her. Twice… He wouldn’t do so a third time.

On the table was his suicide note detailing all his sins, and the knife had already touched his skin when an unfamiliar person entered his room. He dropped the knife and pretended to be stroking his chin in thought.

“Are you awake?”

“Who are you? Who let you in here?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I work here, on the seventh floor.”

“The department of neurosurgery?”

...

....

***

Hadjar lay on the cold stones. Below him, the jungle glowed green. Above him, the sky shone with unfamiliar stars.

It was raining. The rain was cold and prickly.

He cried, unable to resist the terrible pain in his chest, where his old wound had opened up again.

“You forgot who you are!” A voice boomed, and a black-cloaked figure stepped out of the darkness.

“I didn’t…”

“You’ve disgraced yourself and your ancestors, North Wind!”

“I didn’t…”

The figure was approaching steadily. Every step it took shook the mountain he was lying on, covered in blood and memories.

“You forgot who you are! You lost your way!”

“I didn’t…”

The figure loomed over him like a shadow. Its cloak fluttered in the wind.

“Who are you?” Hadjar croaked.

“But the most important thing is that you forgot about me…”

Chapter 873

“W hat’s going on here?”

Ablim, Iblim, and some of the most gifted Speakers came into the tent. Iblim held a club in his hand and looked as hostile as a man could possibly look.

“Initiation,” the old man answered plainly.

Holding his carved staff, he was sitting next to the fire and looking at the two people lying side by side. Annette was beginning to come to. When the girl’s consciousness returned from wandering through the Green House, the old man threw a flowery blanket over her.

“Daughter,” Iblim tried to go to his child, but was blocked by the old man’s staff.

“You know the ritual, Pathfinder,” the Keeper of the Past rasped out. “Until North Wind returns from the Mountain of Elements, you mustn’t touch his Guide. Otherwise, you run the risk of adding your darkness to his. Then he might never come back.”

“He’s unlikely to come back anyway,” the Nature Speaker chuckled. “I’ve never seen such a deep wound before.”

Iblim looked at the guest of his tribe and made several gestures. The panting, sweating, twitching warrior covered in scars was clearly going through something far worse than the battles that had left those scars on his body. On his chest, a huge wound was growing even larger, and a black substance was oozing out of it.

“What do you say, Annette, Iblim’s daughter?”

“Keeper,” Annette put her hands on her shoulders and bowed, “North Wind will fight to the end.”

“Against such darkness?” Ablim’s anger was reflected in the raging fire. “No one would be able to withstand that! We should end his suffering!”

The flames shot up toward the hole in the tent’s dome. It crackled fiercely as the logs turned to ash, and its heat singed Hadjar’s brows and lashes. The old Keeper held out his hand to the fire. Ablim, clutching his chest, staggered back, and the column of orange gradually turned back into a calm dance of hot, scarlet petals.

“Only the ones who encounter the greatest obstacles and still overcome them can rise above themselves,” the old man whispered and, after bundling himself up in a gray robe, added, “Let’s wait.”

***

The sky above Hadjar looked like a bent sheet of metal. Flashing lightning bolts raced along its curve. The steadily approaching, growing rumble of this terrible thunderstorm sounded like the screeching of mad banshees.

Rain whipped his face. Razor-sharp droplets cut his cheeks and left a trail of blood behind that mixed with the black substance that was flowing out of the gaping wound on his chest. The dark purple mixture flowed all the way down to the hem of the cloak of the figure looming over Hadjar.

“You forgot who you are...” It repeated.

“I know who I am,” Hadjar croaked.

He tried to stand up, but the figure’s foot pressed down on his wound. Was the roar that echoed across the dark jungle Hadjar’s cry or thunder?

“If that’s the case, why did you bury her deep inside yourself?”

Lightning struck the air above the figure.

“Helen…” Hadjar whispered.

It had been so long ago... He’d forced himself to forget that name, erase it from even the deepest recesses of his soul, wash away her image with the blood and sweat he spilled in endless battles and training. She was his secret. The one he’d buried deep inside his soul and tried to forget in order to live a calmer life. Over the years, he would only remember her vague silhouette from time to time and shudder.

Hadjar’s will was strong. Very strong. He’d locked this secret away so well that not even the Black General, or the golem in the Wastelands, or the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman in the mountains of Balium, or even Helmer with his terrible nightmares and the orc shaman with his visions had been able to find it.

It was raining on the Mountain of Elements. The rain was sharp, burrowing past his skin and getting to his very soul. It somehow reopened his deepest emotional wound.

“It wasn’t my fault she died,” Hadjar groaned. “There was nothing I could’ve done!”

“You shouldn’t have forgotten her! And what she did for you.”

“I didn’t forget,” Hadjar pushed the figure’s foot off his chest and writhed in terrible agony.

“You did forget,” the figure insisted. Its voice changed with each passing second: one moment, it was like thunder in the sky, then like the sound of a sword being drawn, then it became a father’s kind voice. “You forgot everything. Even your name…”

“I remember my name!”

“Then what is your name, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind?”

“You already said it!” A flash of lightning illuminated Hadjar’s face. “Hadjar Darkhan, born Duran, is my name.”

The storm died down for a moment. In the silence, the sound of falling raindrops was almost like distant cannon fire.

“No, that name is the wall behind which you hid all the darkness you gathered in that world.”

That world? For the first time in his new life, he heard someone mention Earth directly. He looked up at the figure. The wind ruffled its cloak. In this darkness, it was difficult to determine who it was.

“Who are you?” Hadjar whispered.

The figure was silent. Another lightning bolt flashed overhead. The figure’s voice sounded like thunder:

“You forgot me, just like you forgot her! I’ve been with you since your first breath! I was with you in that orphanage when people questioned your right to live every day! I was with you in the dungeon you locked yourself in! I was with you when you lay on a cold table under the knives of surgeons! I was with you in this world as well! I saved you from the swords…”

The memory of him standing on the Master’s parade ground in the Royal Palace of Lidus flashed in Hadjar’s mind. He watched dozens of sharp swords falling toward him from the rack.

“I was One with the Sword and-”

“LIES!” The figure roared, shattering the stones around them. Lightning descended from the sky and turned part of the mountain into lava. “You took this sword illusion into your hands because you were afraid of me, the only one who was always there for you. I was always with you… But you pushed me away. Betrayed me the same way you betrayed Helen…”

“That’s not true…”

“Then tell me your name, Hadjar Darkhan! Say it!”

Hadjar looked at the figure again. The darkness streaming from his wound was flowing into the figure’s cloak. Or so it seemed. He could now see that the cloak wasn’t absorbing the darkness, but that the darkness was the cloak, that it was the shackles that bound the figure.

“I know who you are...” Getting to his feet with great difficulty, Hadjar grabbed the figure’s shoulder. “Where were you... Where were you when I needed you the most?”

With that anguished cry, Hadjar threw the hood off the figure’s head. Half of his own face looked back at him. The other half was a blur, ever-changing and impossible to pin down. The clear, bright blue eye of the other-Hadjar looked at him and said all there was to say without uttering a word.

“Where were you...” Hadjar whispered, “When I betrayed you?”

“You only betrayed yourself, Hadjar Darkhan,” his own voice replied. “And now you’ll pay for it.”

A sword appeared in the other-Hadjar’s hand.

Chapter 874

T he half-Hadjar, half-illusive substance figure grabbed a lightning bolt out of the air and bent it into a sword hilt. He swung it through the air and a blade materialized. It was as blue as the azure sky, with black, stormy streaks and silver bolts of lightning running through it. The sword resembled the Black Blade, but looked more menacing and somehow deeply connected to the figure.

“I won’t fight you,” Hadjar said, shaking his head. The action made his body twitch, and he staggered to the side. The wound on his chest was still oozing. If he hadn’t had such immense willpower, he would’ve been crushed by the pressure of the soul wound long ago. It was still inflicting incredible pain on him and he couldn’t even stand because of it.

Thunder hit his ears like a war drum and lightning flashed like the grin of a hungry, enraged beast. The rain came down on his body like a hail of sharp arrows.

“That’s all you are, just Hadjar Darkhan!” The figure’s roar was even louder than the storm. “You don’t even have the most important part of you!”

The sword slash that followed was fast. Even Hadjar, who possessed the Sword Kingdom, couldn’t see it. The huge, blue streak that followed finally dissipated somewhere near the horizon after a long time. Thousands of lightning bolts rained down from the storm that was torn asunder by the attack. Merging into a single stream, they formed a huge winged monster that bit into the Mountain of Elements. It reduced a good chunk of it to dust which scattered in the wind, and directly evaporated another.

“You don’t have the rage.” The figure whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

Somehow, he heard it, even through the roar of the rain.

“When you take up your sword, it’s silent. There is no lust for battle in it. Just an attempt to escape, to hide from everything. But that isn’t fighting!” Another boom of thunder merged with the figure’s words. “It’s flight! It’s cowardice!”

“I’m not a coward!” Hadjar spat venomously. “You know that! You, of all people, know that!”

“I do!” Lightning and thunder swirled around the figure. They tore at the mountain, turning even more of it to dust and lava. “But do you? You’ve forgotten! You’ve forgotten everything that made you, you! You traded me. You traded my rage, traded my freedom for slavery!”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“CHOICE!” Lightning struck with such force that it seemed like it would split the sky, the earth, and even the universe in half. “There is always a choice,” The figure said in a much quieter tone. “You gave me up when you made yours!”

The sword was an inch from Hadjar’s chest, and the next flash of lightning revealed a huge symbol that had appeared behind Hadjar. Every part of it looked like it had been created by a sharp and incredibly powerful sword slash. All together, they formed the image of a beetle.

“It gave me the power to protect my friends,” Hadjar whispered. “To protect my people… Just like Helen taught me.”

“That isn’t what she taught you, you fool!”

“How would you know?” Hadjar shouted back. Every shout brought him unbearable pain, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You weren’t there! You weren’t on that pavement! You weren’t in those mountains! I was left alone!”

“Only a coward is afraid of being alone! And you aren’t a coward, I know that much at least!”

“Then leave if you already know it!” Hadjar growled. “I’ve survived all these years without you, and I can keep doing it!”

“Again,” the single eye of the other-Hadjar flashed with unbearable light, “You’re giving up. Retreating. Is this what the real Darkhan, the true North Wind, does? Is there nothing else to you?”

“I never retreat!” Hadjar pushed the sword away. Blood splattered on the stones from the resulting cut. “I never give up!” He grabbed the figure by the cloak. “And I always fight! Don’t even say her name, you fucking traitor! This is my burden! My cross to bear! My-”

“Do it!” Another flash of lightning. This one revealed that the substance that made up the figure’s other half was similar to the energy inside the Shuk’Arka warriors. “Strike, Hadjar. Prove to me that you still have a storm inside you.”

“What?”

Hadjar suddenly realized that his raised hand was holding the Black Blade, which was emanating darkness. He recoiled and released the figure’s cloak.

“You forgot, Hadjar. You forgot me. You forgot yourself. You forgot everything that made your sword so formidable that it could split the sky itself in half.” The figure lowered its blade, which was made of lightning and wind. “The gods don’t need to fight you, you can do that quite well all on your own. You’re a weakling and a coward.”

Hadjar staggered back. He dug his sword into the ground and leaned heavily on it.

“Tell me, Hadjar Darkhan, was it worth it to forget your own name?”

“I remember my name!” What was it again? “I remember...” A stupid, funny name that Helen had said so often… “I remember…”

The blare of a horn... the roar of helicopter blades... a dog barking... creaking hinges... the sound of a generator... a baby’s cry… Some sort of sound always drowned out his name in his memory.

It had been so stupid, so funny, so simple…

“So, who betrayed whom, Hadjar Darkhan? Did you betray me, or I you?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe that’s why you fell in love with Anise? She’s almost an exact copy of Helen, after all.”

“Shut up!”

Dropping his sword, Hadjar clutched his head. What was his name? Keyboard clicks... the sound of a bass guitar... the noise of a street... other people’s conversations...

“Was it worth it to forget the spring thunder brought by the northern wind? Was it worth it to forget the joy of the storm that it created in the middle of a sunny day?”

Drunk people swearing... screams... loudspeakers… He remembered...  What was his name?

“Was it worth it to forget the feeling of delight when you were on the edge of a precipice, and a wind would blow right in your face? Was it worth it to forget a winter storm that made you feel stronger than the whole world?”

Stupid name! A mistake made in the documents at the orphanage, which had turned a completely ordinary name into something that became his symbol, something that had helped him live on and not give up.

“Tell me, Hadjar Darkhan,” Thousands of lightning bolts intertwined into the shape of the monster that had destroyed part of the mountain, “Was it worth it to give me up to the darkness?”

To hide this secret, he’d needed a strong container. And what could be stronger than a soul? And what lock could be more reliable than the seal of the mighty Sword itself?

Hadjar looked up at the figure again.

He saw half of his own face. It had a bright, shining eye, inside of which a storm appeared in the middle of a sunny day; chaos roared within, making him feel powerful enough to fight the whole world; spring thunder boomed, granting him a sense of boundless freedom and thirst for battle. The North Wind shone inside his eye.

Hadjar looked down at his right arm, which had the scarlet tattoos of his true self, hiding many of his scars. Then he raised his left arm. Or rather, what was left of it — a dark substance similar to the one that had replaced the other-Hadjar’s missing half.

“Where’s your rage, Hadjar Darkhan?” The figure shouted. “Can’t you hear the roar of your ancestors? The drums beating? Can’t you feel that thirst, that need to fight against the whole world?”

“You’re mad!”

“No!” The figure’s blue eye flashed, and a ghastly smile twisted half of its face into something like a grimace. “We’re mad!”

Hadjar grabbed his sword and charged forward.

“Finally!” The figure cackled.

Their blades clashed and the sky split apart. Two dragons were fighting in the heavens. Blue and black. They tore at each other, bit into each other. They laughed and cried. There was thunder, lightning, and rain.

Chapter 875

“B y the Eternal Springs!” Iblim shouted.

Something unimaginable was happening outside the tent: the calm sky had suddenly turned black and a strong wind had started blowing. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. There was a storm brewing, one so dangerous that many tribe members went to the perimeter of the camp and raised their hands to the sky, chanting.

Slowly, a shimmering dome of light appeared around the Shuk’Arka tribe’s home. Unlike those created in the seven Empires, it wasn’t based on the power of runes or symbols.

“We don’t encounter our most powerful enemies in a fair battle, Pathfinder,” the Keeper of the Past looked like an island of calm in the center of a cataclysm. The old man, who was still just sitting by the fire, looked at the writhing and moaning pale man.

“What is this darkness that he is fighting?”

“...We encounter them in our own reflection,” the old man said and fell silent.

Ignoring everything that was happening around him, he watched the warrior writhing in agony and the gaping black wound in the center of his chest that was growing wider.

***

Two dragons, intertwined in a tangle of fangs and claws, fought in the midst of a raging storm. They tore at each other, spilling rivers of black and blue blood onto the mountain. Their eyes were filled with animal rage. They beat each other with their tails. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell them apart, as they seemed to merge together and become a serpent eating its own tail. Then, after they separated once more, they plunged back into a relentless and bloody fight.

Scales fell to the ground along with streams of blood. Each blow from a huge claw was accompanied by thunder, which merged with the roar of the wounded dragons. Each bite of the powerful jaws, which were piercing even the tough skin and scales, was followed by a roar of anger and pain.

Lightning bolts wrapped around their bodies like glowing threads that shattered against the fury of their fight.

They disappeared into the clouds, becoming only vague silhouettes on the surface of the storm, revealed occasionally by flashes of bright light. Then, suddenly, they both landed on the peak of the mountain where they’d begun their fight.

Two wounded figures lay on the rocks. One held a blade darker than midnight in his right hand, while the other held a sword brighter than the noon sky in his left. Both of them were breathing heavily. They were covered in blood and wounds, but they didn’t give up.

Both of them dug their blades into the stone for support and rose to their feet. They looked into each other’s eyes and launched a final attack. Their screams, full of bloodlust, became thunder, or maybe the thunder became their screams.

Lightning flashed. It illuminated two silhouettes. They were on their knees, huddled together so closely that they looked like a single entity. Their hands hung limply by their sides. Their long hair was tangled. Both of them had a blade sticking out of their backs. Black and blue. Neither of them had been able to defeat the other.

“I just wanted to...” the one who wielded the blue sword made of wind croaked, “fight with you, side by side. Like we did before. When we were alone against the world. When we were-”

Thunder drowned out the rest of his words.

When Hadjar opened his eyes again, he found himself in the middle of a vast expanse covered in green grass. But this wasn’t his soul realm, as the hill in the center atop which rested the stone and the tree wasn’t there.

There was nothing here except endless meadows stretching out toward the horizon, with grass swaying in the wind. Clouds floated in the sky, casting shadows across the plain.

With another gust of wind, the area changed abruptly. Now it was no longer a plain, but a boundless steppe covered in yellow grass, small stones, and lakes. The sun was setting.

Its cold evening rays shone down on the back of an old man. He had broad shoulders, thick, white hair gathered in a ponytail, and powerful, sinewy hands covered in a lot of scars. A scarlet cape was draped over armor that had seen many battles. This old man was clearly a warrior. One of those few who’d survived all the battles that had come for him. He hadn’t yet met his oh so desired end in a battle against a fierce and proper enemy with his sword in his hands.

However, he wasn’t holding a blade, but a musical instrument. It was a psaltery, a slightly modified one. He plucked its strings, making music that felt so familiar to Hadjar.

“Who are you?” Hadjar asked.

“You know who I am-” Another strum of the strings drowned out the old man’s words. “You shouldn’t have done that to him. He is closer to you than your brother, than your own parents, more honest than your reflection in the mirror, and more faithful than your shadow.”

“Are you talking about-”

The old man pointed behind Hadjar. He turned around. Behind him, way off in the distance, was the figure wrapped in the cloak created from the darkness oozing out of the old wound on Hadjar’s chest.

“Now what?” Hadjar asked, turning back to the old man.

“I don’t know,” the man replied, plucking the strings again. “We, he and I, will wait for you here, Hadjar. Come find us, and we’ll go all the way to the horizon and even farther, where the northern wind hasn’t yet reached.”

“How will I find you?”

The old man put down his psaltery. He stretched and then walked over to Hadjar. His steps were light and quick. His eyes shone silver. The closer he got to Hadjar, the bigger he became, until he covered the entire universe.

He leaned down, turned back into an ordinary old man, and took a small beetle from Hadjar’s shoulder. He held it in the palm of his hand, and then a torrent of storm winds and lightning poured out of his eyes.

“By fighting!” Thunder roared.

***

A lightning bolt that was the color of the noon sky fell from the black clouds, turning the tent to dust. It struck the warrior’s chest. He screamed in agony as the heavenly fire, like the needle of an experienced seamstress, closed the terrible wound on his chest. When the lightning finally dissipated into mere sparks, instead of a wound, there was only a terrible, three-finger-wide scar left, which stretched out from his right shoulder to his left hip.

“By the Eternal Springs!” Iblim exclaimed again.

When the warrior opened his eyes and stood up, the Pathfinder reached out to help him, but was stopped by the Keeper’s staff again. Hadjar, naked, bloody, and alternatively getting up, falling, getting up again, and falling again, wandered toward the rain. There he saw the silhouette of a girl who shone brighter than the sun. He said the most important word. His inability to say it had torn his soul in half long ago. And now, she was hidden somewhere in this unnamed world. Hidden from him.

“Sorry,” Hadjar whispered.

The figure dancing in the rain froze, then laughed, and said before disappearing:

“…”

Hadjar clenched his fist and struck the ground with it over and over:

“I can’t hear… I don’t remember... I can’t hear... I don’t remember…”

The bug-shaped hieroglyph flashed above him. It shone brightly. The wind blowing from the north played the last chord of the fierce storm. It shattered old trees and lifted huge stones into the air. It brought thunder that made the water’s surface ripple. It brought lightning that lit up the jungle brighter than the sun.

A roar sounded and the Black Blade slammed down on the slave mark. The stream of willpower, expanding and transforming into an endless barrage of swords, collided with the stream of steely light. They circled each other until everything grew still once again.

The hieroglyph, several lines of which had now disappeared, was drawn back into Hadjar. He lay on his back, clenching the sword in his hands, and his Kingdom was spread out around him. Everything was his sword. Everything around him obeyed his will. Within a distance of forty paces, he could hit any target. He possessed a County now. He whispered, “I’ll find you,” got to his feet, and froze.

Without lowering his sword or bending a knee, he went into oblivion. There was a terrible scar on his chest, the Black Blade was in his hands, and a thin pattern consisting of several blue threads now marred its darkness.

Chapter 876

I t was difficult for him to open his eyes. His whole body ached and spasmed. It was so cold that Hadjar cupped his hands and tried to bring them to his mouth. The movement caused a pain in his chest that made him wince. Still unable to distinguish between reality and dreams, he touched his chest. He now had a wide scar where the black hole had recently been. Hadjar ran his fingers over it. It ran from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Suddenly, he felt something like a panic attack. He’d gone through something similar back on Earth. His head started spinning and he was afraid of something that he couldn’t pinpoint. It became difficult to breathe and he felt sick. A cold sweat covered him. His legs were weak. And then it passed as abruptly and suddenly as it had begun.

“What the-”

“You’re dying, North Wind,” someone told him.

Hadjar shook his head. He realized that his hair had been woven into a tight braid. He looked around. He was in a replica of the tent where his Initiation had taken place. The impeccable memory of a Spirit Knight coupled with the analytical abilities of his neural network’s computing module easily found some discrepancies between the two dwellings.

“I know,” Hadjar wiped the blood from his lips and, swaying, got to his feet, then took out his favorite clothes from his spatial ring.

There was no one else in the tent except for him and the Keeper of the Past.

“You’re dying,” the old man repeated. “And it has nothing to do with the poison in your blood.”

Hadjar shuddered. The Shuk’Arka tribe had surprised him yet again. They were a very strange people: they had weak bodies that could be destroyed by mortals, and were unable to live longer than a few centuries, but they possessed incredible magical power. And their knowledge… The old man was scaring Hadjar by talking as if he knew everything in this world.

“How-”

“I can feel it,” the Keeper interrupted him. Maybe that was why he never waited for anyone to finish their sentence? He simply knew what they were going to say next. “I can feel this rotten mixture that the daughter of the weak forest brewed,” Hadjar wasn’t sure that his neural network had correctly translated that last phrase. “It chained the Chimera of destruction created by the misguided Original Born.”

Hadjar wasn’t even surprised that the old man knew about the Black General. It seemed like everyone knew about the Enemy. He was glad that the Keeper wasn’t going to throw any magic at him. Instead, he was calmly sitting in the same room as the descendant of the first Darkhan.

“That isn’t why you’re dying, Hadjar. You’ll die much sooner than that will kill you. The poison will devour a part of your soul and destroy your body.”

“Devour a part of my soul?” Hadjar asked. “But how-”

“It takes great power to hold back a strong Chimera like the first Darkhan. You contain only a fragment of his soul, but this fragment needs power — half of your soul. The poison is used as fuel.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened in surprise. Of course, he’d always suspected that the elven King’s sister would never simply help him out of the goodness of her heart. But the fact that she’d lied to him felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice cold water all over him…

“Is it true that if I reach the Lord level, the poison won’t kill me?”

“The Lord level?” The old man stared into the fire without blinking. It seemed like he wasn’t talking to Hadjar, but himself. “Ah, yes, that’s what your people call the state of one soul… No, Hadjar, it won’t. But it will permanently cripple you. You’ll lose all your power and only live as long as a mortal. And when you die, the Chimera will die with you.”

His neural network was probably translating the word ‘Chimera’ incorrectly. In the seven Empires, that word referred to an artificial being created by both magic and alchemy. The last Chimera found in the lands of the Empires dated back to the end of the Hundred Kingdoms era. After Erhard had conquered all the Kingdoms, the knowledge of how to create something like that had disappeared.

“You’re human, Hadjar. And I’m human. We can deceive each other. We can kill each other. But we do it in our own, unique way. Those who are born of other entities do things their own way. An elven healer would’ve never allowed a Chimera to roam among the living.”

Hadjar swore. Damn that elf and her schemes! The oath she’d made was exactly like he was describing. And he’d even answered Hadjar’s question: Why had the elf helped him? She hadn’t helped him, she’d only decided to play it safe and make sure that the fragment of the Enemy’s soul wouldn’t have even the slightest chance of salvation.

“But all of that isn’t why you’re dying…”

Hadjar shuddered. The Keeper shivered and clung to his staff.

“Why, then?”

A few seconds passed in silence, until the old man reached into the fire. The flames caressed his dark skin, but didn’t burn him. They didn’t leave even a single trace. Despite this, Hadjar was still certain that a mortal arrow could send the old man to his forefathers. Or, as the tribespeople called them, the Firstborn. The Keeper took a small stick from the fire. It was charred right down the middle.

“Look, North Wind,” he handed it to Hadjar. “This wand is stronger than any wand you can find outside the Green House. Both of its ends are like those cold, shiny stones that pale people love so much.”

Hadjar didn’t know why his neural network didn’t just use the word ‘iron’.

“But the middle of it is charred. That terrible scar makes this wand much weaker than it really is,” the Keeper of the Past effortlessly broke it in half, then threw the halves into the fire. In less than a few seconds, they were reduced to ash. “What is strong as a whole always becomes weak if it’s divided.”

Hadjar touched the scar on his chest.

“That’s right,” the old man nodded. “When a child is born, they are born with only one desire — to live. But this desire differs from person to person. If they don’t forget it with age, then this desire turns into a true dream. And it’s strong, Hadjar. So strong that it can bend the earth, weave a rope from the sky, even extinguish or light the stars in the sky.”

“And it’s also strong enough-”

“-to split the soul,” the old man finished. “With your first breath, Hadjar Darkhan, you split your own soul in half. By a lucky coincidence, for many years, it locked up your greatest fear and fiercest enemy.”

“The Black General,” Hadjar nodded.

The old man looked up from the fire and met his eye.

“Yourself,” he corrected him.

Chapter 877

W hile the dumbfounded Hadjar tried to make sense of the Keeper’s words, the latter added some more wood to the fire, then moved it around with the tip of his carved staff. Just like his hand, it didn’t burn either.

“On the Mountain of Elements, we meet our worst enemy, Hadjar,” the Keeper turned back to the fire. His glassy eyes reflected the dancing flames. “The three temptations bring our greatest secret and our deepest fear to the surface. The one we hide the deepest. The one we lock up far away from everyone, even ourselves. We lie to ourselves that it doesn’t exist so fiercely that we eventually start to believe it.”

Hadjar, realizing that their conversation wouldn’t end soon, sat down on the pelts. He was still cold, so he reached for the fire, which warmed him up.

“If we overcome this fear, we’ll ascend the Mountain of Elements and the Original Born will judge us. They will lead us to the Eternal Springs, call the Firstborn of your blood, and they will say their word.”

“I haven’t been judged,” Hadjar pointed out.

The old man said nothing and, acting as if he hadn’t even heard Hadjar, he continued:

“Your Initiation, Hadjar... was strange. You tore your soul in half. Only the half that is inside you right now went to the Green House, where the leaves of memory cut your feet, soaking the world in your darkness.”

Hadjar remembered running along the green path, his legs constantly being cut by something, and instead of blood, memories had flowed out.

“When your greatest fear came into the world, you met your greatest enemy — yourself. A warrior will always remain a child waving a stick around until they overcome that final enemy, no matter how many other enemies they’ve defeated before.”

The final enemy… This stuck out to him, but he couldn’t remember why. A Spirit Knight’s memory was impressively sharp, it was as if you had a book in front of you with everything written down in it perfectly. Except… if you didn’t know where to look in the book, you wouldn’t find the things you needed.

“How can you defeat yourself, Hadjar? We’re all just kids with sticks,” the old man placed his hand on his staff. “You encountered a fragment of your soul that you banished when you were born.”

“But it… he told me he was with me. He was always with me until I betrayed him and accepted the mark-”

“The mark of the oppressed,” the old man interrupted, again. “You gave yourself to the entity that the dreams of thousands of human tribes created. By doing so, you gave up your Original Born, in whose honor you chose your true name.”

Darkhan, he heard the crackle of the burning wood. The beads that served as the tent door swayed, and a gust of wind bent the tent walls.

“When you were born with your desire, it was powerful enough to spread across the world and find someone with whom it resonated. When it called, the Firstborn came to hear the name. It took half your soul in its arms, saved it, raised it, and then tried to give it back.”

The voice that Hadjar had heard. The stories he’d been told. The amazing dreams of distant lands and endless journeys, wondrous places, and the most dangerous adventures that he’d seen as a child… The wind couldn’t have shown all that to him. But the half of his soul he had discarded could…

Hadjar clutched at his chest. There was a scar there. Traitor... He deserved that label.

“You’re a strange man, Hadjar Darkhan,” the old man said. “You live with half a soul, and though you should’ve died because of that, you’re still alive. Inside you lives the terrible Chimera that seeks to destroy this world, but you haven’t obeyed its will. The other half of your soul merged with the Original Born, but since it has incredible willpower, it hasn’t become its own entity, just an extension of you. The path that lies before you is both so short and so long that I can’t see neither the beginning nor the end of it.”

Hadjar didn’t understand what the old man was trying to say, but he knew that he had to ask one question:

“How can I find my other half?”

The Keeper smiled, “Don’t you want to know how to survive?”

“You said it yourself, Keeper of the Past. I am a warrior. We are born, taught, and live to die one day so that-”

“You’re wrong,” the old man interjected. “A warrior doesn’t live to die. They live so that others can live.”

Hadjar shuddered again. He remembered one of the last evenings he’d spent on the Storm Mountain and Orune’s words from back then. However, right now, he didn’t want to think about that.

“But I will say this: if you can find the other half of your soul, the elven poison won’t harm you, and the Chimera won’t be able to reappear in this world without your permission.”

Hadjar felt inspired.

Give me a deadline for the highest priority command, he ordered mentally.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

21 days... 16 hours... 7 minutes and 25... 24... 23 seconds left before the Sword’s Mark is hacked.]

“How much time do I have?” Hadjar asked.

The old man was silent for a moment. He stared into the fire, as if talking to it.

“Until the moon dies and is born again, no more than that.”

A lunar month... Just twenty-eight days, then…

“Please, Keeper of the Past, tell me where I can find the other half of my soul!”

The old man turned to Hadjar.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Hadjar?”

“Of course! Who would refuse to live with a whole soul?”

The Keeper just smiled a little sadly.

“You’d be surprised at how many people would give a lot, if not everything they have, to be in your shoes.”

“What are you talking-”

“It’s easier to live with half a soul than with a whole one. When you get it back... If you get it back, the weight of the darkness that you threw away along with it will fall on you all at once. There will be feelings that were locked away inside of you that didn’t have the strength to come out: love, hate, fear, lust, dreams, happiness… They’ll become brighter and sharper. They might kill you, Hadjar. Are you sure you’re prepared for this?”

Hadjar remembered the silhouette on the Mountain of Elements. He remembered the battle between the two dragons, and how they’d impaled each other with their swords. He remembered the tears and the words spoken by his own soul: I just wanted to fight with you, side by side...

No, Hadjar Darkhan, the Mad General, never left his people behind. Maybe, as a child, when he’d just come into this world, wounded and beaten, he had succumbed to fear and divided his soul in half. Now he was no longer that same person who blamed himself for his weakness and uselessness. He was Hadjar Darkhan. He was the Mad General. He was a warrior. He’d keep fighting as long as his heart still beat, as long as hot steel sang in his hands… As long as the enemy was still standing, Hadjar Darkhan would never fall to his knees.

“I am.” He nodded resolutely.

“Then listen carefully, Hadjar Darkhan. What I am about to tell you is the essence of the Knowledge that the Talesh received from the Original Born who gave their lives to stop the false gods from enslaving this world.”

Chapter 878

“I t all happened many moons ago,” the Keeper began, “When the Original Born walked freely across the lands. They were the first to see the Heavens and the Earth. The first to dive into the water and come out into the sunlight to dry off. The first to notice dew drops and hide beneath the shadow of a tree.”

Hadjar listen attentively. After all, his survival could very well depend on this legend.

“But they didn’t know the names of the things that were all around them. Then they heard a voice that gave names to everything.”

“A voice? Whose voice?”

“That’s a good question, Hadjar,” the Keeper chuckled. He seemed to not mind being interrupted. “The Talesh devoted many eons to this question, but they didn’t find the answer. Some considered the Voice to be a true deity, while others thought of it as the Creator of the world, and some saw it as an Eternal Spirit, or the cosmos itself… It had many names, but no one knew or knows for sure who it belonged to.”

Hadjar nodded, even though he didn’t understand how these Original Born — apparently, the Shuk’Arka called the Spirits that — could’ve heard the Voice without knowing who or what it had belonged to. That sounded kind of odd to him.

“The Voice spoke to them, and they listened and learned. They were told the names of things, their Real Names. When you learn a Real Name, you gain power over their owners that’s proportional to your own power. So, for example, by using the Real Name of fire…” The Keeper said something and the fire assumed the shape of Hadjar’s face for a second, “I gain power over it.”

“Word Magic?”

The Keeper nodded, “It’s the first and only magic of this world. Everything else is just its illegitimate and often warped offspring. The Talesh studied the Words and created their own Magic Arts… Just for fun. But after their fall and the end of the age of the false gods and the Original Born walking among the people, the true magic, the Word Magic, disappeared, and the Magic Arts created by the Talesh were scattered around the world.”

“But Keeper, you can talk to fire!”

“I can. But I only know one word, Hadjar Darkhan. Only one... True Word Mages could speak this language as fluently as I’m speaking to you right now. Nowadays, someone who learns the Fifth Form of the Word ‘Water’ can control rain, but the real Word Mages could speak to each individual drop of rain, they knew their ever-changing, True Names.”

“Names can change?”

“Of course they can! We’re all alive, not carved out of stone, we’re always changing. But even a stone, caressed by the wind and the water, changes, so its Name changes as well.”

Damn it all... Changing Names? An ever-changing world and Word Magic? Even for him, a Spirit Knight who possessed the Sword Kingdom at the County level, this was too complicated to comprehend.

“Back when the false gods fought for power, when they built their Jasper Palace and created the Chimera, one of the Original Born ended their journey. Their body turned into rain that spilled over people’s heads. Those whom it touched and resonated with received the Word Magic. And that’s how the Talesh, our oppressors, came to be.”

“But what does this have to do with my search for the other half of my soul?”

“Hadjar,” the Keeper adjusted the brushwood in the fire, “Everything has a Name. And so do the Original Born. Those who don’t know any better call them ‘elements’.”

“The Mountain of Elements,” Hadjar guessed.

“That’s right,” the old man said, “That is the birthplace of these great entities.”

“Their birthplace? But if that’s true, then it’s-”

“-in the world that you know as the Spirit World. It’s smaller than ours, but it’s able to change. What was once a lake can become the sky, and the sky can become a blade of grass in a vast field.”

Hadjar believed the old man, as he still remembered his own brief journey through the Spirit World.

“A fragment of your soul is in that ever-changing world along with the Original Born whose name you can’t remember.”

“How-”

“The mark on your back. That ugly symbol created by the Chimera is similar to the one you carry inside of you. But if the latter was created by false gods, then the former is the result of human aspirations. It may be weak and flimsy, but it’s nevertheless strong enough to cut you off from the Original Born to whom you are connected through the other half of your soul.”

“So, in order to find myself, I need to destroy this mark first?”

The old man nodded, “But by destroying it, you’ll only be taking the first step. Be prepared, Hadjar Darkhan, for when it falls, your sword will grow weaker. Maybe it’ll even disappear completely.”

“What do you mean?”

“That the power you have right now is great, but it isn’t entirely your own. It’s borrowed. The mark doesn’t allow you to hear your soul and the Original Born through it. However, it not only takes, but also gives its power and its knowledge in return.”

The Sword’s mysteries… Even before he’d received the Sword’s mark, Hadjar had been a talented swordsman. However, he couldn’t have even begun to imagine that in less than a decade, without the help of Mentors and Masters equal to those who trained the aristocrats of Dahanatan, he’d be able to comprehend the Sword Kingdom.

In addition, after he’d visited the Mountain of Elements, his Sword Kingdom had suddenly progressed to the County level, but Hadjar didn’t understand how that had happened. The necessary mysteries and understanding of what the Sword County was had simply appeared in his mind.

“But if I destroy it, will I be able to hear my soul?”

“You will. However, it’ll be much more difficult to actually find it and bring it back. In order to do that, you’ll have to go to the Spirit World, travel through lands whose names have been erased and forgotten, and overcome challenges that you can’t even imagine. If you manage to survive all of that, at the end, you’ll meet the Original Born.”

Hadjar remembered the old man with the psaltery, scarred and clad in worn but sturdy armor, who’d seemingly wielded boundless power.

“Who knows what they’ll charge you to get your soul back. It has been a part of them for all these years. Their bond is strong, but yours will be as well. Such ties are often found in legends and myths, Hadjar Darkhan. They usually don’t lead to anything good. You can even ask the Chimera locked inside you about it.”

What the old man had just described already sounded like the beginning of a legend or a myth.

“How can I enter the Spirit World?”

The old man smiled.

“You came here to find the place where the Lord of the Heavens found his final rest,” the Keeper took something out of his pocket and handed it to Hadjar. It was a jade tablet with magic symbols carved into it. Nobles used the same thing when creating magical maps. “Take Annette with you when you go. She’s been there before and can help you in your search.”

“I don’t think her father-”

“He won’t mind.” The old man leaned on his staff, pulled his hood over his head, and stood up, “A person can’t fight destiny. Now go, North Wind. Your fate has been waiting for you for too long already.”

“Thank you, Keeper of the Past,” Hadjar put his hands on his shoulders, crossed his elbows over his stomach, and bowed low. After that, he turned and headed for the exit.

“Your homeland, Hadjar Darkhan…” Hadjar turned around abruptly upon hearing those words. The old man stood right in the center of the fire, and the flames surrounded him without touching him. “The music that you created…. You’re looking for it, aren’t you?”

The flames flared up. The old man disappeared. There was no trace of him left. Only the chaotic dance of a dying fire was left behind. Hadjar looked at his palm. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times. Had the Keeper of the Past been talking about Lidus or Earth?

“Damn it all,” Hadjar whispered.

Since he had accepted the mark of the Sword, he’d almost never played the Ron’Jah. Every time he’d touched the instrument, he’d felt a terrible heartache. With these thoughts running through his mind, he left the tent and headed for the river. For some reason, he knew that Annette was waiting for him there. The two of them would go to the tomb together.

Chapter 879

I t was always difficult to watch a mother say goodbye to her son, but it was even more difficult to watch a father see his daughter off without knowing whether she’d return or not. Hadjar, holding his bag, looked at Iblim and Ablim as they said their goodbyes to Annette.

Whatever position in the tribal hierarchy the Keeper of the Past occupied was apparently very important, as his command hadn’t been opposed by anyone in the end.

The girl was dressed in traditional travel attire with some additions. Leaves had been sewn into her flowery skirt and the ribcage of an unknown creature had been attached to the beads of her top. This item of clothing exuded magic that was akin to necromancy, a branch of dark magic that was forbidden in the seven Empires.

He had only recently learned that some knowledge regarding the path of cultivation was forbidden in the Empires. Well, that made sense — if the knowledge was forbidden, no information about it would be kept. Only on the last floors of the Treasure Tower, where Hadjar had obtained the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique, did references to such knowledge even exist. His neural network had recorded them, of course, and Hadjar had decided that one day he’d conduct a detailed study of why these bans had been put in place.

“May the Original Born watch over your path, my little panther,” Iblim whispered, holding his daughter tenderly against his powerful, scarred chest.

Hadjar’s heart ached. He turned away.

Sometimes, it seemed strange to him that someone like him, who was already thirty-two years old, and that was without counting the years he’d lived on Earth, someone who’d survived two wars, could still feel this way. Perhaps the fact he could meant that he was still himself, and not the figure wrapped in a black cloak…

“North Wind.”

Ablim, limping slightly, walked over to Hadjar. He held something in his hands, and for a few seconds, Hadjar was wary of a sudden attack. Instead, Ablim handed him a leather-wrapped dagger.

“What’s this?” Hadjar asked.

He held out his hand toward it, then pulled it back. The wooden artifact exuded such immense power that all the previous ‘disposable’ artifacts he’d seen paled in comparison to it.

‘It’s a rod made from the Sun Tree,” Ablim explained. “One of the five treasures passed down in the Shuk’Arka tribe for hundreds of thousands of moons.”

Hadjar looked from the artifact to the Nature Speaker.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I would give my right eye for you to have never shown up here, but since the Original Born wove the fabric of our paths this way, then so be it.”

His neural network had once again translated Ablim’s words in an odd way.

“Thank you,” Hadjar nodded and accepted the dagger with great care, trying not to cut his fingers, “What is its power?”

“What is the power of a dagger made from the wood that contains the sun, North Wind? It can incinerate souls. Even the souls of those over whom the dance of the full moons has no power.”

It took Hadjar almost ten seconds to digest what he’d just heard. The ‘dance of the full moons’ was probably a time period. Which meant that…

“Is this dagger capable of killing an Immortal?” He asked in surprise.

He’d encountered something similar back when he had worked with the orcs, except that their dagger had been made from a wolf fang.

Ablim’s sudden, blindingly white smile was another surprise for him.

“I’ve told you, pale stranger, all that I should. Thank your Firstborn that the Keeper is out of his mind. By the Green House, I’d give both my eyes for you to perish in the jungle.” Ablim spat at his feet and headed back to his brother. Before he got far, he turned around and added, “If Annette doesn’t return, I’ll find your soul in the Eternal Springs and destroy it.” His eyes flashed with an eerie darkness.

When Ablim returned to his brother’s side, Hadjar once again looked at Annette in her strange attire.

“Are you ready, North Wind?” There was mischief and even a little fear in her voice.

“I am.”

The girl struck the ground with a bone spear, and led the way into the jungle.

“Come on,” she said, “And try to keep up this time.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hadjar chuckled and followed her.

Before disappearing into the jungle, something made him turn around and look at the water’s surface. There, in addition to his own reflection, he saw a figure in black standing behind him. He now knew whose voice he had been hearing all these years and whom he considered his ‘brother’. By the High Heavens, no matter what happened, he’d atone for all his sins and learn the secret of his birth.

***

Hadjar soon realized that the girl hadn’t been joking. She easily cut through vines, leapt over deceptively strong, but in fact rotten trunks of fallen trees, jumped over streams that were several feet deep and filled with hidden crevices, avoided dangerous creatures like venomous snakes or spiders, and she could even easily endure the insane humidity. Next to her, Hadjar looked like a clumsy bull stumbling through a china shop.

“Are all pale people as slow as you?” Annette leaned against a tree.

The setting sun breaking through the canopy painted her skin a dark copper and crimson. It made her glisten with perspiration, and he couldn’t help but notice some of the beads of sweat sliding down her body. It was tempting to imagine his own fingers sliding down her body just like that...

“Funny,” Hadjar managed to say.

Even he, a Spirit Knight who possessed a County, felt exhausted in the jungles of Karnak. It was as if he were a mere mortal. Anyone who was at a lower level of cultivation than him would’ve simply died here in less than half an hour. Perhaps that was why the tribes had such ‘weak’ bodies: all their inner strength was devoted to fighting the jungle.

Annette, swaying her hips, left her spear near the tree and approached him. She touched his chest, slid her fingers just below his navel, and would’ve caressed even farther down if Hadjar hadn’t stopped her.

“What... are you... doing?” He asked breathlessly.

“I want to check if you’ve got what it takes to calm the heat in my chest,” Annette’s eyes shone and she deftly moved her hand, grabbed Hadjar’s wrist, then put his hand on her chest. By the Evening Stars, Hadjar had never felt such a firm, round breast in his life.

“This isn’t the time for that. Night is coming and-”

“Only a fool would travel through the Green House during the hours of the moon,” Annette interrupted him. “I said the right Words. Animals and elementals weaker than my Words won’t bother us.”

“Elementals? What-”

Hadjar didn’t finish speaking. Annette had kissed him. Their lips and tongues melted into the hot kiss. They moved down onto the soft grass. With a lustful growl, in one quick movement, Hadjar, who was on top of her, moved her legs apart. Even though Annette had no prior experience with a man, she was fearless and full of energy.

Hadjar, who hadn’t been with a woman in a long time, finished quickly. But, without even taking a break, he immediately kept going. Despite the pressure of the Green House, his body was strong, much stronger than any mortal could even imagine.

They were lustful and passionate, and the heat between them was hotter than the flames in the tent. It was incredible and wild, and they surrendered themselves to the feelings completely until Hadjar suddenly felt the tip of a weapon against his back.

Chapter 880

A nnette, who was still writhing under Hadjar, held out her hand. Her eyes flashed with power, but before the words left her mouth, Hadjar put his hand over it. She let out a muffled sound as he poked a pressure point on her neck with his other hand, then she just twitched before she lost consciousness.

“Fucking barbarian,” he heard a familiar voice say.

Hadjar moved away from Annette, got up, and held his arms out to embrace the person who’d just spoken, but the spear tip that had been pointed at his back earlier was now pointed at his chest, almost touching his new scar…

“Don’t think that I’ll greet you when you’re in this state.”

Hadjar looked down.

“You’re right,” he grinned, “That’d be awkward.”

He picked up his clothes, cleaned them up with his will, and got dressed.

“And now?” Hadjar spread his arms again.

“Now I’m glad to see you, barbarian.”

“And I’m glad to see you.”

They hugged.

“Where are the others?” Hadjar asked.

“Ten minutes south of here,” Einen replied, “unless, of course, the south has switched places with the north.”

“Switched places?”

“It’s a long story.” Einen waved the question away. “We can barely navigate thanks to the marks.” A small jade artifact appeared in his hand. “If not for these, we would’ve gotten lost already. Still, this is a creepy place.”

Hadjar nodded. He carefully covered Annette with her clothes, and then, after he stood up, turned back to Einen. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

“Why didn’t you come to us? Or is this demoness’ body that tempting to you?”

“Demoness?” At first, he didn’t understand who Einen was talking about, and then it hit him. The seven Empires had never heard of people with black skin before, so it made sense that they looked like demons to them. “She isn’t a demoness, she’s Annette, Iblim’s daughter, from the Shuk’Arka tribe.”

“As you wish, barbarian. But drink some Holy Water just in case.”

Hadjar rolled his eyes, then grabbed the waterskin from Einen’s hands and took two large gulps. The water was cold, like melting ice, and burned his throat.

“Happy now?” He handed the waterskin back.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“You drank most of it. Friends don’t do that.”

Hadjar blinked a couple of times. There was no point in asking the stone-faced Einen if he was joking or not.

“So, she isn’t a demoness,” Einen walked over to the unconscious Annette and cocked his head to the side, studying her. “By the Great Turtle, this world is truly full of wonders. A human with black skin… I don’t think she’d be welcome in Dahanatan.”

Hadjar didn’t feel any pain at his words. He and Annette were connected by sympathy and animal lust, no more and no less.

“To some, my dear friend, your yellowish skin looks like a disease.” He pointed out casually.

“Fair enough,” the islander nodded in his usual manner. “Back to my question: why didn’t you come to us? It’s been over a week and a half.”

“I couldn’t.” Hadjar leaned over and picked Annette up. “My compass couldn’t find your marks. It was as if you hadn’t even activated them.”

“I thought as much,” Einen said.

“Why?”

“Over there.” He pointed in the direction of the Shuk’Arka tribe’s settlement, “Is a vortex of anomalies. The marks fail, compasses can’t find them, they can’t even show you the wrong direction. We decided not to approach the area, but, just in case, didn’t explore far from it. According to Rekka Geran’s calculations, you most likely landed near that area.”

Hadjar gave a whistle, “Is she really that smart?”

“Don’t be like that, Hadjar. I’m glad that she’s with us, because it’s more difficult to go up against her intelligence than ten Sunshine Sankeshes at once. If it hadn’t been for her, we wouldn’t have survived the first few days.”

“I don’t think even two dozen Sankeshes would be a problem for us right now,” Hadjar grinned.

“You know what I mean, barbarian.”

Hadjar knew perfectly well that Einen wasn’t timid, and if this was how he spoke about a member of the guard corps, Rekka Geran fully deserved the respect. As Hadjar knew from experience, a smart enemy was far more dangerous than a strong one. And the worst enemy was always the enemy who combined both traits.

“Wait!” Hadjar grabbed Einen by the shoulder as he started heading back into the jungle. “Turn toward the light.”

The islander turned around. Hadjar barely stopped himself from recoiling. Eight scars now crisscrossed Einen’s face: four of them ran from his right temple to his left cheekbone, and four more scars ran symmetrically down the other side. The scars had clearly been made by the claws of some animal, and judging by how ugly and rough they looked, they’d been treated in a hurry.

“What happened?”

“It’s been a rough week, my friend,” Einen pulled a piece of once-white cloth from his pocket. Previously, he’d only covered his face in battle, according to the traditions of his people. “I only took this off so you wouldn’t send me to my forefathers. Now let’s go. We have something to discuss with the others.”

Hadjar followed his friend, clenching and unclenching his right fist as he walked. He clenched it so hard that blood ran down his palm. His companions were all cultivators. They knew how dangerous it was to follow the path of cultivation. Nevertheless, when they’d needed his help, Hadjar hadn’t been there for them.

“Dora-”

“-says they’ll be almost invisible when I reach the Lord level,” Einen interrupted him firmly. “Besides, they say that the barbarians believe that scars are a proof of manliness.”

Hadjar said nothing.

A quarter of an hour later, maybe a little longer than that, they came close to the edge of the magical veil. Previously, before grasping the County, he wouldn’t have even noticed it — just another bush that would need to be cut through on his way farther into the jungle.

“Is this your setup?”

“Rekka’s,” Einen said. “She, unlike the rest of her clan, is well-versed in the art of controlling external energy. I’d need to put in a lot of effort, not to mention blood and sweat, just to match spells she can create with a casual wave of her hand”

“A mere junior officer in the guard corps is that powerful?”

Einen didn’t respond to Hadjar’s skepticism. He didn’t need to. They both knew perfectly well that a cultivator with such abilities, and impeccable swordsmanship to boot, simply couldn’t be a rank and file guardswoman. It was far more likely that she wasn’t on their official roster at all... Like any other dog of war, she was used to eliminate unwanted people. They both hoped that the orders she’d received from the great hero Baligor the Tenacious weren’t-

“Holy shit!” Hadjar swore in surprise as soon as he crossed the border of the veil.

“Hello, Hadjar. It’s nice to see you again.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, barbarian.”

Near the fire, among the other cultivators, sat a girl with bright red hair, snow white skin, and green eyes.

“Your Imperial Majesty…”

“I already told you that I’m just Akena to you,” the Princess of the Darnassus Empire smiled at him.

Chapter 881

H adjar, after seeing Akena in front of him, recalled Emperor Morgan’s words: he’d made it clear that if he ever saw Hadjar hanging around his daughter again, he’d wipe the barbarian off the face of the earth. He hadn’t said it directly, in fact, his words had been very convoluted, but the message had still been clear.

And now the achingly beautiful red-haired and green-eyed Princess was sitting by the fire. She was dressed in a leather hunting outfit, or rather, what was left of one. Her pants had been hastily patched up with some cloth, and her jacket was in tatters.

“Did you catch something?” Galkhad got up and extended his hand to Hadjar. “Please tell me it’s something edible.”

Hadjar shook his hand and noticed that the giant was missing his ring finger and little finger, and by the way he was holding himself, Hadjar knew he had some sort of internal injury on top of that.

“Only if you’re a cannibal,” Hadjar said, and carefully put Annette down next to the log they were sitting on.

He moved her hair away from her beautiful face and touched her forehead, channeling some of his energy into her — that should keep her unconscious for another quarter of an hour.

“Gods and demons!”

Anise and Tom jumped to their feet in unison.

“Are you completely crazy, barbarian?” Tom exclaimed. “You’ve been missing for over a week and a half, and now you show up with a demoness in your arms?”

The Dinos siblings had been wounded as well: Anise had acid burns on her legs, which had left some truly ugly scars behind. Tom had a broken arm, which was currently in a sling made from parts of the Princess’ jacket.

“I’m so glad you’re back!”

Hadjar was initially surprised by Dora’s reaction to his return, but then she hurried over and hugged Einen. She wore a hunting outfit as well, and unlike the others, she was uninjured.

“Why are you wearing that cloth again? I told you, I don’t care what you look like. These scars only prove how brave you are.”

“It’s better this way,” Einen responded calmly.

“Hello, Dora,” Hadjar greeted her.

Dora gave him an angry look, mumbled something unintelligible, and went back to the fire.

“Did I offend her in some way?” Hadjar whispered to his friend.

“She blames you for Akena showing up,” Einen replied just as quietly in one of the dialects of his country. They sometimes switched to these dialects so that none of the others could listen in.

“Where are Karein and Rekka?” Hadjar sat down next to Annette and held out his hands toward the fire.

“They went out on patrol,” Galkhad answered, “They’ll be back soon. Now, you better explain where you found this demoness. You obviously knew her... very intimately. You-”

Anise coughed.

“-you have no taste!”

“She isn’t a demoness.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Akena who’d said that. The Princess, without any hesitation, got to her feet and went over to Annette. She felt the girl’s pulse, checked her breathing, then looked from the girl’s chest to her own, and sighed sadly.

“Princess, you-”

“The Masters told me about these people,” Akena interrupted Tom and went back to her seat. “They’re the descendants of the Mage civilization that was destroyed long ago.”

“The descendants of their former slaves, to be precise,” Hadjar corrected her.

Everyone looked at him.

“Did you live among them, barbarian?”

A man and a woman stepped into view from the western side of the jungle — Karein Tares and Rekka Geran. “While we were spilling our blood to fulfill His Imperial Majesty’s orders, you were fucking the natives?”

“I’m glad to see you, too, Junior Lieutenant. And my private life doesn’t concern you.”

“Your private life? In Karnak? During a war? I heard you were a General in your homeland. Well, now I just feel sorry for your army.”

Rekka sat down next to the Princess and placed her hands conspicuously on the hilts of her blades.

“Hello, commander,” Karein winked at him. His eyes sometimes blazed with red sparks. “Nice work! If such a beautiful woman had shown up in Dahanatan, the nobility would’ve started fighting over her immediately.”

“Are we done discussing our guide?” Hadjar sighed wearily. “Can someone tell me what Akena is doing here?”

“Her Imperial Highness,” Rekka corrected him sharply, “snuck onto the ‘Gryphon Feathers’ without the guard corps or her father knowing.”

“I can’t sit idly by when my country is in danger!” Akena exclaimed fervently.

Hadjar rolled his eyes. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. Barely restraining himself from asking any more questions about this, he moved on to the more pressing matter. He got an answer before he could even speak up.

“The ship couldn’t withstand both the reckless maneuvers and the storm,” Tom explained. He cradled his broken arm. “The captain was killed, and while some of the crew survived…”

“The pressure of the Karnak jungle killed them in half an hour, they didn’t even get to face the local creatures.”

Hadjar looked at his squad. They were in bad shape. Only three of them —Dora, Karein, and Rekka — had no obvious injuries. The others looked like they’d just come back from the frontlines.

“What about the Lascanian ships? Did you see where Taniged the Cloudy crash-landed?”

“Taniged isn’t our biggest concern right now,” Rekka said. Even as she spoke, she kept hinting with her body language that if Hadjar got even an inch closer to the Princess, she’d draw her blades and attack him. “He’s strong in the air, but on the ground, he isn’t much different from a talented Nameless level warrior. Our biggest problem is Derek of the Steppe.”

Hadjar shuddered, “Derek is dead.”

“You’re an idiot if you truly believe that. He gained an incredible amount of power seemingly out of nowhere. More power than heroes who’ve been cultivating for thousands of years. There’s no chance he gained that power on his own, and if someone gave it to him, they must have plans for him. And someone that powerful wouldn’t let one of their pawns get killed so easily. He no doubt had some artifact that negated yours to a degree. The fact that we haven’t yet run into him just means that he’s either severely injured, or he’s gotten to the tomb of the Lord of the Heavens before us.”

Hadjar stared at Rekka and realized that Einen was right. She not only had a sharp tongue, but also an incredibly sharp mind. If she turned it against them, they’d be in trouble.

“Perhaps.” He decided not to argue with her. Right now, he didn’t want to speculate about Derek’s potential survival.

“North Wind,” Annette whispered as she came to. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry. Everything’s okay,” Hadjar replied, shocking the rest.

“Their language is considered to be long lost in the Empire!” Akena exclaimed. “Even my father’s library doesn’t have a single book on it!”

Annette opened her eyes, cringed, and covered herself even more.

“Who are they?”

“They’re my friends. Calm down. I’m sorry I had to put you to sleep, but I was afraid that you’d overreact.”

Annette examined everyone carefully for a while (they also stared back at her), and then sniffed the air. She jumped up abruptly. Whatever it was that had scared her had also made her forget that she wasn’t dressed, just covered. Her clothes fell to the ground, and the male members of the squad were stunned.

“This is bad!” She pointed at the veil. “How long have we been here?”

Hadjar translated for her.

“About four hours,” Dora answered, shocked.

“Four hours?” Annette’s eyes widened in fright. “Firstborn and Original Born give us strength!”

“For what?”

There was a crash in the jungle. Something that looked like a humanoid hurricane appeared in front of their camp.

“I think I know what an ‘elemental’ is now,” Hadjar remarked as he drew his Black Blade.

Chapter 882

“W hat is that?”

Galkhad’s terrifying war axe instantly appeared in his hand and he brought it down on the enemy. He didn’t use a Technique, only mysteries at the Wielder level, but the slash still contained a colossal amount of pure, wild energy.

Distorting the streams of the World River and causing ripples in reality itself, his attack assumed the form of a thirteen-foot axe blade. Vibrating and rapidly losing its shape due to the sheer power it was trying to channel, the strike slammed into the humanoid vortex. It crashed into it, and then went right through it. The attack went on to cut down several trees, and then exploded into a sphere filled with the mysteries of the Axe and unbridled energy.

“Don’t attack it!” Annette shouted.

Falling to her knees, the girl began to draw something on the ground and, gradually falling into a trance while rolling her eyes, started whispering something.

“Annette!” Hadjar took a step toward her, but when he reached an invisible line of some kind, he sensed that taking another step forward would be a big mistake.

“Barbarian, you can play with your demoness later!” Anise was already assuming a stance and swinging her sword. “Bloody-”

“STOP!” Hadjar shouted, releasing his County.

The area within forty paces of him was instantly brought under his control. He could sense even the smallest living beings, like ants and flies, getting away from the battle, the trees and grass, even the birds hiding amongst the leaves... Hadjar was fully aware that he could now destroy any of these beings with a single thought, for the world around him had become his own sword. Anise, at whom Hadjar had directed a tenth of his Kingdom’s power, swayed as her energy flows lost their usual rhythm and she found herself unable to use her Technique.

This was a neat trick that Orune had once shown him. With the help of his neural network, he’d recorded it as clearly as possible, and for several nights after he’d grasped his Kingdom, he’d done his best in the training mode to master it.

“What are you doing, Darkhan?” Tom also drew a blade, but didn’t dare to use a Technique.

“Look,” Hadjar pointed the tip of the Black Blade at the elemental.

Before Galkhad’s attack, the creature had looked like a twelve-foot tornado, with two legs and arms, a head, and a visible spine. After the blue vortex of power had exploded behind the creature, it had begun to change. Threads of Galkhad’s power had poured into the creature’s body. They’d flowed along the wind currents and then poured into its hands. A long, blue spear appeared in its right hand, and white lightning bolts arced from it. Its left hand stretched out and expanded until a blue cube appeared on its end. The elemental, unarmed a moment ago, had a lightning spear and a hammer now, and they looked dangerous.

“What level of cultivation does this creature have?” Karein hissed.

Assuming a defensive stance, he held a saber that was as long as a sword but as wide as a broadsword. Hadjar had never seen a weapon like it before.

“It doesn’t have any.” Rekka, drawing two narrow blades, suddenly stabbed them into the ground in front of her. “This is an anomaly of the Karnak jungle, a fragment of someone’s consciousness merged with an element itself.”

Hadjar, upon hearing her words, started. This was directly related to what he’d learned about during the Initiation ritual of the Shuk’Arka tribe.

“AARGH!” The creature roared and hurled the lightning spear.

Leaving behind a trail of lightning, it instantly crossed the speed threshold that separated a Heaven level Technique from an Imperial level one. And all this power had appeared after just one attack!

“Turtle Shell!” Someone next to Hadjar shouted.

This is new! He thought.

The mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart swirled around Einen. He was instantly covered in rainbow armor, under which an ink ape swelled. Soon, a rainbow-armored gorilla with a full breastplate and helmet, a fang-spear held in its paws, and the islander standing inside of it, intercepted the thunder spear.

Einen had used to summon a huge, eighteen-foot monster, but now the ape was even smaller than Galkhad. However, its density was amazing. Every movement of its inky, liquid shadow limbs sent out an echo that speared through every shadow. Hadjar suddenly realized that Einen wasn’t that far off from grasping a Kingdom, but whether it was the Shadow Kingdom or the Spear-staff Kingdom wasn’t yet clear. What was clear, however, was that Einen hadn’t wasted these past two years…

The rainbow ape defended itself with a full-length, round shield. It really did look like a turtle shell: it was green and had diamond-shaped overlapping plates.

The lightning spear stabbed into it and spread out like a tsunami. Lightning bolts crackled inside of it. They struck the shadow ape’s shoulders. Its rainbow armor flashed with a dazzling array of colors and became thinner and flimsier with each strike. After pushing Einen several feet back and leaving deep grooves in the ground, the spear disappeared into the World River.

“Spread out!” Rekka shouted.

Nobody argued with her. Every cultivator was well aware of the fact that in this kind of battle, accidentally getting hit by your ally’s Technique could easily lead to your death. Not because of the Technique itself, but because of the opening the monster would get to attack you.

Hadjar, despite acting in concert with his squad, still felt a little out of place. Whatever the rest of them had faced over the past eleven or twelve days had clearly managed to turn them into a unified fighting force.

Rekka channeled her Weapon’s Heart mysteries through her blades, and then connected the energy of the World River with them. Hadjar wanted to warn her that this was a big mistake, but didn’t get a chance to. Energy the color of the rising sun began to radiate from the swords embedded in the ground, but it wasn’t directed at the elemental, but at the soil instead. The earth began to shake, and huge stone spikes rushed toward the enemy, travelling beneath the ground.

“AARGH!” The creature roared again, but it didn’t have time to do anything.

The sharp stone spikes pierced it from all directions, and then four huge stone slabs formed a kind of cage around it.

“I won’t be able to hold it back for long!” Rekka’s face was rapidly turning pale, and blood was dripping from her nose. “It’s really strong!”

“AARGH!” A muffled roar came from the cage.

With his Gaze, Hadjar saw that there was something wrong with Rekka’s energy structure. Even though she was a strong Spirit Knight at the advanced level, judging by the size of her Core, she had no more energy than an initial-stage Heaven Soldier. With every breath, with every moment she spent trying to keep the creature trapped, her Core was heading toward complete exhaustion and its eventual destruction.

“She can remove the stone barrier now.”

Hadjar turned to Annette and took a step back. He’d thought that Ablim was the one who studied necromancy in the Shuk’Arka tribe, but now he realized that it was actually Annette.

“Rekka!” Hadjar shouted and waved his hand to get her attention, “On my command, dispel the cage!”

Then, after moving to stand behind Einen, he got ready. Time for another trick that Orune had taught him. Hadjar raised his sword. The County level mysteries passed through his heart and soul right to his hand, then joined with his Black Blade, and transformed into a coiled up dragon’s tail. Until recently, Hadjar had only been able to protect himself with it, but now he could cover a radius of eight steps with it, protecting his entire squad as well.

“I can’t hold it any longer, North Wind!” Annette sobbed. Something was hurting her badly.

“Now, Rekka!”

The guardswoman pulled her blades out of the ground and ducked behind the dragon’s tail with the last of her strength. At the same time, Annette’s dreadful spell surged out from her fingers.

Chapter 883

S he was clutching a whitish substance in her hands. It constantly changed shape, but mostly looked like a skull. White blobs dripped from it and onto the ground. The source of the substance was a symbol written on the ground, and Annette had placed bones, pebbles, and a bloodstained piece of her dress on certain parts of it.

When Rekka pulled her blades out of the ground, the stone cage lost its supply of energy.

“AARGH!” The elemental roared and smashed the rocks to pieces with its energy hammer.

The shattered stones that flew outward like shrapnel went through the trees, riddling them with holes.

“Barbarian!” Einen opened his inhuman, purple eyes. “Work with me!”

“Come on then!”

Hadjar sent his mysteries toward Einen, who did the same in turn. The rainbow ape raised its turtle shell shield. It shimmered like jade, and then flowed into the dragon tail coiled around the cultivators. The tail became green like Einen’s shield and much denser, more real somehow, and stronger for it. It shook intensely when the stones crashed into it.

Hadjar was surprised to realize that if they hadn’t combined their mysteries, things would’ve ended badly for them.

The elemental smashed the rest of the stone cage to pieces with its hammer. Annette, screaming in incredible pain as her veins turned white, which, given the color of her skin, looked very creepy, released the white substance.

Hadjar, who was ready for anything at this point, was still taken aback by the spell. He staggered, his concentration momentarily broken, and the dragon’s tail flickered.

A few small stones broke through their defense. One of them was luckily stopped by his Call’s altered armor as it slammed into his shoulder. The impact was still so strong that Hadjar had no doubt that he’d have a massive bruise there, if not worse.

Waves of death radiated from the white substance, which had assumed the shape of a fanged skull. Not lethal energy. Not powerful echoes. But waves of death itself. They made the grass and trees wither and turn to dust before their very eyes. The air began to smell like a cemetery and goosebumps ran down their spines.

After breaking out of the cage, the elemental rushed forward. The skull, leaving a trail of pure death in its wake, struck it squarely in the chest. There was no explosion, no vivid colors and energy flashes. The white substance simply punched through the gray, humanoid tornado. When it reappeared on the other side of the creature, its jaw was tightly clenched. The silhouette of a man flickered in its fangs. The shape of his face, which was visible in the haze, made it clear that he’d once belonged to one of the tribes of the Green House.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and then the necromantic skull, the silhouette of the dead man, and the humanoid vortex all disappeared.

Annette, panting, began to fall backwards. Hadjar, turning into a misty black dragon for a moment, managed to catch her in time and gently lower her to the ground.

“Help me,” she whispered. “I must say the Words... otherwise... others will come.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hadjar asked.

“Give... me... your power.”

Hadjar’s instincts were screaming that he should immediately plunge a sword into her heart. His intuition was screaming that he should take the Black Blade, cut off her head, and then bury it far away from her dismembered body.

Hadjar looked at his squad. He’d been separated from them for over ten days, and this was the result... He had no idea what else might be waiting for them in the jungles of Karnak. More importantly, they might end up searching for hundreds of years but never find the tomb. He didn’t care that he had no more than four weeks to live. If Taniged found the tomb and then invaded the Barony of Lidus… Hadjar didn’t even want to think about it.

“Take it,” he agreed. “What should-”

Instead of finishing his question, Hadjar roared in agony. The other cultivators, upon hearing their ally cry out in pain, rushed to his aid. There were flashes of Techniques, and an aura of combined forces.

“NO!” Hadjar snapped at them. “It… has… to… be… this… way!”

Annette’s fingernails turned into claws. Her eyes became pitch black. She dug her claws into Hadjar’s forearm, and then went even deeper. They merged with Hadjar’s energy channels and began to siphon his power. This was akin to what the Black Blade did to its victims, and Hadjar now knew exactly how they’d felt. There was an indescribable horror in knowing that your power was being absorbed by someone else. It was like watching someone devour you while you were still alive. And in terrible pain.

A few seconds later, Annette, now satiated, pulled her claws out of Hadjar’s arm. A few sizzling, blue-black drops of energy fell out from the four holes.

The other cultivators jumped back like they were avoiding a liquid plague.

Hadjar himself looked at these rapidly healing wounds in horror. Previously, like his companions, he’d believed that a cultivator could only inflict spiritual wounds on themselves. Unable to withstand the pressure of their past or their future, they would surrender to reality and disappear into the streams of the World River. But Hadjar had just seen proof that it was possible to inflict soul wounds on others…

Annette threw her head back, her eyes rolled back, and she whispered something. As always, her Words weren’t heard by the cultivators. Despite this, they instantly took up a defensive formation. Their instincts told them that their camp was now surrounded by a different kind of veil, one that emanated death. Once she was finished whispering, Annette passed out and fell into Hadjar’s trembling arms. He felt very weak.

“By the gods and demons, what was that?” Galkhad lowered his axe. “Are we trapped now?”

Rekka wiped the blood from her face and picked up a twig. She hurled it toward the jungle. After flying a dozen feet through the air, it suddenly turned to dust that was immediately blown away by the wind.

“Whoever this girl is, she has powers I don’t understand. If she didn’t have knowledge of the area, I would’ve already killed her myself.”

Once again, Rekka had impressed Hadjar with her deductive abilities. It was almost as if she knew everything about the past and future both. It was really scary.

“Is that what I think it is?” Anise went over to Annette and pointed her sword at her thigh. There were still a few white veins there.

“I think I know where she got her power from.”

“What are you talking about?” Galkhad exclaimed in confusion.

“Necromancy,” Anise and Hadjar said at the same time.

He looked at her suspiciously, and she looked away. This meant that Anise had also visited the top floor of the Treasure Tower. Hadjar had no doubt that Anise had enough strength to pass all the tests of the Tower, but... he didn’t remember her being a personal disciple, which was admittedly easy enough to hide. Another mystery…

“I think we’ll have to stay here for the night,” Hadjar put Annette down and got to his feet. “At dawn, we’ll head to the tomb.”

Chapter 884

A fter the fight, the squad members spread out across the camp. Einen and Dora, as well as Galkhad and Anise, sat in pairs back to back and in the lotus position. All cultivators were very efficient when it came to the path of cultivation. They always found opportunities to improve their cultivation, even through love. In the capital, there were three Techniques that allowed two linked cultivators to meditate together. This improved the individual meditation Techniques of each cultivator by almost fifty percent.

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar cursed in annoyance.

He was currently in a very limited training mode. Almost all the power of his neural network was being used to decrypt the Sword’s mark — a task that hadn’t previously seemed like a high priority to Hadjar and had thus been interrupted for weeks at a time without any concern. Now, however, he desperately needed it to succeed.

So, after allocating ninety-five percent of its processing power to decrypting the mark, he only had five percent left to analyze some of his fights with. For example, his battle against the Dead Moon on the Storm Mountain. If it hadn’t been for Orune back then, he would’ve gone to his forefathers.

His neural network gave him the opportunity to go over it again. In training mode, he could change his actions and fight differently. But despite that, he found himself losing each time. The neural network didn’t even have enough power left to provide him with hints or get fully involved in the battle.

Even so, this was still more useful than just meditating. Especially considering the fact that Hadjar didn’t have a meditation Technique at the moment, so with one wrong ‘move’, he could put an end to all his further cultivation. That’s why, ever since he’d become a Spirit Knight, he’d never gone into deep meditation.

“Hadjar.”

He detected the scent of flowers and fire. Akena sat down next to him. Another headache for Hadjar. Her acting was so bad that if a bard sang about it, they would be ridiculed for their lack of ideas, but this was sadly his reality.

“Why did your father send you here?” Hadjar asked immediately.

Nearby, Rekka stepped out of the darkness, giving Einen a run for his money when it came to skulking. She held a pair of swords in her hands. They were actually some kind of corrupted version of a Divine level artifact. They drew their power from their wielder’s energy body and not the materials they’d been created from. Hadjar discerned all of this only thanks to his Gaze and his County. If he didn’t have both, he wouldn’t have noticed anything.

“To be honest, I think he wants me to die here,” Akena didn’t even bother to deny it. Resting her elbows on her knees, she buried her fingers in her thick, wavy hair and smiled to hide her deep sadness. “It’d be much easier for him if only my older brother was left. Then Darnassus would have one less problem.”

“Is that why there’s a foreign Master in the capital?”

The Princess nodded, “He’s a safety net. If I don’t die here, I’ll be sent off with this Master, which will automatically take away my right to the throne and my connection to the Family Inheritance.”

“Princess, please think about what you’re saying,” Rekka came closer to Hadjar. “You’re talking to a commoner and-”

“By my father’s latest decree, this commoner became a baronet. He’s a minor noble now.”

“That doesn’t matter, my Princess. Let me use the oblivion artifact.”

Hadjar turned to Rekka. He awakened his Spirit. The Quetzal bird spread its wings out inside his soul. He summoned his Sword County into the physical world and directed its power at Rekka. Not expecting such great pressure from him, she recoiled. She raised her blades in a defensive manner. For a moment, it seemed to her like it wasn’t a man sitting next to the Princess, but a terrible, wild beast that was ready to rip out her throat.

“One more step,” Hadjar’s voice was colder than steel, “and I’ll tear you apart. Is that clear?”

Rekka pursed her lips. Her swords were shaking. It was clearly difficult for her to breathe, but she still resisted the pressure of his Kingdom. Hadjar chuckled and increased the pressure. She instantly fell to her knees.

“It is,” She croaked.

Hadjar recalled his Spirit and dispelled his Kingdom.

“Dear Rekka, you’re talking to the great swordsman Orune’s disciple.” Akena made no attempt to stop Hadjar. “I think he learned more than just Techniques from his Master.”

“Your Imperial Highness,” Rekka said as if she were spitting out the worst curse imaginable.

The two girls stared at each other for a moment before Rekka stepped away.

“Touch her, barbarian, and I’ll send you to your forefathers,” Rekka threatened him with a scowl.

Despite what had just happened, Hadjar had no doubt that Rekka was telling the truth because of the swords in her hands. What kind of monster had forged something so disgusting? It was like accepting a hungry parasite into your own body.

“Now tell me the truth.” Hadjar turned back to Akena.

Illuminated by the fire, her pale, freckled face looked incredibly beautiful. She was almost impossibly graceful and elegant.

“He wants me to take the knowledge from the tomb of the Lord of the Heavens that should be stored in my dearest father’s library and bring it back to where it belongs.”

“Princess, you dare to divulge such secrets!”

“Sweet Rekka,” Akena hissed, “if you don’t shut your mouth, I might start thinking you’re a Lascanian spy.”

“Spoiled brat.” The guardswoman spat and returned to the darkness. “If you say too much, you’ll regret returning to the capital.”

Hadjar, confused, just kept opening and closing his mouth.

“And she’s-”

“She’s my personal annoyance,” Akena said. “We grew up together. She’s my bodyguard and nanny. I hate that bitch.”

Hadjar swallowed.

He could never have guessed that the Princess knew how to swear. By the Evening Stars, such words sounded wild and unpleasant coming from her.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I don’t usually say things like that.”

“You came to find knowledge of necromancy,” Hadjar guessed.

“I can’t tell you,” Akena suddenly clammed up, shaking her head. Well, Rekka had threatened her. “What led you to such a conclusion?”

Hadjar nodded toward Annette, who was curled up and asleep.

“She’s been to the tomb before, and now has knowledge that even the Talesh didn’t have.”

“For a northern barbarian, you know far too much about extinct civilizations, their languages, and their history.”

Well, the Princess clearly wasn’t an airheaded court noble. Otherwise, the Emperor would never have sent her here. All of this was most likely part of another one of Morgan’s schemes, and was simply too complicated for Hadjar to figure out right now.

“Is that why you brought her?”

Hadjar nodded, “She’s also my guarantee that the Shuk’Arka tribe will do everything in their power to prevent the other tribes from killing us. They wouldn’t want their leader’s daughter to get caught in the crossfire after all.”

The Princess smiled mockingly.

“Sometimes, you remind me of my father,” she whispered. “Did you sleep with her for that same reason? To avoid getting caught in a crossfire?”

Hadjar spluttered in surprise. Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer her, as Karein showed up with a bottle of wine right then, interrupting their conversation. The rest of the evening was much more relaxing.

***

They found the tomb the next day, just before noon. In fact, it was hard to miss — a huge, swampy lake that had an ancient step pyramid, which had almost turned into a green hill by now, standing right in the center of said lake.

“That’s great.” Galkhad began to put his things in his spatial ring, but Hadjar stopped him.

“Annette says that even a Pathfinder can’t survive in that water.”

“What?”

“If you go swimming in the lake, you’ll die,” Hadjar explained. “We need-”

Right at that moment, a familiar voice echoed throughout the jungle, “DARKHAN!”

Damn that Rekka and her accurate predictions…

“Hurry up! I don’t want to fight two great Lascanian heroes on unfamiliar ground.”

Chapter 885

“I told you so.”

Women… Hadjar couldn’t imagine a situation where this very useful phrase would be uttered with such undisguised glee by a male cultivator. Hadjar wasn’t a sexist, but some stereotypes sometimes turned out to be stereotypes for a reason.

“Are you actually happy about this?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Am I happy that I was right?” Rekka grabbed a vine and swung to the next tree. “No, I’m just used to it.”

“Perhaps we should continue our journey in silence,” Akena, whose hands were covered in cuts, glared at Rekka’s back. “Especially you, junior officer.”

“As Her Imperial Highness commands.”

The way Rekka managed to spit out the title made it sound like the nastiest possible insult. Whatever had happened between the two girls in the past, it had made them sworn enemies.

“Ladies,” Karein, the only relaxed and so far uninjured member of their squad decided to interject, “Your bickering warms my heart with memories of balls at court. Ah, the squabbles and pulled hair... I still remember the words of that one jester’s song: chickens fight, feathers fly across the sky-”

“Shut up!” Rekka, Dora, Anise, and Akena barked in unison.

Annette was the only woman who remained calm.

“You pale women will send us to the Eternal Springs with your arguing,” she said while moving from one vine to another.

“DARKHAN!” The voice echoed again, this time from somewhere on the other side of the ancient tomb.

What the fuck! Hadjar thought wearily.

A muddy, grayish lake rippled beneath them. Sometimes it gurgled, and in the bubbles that broke past its gray surface, a black abyss could be seen. It was filled with creatures that made hundreds of questions pop into Hadjar’s mind. Did mermaids also exist in this world? The creatures had humanoid torsos, but the lower halves of their bodies were reptilian. They also had long claws, oval, hairless heads, webbed ears, and wielded bone weapons similar to those used by the Shuk’Arka tribe.

Every time a bubble burst, several of the creatures, all of them as large as an average human, stopped and stared at the cultivators moving through the jungle.

“What disgusting creatures!” Galkhad hated marine life. He never ate fish, and when others ate it, he looked away. “Where did they come from?”

“What is the pale giant saying?” Annette grabbed a vine and gracefully leapt into the air.

Once she reached another tree, she sat down on a branch and froze. Her body arched, her thighs splayed out and… Hadjar shook his head. This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about such things.

He translated what Galkhad had said and landed next to her, waiting for the others. They’d avoided the water, as Annette had instructed. Judging by what Hadjar had sensed every time he’d seen the creatures, it was a good idea to avoid the water.

After traversing about forty miles along the bank of the swampy lake, they’d found themselves near a natural bridge. If it hadn’t been for Annette’s instructions, they would’ve never found it themselves — the vegetation was just too dense to see through.

The bridge consisted of tall trees growing at a short distance from each other. Their roots and trunks grew out of boulders that had been brought there by storms and hurricanes that slightly undermined the former grandeur of the tomb.

“The dead Lord of the Heavens,” Annette explained, “turns everyone who dies in his territory into servants and guards.”

“Are you saying that these creatures are also inside the tomb?”

“It’s crawling with them,” she cautiously shrugged. “When I got lost here as a child and ended up inside the tomb, I was miraculously able to survive and get out. Perhaps I was too young for the guards to notice me back then.”

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar swore.

“What are you discussing?” Anise landed on the same branch as them.

They were already being suppressed by the jungle’s atmosphere, which greatly reduced their abilities. And adding to this suppression was the tomb’s own aura. The closer they got to it, the stronger it became. Strangely, the stronger a cultivator was, the more powerful the tomb’s pressure on them ended up being. It was no wonder that Annette had been able to get out unscathed when she’d been just a child.

“More mermaids will be waiting for us inside the tomb.”

Hadjar wrapped a rag around his palm. The only way to cross the bridge was to use the vines. They needed to swing from vine to vine, all the while ignoring the cuts and burns this inflicted on their hands. The vines were so strong that they were able to cut through a Spirit Knight’s flesh. Only Karein, who was the only Lord in their squad, was more or less unharmed. However, even from a distance of several trees, Hadjar could still see large drops of sweat rolling down his face.

“Mermaids? What are mermaids?”

“Chimeras,” Hadjar explained, “Annette said that the restless spirit of the Lord of the Heavens has made an army using the dead of Karnak.”

Right at that moment, a huge bubble burst under them. Several chimeras grinned at them, ogling them hungrily with their almond-shaped eyes. They had fangs the length of a pinky.

“There’s actually a restless spirit inside this ruin?”

For some reason, Anise was more concerned with the spirit.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that, barbarian? Do you have any idea how powerful the restless spirit of a Lord of the Heavens is?” Hadjar saw fear in her eyes. “Look at these ruins! He’s already been here for several millennia!”

Hadjar glanced at the pyramid: the once majestic structure now looked like a pitiful pile of yellow stones peeking out from under the tight embrace of nature. Grass, trees, and thick, stiff vines covered the tomb, making it look more like a hill.

“DARKHAN!” Derek’s cry sent birds flying.

“Fuck,” Hadjar yelped, startled. “Whatever power this restless spirit has, I hope it’s enough to send that tenacious bastard to his forefathers.”

Anise stared at him, bewildered, “You’re crazy! Behind us is the Karnak jungle, in front of us is the restless spirit of a Lord of the Heavens, and somewhere nearby are two great Lascanian heroes! How can you stay calm right now?”

As if to answer her, Einen landed next to him.

“Is everything okay?” Hadjar asked his friend.

“Yep.” The islander answered casually.

Hadjar turned to Anise, “I can stay calm because everything’s okay.”

He grabbed a vine and continued onwards. A bubble burst under him, almost splashing his clothes with the swampy water.

Goddamned mermaids…

Chapter 886

O nce the tree bridge was finally behind them and all the squad members were standing on the steps of one of the four staircases leading up to the pyramid, Hadjar decided to make a plan.

Their journey had just begun, but they were already in bad shape. Tom, whose arm was still not in the best condition, was only being kept alive by Dora’s potions and medicines.

“Well, there will definitely be mazes and traps ahead. Karein, Rekka, this part is your expertise.”

“As you say, commander,” Karein nodded, and even put his arm around Rekka. She drew her swords and the noble instantly moved away, but he was still smiling…

“Dora, Einen, you can watch our backs. If you see any living or undead creature that isn’t with us, feel free to destroy it.”

“Be careful not to destroy me!” Karein raised his hands.

No one paid any attention to him. They all knew this weirdo was the most dangerous person in their squad.

“Anise, Tom, Galkhad, you and I will do the bulk of the fighting. We’ll be in the vanguard, doing the same thing as Dora and Einen — destroying everything that moves or even looks mildly dangerous.”

“Okay.” The giant took out his axe and put on his Imperial level armor.

An amulet he was wearing unfolded like a metal mosaic until it covered his shoulders in heavy armor. No matter how often Hadjar saw artifact armor being activated, he was fascinated by it every single time.

“Rekka, Karein, walk a little behind us. If you spot any traps or puzzles, stop us immediately.”

“Got it.” Karein saluted again.

Rekka wasn’t particularly happy about his instructions, but she understood the situation well enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Hadjar.”

Hadjar just sighed. Fucking Morgan! What did he want from the tomb so badly that he would send his own daughter here? And she was now under Hadjar’s command, in a way, despite the fact that he’d already made it abundantly clear what would happen to Hadjar if he showed a man’s interest in the redheaded Princess.

“And you, Your Imperial Highness, will be guarding Annette.”

“Who do you think you are, barbarian?” Rekka exclaimed in outrage. “The Princess guarding the slave-”

“Great!” Akena smiled brightly and stood next to Annette. “I hope that we can get to know each other better.”

Hadjar didn’t know if that was such a good idea, but he knew one thing for sure: if he returned victorious, but without the Princess... Morgan would be killing two birds with one stone — he’d be able to get rid of Orune’s disciple and his ‘unnecessary’ heir…

“DARKHA-A-A-A-A-A-N!” On the other side of the pyramid, somewhere in the middle of the lake, a pillar of eerie energy imbued with the mysteries of the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords rose up. “FIGHT ME, TRAITOR!”

“Drop dead!” Hadjar muttered in reply.

“Traitor?” Rekka pounced at Derek’s words. “Derek of the Steppe... You have beautiful feathers in your hair, barbarian. Do you mind telling me where you got them?”

“DARKHAN!”

Another pillar of energy shot up into the clouds. There was a whiff of death energy about it. Derek must’ve had Taniged the Cloudy and who knew how many other surviving Lascanians with him, but all of them, despite their might, were being held back by the lake chimeras.

“Are we going to keep talking forever or go inside already?” Einen plunged inside his rainbow ape. Armed with its fang-spear and turtle shield, it looked far more formidable than any set of armor. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

Hadjar looked at him gratefully, and Einen nodded ever so slightly at him.

“Whatever it is,” a red haze danced around Tom’s blade, “it must be exactly in the center of the Lord of the Heavens’ tomb. It is unlikely that two great heroes would be looking for something that can be found at the entrance to the pyramid.”

Tom was getting smarter right before their eyes. Although, considering how much time had passed since they’d first met, the aristocrat had most likely just grown up and matured a bit.

“Let’s go!” Hadjar stepped through the hole in the wall that Annette had pointed out to him.

His modified Call armor was woven out of black fog: a wide, long scarf was wrapped around his neck, and an armored skirt extended down from the breastplate, which meant that Hadjar could easily maneuver even at the highest of speeds.

The tomb looked the same on the inside as it did on the outside: a once spacious, bright hall with a colonnade had turned into ruins covered in plants.

Once he was inside, Hadjar summoned his Black Blade. A glance was enough for him to understand how ancient this place truly was. In the years he’d spent traveling around the world, Hadjar had already visited a few tombs like this. Neither the final resting place of the Immortal Swordsman nor the library of the Mages had looked as ancient as this place.

“What language is that?” Rekka, as expected of someone with her interests, rushed over to inspect some surviving writings.

It was difficult to identify any letters, as the writings looked more like claw marks than anything. Hadjar walked over to the collapsed pillar Rekka was examining. For a split second, he stared at the ‘claw marks’ until the words appeared in his mind.

‘Tribe... last day… High Heavens… receive their child…’

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to find that he knew the dragon script. But the symbols that had survived the sands of time didn’t clarify much.

“This way!” Annette suddenly shouted.

She disappeared behind a huge iron circle. It had fallen from the missing ceiling and smashed into the floor. Hundreds of cracks snaked out from the point of impact in all directions. And if you didn’t already know that there was a hole under it, you’d never find it.

“By the demons and gods!”

“What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to test its strength,” Galkhad looked at his vibrating hands.

While the other members of the squad had been descending into the hole, Galkhad had decided to ‘check’ the yellow stones. After imbuing his axe with a monstrous amount of energy and mysteries, he’d struck a column, but hadn’t been able to leave so much as a scratch on it.

Hadjar took another look around the room and multiplied its age by two at least. He couldn’t ask his neural network any questions right now — it was too busy decrypting the Sword’s mark.

“Hadjar,” Tom called out, “Are you coming or what?”

“Of course I am…” Hadjar responded a little hesitantly, and looked away from the relief carved into the wall above the entrance to the hall.

Crawling into the hole and clutching a vine, Hadjar couldn’t get the visage depicted on the relief out of his head. It looked so familiar… It had something in common with Traves, his distant ancestor and Master. Was Traves’ own ancestor depicted on that relief? Who the hell had been buried in this tomb?

Chapter 887

H adjar angled the neck of Karein’s broken wine bottle around the corner. The aristocrat was still lamenting his commander’s ‘barbarism’. It was unclear whether this was just a joke, actual alcoholism, an act, or something else entirely.

The tomb was brimming with even more power on the inside. The aura that it sent out into the surrounding area was just a tenth of what was actually inside. Fortunately, it acted on the principle of ‘to each according to their ability’. Otherwise, Rekka, who was the weakest among them because of her parasitic blades, would’ve simply been turned to dust.

They sensed that their effective power, due to their Cores’ struggle to keep them alive, had been reduced by more than half. It took too much effort just to make their hearts beat properly… Which meant that the cultivators couldn’t look through the World River. Fortunately, Hadjar had fought a lot as a mortal, so he knew a few tricks.

“How many are there?” Galkhad asked.

“Enough for everyone,” Hadjar replied, and, covering the bottleneck with his hand to prevent any glare, he moved the makeshift mirror back.

They’d been wandering through the labyrinth that was the tomb’s interior for three hours now. During this time, Rekka and Karein had had to stop the squad and defuse traps three times.

One of them had been a hole disguised to look like a part of the floor. The illusionary floor had been so dense that it could withstand the weight of a couple dozen pounds. Annette shuddered, realizing that if she’d been just a little heavier, she would’ve died as a child. At the bottom of the hole were blue flames. Each of them looked like a wriggling snake with long fangs.

The second and third traps had been much more sophisticated — poison gas chambers. Each one would be activated by a cultivator’s aura, and if the aura was strong enough to fill the ‘tank’ of the mechanism with its echo, the cultivator would kill themselves. It had taken Karein and Rekka about two hours to disable these traps.

The crumbling maze covered in lush vegetation seemed like an endless, winding corridor. Surprisingly, even after so long, it was still lit by smoldering torches. Rekka couldn’t understand what kind of magic was keeping them going. Hadjar’s neural network, which had been distracted from its main task for a few minutes, couldn’t figure it out either. None of them managed to remove the torches from their sconces.

They were currently standing in front of a wide, half-flooded hall. The water was only knee-deep, but apparently, that was still enough for more than a hundred chimeras to live comfortably in. They moved around in a strange manner. Instead of swimming, they used their lower halves to glide through the water like snakes, and held their human halves above the water.

“Are you sure that’s where we’re supposed to go?” Hadjar asked Annette.

On the other side of the hall were two corridors.

“I’m sure. There’s a crevice past this area. Everyone can pass through it, except the giant. And that’s the only way forward that I know of.”

“What did the demoness say?” Galkhad was ready for battle. After leaving his clan, he’d become something of a battle maniac.

“That you won’t be able to get through the passage,” Hadjar explained. “We need a plan and-”

“Oh, come on, Hadjar!” Galkhad exclaimed. “We always knew that we wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to the end with such a big team.”

“What are you-”

“The big guy’s right, commander.” Karein approached Galkhad and leaned on him. “There are ten of us. That’s a whole platoon!”

“What are you suggesting, Tarez?”

“Take Akena — she clearly needs something from the tomb,” Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that everyone else had realized this as well, “and Annette — only you understand her, and Rekka… just in case. “

“And you’ll-”

“We’ll cover you,” Einen walked over to Hadjar. The rainbow ape around him crumbled into patches of shadow. He moved closer and, putting his hand on the back of Hadjar’s head, Einen leaned his forehead against his friend’s, “We’ve come a long way together, my friend.”

“And we’ll go further still,” Hadjar nodded and moved away. “Don’t you dare go to your forefathers before I do, islander.”

“You wish, barbarian,” Einen said with a brief flicker of a smile.

Hadjar nodded at the rest of his squad. They were just his allies, not friends.

“Ready?” Hadjar held the Black Blade in front of him, and Einen called on his rainbow ape once again. The rest of the cultivators drew their weapons and sent multicolored streams of energy crashing forward.

“Let’s go!”

Hadjar was the first to run around the corner. As soon as his feet touched the surface of the water, a hundred pairs of black eyes turned to him. The chimeras all hissed at the same time. The rattles on their tails vibrated, and they made a horrible screeching sound. They charged Hadjar with a speed that many Spirit Knights would’ve envied.

He blocked the first bone trident with the flat of his blade, then turned his wrist. Putting all his strength into the movement, he expected to hear the crunching of the creature’s bones, but… The chimera was much stronger than he’d expected. Blocking Hadjar’s move, it put all its weight on the trident and shifted it by a few inches. Given Hadjar’s physical strength and speed, he should’ve come out on top, but this monster was actually able to overpower him…

“Nasty beasts!” Hadjar released his Sword County.

The water droplets that had floated into the air because of the pressure of Hadjar’s aura transformed into a swarm of miniature copies of the Black Blade. As they merged, they struck the monster’s chest and threw it several feet back, knocking down a dozen other chimeras in the process. Hadjar expected to see the creature’s entrails, but instead, now covered in blue blood, it got up and hissed at him.

“Be careful!” Hadjar shouted. He threw the monster over his shoulder, and then leapt into the thick of them. His Black Blade sang its bloody song. “They are incredibly strong!”

The others came around the corner. The monster that Hadjar had thrown over his shoulder didn’t have time to react before Galkhad’s axe, the rainbow ape’s fang-spear, and Dora’s hammer all hit it at the same time. The combined attack was strong enough to turn the creature into bloody pulp.

Hadjar dodged a bone spear and kicked it, redirecting it into the throat of another monster. Pushing off the ground, he flew over a monster’s head and, angling his sword backwards, plunged it into the back of the chimera’s head. The sword instantly sunk in all the way to the hilt and sent a dozen other chimeras flying as it came out the other side.

“Run!” Hadjar urged and rushed into the crevice.

Next to him, a shadow spat out three girls. One by one, they ducked into the crevice as well. The chimeras charged after them, but they were stopped by Galkhad, who sent out a wave of energy so powerful it turned into a wall.

“Not so fast, you disgusting fish!” The giant’s roar faded in the distance.

Hadjar and the three girls rolled down a chute. Somewhere overhead, his companions and friend were fighting.

“North Wind,” Hadjar suddenly heard a muffled whisper, “The last of the Dark Storm tribe…”

The four of them landed in a dark area. When Hadjar got to his feet, he saw a man standing in front of him. Or rather, he saw his back. He was dressed in turquoise, exquisite clothes. His black hair flowed behind him. Branching, gray horns separated it into sections. He had a tail like a peacock’s feather.

“Master Traves?”

Chapter 888

T he man turned around, and the flame of absurd hope that had kindled in Hadjar’s heart was snuffed out. The dead couldn’t return to this world after all.

The man’s face did resemble Traves’ own, but it was rougher, more belligerent. It was also covered in scars. His right eye was completely white, and judging by the deep scar that covered it, it had once been hit by an axe.

The creature, which Hadjar had at first mistaken for a person, was a Shadow, a fragment of consciousness that the Lord of the Heavens had left behind in the world. Not a ghost or a Spirit, but a Shadow. Hadjar had previously believed that only Immortals and equally powerful beings were capable of such a feat. Well, that did explain the stench of necromancy in this place. The local streams of the World River reeked of it.

“So, this is what’s left of the Thundercloud tribe’s glory,” the Shadow floated up to Hadjar. He looked bigger up close, approximately Galkhad’s size. The hilt of a heavy, two-handed sword peeked out from behind him. Every movement, every breath he took was like a storm of rage and war, but he was wise enough to keep his temper in check.

The Shadow of the dragon was the epitome of a true Emperor. Not like Morgan, or Primus, or Haver. Only now did Hadjar finally get to see how a true ruler of the world looked, someone who was the very personification of the path of cultivation, had immense power and intelligence imbued with honor, and a great lust for battle and the enemy’s blood. Hadjar almost dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

“Is this really our legacy?” The old dragon asked. “The descendant of an earth dweller and a walking cage for a pathetic parasite in the body of our kind.”

Hadjar heard a distant, muffled laugh inside of him, full of the same rage that the old dragon exuded.

Suddenly, the Shadow was next to Hadjar and, after tilting his chin up forcefully, looked into his eyes.

“Do you remember me, Darkhan?” He hissed. “Do you remember this?” He pointed at his white eye.

The wound wasn’t actually from an axe, but from a sword. By the Evening Stars, what kind of monster could’ve given him such a scar? Alas, the answer was all too obvious.

“Ironically,” He pushed Hadjar away. “My sworn enemy is trapped in the body of my last heir. Oh Great Ancestor whose wings created the sky for us, I never understood your sense of humor.”

“May the Heavens always remain under your wings, venerable ancestor. This young one of the Dark Storm tribe greets you in your afterlife,” Hadjar bowed deeply.

Hadjar wasn’t worried that Annette, Akena, or Rekka would learn something important about him, as he was speaking in the dragon language. Fluently. It was a little strange… And even if his companions could understand the language, they weren’t nearby and were preoccupied with other things. Hovering several feet off the ground and bound by invisible restraints, they could only look around in a panic. The dragon had perhaps been even stronger than the Immortal Swordsman.

“Little thief,” He said, walking up to Annette. “You’ve fulfilled your purpose. You brought my heir to me, so now I’m taking my gift back.”

The shadow extended a clawed finger and touched Annette’s stomach. A bright, white light poured out from where he’d touched her. Despite her restraints, Annette threw her head back and opened her mouth in a silent scream. The vessels in her eyes burst. Hadjar sensed something leave Annette’s soul. Something vile, rotten, dead… But with it, Annette’s soul also cracked open and burst.

“Wait!”

The Shadow turned sharply toward Hadjar. His single eye, the color of lightning, showed a mixture of rage and curiosity.

“You dare to tell me what to do?” The dragon waved his free hand, and Hadjar felt a pressure comparable to Orune’s bear down on him.

Are you here, my Spirit?  He asked the Quetzal sleeping inside his soul.

The bird spread its wings and flew out from the depths of Hadjar’s soul. Manifesting behind him as a huge azure silhouette, it merged with Hadjar’s sword. The now familiar pattern immediately appeared on it. Hadjar released his Sword County at the same time. Only by using all of these could he withstand the pressure of a tiny fraction of the power that the Dragon Emperor had once possessed.

And even then, despite all his efforts, Hadjar’s back bent and his knees trembled. He stabbed the Black Blade into the ground in front of him and coughed up blood as he channeled the energy from his Core. An enviable volume of power was pumped into his body through his Technique-improved channels.

“Who is she to you, little freak?” The dragon lowered his hand and the pressure was gone. “I sense that you’ve been with her recently. Did my line degenerate so much that you, halfbreed, are actually cavorting with mortal women?”

He did move his claw away from Annette’s chest, however. She twitched several times and then her body relaxed. She’d clearly lost consciousness. Akena’s and Rekka’s eyes were full of absolute terror.

“She brought me here. I wouldn’t have found the way without her.”

“That was merely the fate I gave her when I allowed her to learn the art of subduing death,” the Shadow moved to the center of the room.

Hadjar only then noticed that they were in a dilapidated, partially flooded room. There was so little light that he could only conclude that the room was bigger than 40 paces thanks to his County.

“You gave her a fate?”

The Shadow grimaced, “My last remaining heir is a mortal halfbreed that’s weaker than an ant, shorter than a bush, and… uneducated as well. Great Ancestor, I hope you haven’t cracked the Seven Pillars Mountain with the force of your laughter in the Spirit World! The fate of a mortal is like clay. If you have the right level of power and knowledge, you can make anything from it. Or do you think that two creatures as powerful as Freya the Titan and Helmer the Void roam through this backwater with you out of sheer boredom?”

“What... How…”

“These two, North Wind, are old enemies and unwitting allies. They’ve been fighting and making alliances since before I had wings and horns.”

“But…”

“My scar?” The Shadow pointed at his eye and laughed. “You aren’t the first to carry Darkhan’s fragment, and you won’t be the last. The Raven sect, I’m sure you’ve encountered them before, formed much earlier than they think they did.”

Hadjar heard another distant, muffled laugh inside his soul. What is going on here?

Chapter 889

“T heir traces are all over your soul, freak,” The Shadow, waving his hand, sat down on a most horrifying throne, one that only Hadjar could see. It was made from bones and skulls fused into various kinds of armor and weapons. “They’re so obvious that even I, a pathetic fragment, can see them.”

“Are they shaping my fate?”

The dragon waved his hand vaguely. The huge two-handed sword that had been peeking out from behind him now rested against the back of the throne.

“They’re trying to,” He shrugged. “Each of them is doing it in their own direction, which ultimately creates a balance. Balance, little halfbreed, that’s what this world functions on. Humans and non-humans. Demons and Gods. Spirits and the Abyss. Laws of the World and Laws of Death. Life and Time. That’s what keeps us from falling apart.”

“Falling apart?”

The Shadow just grinned, showing off his unsettling fangs. Well, he wasn’t the wise, humble, and serious Traves. He was a warrior who’d received every bit of his wisdom by healing his latest scar, not by trying to understand an autumn tree on a mountaintop. He was an Emperor…

“You know so little, North Wind, but you still came here, to my tomb. And despite knowing full well that I can destroy your soul, you have no fear. That’s the only thing stopping me from ending my line right now.”

Hadjar had heard such threats from so many different entities so often that he just didn’t see the point in worrying about them anymore. If the dragon Emperor’s Shadow wanted to destroy him, Hadjar wouldn’t be able to stop him. So, what would be the point of fearing for his life?

“As for your fate, why did you come here?”

“There’s someone else coming, his name is Derek, and he’s-”

“Anointed by Derger, the God of War,” The Shadow interrupted Hadjar. “Yes, yes, I can smell him from here. He’s still fighting my loyal guards, but he’ll soon reach the pyramid. Well... this’ll probably be interesting to watch.”

“Anointed?”

“Great Ancestor have mercy… Do you know anything, little freak? Or are there holes in your head that any knowledge just leaks out of?”

Hadjar wisely chose to remain silent.

“He’s just like you,” He waved again. “Except you accepted the slave mark of an artificial Spirit. And he accepted the slave mark of an artificial god. You’re both toys in the hands of entities that you can’t even comprehend. And both of you are going to die soon. You’ll die because you tore your soul in half. And he’ll die because of the wound inflicted by that sword.”

The Shadow looked at the Black Blade.

“I came here to stop Derek from taking something very valuable from your tomb, great ancestor.”

“Something? And what would that something be?”

“I don’t know.” Hadjar admitted with a shrug.

“So you, a wretched halfbreed, invaded my tomb without knowing who it belongs to, to take something you have no idea about, all to stop a being much more powerful than you from getting it?”

“I did. I’m also looking for a way to make my soul whole again and remove the Sword’s mark,” He added to the list of impossible tasks.

“Removing the mark will destroy the half of your soul you do have, North Wind. This is an impossible conundrum: to be free, you need a whole soul, and to make your soul whole again, you need to be released.”

“I know,” Hadjar nodded. “But the Keeper of the Past of the Shuk’Arka tribe said that I’d find a way to do so here. I believe him.”

“You believe another mortal bug?” The Shadow laughed. The sound was like the beating of war drums. “And you aren’t afraid?”

“I’m not.” Hadjar gripped his sword and straightened his back. “I have no room for fear in my life, venerable ancestor. I have my sword and my Spirit with me. That’s all I need to win.”

The Shadow stared into his eyes for a moment. He looked inside Hadjar’s very soul.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re crazy, North Wind?”

“Occasionally.”

There was silence, followed by a booming laugh.

“You’re so weak and so stupid, North Wind. And like all weaklings, you use borrowed power. You even refused the power you actually had. Despite that, you aren’t afraid and even believe in yourself. I’ve lived a long life, North Wind. I defeated so many enemies that their bodies could cover the surface of the Snowy Ocean twice. But, by the Great Ancestor, I’ve never met anyone like you before. Maybe you’re just dumber than all the others, maybe you’re braver, or maybe you really are plain crazy.”

Hadjar stayed silent.

“I’ll give you a chance, North Wind. A chance to prove that the Thundercloud tribe’s blood still runs in your veins. That the fury of our kind can still shake the skies and mountains. That the sword of our kind is still sharp. That our spear is as strong as ever!” The Shadow’s voice grew deeper and more tangible with each word. For a moment, Hadjar felt as if he were wearing torn, bloody azure robes. There were numerous scars and wounds on his body. He held a bloody sword in his hands. Around him, his enemies were drowning in a sea of blood. War drums were beating. There was a thunderstorm. “Prove to me, little freak, that a true dragon Emperor still walks this earth!”

The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“Find my tomb, North Wind.” The throne vanished. The Shadow walked over to the girls floating in the air and stood next to them. “Get there alive. Overcome whatever comes your way with your own strength. Destroy all the obstacles and every enemy in your path. Dive neck-deep into the river of blood you’ll spill. That is the way of the dragon Emperor. If you survive… I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, venerable ancestor,” Hadjar bowed.

“To make sure you don’t waste time, I’ll give you three hours.” The dragon waved his hand and the hem of his clothes covered the girls. “If you don’t make it, they’ll die, along with the ones fighting on the top floor right now. They’ll be your companions on your journey to the house of your forefathers.”

The Shadow and the three girls disappeared. Torches flared, lighting up a room that was the size of the Forbidden City’s ballroom. Hadjar cursed.

Chapter 890

T here was a ten-foot tall mermaid in the center of the half-flooded room. Unlike the ones that lived around the temple or in the lake itself, it was far more monstrous. Its powerful and wide snakelike tail squirmed in the water, covered in shimmering golden armor. Its blue torso was protected by white plate armor made from a bone-like material. It was difficult to tell where the human parts began and where the snake parts ended. Blue and slimy, with four breasts, which were also covered in golden armor, it only had a few humanoid features left. Chief among them was an ugly, female face. Its thin, sparse purple hair fell down to its shoulders.

Its four arms were spread out. In its upper two arms, it clutched shields — half-circles that could be connected to form one big shield. In its lower ones, located near its ribs, it held artifact sabers, the kind that were usually used by the soldiers from the southeastern provinces. They had a long, scarlet hilt, like the kind usually seen on a two-handed sword, a single-sided, wide, and curved blade with a sharp edge, and a guard that could catch and break an opponent’s sword.

A high-pitched squeal came from its throat. It crossed its blades above its head and a Barony of the Twin Swords descended upon Hadjar. He instantly responded with his own County. The two Kingdoms clashed with each other. Like wrestlers, they pushed against their opponent, trying to crush their foe. The water beneath them rippled.

At first, Hadjar was winning this silent confrontation, but he soon began to realize that they were in a stalemate. The chimera couldn’t push him back, and Hadjar’s Sword County couldn’t overcome the monster’s Twin Swords Barony.

“Fucking ambidextrous people!” Hadjar cursed.

He felt like he was fighting against not one Barony, but two at once. They resisted him with such perfect coordination that it almost seemed like there were four of them. That was exactly why ambidextrous swordsmen were so feared and respected — each of them was as strong as four other warriors on the battlefield. Fighting against such people was usually suicide.

Hadjar swung his sword. The pattern of a Quetzal bird soaring toward the clouds flashed, and energy surged from Hadjar’s Core directly into the Black Blade. It mixed with the artifact’s own energy, and he then used the first strike of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique.

“Flying Sword!”

Energy in the shape of a dense, bright dragon flew toward the monster. The sound of the impact echoed through the hall. The attack that had been able to hurt a demon of the Karnak jungle suddenly crashed into the two combined halves of a round shield. The dragon dispersed into inky puffs of energy and Sword mysteries as it crashed into the shields.

The chimera, after blocking Hadjar’s attack, didn’t even budge, only moved its shield aside to retaliate. Its left blade struck at Hadjar’s legs, and the right blade aimed at his throat.

Using his will, Hadjar made a cut in the space above his head. An unstoppable force pushed him upward. It was also enough to divert the blunt part of the chimera’s saber. After reaching the zenith of his assisted leap, all the while spinning like a top, Hadjar struck with his right leg. The kick aimed at the monster’s chin hit one half of its shield. Hadjar clenched his teeth. He’d clearly heard the crunch of a bone in his foot. He heard another crunch as he was thrown to the side, crashing down and then sliding across the floor. Thanks to the dragon blood, Wolf Broth, and his own expanded meridians, his injuries healed instantly.

“Not bad,” he spat out some blood. “But let’s see how fast you can fence!”

Turning into a black dragon, Hadjar charged the enemy. He moved so quickly that his feet didn’t even sink into the water, only skimming its surface. He slid from side to side like a snake.

Moving to the chimera’s left in a split second, Hadjar grabbed his sword with both hands and launched a powerful upward slash. A dragon’s roar made the walls shake. The Lord of the Heavens made from black energy that Darkhan had just turned into followed the trajectory of his slash and surged toward the monster’s head.

The chimera, its eyes closed, deflected the attack. The black dragon crashed into the ceiling, making a deep hole in it. Sharp rocks rained down.

The monster stabbed at him with its right sword. A stream of water followed after the chimera’s blade, powerful enough to break through even Einen’s turtle shield. The tip of the stream turned into the open mouth of a vicious snake, and the saber itself shone with energy and mysteries.

But the area where it struck was already empty. Hadjar, pushing off with his foot, spun his body around as he propelled himself down again. He moved with such immense speed that the misty scarf trailing behind him created the illusion of a black dragon gliding through the air. He reached the monster’s left side in an instant. He launched another upward slash, aimed at the monster’s temple this time, kicking the hilt of its saber with his heel in the same movement.

The monster, just as Hadjar had planned, did the exact same thing as before: with its left upper hand, which was holding one half of its shield, it deflected the rising dragon toward the ceiling, and then stabbed at him with its left sword. Once again, Hadjar wasn’t there.

The stream of water only nicked his heels as Hadjar jumped into the air. Pushing off from the monster’s lower, crossed arms that were gripping the sabers, he delivered a powerful blow to its second set of arms, and, going even faster, he then soared over the monster’s head. A dragon maw with long, bloodthirsty blade fangs opened wide over the creature’s head. That was how the Call’s scarf and armored skirt would look like to anyone observing the fight right now. And the tongue of that mouth was the Black Blade as he used the second strike of the Black General’s Technique.

“Drawn Sword!”

A beam of potent energy slammed into the ceiling, right between the two holes. The chimera, with another piercing scream, disappeared into the powerful, roaring stream of black light. Countless dragon-sword strikes danced within it.

Hadjar finished his aerial pirouette and landed behind the monster. Calmly, without looking back, he walked toward the door at the end of the long hall.

He angled his Black Blade toward the right. Reflecting the light of magic torches, a crystal that was pulsing with a soft blue color landed on the surface of the sword and sank into the darkness of the blade in just a few moments.

Behind Hadjar, a fountain of thick, blue blood was still gushing. Bits of flesh, twisted golden armor, and broken blades fell into the thickening water. The two halves of the monster’s shield flew apart and slammed into the walls.

“If that’s all, I’ll be disappointed,” Hadjar growled, and pushed open the massive doors. He heard that distant, muffled, belligerent laughter inside himself once again.

Chapter 891

“T his is new,” Hadjar took a step back.

He stood in front of a low door. Behind him was a magical maze consisting of narrow corridors, walls, and dead ends. The number of traps in this maze was absurd. Hadjar had been able to detect most of them using his neural network. The part of it that wasn’t actively decrypting the mark had located most of them. The most well-hidden traps had still gone off, and now there were several wounds on Hadjar’s body.

“Is this a riddle?” Hadjar took out a small flask of cloudy liquid from his spatial ring. He sent a stream of energy into it and, after waiting for the liquid to flash with a bright, green light, threw it through the door. “Or not…”

The flask, which shone far more brightly than even the hottest torch, disappeared in the darkness as soon as it passed the threshold of the hall. The darkness on the other side of the door looked like a curtain of dark, voluminous fabric. Not a single light source that was thrown inside could illuminate the room. What kind of mage could’ve created such an illusion was beyond Hadjar’s comprehension. He sensed no change in the flows of the World River. It almost felt like someone had just wished for the light to disappear in there, and then it actually had. But what kind of willpower would it take to subdue the universe itself? Unthinkable!

Hadjar tied his hair back, wrapped his wounds with rags, held the Black Blade out in front of him, and went inside. The first thing that anyone would’ve expected to feel when entering this kind of darkness was an enveloping cold that would get under one’s skin and inside their very bones. Instead of that cold, however, Hadjar felt warmth caressing his wounds and ruffling his hair. Walking carefully in absolute darkness, he realized that he had no idea where exactly he needed to go next.

“Analyze the room.”

[Processing request...

Error! Code: 17asj@75

Surrounding area cannot be scanned. More power is required.]

“Denied.” Hadjar replied instantly.

Due to the fact that he was trying to avoid getting addicted to its aid, he rarely used his neural network. If it could help, then great. If not, that was fine too. Hadjar would be able to deal with his problems on his own. After all, even if he had accepted it as part of him, as his, he still liked to only rely on his own mind and power.

“What’s going on here?” He whispered confusedly.

He moved around by feeling things. He would check the space in front of him with his blade and only then take a step forward. During his travels, Hadjar had often found himself in situations where he hadn’t been able to rely on his eyes, so being deprived of his vision wasn’t exactly anything new or frightening to him.

“You pathetic freak!”

“Holy shit!” Hadjar jumped in surprise and slashed at the sound. The Black Blade sliced through empty air.

“That’s how you paid me back, wasn’t it?” Suddenly, a dim, silvery light and the figure of a man appeared in front of him. Hadjar didn’t recognize him at first. “For that time I saved your ass from a wild boar? Or that time I saved you from those bandits? Or when I made a tent just for you, in the pouring rain no less, so that you wouldn’t catch a cold?”

“Brom?” Hadjar tilted his head to the side.

The ghost’s head was severed from his body and he held it in his hands. He was the mercenary Brom, the man who’d turned the five years Hadjar had spent as part of a traveling freak show into a real hell on earth. Later, when they’d met in the Sea of Sand, Hadjar had gotten his revenge.

“You killed me, you damned freak!” The ghost lamented. “Is that how you repay kindness?”

“You were paid in gold for your ‘kindness’, you bastard,” Hadjar hissed.

With a small effort of will, he waved the ghost away, reducing it to tiny patches of mist that disappeared into the darkness. Raising his head, he smiled and said:

“You’ll need to use something better if you want to pick at wounds that haven’t yet healed.”

Hadjar had already passed trials of the soul three times in his life. Each time he’d found himself on the threshold of his forefathers’ house, he’d only become stronger. His will had become firmer, his Spirit had grown larger and freer, and the wounds on his soul had been covered with ugly but strong scars.

After he took another ten steps, Hadjar wasn’t surprised to see another silhouette appear before him:

“Your arms are drenched in blood, my son!” She looked just like he remembered her. Queen Elizabeth. Brown hair, kind, warm eyes, and a gaping hole in her chest. “I asked you, dear Hadjar, to disregard the world of cultivation. I told you it would only bring you loneliness and frustration.” She held out her bloody hands to him.

Hadjar sighed sadly.

“You knew very well, mother, whose blood flowed in your, and therefore, my veins as well. If you’d wanted a different fate for me, you would’ve never had a son.” He raised his hand and looked into her eyes. There were tears in them. “Besides, you aren’t my mother.”

Still, Hadjar’s hand trembled a little before he waved the ghost away.

“It’s cruel,” he said to the silent darkness, “To resurrect the memory of someone’s departed parents.”

“Isn’t it also cruel, my son, to sacrifice thousands of peasants?” His father, King Haver, was sitting on a bench in the Banquet hall of the Royal Palace of Lidus. A long, deep cut ran across his chest. He held a fragment of his sword that had been broken in a single strike by his own brother. “How many innocent people died because of you, Mad General? How many-”

“Far less than would’ve died because of you, father,” Hadjar interrupted the ghost. “You became weak, and a weak king is a death sentence for his country. However, you would’ve never willingly given your power to someone else. I hate Primus for what he did... but I came to understand him a long time ago. You were both wrong, and it cost you your lives.”

Hadjar’s hand didn’t even tremble when he dispelled the ghost of his father, the man who hadn’t been able to protect his mother…

Moving forward, Hadjar encountered many more shades: Nero and his wife, South Wind, Moon Leen, Sankesh, even a representation of his own soul… But their words couldn’t even scratch Hadjar’s inner core. The Shuk’Arka ritual had patched up the last gap in his soul armor. It was unlikely that anything wielding less power than the memory of Helen herself could now break through it.

“Just tell me this, little dragon… Can we be proud of you?”

Hadjar froze and turned around. Two silhouettes stood behind him: a tall, stately, handsome man with horns who was wearing exquisite turquoise robes. And next to him was a slightly shorter man who was much fiercer, with scars all over his body, rough features, long hair, and a beastly grin on his face.

Hadjar knelt down before them and pressed his forehead to the floor. He was well aware that these weren’t even true Shadows, only images drawn from his mind. But it was still the honorable thing to do.

“Master Traves. Master Orune,” Hadjar said in a voice full of reverence. “The Heavens may fall, the earth may sink, but even that won’t stop me.”

“Then go,” the two silhouettes said in unison. “The enemy you created is already waiting for you.”

The door to the next hall opened, the ghosts disappeared, and Hadjar heard:

“DARKHAN!”

Stubborn, unkillable bastard…

Chapter 892

T he next hall Hadjar walked into was amazing. It wasn’t enormous, nor did it have any incredible features. It was simply the first intact hall without any vegetation marring its stonework. But Hadjar’s attention had been drawn by something else. The blood. There was so much blood everywhere that it wasn’t just dripping from the ceiling and walls, but streaming down them as well… It covered the entire floor of a rather spacious training room, and it was up to his ankles at this point. There were destroyed courses, broken training dummies, and even smashed weapon racks.

“GWA-A-AAR!”

Hadjar kicked away a half-rotten head that had rolled toward him. Its left, decomposing eye popped out, and its right one was so melted that it had almost merged with its rotting skin at this point. Its yellow teeth were all broken. Flesh hung in clumps off its bones. The sight was disgusting, but easily recognizable.

“Zombies…” Hadjar shook off the blood and slime that still clung to his foot. “I fucking hate zombies.”

Given the amount of blood, there must’ve been at least a thousand zombies in here. Maybe even more than that.

“I didn’t think you were such a coward, Darkhan,” someone spoke from across the room. “A traitor, a lying scumbag, a dog of Darnassus, but not a coward. I guess I was wrong.”

Hadjar didn’t recognize the speaker’s voice at first. Derek was about nineteen, but the raspiness of his voice made him sound very old. Hadjar turned toward him.

“By the High Heavens,” he breathed out. “You look like shit, Derek.”

“All thanks to you, Darkhan.”

Derek stood atop a pile of skulls. To his left and right, broken stone slabs jutted out of the ground like sharp fangs. His hair, almost as long as Hadjar’s, fluttered in the breeze created by the power that emanated from him. It was lifeless and gray. Derek’s face looked like a pale, bare skull. His lips couldn’t hide his yellow, cracked teeth. He had sunken eye sockets and a wild look to him.

Behind him, a scarlet cape fluttered in the air. Imperial level armor covered his torso and legs. At first glance, it looked like a solid, single piece of armor, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be something completely different. The black material that Hadjar had taken for steel was actually Derek’s own skin. His entire body, excluding his face, had turned black, but not a normal black like the inhabitants of the jungle, but the decaying color of ancient zombies. His swollen veins were pulsing with some sort of golden liquid that didn’t look like blood at all.

“Have you been bitten?”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“That artifact you used, Darkhan,” Derek jumped down, blood splashing across his gray face. “That was cowardly. I tried to fight you fair and square, and you, you shameless bastard, used a cursed artifact! And now, because of that, I look like one of them!”

Derek, who sounded unstable, kicked a severed, half-rotten arm away. Hadjar noted that Derek’s head had clearly been damaged by something earlier.

“How did you get here?” He asked.

“How did I get here?” Derek, or what was left of him anyway, seemed to perk up at that. For a moment, there was a flicker of reason in his eyes. “The Shadow of a horned man appeared in front of me. He showed me the way to this hall. He said that if I beat all the enemies in my way, a passage to his tomb would open up, and then I’d be able to take…”

Hadjar eagerly waited for more information, but Derek cut himself off in time. It wasn’t surprising that the dragon Emperor had sent Derek after Hadjar.

“Nice try, Darkhan,” Derek cackled like a hyena. He moved around Hadjar, pointing one of his blades at him. They were similar in shape to the mermaid’s, but had two sharp edges instead of just one. “But you won’t find out why, instead of fulfilling my purpose and destroying all the Darnassus trash, I went to this jungle instead.”

“Alas,” Hadjar shrugged. “I’d honestly hoped you would just tell me.”

“I’d also hoped, Hadjar,” there was a deep sadness in Derek’s eyes. “I’d hoped that I had found a true friend, one I could invite to my wedding. A friend that would one day visit me with his children in tow, and tell them and my own kids about our adventures together.”

The ghosts of the darkness hadn’t been able to injure Hadjar’s soul. Neither had Derek. He just felt a slight pang at the confirmation that not all of his decisions had been correct. He’d made a mistake when he’d given Derek a false reason to live.

“You know, when that monk first came to me, I was weak and broken. I didn’t want to do anything. My path of cultivation had crumbled. I was degrading, and it was only a matter of time before my soul disintegrated completely.” He casually sat down on a pile of zombies he had dismembered. Something was clearly wrong with him... “Or do you really think that you were able to deceive me? No, I realized you weren’t to blame for the deaths of my beloved and her sister right after I came down from that accursed mountain. I also realized something else, Hadjar. You used us. You used our kindness and our desire for power. You hung a carrot in front of us and led us to the slaughter. And we followed you like spellbound donkeys.”

Hadjar realized once again that he had made a mistake. A while back, Emperor Morgan had proven to him that he wasn’t the smartest person in the world. And now Derek had reminded him of that.

“You Darnassian bastard! You used us!” Derek stood up so abruptly that the remains he’d been sitting on scattered. He began pacing and kicking them in different directions. “But the monk opened my eyes. He showed me the truth. He told me what really happened. He explained that you hadn’t actually come to our land to free the orcs from the Dah’Khasses, but to pave a way for your ships! To my homeland! You wanted to destroy my country, didn’t you, Darkhan? That’s why I’ll destroy yours instead! I’ll kill every Darnassian bastard in the world! I’ll gut every Darnassian whore! I’ll feed all the Darnassian babies to our dogs! And I’ll pave the road leading from Lascan to this future wasteland with the bones of your elders! I’ll destroy your entire legacy and every inch of land that was once part of Darnassus!”

Derek shouted and screamed. He spat as he talked, almost foaming at the mouth. There was unbridled madness in his eyes.

“No, you won’t,” Hadjar shook his head calmly. His Black Blade shone in his hands. Two blue patterns were already visible on its surface. “You won’t do that because you’ll be dead soon.”

Turning into a black dragon, Hadjar glided across the blood lake toward his opponent. He didn’t know whether he should thank the dragon Emperor or not, but he knew one thing for sure — he wouldn’t get a better chance than this. Due to the pressure of the tomb’s aura, he and Derek were almost equal in power right now.

Chapter 893

“C OME ON THEN!” Derek roared. “COME HERE, YOU DARNASSIAN SCUMBAG!”

The energy around him became a dark golden halo. His scarlet cloak and gray hair rose up. Slowly, Derek drew his blades. With every inch of steel that left the scabbards, the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords spread out farther around him.

Hadjar felt like he was standing in front of an entire army. However, things were different this time, since the army wasn’t directed solely at him, like he had experienced with Morgan or Orune.

The tomb created a different kind of pressure for each cultivator. The stronger they were, the harder it was for them to contend with this pressure. Derek was strong. By the Evening Stars, he stood at the peak of cultivation in the seven Empires. There weren’t even a dozen warriors in the Empires that could defeat him under normal circumstances. So, naturally, the pressure he was fighting against was completely different than the pressure Hadjar had to deal with. Due to that, Hadjar and Derek had a similar amount of energy right now. The only difference between them were the mysteries and Techniques they possessed.

The True Kingdom, unlike the three lower levels, had no boundaries, and the only thing that limited its range was its wielder’s personal power. At the moment, Derek didn’t have much power left. He was spending most of it on resisting the tomb’s pressure.

Hadjar released his County. Compared to a True Kingdom, it looked pathetic and worthless, but it did what it was meant to — it turned the endless abyss between the two swordsmen into a huge gorge. Luckily for him, Hadjar was already used to fighting those who were further ahead of him on the path of cultivation. Moreover, he’d only encountered opponents who were weaker than him a few times.

“The First Strike: Flying Sword!”

A dense, black dragon flew out alongside Hadjar’s sword, clutching it with its claws and fangs. His swing created an echo that completely cleared the area around him. An ungodly amount of blood flew in all directions and formed a sphere that trapped the two combatants inside of it.

“A new Technique, Hadjar?” Derek’s eyes showed no signs of sanity now, only pure rage and bloodlust. “I have a better one! Teachings of the God of War: Despair!”

Derek crossed his blades above his head. They suddenly flashed with bright, golden energy and turned into two beams that contained the faces of dying warriors screaming in agony, all of them wearing helmets of various shapes and sizes. Enhanced by Derek’s True Kingdom, the Technique had power and speed beyond the Imperial level. If it had struck the Black Blade head on, it would’ve shattered it into a million pieces. That was why, in the split second before Derek’s two slashes had collided with his weapon, Hadjar had stopped abruptly. Then, grabbing his blade in a reverse grip, he’d used the momentum of his lunge to his advantage. The dragon that had been following behind him had passed through him. Power and speed had been diverted to Hadjar’s left shoulder, which he now used like a battering ram in order to clear a path between Derek’s swords.

The maneuver was as dangerous as it was graceful and ferocious. Hadjar leapt straight into the open arms of death. Ramming into Derek’s chest, he forcibly negated his foe’s momentum. By focusing all that power into a single point on Derek’s stomach, and digging his feet into the ground for support, he’d become as immovable as a mountain.

Derek’s swords were able to skirt this ‘mountain’, but his body still crashed into the insurmountable barrier and he was pushed back. He only took a half-step back, but the time he lost was enough for Hadjar to deliver a swift slash.

The Black Blade, bursting with energy and mysteries, together with the dragon created by the ‘Flying Sword’ stance, came down directly toward Derek’s neck. If he’d hesitated for even a moment, he would’ve lost his head. But he was a great hero of Lascan, and a pawn of the God of War. Swinging his left sword, and almost breaking his elbow in the process, he bent his arm enough to parry the attack.

The black dragon slammed into the golden beam. Hundreds of shifting faces of screaming, gasping warriors bit into the dragon’s flesh. The explosion that followed their brief collision should’ve sent the two men flying.

However, Hadjar was ready for it, but Derek wasn’t, and he was thrown back a few steps as a result. Hadjar, in the same instant the explosion had gone off, had created two vacuum cuts in the air: one just above his shoulder blades, and the other right behind Derek.

As they were sent flying, Derek was immobilized for another moment. The force of the explosion was hitting him from one side, and the vacuum was pulling at him from the other.

Hadjar, despite also being affected by two forces, soared through the air instead. Like before, he appeared directly above his enemy’s head.

“The Second Strike: Drawn Sword!”

A stream of black energy that contained many dragon strikes inside of it came crashing down, right toward Derek. He raised his right blade above his head, shouting something unintelligible. A burst of golden light blocked the stream of darkness. The floor around Derek was hollowed out into an oval shape. He stood on it like it was an island. Neither of his blades glowed.

Hadjar, as planned, landed in the ravine. Once he was level with Derek’s knees, he jerked his sword up and pressed the attack.

“The Third Strike: Vacuum Sword!”

He sent out a powerful slash, but didn’t aim it at Derek, or even somewhere next to him, but instead directed it right at the pillar the great hero was standing on. A black tear in the air itself, inside which a hungry eye appeared, split the rock and then morphed into a powerful, furious tornado.

Hadjar, turning into a black dragon once again, moved to the opposite wall in two quick leaps. In the center of the hall, the tornado of black energy and Sword mysteries raged. It crushed rocks and sucked in streams of blood, turning purple.

Hadjar cleaned his sword with a flick of his wrist and assumed a defensive stance. A coiled, translucent dragon’s tail immediately wove a cocoon of energy around him. To pull off these seemingly simple moves, he employed dozens of tiny but powerful tricks that Master Orune had taught him.

A battle at this level wasn’t just a simple competition between the combatants’ energy and Techniques. No, it was a true clash of skill, one far more complex than a mere mortal could even imagine in their wildest dreams.…

“ENOUGH!” Derek roared from the center of the vortex.

A pillar of golden light ripped Hadjar’s Technique to shreds. Hadjar didn’t get to unleash even a quarter of its true power. What had once been enough for Erhard to conquer the Hundred Kingdoms wasn’t even enough for Hadjar to defeat one opponent right now.

Surrounded by a burning halo of power, Derek, who was completely unscathed, was breathing heavily. His eyes glowed with hatred.

“DARNASSIAN BASTARD! TEACHINGS OF THE GOD OF WAR: ARMY!”

Hadjar braced for impact. He channeled all his energy and mysteries into his defensive Technique. A huge cloud of black fog formed, shooting out from under his feet, and a dragon danced inside of it. In just a split second, Hadjar was ready to defend himself from any sort of attack.

Derek took a single step forward. The entire room was filled with his flickering afterimages. There were so many of them that it seemed as if there really was an army standing in front of Hadjar. In less than a heartbeat, two blades sank into his back. Hadjar fell to the floor. Derek, who was cleaning the blood off his swords, looked into Hadjar’s eyes.

“That was good, Hadjar,” Derek chuckled. He sounded insane, full of unreasoning hatred. “Although, to be honest, I expected more from you.”

“How-”

“I want to tell you my plan since you’re dying anyway,” Derek said, crouching down. Behind him, a passageway appeared in the wall that had been solid just a second ago, revealing a spiral staircase. “You doomed your people. Have you ever heard of the world’s balance? You have? Well, the lizard that died here managed to find the book of the Immortals. I won’t bother telling you who they are. Anyway, this book contains very important knowledge… It contains the magic of the dead, which is actually useless unless you have the knowledge that focuses on life as well.”

“The Tree of Life,” Hadjar croaked, blood spilling from his lips.

“That’s right,” Derek laughed. “By combining the book of the Immortals and a branch from the Tree of Life, I’ll turn Darnassus into an Empire of the dead!”

“Now which one of us is a coward and a bastard?”

Derek turned, but it was already too late. Hadjar was standing in the passageway. A flask in his hands glowed with a scarlet light, filled with the Cores of various monsters, and even a demon.

“What…”

Derek looked down at the body lying at his feet.

“GRU-A-A-AR,” the impaled zombie growled as it slowly took on its actual appearance.

“I have a good friend,” Hadjar smiled widely, “and he knows a trick that I was lucky enough to learn. You may be a great hero, but you don’t have much experience yet. Feel free to learn from the best.”

Hadjar threw the flask down in front of him.

“DARKHAN!” Derek roared and charged forward, but he was too late.

There was an explosion and the ceiling collapsed. Hadjar, who was certain that the barrier wouldn’t stop Derek for long, rushed up the stairs. He finally knew what Derek was looking for in the tomb. Two streams of blood were running down his back…

Chapter 894

“F ucking shit!” Hadjar pressed his back against the wall.

He was breathing hard, and his heart was pounding. A funny thing about the body was that when it got injured, the heart would start beating like it was about to jump out of your chest, which only accelerated the blood loss.

Taking several alchemical pills out of his spatial ring, Hadjar popped them into his mouth. It was like molten metal had been poured down his throat. He felt the edges of his wounds bulge and heal. He hadn’t actually been fast enough when switching with a zombie to completely avoid getting hit by Derek. Only a tenth of the actual power of Derek’s Technique had struck him, but even that had been enough to damage several of his energy channels. And while the pills had healed Hadjar’s superficial wounds, they hadn’t healed his internal injuries.

“What an idiot-”

Hadjar didn’t finish that thought. Just as Derek had agreed to accept the slave mark of the God of War, so had Hadjar accepted the mark of the Sword Spirit long ago. Each of them had had their own motives, and he had no right to judge.

As he climbed the spiral staircase, he felt the vibrations in the stones beneath him — Derek was trying very hard to push his way past the rubble. Given the great hero’s strength, he’d most likely succeed in less than fifteen minutes. It was only a small head start, but even that made Hadjar happy. Besides, he now knew exactly what Derek and Taniged were looking for in Darnassus. No matter who’d sent them to look for it, the magic of the dead wouldn’t lead to anything good. After all, it was banned for a reason.

“What’s this?”

After climbing the stairs, Hadjar found himself in a cramped room. It was circular, dimly lit by a few torches, and there were multiple doorways leading out of it, all of them only a few feet apart. There were six passages in total.

Hadjar, using the Gaze as much as he could due to the pressure of the tomb, carefully examined each of them. He had no idea what was inside any of them. Despite the light in the corridors, they were somehow obscured. The only thing Hadjar could say for sure was that they led in completely different directions and that there was no way he’d manage to explore all of them in time.

“I hope I get lucky for once,” he grumbled and was about to take a step forward, when a recent memory flashed through his mind.

He remembered the alleyway in which he’d met up with Helmer and Freya, and the strange hints she’d given him. The first being something about a rainbow…

Hadjar probably wouldn’t have noticed anything if it hadn’t been for the fairy’s words. Right on the threshold of the corridor he was about to step into was a moss-covered, mismatched tile. And depicted on it was a symbol that his neuronet translated as ‘thunder’.

“Hmm…”

Stepping back, Hadjar walked over to the next corridor. There, underneath a vine that had broken through the masonry, was a similar tile, only this one had the ‘cloud’ symbol on it. Thunderous Cloud… A trap for anyone who knew a bit about the dragon Emperor’s story. Thanks to his dragon Master, Hadjar also knew some of it. There were other tiles, but none of them had anything to do with a rainbow.

“Rainbow... rainbow...” Hadjar murmured.

He didn’t think Freya had been very literal with her hints. After all, she’d wanted to restore the balance, and blatantly telling him what to do would’ve ruined it instead. Therefore, she had given him a roundabout hint. A rainbow would appear overhead, right? Hadjar raised his head, but apart from the dome, from which several vines were trailing, he saw nothing else. Well, the clouds and everything that was connected to them was also up there. Therefore, that would be an incorrect guess…

“Idiot!” Hadjar slapped himself for being so stupid. “A rainbow is overhead to humans, but to a dragon or a fairy…”

Hadjar looked down. In the center of the hall, there was only the stairwell. Judging by how intensely the floor was shaking, the rubble would be able to hold Derek back for about five more minutes.

“Think... think...” Hadjar whispered, pacing around the stairs.

A rainbow... Freya had really just given him a hint, not an actual answer to the question. So, in order to find the answer, he had to first formulate the question properly. And the question was…

“Damn it all!”

Hadjar drew his Black Blade, ran to the ‘cloud’ slab, and stabbed the sword into it. Surprisingly, despite how sturdy the stones of the tomb usually were, the Black Blade sank into it easily. Hadjar did the same with the ‘storm’ slab, and then with the ‘rain’ one. After the Black Blade pierced the last of them, Hadjar froze in agonized expectation.

At first, nothing happened. Then the room shook and began to move. The dome, which had seemed immovable before, spun around its axis in a counterclockwise direction. Mighty vines burst out with popping sounds, and the corridors began to flood with water.

The doorways that Hadjar had almost gone through turned into monolithic slabs. They blocked the roaring torrents of water that had flooded the corridors. Then they wavered and cut off the muffled, fading cry of ‘Darkhan!’ It seemed like the platform on which Hadjar was standing was rising into the air.

In reality, the corridors were gradually disappearing underneath the water, and the platform had simply remained in place.

“By the High Heavens,” Hadjar breathed out in admiration.

He was standing atop a pillar, and all around him were piles of shimmering treasures: coins of various shapes and made from all sorts of metals, chests full of precious stones, shelves lined with scrolls, tablets, and even books.

But what drew his attention the most was a stone monument standing in the center of the room. A heavy, two-handed sword was embedded in it, right at the top. The sword was about six feet long and as wide as two hands placed together.

Hadjar didn’t know how much such a thing could possibly weigh and what material it had been made from, but he could feel the aura of this artifact. And, by the High Heavens, it was above even the Divine level.

After listening to the stories of the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman, he had known that there were higher level artifacts than Divine ones, but he’d never seen them with his own eyes before…

Hadjar pulled an obviously decorative, heavy round shield out of the pile of coins. Made of Burnt Gold, it would’ve cost about as much as what the best trading companies in Dahanatan earned in a year, but that didn’t matter right now. There wasn’t enough room for a hundred coins in his spatial ring, let alone a shield this big. So, after jumping onto it and fastening it to his feet with a few chains, Hadjar pushed off and slid down the mountain of gold.

Chapter 895

O nce he got close to it, Hadjar reached for the sword, but immediately received a powerful mental blow. Clutching his head, he fell to his knees and opened his mouth in a silent scream. It was as if something within him was tearing at his mind and trying to destroy his soul and energy channels. If they hadn’t been reinforced by the Black General’s Technique, they would’ve instantly broken.

“How dare you, a mere mortal, touch me?” a voice appeared in his mind.

The pommel of the heavy sword glowed brighter than the crimson of the setting sun. The light emitted by the strange crystal suddenly formed into the image of a mighty warrior. He stared at Hadjar.

“Who are you, mortal, and how dare you disturb my eternal rest?” Thundered in his mind.

“G… e…”

“What are you mumbling about, worm?”

“Go easy on me, please.”

“Hmm” The warrior, who was dressed in simple, shabby clothes that accentuated his powerful physique, slightly arched an eyebrow. “You’re weaker than your ancestor, who came here because of his stupidity and lust for power. But you remind me of my old enemy… So you may live for now.”

The pressure inside Hadjar’s skull eased up. Gasping for air, he popped a few more healing pills. He’d been only moments away from a stroke, but he just needed the pills to heal his burst blood and energy vessels. With a sigh of relief, Hadjar leaned back against the cold monument and wiped the blood from his face with his Call’s scarf.

“Who or what are you?” Hadjar asked.

With all his heart, he felt that this was a real trial, not something ‘paltry’ like all the traps, the darkness, the hordes of zombies, or Derek.

“I’m the soul of this sword. I am the Blade of the Dead Soul.” The creature’s voice was filled with pride and arrogance. “I once belonged to the greatest warrior in the world. But after that dog of the God of War defeated me, he left me here, in my eternal prison.”

Hadjar sighed. Why was he no longer even surprised to find that he was yet again following the trail of the first Darkhan?

“Your ancestor, who found me during his travels, decided to learn the secrets of my wielder and creator,” the Spirit continued. “But he couldn’t pass all my tests and become my new owner.”

“The dragon Emperor couldn’t even do it?” Hadjar tried to act as surprised as possible.

“The Emperor?” The warrior laughed. “Back then, he was just a boy looking for a way to fight the enemy and save his homeland. Noble desires, certainly, but not ones that magically turn a person into an Emperor.”

“May I ask you a question, great Spirit of the sword?”

“Great Spirit? I like your flattery, boy. Ask your question!”

“Do you know of any book that contains the magic of the dead?”

“The magic of the dead?” The warrior laughed. “A book? Didn’t you hear me just now, descendant of the dragon? I am the Blade of the Dead Soul! What you call a book is just a fraction of my knowledge, which I passed on to those I deemed worthy. And in all the years I’ve spent locked up here, only three received it — a traveling mage, your ancestor, and a little girl whose memories I altered so that she wouldn’t remember me.”

Hadjar looked at the Spirit again. It wasn’t too hard to imagine that he was the ‘book’ Derek had been talking about. The aura that emanated from the massive sword was brimming with the energy of the dead, a terrible rot, and a musty stench.

“HADJAR!”

In the center of the treasury, where the pillar with the platform was located, there was suddenly an explosion of golden energy. The stones scattered all over the hall like pebbles. They dug into the walls and sliced through the dunes of coins. Derek stood amidst the ruins, panting, both blades drawn, and covered in dust.

“Derger’s slave? This is getting interesting!” The Spirit stretched out his hand in front of him, gripping the air as if he were holding someone by the throat.

“Don’t you know when to quit?” Hadjar whispered faintly.

Derek, who’d already jumped off the rubble, suddenly froze in midair. He clutched at his throat as if he were being held by an invisible hand. Gasping for air, he put his blades back into his spatial artifact and tried to loosen the grip around his neck. Hadjar briefly wondered if this meant that the Spirit wanted an apprentice.

Even with the tomb’s pressure, Derek was still a great hero, a Nameless one who possessed the True Kingdom of the Twin Swords. The Spirit was just an artifact. And yet, even without the aid of his owner, with only his artificial will, he was still able to completely suppress the Nameless.

Hadjar had previously thought that the stories of the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman had been embellished in order to inspire and motivate him, a mere mortal. But it turned out that artifacts that could destroy even the Emperor of Darnassus on their own actually existed. What kind of power would a swordsman who owned such a weapon be able to wield?

“Don’t make any noise in my prison, little slave,” the Spirit said, bending his arm at the elbow. Derek was yanked across the room, coming close to the warrior, and then slammed into the monument. Teeth and blood flew everywhere, accompanied by a nasty crunch. “You should learn some manners from your kinsman.”

Derek was casually thrown away and landed right at Hadjar’s feet. The shape of a hand appeared on Derek’s neck, from which his life force was flowing out. Terrible, black bruises appeared all over his skin, despite his level of cultivation…

“He... isn’t... my... kinsman,” Derek grunted out, getting up.

As mad as he was, he still understood that it was better not to provoke the creature by drawing his blades. Panting and taking the same pills Hadjar had, just in larger quantities, he sat down next to him. And so a pair of friends turned sworn enemies sat side by side, trying to understand what was going on.

“You are both human and mortal, but you aren’t kinsmen?”

“A lion isn’t the kinsman of a jackal,” Derek spat.

“A lion and a jackal are different species. You’re both humans.”

“You were just manhandled by the artificial soul… I think you’d be better off reading books, not fighting.”

“Shut your mouth, you Darnassian bastard.”

“Shut up, both of you!” The Spirit’s voice swept through the treasury, shifting everything.

“Now tell me why you came here.”

“For the magic of the dead,” they said in unison.

The Spirit smiled. Hadjar hoped he’d never get to see such a smile ever again.

“If you both want it, why don’t you compete for it?” The Spirit’s eyes shone with excitement. “By the Abyss, this is the most interesting day I’ve had in years!”

Chapter 896

“Y ou’ll have to-”

“Is there any way we could just skip all of that?” Hadjar asked wearily, interrupting the Spirit.

“What do you mean?” The artifact seemed to be completely taken aback.

“There are so many trials here! I feel like I’ve become a guinea pig…”

“I have a suggestion for how you can skip it,” Derek closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold stone of the monument, “it involves poison.”

“You aren’t very clever, you know.”

“Is that the most offensive thing you could come up with, Darkhan? I’m really disappointed in you.”

“Well, I’m sorry for letting you down yet again.”

The two of them weren’t even looking at each other. They sat with their eyes closed and tried to catch their breath, feeling a kind of unnatural calm caused by the realization that the world around them was impossibly large and they were just tiny specks in the grand scheme of things.

“Why did you say that you let me down again?” Derek asked after a while.

“You already blame me for their deaths, don’t you?”

“Darnassian bastard!” Derek opened his eyes, which shone with madness again. “Venerable Spirit, administer your trial so that I can kill this bastard already!”

Hadjar sighed sadly. He truly pitied Derek. He was still a young man, but he was already someone hurtling toward his own doom. And he was apparently trying to destroy everything he touched before he vanishes into the abyss.

“Let’s get started!”

Derek and Hadjar shouted in unison before intolerable pain shot through their minds.

***

Hadjar was standing over a crib. He was holding a sharp dagger. It reflected the full moon shining outside the window of a richly decorated room. He turned the dagger and saw his reflection — a dark figure wrapped in black clothes.

He turned around. Behind him, still twitching, lay a plump woman with a kind face and glassy eyes who was breathing her last. He assumed that somewhere out there, behind the high doors of the chamber upholstered with amber and pearls, lay a guard or two that had been killed by the same blade. Crimson droplets of blood were still dripping from it.

“Waaaaah!” a high-pitched, drawn-out cry that gradually turned into an annoying squeak filled the room.

Right under Hadjar’s dagger was a crib carved from mahogany with a baby in it. He’d never liked babies. He always felt dirty in their presence. He constantly wanted to go and wash his face and hands after seeing one. Psychologists back on Earth had spent a lot of time trying to understand why he had such a horrible aversion to infants.

The baby was crying. It was wiggling its tiny legs and arms. Its face was twisted into a grimace of discontent. Tears were rolling down its plump cheeks.

“He’ll be the next Emperor of Lascan.” The Spirit emerged from the darkness. “The one who’ll lead its armies to war against your country.”

“That war will be the last,” Hadjar looked into the child’s dark eyes.

The baby had stopped crying and was now looking straight into the eyes of the man who’d come for his soul. It seemed like this tiny creature understood everything that was going on. It was creepy.

“If you truly think so, mortal, then you are a fool. No war can be the last. Everything in this world, or any other world for that matter, is designed to fight for its life. Life itself is just an endless struggle with a guaranteed death in the end.”

“You’re just a sword,” Hadjar lowered the dagger. “You were made for battle and death. There’s nothing else in your ‘life’ to begin with.”

“Maybe,” The Spirit shrugged. “But at least I’m honest with myself since I know that I only bring death. Ask yourself this: what do you bring to this world?”

Hadjar suddenly felt something trickling down his arms. He raised them up to his face and recoiled. They were drenched in blood all the way to the elbows.

“You see,” the Spirit stepped forward, “You might’ve been born human, but you aren’t all that different from me.”

Hadjar looked at the baby again. It would be so easy to raise the dagger and then sink it into the soft flesh of this mortal infant. A Spirit Knight didn’t even need the stupid blade. He could simply will it and the future Lascanian conqueror would disappear from this world. It would be a complete and irrevocable erasure of this future threat to his homeland that would claim the lives of millions of Darnassians, a threat that would sow the seeds of sorrow in Hadjar’s homeland. Blood and tears, despair and war… Hadjar had seen it all with his own two eyes. And not just once or twice. That was why his arms were covered in blood. Even babies’ blood.

He still threw the dagger at the Spirit’s feet.

“You already knew my answer,” Hadjar stated firmly.

“I did,” the Blade of the Dead Soul agreed. “Your soul is alive, descendant of my creator’s murderer. The dead can only be controlled by someone whose soul is as dead as their own.”

“Then why?”

“Because my old friend asked me to,” the ghost smiled. “The God of War’s slave has already taken the Word of the Dead and is now looking for you. Neither you nor he are worthy of owning me, so I’ll continue my eternal wait for a new owner.”

***

Hadjar was standing in the same hall in which his search had begun. The Shadow of his ancestor was standing in front of him.

“I didn’t find your tomb, venerable ancestor,” Hadjar bowed. “I didn’t take the Word of the Dead, either. My opponent has beaten me.”

The dragon Emperor approached Hadjar. He’d been prepared for anything except the strong hug that the Shadow gave him.

“It’ll be a long time, my descendant,” the Emperor whispered, “before you understand the true essence of the path of cultivation and overcome Time to gain Immortality. Maybe it’ll never happen at all. But as long as your soul and faith are as strong as they were today, I’m not worried about the Thundercloud clan’s future.”

“But-”

“The dragon Emperor,” the Shadow grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed them hard, “isn’t someone who kills a baby in its crib. He’s someone who goes up against a horde of the most ferocious enemies all on his own. Someone whose sword won’t waver, whose step won’t slow, whose soul won’t weaken even if the army of the gods appears before him! By killing a baby, you would’ve proven that your resolve is strong. And a ruler with a strong resolve will build a really powerful Empire. But that same Empire will only function as long as the ruler is still alive. Only someone who builds his Empire on faith will create something that will still exist for a hundred centuries after his departure to the High Heavens.”

“Faith... in what?”

The dragon Emperor’s single eye looked right into Hadjar’s soul.

“You weren’t born to rule my Empire, little mortal. But your fate is tied to it more tightly than anyone else’s. Today, you proved to me that the power of the Storm and the wisdom of the Heavens reside within you. So, I’ll help you.”

The dragon Emperor suddenly broke off his right horn and before Hadjar could react, he plunged it right into Hadjar’s heart. Shocked, Hadjar could only watch the whitish shadow being drawn into his heart.

“My lesson to you, my glorious descendant, is that true power isn’t taken, won, obtained, or earned. It is only born from within. Now go. When the time comes for you to walk among the stars, we will meet again.”

Hadjar felt something pulling him into the darkness.

“But I didn’t find your tomb!” He shouted to the disappearing Shadow.

“Haven’t you realized it already, my glorious descendant? For several days now, you’ve been walking through the forest that grew over my grave.”

The last thing Hadjar heard was the sound of fading laughter that was similar to war drums.

***

“Our commander is here!”

Hadjar found himself standing side by side with Karein and Galkhad. They were standing near the lake, and the ancient tomb was sinking into the water.

“What-“

Thousands of angry natives were gathered around his squad that had encircled Annette, who was lying unconscious on the grass.

“What is going on here?” Hadjar growled. “Where am I? Where are we? What happened? And, most importantly, where did Derek go?”

“Later, my friend,” Einen whispered. “We have bigger problems right now.”

Hadjar looked at the tribespeople. Armed with clubs, spears, slingshots, and other weapons, they were decorated with battle symbols. Streams of magic Words also swirled around some of them.

“The Tulep’Kharus tribe…” Annette whispered as she came to. “They must’ve found out about that boy’s death…”

“You’re right, you Shuk’Arka bitch!” Someone shouted from within the circle of warriors. “And so we came for you.”

Something flew through the ranks of the Tulep’Kharus warriors. Annette screamed. Two completely glazed over eyes stared at Hadjar. He realized that this was Iblim’s severed head.

“Prepare for battle!” Hadjar shouted and released his Kingdom.

Chapter 897

A small squad against several thousand warriors of the Tulep’Kharus tribe? They weren’t supposed to stand a chance, but Hadjar begged to differ. He’d spent enough time in a tribe to understand the strengths and weaknesses of their magic.

“Don’t let them use their magic!” He shouted, turning into a black dragon. “They use Word Magic! As long as they don’t speak the Words, they are as weak as mortals!”

“Got it!” The squad replied.

“Rekka, Anise, and Akena, protect Annette!”

Hadjar slid across the grass and dodged a spear of lightning and darkness. The spell blew up the spot he’d been standing on and burst into a pillar of energy that rose several feet into the air. It was difficult to classify the power of their spells using the standards of the seven Empires, but he was pretty sure that if such a spell had struck him, it would’ve been like a mortal getting hit with a crossbow bolt.

“Why should I?” Anise swung her sword. A red crescent of energy shot out from it. Like a ribbon, it dodged past the bone shields of several warriors and stabbed them from the back. She was truly an unsurpassed genius of her generation!

“Only with her help,” Hadjar moved to the side. Another spear of lightning and darkness struck next to his feet, “Can we stop Derek! He found the magic of the dead inside that tomb, and she knows how to use it, maybe even counter it!”

Using the explosion to boost his momentum, he flew into the air and landed back to back with Galkhad. The giant was holding back four large Tulep’Kharus warriors. Now that Hadjar was closer to them, he could see the difference between the two tribes. Instead of colorful clothes, the Tulep’Kharus people wore something that resembled fish scales. They also painted their bodies so that they looked like skeletons. Animal bones covered with leather straps were embedded in their lips, earlobes, and noses. They looked very intimidating.

“Just tell me one thing, commander,” Galkhad pushed four stone maces back with his axe. “Can I hit these guys properly?”

“Don’t hold back, big guy!”

“Finally!” Galkhad roared.

Before launching himself at his nearest opponent, Hadjar caught a glimpse of the giant fighting. By the Evening Stars, Galkhad hadn’t wasted any time these past two years, either.

Raising his monstrous axe above his head, he brought it down hard against the ground. A stream of raging energy poured into the earth. It resembled Rekka’s Technique, except that the energy wasn’t trying to contain anything, its only goal was to destroy.

The ground under a hundred Tulep’Kharus warriors exploded, reducing the four opponents Galkhad had been fighting against to a bloody mess with a hail of stone shrapnel. The other warriors, many of whom hadn’t had enough time to utter their magic Words or power their already voiced ones, soared into the air.

Galkhad exhaled. He struck again, turning quickly in the process. This time, his attack was aimed at the air. Hadjar heard the giant roar and sensed the monstrous amount of energy that was released by Galkhad’s Core. Before, it had been equal to the amount a peak-stage Lord had, and now it was closer to a Nameless’ level.

If Galkhad had been able to put so much power into a Technique, or if he’d grasped the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart level of weapon mastery, he would’ve been one of the most formidable warriors in the younger generation of the Darnassus Empire. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed either of those things.

The attack full of incredible energy, which was unfortunately only at the Wielder level, surged out in a hundred foot radius in front of him. Despite Galkhad’s lack of precise skill, it was still more than enough to make it rain blood on the ground. The hundred warriors whom Galkhad had launched into the air had been torn to pieces. Parts of arms, legs, heads, as well as entrails rained down on them.

With a savage grin and a roar, Galkhad rushed to launch a reckless attack on another formation consisting of about a thousand Tulep’Kharus warriors. Spells formed from various elements flew at him from behind their shields. Snarling, Galkhad fought off the ice spears and arrows with his bare hands, stomped on earthen replicas of all sorts of animals, dodged fiery fangs, and ignored the deep gashes the water attacks left on his body. Running at full speed and exuding an incredible amount of energy, he slammed into their formation. He scattered them everywhere like they were nothing. Screams filled the air, people were broken like twigs, and skulls were smashed like pumpkins… The tribespeople’s shields turned from a reliable defensive method into a terrible instrument of torture as they pierced ribs, broke necks, and shattered skulls.

Galkhad swung his axe in a wide arc. The sounds of his furious attacks echoed across the jungle. He became a whirlwind of blood, pain, and fragments of elemental spells.

Hadjar saw all of this in a split second glance. Trying to guess who might pose the greatest threat, he chose to fight a man who had four bone decorations. Hadjar assumed that the Tulep’Kharus tribe used bones like the Shuk’Arka tribe used scars.

The warrior was also holding a stick made from the strongest tree in the jungle.

One end was topped with a heavy ball that could easily crush plates of artifact armor, and the other end was a burnt and sharpened spear that could pierce even the flesh that had reached the Heaven level in terms of toughness. If the stick also had its own energy structure, he would definitely classify it as a Divine level artifact.

“What do you want from Annette?” Although Hadjar was aware that a battle was raging all around them and that his eight teammates were fighting against several thousand warriors, he was in no hurry to summon his Black Blade. The warrior was clearly shocked that Hadjar could speak their language.

“Her unholy blood caused the death of our Speaker’s son,” the warrior hissed. “We already took revenge on the tribe that didn’t cleanse their blood of the impurities of the Tugance. And now it’s time for the niece of their Pathfinder and Speaker to perish.”

“Their niece?” Hadjar asked, but it was too late to ask any more questions.

The warrior’s weapon flashed with white lightning, a sign that he was using Word Magic, so there was no more time to wonder why he’d just said that Annette was the niece of both brothers.

“The First Strike: Flying Sword!”

Chapter 898

T he warrior’s strange spear shot out in a lightning-fast lunge. With the sound of a thousand crying birds, it whistled past, missing Hadjar’s eye by an inch. It easily sliced through the Call’s scarf and left a shallow, stinging scratch across his temple. The lightning instantly turned the scratch into a terrible, swelling burn.

Hadjar, after barely evading the warrior’s spear, hit the ground with his left foot. Then, using his will, he cut through the air to his right.

A black dragon jerked to the side, away from the spear. Seeing that his enemy was slipping away, the warrior halted his weapon with both hands and was about to reverse it to deliver a spinning cut. Hadjar had been waiting for just that.

He stopped so abruptly that inertia propelled a snarling, foggy dragon’s maw ahead of him and, after it flew a dozen feet through the air, it swallowed several warriors. All that remained of them were their legs, which were gushing blood into the air, as the rest of their bodies had simply disappeared.

Hadjar grabbed his foe’s spear with his left hand and, pushing off from the earth riddled with cracks from his previous move, soared into the air. The warrior lost his balance and followed his movement, ending up almost right under his opponent. Hadjar, grabbing his sword in a reverse grip, continued his rotation. Using pure strength, he continued pulling the spear behind him. He assumed that his opponent would end up either letting go of the spear or injuring his elbows. Neither happened.

“Ah!” Hadjar cried out in surprise rather than pain.

Instead of a spear, he was suddenly gripping a lightning bolt that simultaneously sliced and seared his hand.

“The Fourth Form: Submission!” The Tulep’Kharus warrior shouted.

Around him, dozens of white lightning bolts shot down from the sky. Hadjar weaved between them with the ease of a floating leaf. He glided over the ground, barely touching it. It looked as if the black dragon was running away from white lightning arrows that had been sent by the gods to end its life.

The warrior suddenly turned into a kind of monster that Hadjar had recently fought against.

“So that’s where the elementals come from!” Hadjar looked at the creature in front of him. He was a humanoid lightning bolt, and he was still holding the tree spear in his hands.

The lightning warrior roared, opening his mouth to spit a stream of snow-white, sparking spears at Hadjar. The Black Blade moved with such speed that, for a second, it became a solid, impenetrable black curtain. Each of the lightning bolts was reduced to a fading spark in midair.

The lightning warrior suddenly disappeared as well. He moved much more quickly than any other foe Hadjar had fought before. He reappeared in another spot, threw another lightning spear, and, after disappearing again, did the same thing once more.

Hadjar, who’d just deflected the first spear, clenched his teeth as he endured the searing pain that pierced his right shoulder. The spear, which he could neither see nor predict, had easily penetrated both his Call’s armor and his flesh.

When six more spears flew at him, Hadjar realized that if he didn’t come up with a way to neutralize the rapid-fire lightning, he wouldn’t be able to fight this enemy. Not because he was that much stronger or more experienced than him, but simply because, in this particular situation, his trump cards were better than Hadjar’s.

Once again turning into a foggy black dragon, Hadjar, following Galkhad’s example, got some distance between him and his foe and rammed into the formation of the nearby tribal warriors.

“Hey!” Karein, who was busy fighting against several opponents, exclaimed indignantly. “These are mine, commander! Find-”

He didn’t even finish speaking before Hadjar grabbed one of the men he’d knocked over, easily lifted him, and then threw him at the humanoid white lightning bolt that was rushing toward him.

“By the demons and gods!” Karein cried out in shock.

He flickered like a mirage and several lightning spears passed through him. Karein stopped flickering, grabbed his sword with both hands, and put a lot of power into his next slash. Exploding with red, chaotic energy, and ripping apart the streams of the World River as it left flashes of scarlet flame behind everywhere it went, the attack turned two humanoid water warriors into vapor.

“I was enjoying our little dance,” Karein sighed sadly and stood next to Hadjar. He didn’t care that he was standing on the face and chest of a young woman. She was trying desperately to survive. He moved his foot to her neck, and with a nasty squelching and crunching sound, sent her to the Eternal Springs. “But I can see that this guy will be a much stronger foe.”

“Help the girls,” Hadjar commanded.

The warrior he’d thrown was quickly incinerated by three white lightning spears.

“Are you sure?” Karein swung his sword without looking back.

Behind him and Hadjar, a scarlet, bloody wall soared dozens of feet into the air. It absorbed hundreds of spells and responded to each of them with a sword strike.

Karein’s Technique made Hadjar forget about the fight for a moment as he both admired it and tried to figure it out. It seemed far too familiar to Hadjar. He felt like he’d almost figured out why Helmer cared so much about the merchant clan.

“I am!” Hadjar snapped. “I need room to use my Technique! You’re in my way!”

“As you wish.” Karein shrugged.

The scarlet wall behind them disappeared and several spells struck near Hadjar. The others were easily cut in half by his Call’s scarf.

A moment later, Karein flickered and reappeared next to Rekka, Anise, and Akena, who were repelling the onslaught of the enemy’s main force. The Tulep’Kharus warriors wanted to send Annette to the Eternal Springs, after all.

Hadjar spun his sword in front of him, then performed an attack that had only recently occurred to him. Instead of slashing, he executed one of the fastest lunges he was capable of.

“The Third Strike: Vacuum Sword!”

Chapter 899

T his time, there was no hole in the air from which a tiny yellow eye peeked out. The tip of a steel claw appeared for a split second, then a horizontal vortex simply burst into existence. It drew in tons of earth, hurling it in the direction of Hadjar’s enemy.

The lightning warrior stopped. He held his spear out in front of him and said something. His weapon turned into a lightning bolt as well.

When the tornado, which was incredibly powerful, began to throw huge stones at the warrior, the warrior again said something.

His lightning spear grew, then branched out into a glittering web. Every thread of the web was an exact replica of the spear. In the end, the Talesh of the Tulep’Kharus tribe held not one, but a hundred spears. And each of them was undeniably lethal.

The web of white lightning easily reduced the stones thrown by the tornado to dust and drops of lava. But the power of the Black General’s Technique would not be denied. The suction force of the Technique was so powerful that the warrior’s white lightning web gradually began to pull away from him.

Pieces of his lightning body, breaking away from him, also disappeared inside the black, horizontal tornado. In the spots they’d broken off from, there was only bleeding and blackened flesh.

The lightning warrior screamed, either in pain or anger. The other end of his spear also started projecting a dangerous web. Dozens of the spear’s copies, after connecting with the main spear, dug into the ground and kept the warrior from disappearing into the tornado.

Other nearby warriors were lifted off the ground as easily as the leaves of the trees were torn off from their branches. Many of them didn’t even have time to scream before they were ground to bloody pulp. Hundreds of warriors, along with their spells, disappeared into the tornado, turning it from a pure black to a more sickly purple color.

After making sure that the lightning warrior couldn’t move, Hadjar lunged again, combining his current attack with another, suitable Technique.

“The Second Strike: Drawn Sword.”

He unleashed an attack that had hundreds of thousands of dragon-swords dancing within it straight into the tornado. Just as he’d planned, the two Techniques merged together seamlessly.

The roaring tornado, now scarlet from all the blood it had absorbed, turned into a huge dragon maw that struck the Tulep’Kharus warrior. Without even noticing his lightning wall, the dragon of blood and dark energy ripped the ground apart and left a wide trench in its wake as it charged ahead almost three miles into the forest.

All the warriors who got in the way of the rampaging Technique that surpassed the Imperial level just disappeared. There was no blood, no screams, no souls rushing across the World River. Hadjar’s attack simply erased them from reality. The trench left behind after the roaring Technique finally dissipated was a hundred feet wide and a mile deep.

Karein, who’d been in the immediate vicinity of the attack, looked in surprise at his scarlet wall of blood. He’d used it to protect himself from the sudden attack, and now it was crumbling.

The tribe’s forces, which had consisted of nearly seven thousand people, had suddenly lost almost a third of their warriors. The tribespeople who were attacking the girls froze. They stood, completely shocked, next to the bodies of their allies who’d fallen to Akena’s, Anise’s, and Rekka’s blades.

Tom and Galkhad, who’d been fighting together, looked on in amazement at Hadjar’s Technique.

“I didn’t think our glorious commander was this crazy,” Karein bowed elegantly and plunged his blade into the stomach of another opponent. “Maybe you will deal-”

“Akhudjie!” A roar echoed across the jungle. “My son!”

“Close ranks!” Out of habit, Hadjar issued an army style command, and fortunately, the nobles understood it. “Form a wedge!”

The cultivators all moved instantly to Annette. Forming a kind of arrowhead, with Annette at its center and Hadjar at its tip, they faced this new threat.

“By the gods and demons,” Akena breathed out. “My father actually thought that the last expedition would beat this thing?”

Hadjar glanced at the Princess, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the right time nor place. Using his Black Blade and the power of his County, he conjured the silhouette of a coiled dragon tail around the squad.

“I’m not sure that’ll be enough.” Galkhad, covered in blood, was breathing heavily. He wasn’t fatigued, no, he was simply filled with bloodlust.

“I agree,” Karein said. “That giant is bigger than ours.”

“Akhudjie!” The monster roared again.

Behind them, clouds of black smoke rose into the air from a forest fire. They were thirty feet high, but still didn’t even reach the creature’s waist. The giant was over a hundred feet tall and looked almost like a demon.

Hadjar assumed that the Pathfinder of the Tulep’Kharus tribe had just joined the battle. He also assumed that not only had Iblim lost, but the Shuk’Arka tribe had been destroyed as well.

The monster’s powerful muscles were made of fire. However, he didn’t look like an elemental. He had a thick beard and curly hair behind shiny, golden horns. The monster’s two fangs jutted out past his lower lip and almost touched his eyes.

What was even more striking was that the monster was wearing actual armor, or at least clothing of a sort. A wide belt covered his stomach, a loincloth hung almost to the ground, and he even held a club that looked like an absurdly wide sword.

“Hold the line!” Hadjar, calling on the full power of his Kingdom, rushed forward.

“Hadjar, stop!” They shouted, but he didn’t hear them.

The ground behind him churned, rippled, and then exploded. In the spot where Hadjar had just been standing, a huge hole appeared as he moved. Running his fingers over the length of the Black Blade and draining almost half of his Core’s capacity in the process, he poured a huge amount of energy into his sword. The pattern on the blade shone with a bright blue light.

“The First Strike: Flying Sword!”

A dragon now clung to Hadjar’s sword with its fangs and claws.

“I’LL INCINERATE YOU!” The monster roared and launched an attack, aiming at Hadjar’s head.

The latter responded with a slash. Fire and darkness started a deadly dance. Their clashes scorched the earth. The echoes of their collisions cut through the trunks of the trees that weren’t already burning. In the center of this riot of colors, elements, and energy, stood a warrior who was holding the full weight and power of the monster’s attack back with his sword.

“Einen! Now!” Hadjar shouted.

Chapter 900

T he earth was melting around Hadjar as he held back the fierce flames. He looked like a dark spot in a scarlet ocean. Streams of red-hot magma flowed all around him, and Hadjar stood on the only remaining piece of intact land. Above him, the fiery giant was raging, trying to bring down his titanic blade on the bug that stood in his way and crush him.

Hadjar now understood why his battle against the lightning warrior had taken so long. The lightning warrior had been the Pathfinder’s son and heir. So, the Tulep’Kharus tribe had lost not only the Speaker’s son, but also the Pathfinder’s son.

When Hadjar realized that the fiery giant’s attention was focused solely on him, he shouted:

“Einen! Now!”

The islander appeared out of the darkness lingering behind the squad, wearing his rainbow armor and carrying Dora on his back. She waved her hands and the squad was enveloped by threads of green energy, and then they all disappeared inside Einen’s shadow.

As soon as their auras were no longer visible within the streams of the World River, Hadjar, roaring like a dragon, used all of his power. He channeled the leftover energy from his Core into his physical body and, shouting, pushed the fire giant’s sword aside. Moving quickly, he charged at the monster. The ground beneath his feet exploded with lava.

A black, foggy dragon soared up. The Black Blade flashed, absorbing the specks of light. The fire monster roared as a plume of darkness cut off one of its horns.

The giant tried to attack his opponent with his monstrous blade, but ended up simply cutting through the air near the blue Quetzal bird’s wing, which disappeared from view a split second later.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Hadjar heard as he flew away from the battle.

Behind him was a scorched field flooded with blood and covered in bodies. And right next to that field, the tomb of the ancient dragon Emperor had disappeared, leaving behind only the lake filled with mermaids. Somewhere at the bottom of that lake, the Blade of the Dead Soul would continue to sleep, waiting for the person worthy of wielding it. Neither Derek nor Hadjar had proven worthy.

***

“This is becoming a bad habit,” Hadjar grunted.

With a groan of discomfort and soreness, he settled down and leaned back against a tree trunk, closing his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, he found himself lying on a mat near a fire.

Karein and Dora were doing something there. Despite the fact that Einen and Dora hadn’t fought in the battle, Karein still looked to be the healthiest out of all of them, for some unknown reason. He kept running from the fire to the wounded squad members, adjusting their bandages and pouring some potions into their mouths. Dora was preparing all the medicine. The elf looked pale and tired, but she steadfastly pushed something into her mortar, feeding it energy and whispering various spells without stopping.

Hadjar smiled. He now understood why magic in the seven Empires had to be spoken aloud, as opposed to Techniques. The words helped the mind concentrate, which significantly reduced energy costs. But the magic of external energy really did need Words. He also briefly wondered if Word Magic being the core of all magic meant that things sometimes changing their name slightly or being defined a bit differently was due to that. It would be so fitting for this world, which seemed to delight in making sure Hadjar could never relax and be certain that he had all the answers.

Fucking Talesh… He was going down a rabbit hole of insane theories because of them… He stubbornly refused to think about this any longer and focused on something else.

Einen, who’d understood Hadjar’s plan instantly without Hadjar needing to say a single word, was now deep in meditation. After transporting so many people through the shadows, it was surprising that he could even keep his body upright.

The others, who were nursing varying degrees of injuries, were either meditating or healing their injuries in a hurry.

Looking over at Princess Akena, Hadjar sighed sadly. An ugly scar now ran across her entire back, from her right shoulder to her lower back. Something might help it heal better in Dahanatan, but her skin would never be as smooth as it had been before, even after she reached the next level of cultivation. Catching Hadjar looking at her, she slowly adjusted her clothes and, shivering slightly, got up and moved over to him.

“I’m sorry, your Imperial Highness, I-”

“I already asked you,” she said, frowning jokingly, “to call me Akena.”

“Okay,” Hadjar nodded, “I’m sorry that you didn’t fulfill your father’s orders because of me, Akena.”

After looking around and confirming that they weren’t being watched, she took a small piece of parchment out of her spatial artifact, and then quickly put it back.

“What’s that?”

“That’s what I was sent here to find by my father,” she whispered.

Hadjar didn’t really understand what had happened. He clearly remembered being alone in the tomb’s treasury. Well, that psycho Derek and the Spirit had been there with him, of course.

“When you disappeared, that restless Spirit of the Lord of the Heavens decided to communicate with us,” Akena began. “With me and Rekka, I mean. He left Annette in a trance.”

“What did you talk about?” Hadjar tensed up slightly. He was worried that his ancestor might’ve said something about him that he’d have preferred to keep a secret. It would be very unpleasant for him if the daughter of the Emperor found out that he had a legitimate claim to the throne of the Dragon Lands.

No one would care that Hadjar wasn’t going to try and take over, either. Even now, he felt like a pawn in Morgan’s game, and if his secret was revealed, he would suddenly become a queen piece. The only thing worse than being a pawn in someone else’s game was being a central figure. A pawn could escape from the ‘board’, but a queen piece couldn’t…

“You won’t believe me,” Akena grinned. “He asked us what was currently in vogue in the capital of Darnassus and what the women were like… He complained about Emperors not being allowed to have flings and that he’d loved too few women because of that.”

Hadjar actually thought that this was quite fitting for such entities.

“To thank us for the fun conversation, he told us to ask for something from his treasury in return.”

Thank them? Of course! The Emperor had casually done a favor for a couple of random girls, but had refused to help his own descendant without making him overcome a bunch of trials first! That made perfect sense!

“What did Rekka ask for?”

Akena frowned slightly.

“Don’t you want to know what’s in this scroll?”

Hadjar shrugged, “I’m sure you’re bound by oaths that won’t allow you to tell anyone about it. Right?”

“You’re right. But this isn’t about you finding something out. It’s about showing a girl that you care.”

Hadjar choked on air.

“Rekka asked for medicine, but I don’t know what it was exactly.”

Hadjar looked at Rekka. She was bandaging her thigh. Fortunately, neither the bone nor the energy channels had been damaged when a spear had punched through it, only the flesh. She was keeping her parasitic blades close by. Medicine…

Hadjar’s thoughts were interrupted by Annette’s cry as she woke up.

“Time for another difficult conversation,” Hadjar sighed and got up with Akena’s help.

Chapter 901

“D ad! Mom!” Annette leapt to her feet and looked around.

Hadjar, after approaching the girl, squeezed her shoulders and hugged her. Akena turned away and sat down on the other side of the fire. The other squad members, their hands on their weapons, watched the scene tensely. They couldn’t understand a single word being said, so they were relying solely on Hadjar’s reactions.

“Calm down,” Hadjar stroked the girl’s hair.

“North Wind,” Annette looked up at Hadjar, “I had a terrible dream-”

Suddenly, she noticed the wounds on his body. She looked around and saw the other squad members and their own injuries. Even a person who didn’t know anything about the medicinal practices of the seven Empires could understand that they weren’t well.

“It wasn’t a dream…” She covered her mouth with her hands and, unable to handle everything, went limp in Hadjar’s arms. He lowered her gently to the ground. “Dad... Mom... Brother…”

Hadjar remembered the young warrior Annette had listened to. At the time, Hadjar hadn’t been able to understand why the girl’s fiery temper had been quelled by some random boy. They hadn’t looked very much alike.

That damned Nature Speaker… His words now took on a whole new meaning for Hadjar. He’d probably tried to warn him, tell him something, and… Hadjar remembered the artifact lying in his spatial ring. Had he handed it over to Hadjar in order to…

Annette sniffled. She cried silently, rocking back and forth and whispering something unintelligible. With a great deal of effort, Hadjar pulled a bowl of warm, herbal remedy from the fire and handed it to Annette.

“Drink this.”

“Why, North Wind? Why did they do it?” Annette whispered. “It wasn’t our fault... It was nobody’s fault. It was just an accident and-”

“Drink this,” Hadjar repeated firmly.

She stretched out her hands, accepted the bowl, took a few sips, and then, dropping it, sobbed out loud. Tears flowed down her cheeks and fell on Hadjar’s shoulders, who’d hugged her tightly once again. He knew what a person needed in this kind of situation. In his life, both on Earth and on this nameless world, there were situations where he’d just wanted to be hugged. People, for some reason, often attached great importance to words but forgot about the power of comforting hugs. This was what Hadjar had missed the most when he’d been locked up in the cells of the Royal Palace of Lidus.

“I’m the last one now,” Annette said, straightening up. “The last of the Shuk’Arka tribe. I have to be strong.”

Her eyes flashed so brightly that they could burn everyone around her with their fire. This state was also familiar to Hadjar, and he knew that it wouldn’t last long, so he had to take advantage of the situation.

“The warriors of the Tulep’Kharus tribe claimed that your blood is tainted, that you are a mongrel of the Tugance,” Hadjar tried to smooth things over. “In the tomb of the Lord of the Heavens, I found out that it wasn’t the Spirit who granted you knowledge of necromancy, but the Sword of the Dead Soul.”

Annette looked up at Hadjar. Her sky-blue eyes shone with both determination and a desire to hide. Hadjar needed to learn everything he could from Annette before she shut down from shock, so they could win the second round of this ‘race’.

“When you told me your story,” Hadjar continued, “I couldn’t understand how a little girl could find herself so far from home and, as far as I could gather, you ran away from something. But who or what could possibly scare away the Pathfinder’s daughter and the Speaker’s niece? I don’t think you were being honest with me, Annette.”

Hadjar didn’t like what he was saying because there wasn’t a single person in this clearing with whom he’d ever been completely honest, even himself…

“I told you what I could,” Annette said, drawing her knees up and hugging them. “As you’ve already realized, I’m not the Pathfinder’s daughter.”

“You’re his niece.”

She nodded.

“This story began before I was even born,” Annette stared at the fire. “It started with my mother’s trial. When she came to the Mountain of Elements, she saw not only her own darkness, but the darkness of her companion, her lover, as well. She saw his betrayal. A lot of betrayal... and, in a fit of anger, she…”

Hadjar didn’t want to know what kind of betrayal Annette was talking about.

“A woman killing her life partner is one of the worst crimes imaginable. There is only one punishment for this — banishment.”

A single person facing all the dangers of the Karnak jungle? It might as well have been a death sentence.

“My mother was banished from the tribe by her own brother, Pathfinder Iblim. She wandered for several weeks until she came across a wounded Tugance. She said he wasn’t much different from us, except that his hair was the color of a clear sky… She wanted to finish him off at first, but then something told her that she should heal him instead. And she did. After they lived together for a while, feelings flared up between them. And so I was born. And then-”

“Then the Tulep’Kharus tribe came?”

“No, I went to them. I was about seven years old and really wanted to find out what was outside our cave. I ran away and found the Tulep’Kharus tribe. Their Speaker immediately realized who I was and sent their warriors after me. They killed my mother and father. I somehow got away. Then I found the tomb of the Lord of the Heavens, climbed inside, and a tall, pale man was there.”

This explained why Annette hadn’t been scared when she’d first seen Hadjar — she’d met people like him before.

“He said that he could sense the blood of his kind within me and suggested that I should try to claim an object that is similar to the one you hunt with,” Annette nodded at the Black Blade. “I couldn’t claim it, but he still gave me the knowledge of the Word that appeals to those who’ve gone to the Eternal Springs.”

“The magic of the dead.”

“Yes, that was what he called it. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found myself lying on the threshold of my house... Iblim’s house. He’d recognized me immediately, since I was apparently the spitting image of my mother. He led me into his home and fed me. And that’s how I became his daughter.”

Tears rolled silently down Annette’s cheeks. She sobbed, staring into the fire. Losing your family once left a terrible scar on one’s soul, but twice… He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

“Annette, what would happen if you combined the magic of the dead with the Tree of Life?”

He’d presumed that the girl already knew the answer. Judging by the horror in her eyes, he’d been right.

Chapter 902

“H ow did you find out about the ritual?” Annette’s voice broke.

“A man who, just like you, was granted knowledge about the magic of the dead, wants to perform it. To stop him, I need to know everything about the ritual.”

“He wants to perform the Broken Threshold ritual?” Annette grabbed Hadjar’s shoulders so abruptly that the others raised their weapons.

Hadjar waved his hand to signal that everything was okay and that he had the situation under control.

“Only a madman... No, only a real Tugance, an enemy of humanity itself, would ever want to perform that ritual!”

“As far as I can tell, Derek now fits that description.” Hadjar recalled the hatred that he’d seen burning in Derek’s eyes.

“The ritual... It... If you aim the Word of the Dead at something that is its exact opposite, the veil that separates the dead from the living will crack.”

The Broken Threshold... Hadjar now understood where the name had come from and that it hadn’t come from the Talesh religion. It had come from the beliefs of the seven Empires, as ‘threshold’ probably referred to the threshold of one’s forefathers’ house.

“All the dead of a territory where the desecrated symbol of life is erected will rise up once again with the sole purpose of destroying the living. Those who die will also join their ranks until the ritual is undone. I pray to the Original Born that it’s harder to find the waterfall of eternal life than it is to find the Tree of Life.”

Annette exhaled and looked at Hadjar. They stared at each other for a while, and then the girl put her hands over her mouth as she realized something.

“The one you call Derek already knows where to find the Tree of Life?”

“He does. Apparently, the sick bastard is going to start a zombie apocalypse in my homeland.”

“Zombie what? No, I’m telling you, it’s the Broken Threshold ritual!” Annette jumped to her feet. “He must be stopped right away! We have to take his life, North Wind.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I planned to do that anyway.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Annette said, “When I first learned the Word of the Dead, I tried not to use it, but... Now I understand why the Keeper of the Past sent me to accompany you.”

“The Keeper of the Past? The old man who didn’t bother to save your tribe?”

Annette’s gaze grew cold.

“The Keeper of the Past is above any one tribe. He’s our connection to our ancestors. He never gets involved in any conflict, just preserves the past and sometimes gives hints about the future. Like the one he gave you and me. I didn’t understand it before… But now…”

“What hint?”

“That I am truly destined to go with you,” Annette said. “Because only someone who carries the Word of the Dead can destroy another who has the same knowledge.”

“Wait, you mean-”

“No mortal or weapon can kill a person that performs the ritual. I’m sure the one you call Derek has already done it, or will do it soon enough.”

“What does he need to perform it?”

“A full moon,” Annette pointed up. Above them, the moon shone brightly. “And a desire to do so. Nothing more.”

Hadjar swore. Then he remembered the wooden dagger Ablim had given him. He rubbed his temples wearily.

“Annette, I know this is a lot to ask, but please, can you think of a few ways for me to delay or harm Derek? Or even better, a way for me to prevent the Broken Threshold ritual from being performed at all?”

“I’ll try,” Annette responded with a nod.

She immediately assumed the lotus position and plunged into meditation just like any cultivator would.

“We need to talk,” Hadjar went over to the fire and the entire squad gathered around it.

“What did you talk to her about?” Akena asked angrily.

Hadjar calmly repeated their conversation for them. He’d already processed the information and was now thinking about what could be done about it given the current situation, but the rest of his squad was just coming to terms with it. There was a lot of cursing.

“Does anyone else wish we were simply fighting at the frontlines?” Galkhad asked wearily. Rekka broke the stick she was twirling in her hands and threw it into the flames, “In my opinion, we are the main frontline in this war.”

“What should we do?” Tom clutched his head. “We can’t really kill that psychopath… He’ll soon raise an army of the dead… Why hasn’t he considered the fact that the dead might turn around and invade Lascan after they’ve destroyed everything here?”

“Because he doesn’t care,” Hadjar explained, “Derek is dying. He has less than a month left. If we can keep him busy for long enough, we’ll win the battle with only a few losses.”

“That’s unlikely,” Rekka said immediately. “They obviously spent a lot of time preparing for this and have managed to plan so far ahead that we probably can’t predict their moves now.”

“Especially since Derek isn’t the only one who’s dying,” Dora added suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Einen asked warily.

“Your friend is also dying,” Dora looked into Hadjar’s eyes. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

“Is that true, Hadjar?”

“Did your aunt tell you?” Hadjar chuckled a little sadly.

Dora nodded.

“Barbarian, damn it all, is Dora telling the truth?” Einen cried out.

“I’m working on it, buddy. Believe me, I’m not in a hurry to see my forefathers. Especially since I could be brought back as an undead afterwards.”

Einen swore. Then he sat down and looked into the fire.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only found out recently,” Hadjar answered, “And-”

“And we have far more important issues to worry about than your mess of a life. I want to remind everyone that we have a Lascanian psychopath on the loose who wants to destroy the entire Empire. We lost the first battle, and now he is ahead of us by not just two, but five whole steps.” Rekka interrupted him.

“But we have an advantage as well,” Tom realized suddenly. “We know where he’s going to strike next.”

“Lidus,” the cultivators all said in unison.

Hadjar’s heart sank at that moment. It felt like his life was trying to create a perfect circle, ending where it had begun.

“I don’t want to be a downer,” Karein cleared his throat, “But we also have another problem: how can we get to Lidus faster than the Lascanians, given that our ship crashed and they have at least four more left?”

“How is that possible?” Dora raised both eyebrows. “Hadjar’s artifact destroyed the entire fleet.”

“It’s because they were expecting an attack,” Rekka answered automatically while lost in thought. “There were four other ships following them, a day behind the main fleet.”

“Then we don’t have time to sit around. Derek is currently preparing the ritual and he has Taniged and various artifacts to protect him. We need to hurry. Considering the fact that we can no longer count on the pressure of the tomb to give us a fighting chance, if we fight them head on, we’ll die and they’ll easily reach Lidus.”

“What are you getting at, commander?” Karein’s eyes narrowed.

“While we can’t stop them, they won’t be able to stop us, either,” Hadjar stood up and stretched. “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll steal one of their ships and burn the rest.”

There was a second of stunned silence, and then everyone shouted, “That’s crazy!”

Chapter 903

“B arbarian, why didn’t you tell me that you’re dying?”

After he’d explained his mad plan in more detail, every squad member had gone off to do their part and Hadjar had been left to weave a rope out of some vines. As it turned out, no one, except for him and Einen, knew how to do this. It honestly wasn’t surprising that the aristocrats’ education hadn’t included such skills.

“Because I hope I won’t die. Besides, you aren’t my wife or my mother, so you aren’t exactly a shoulder to cry on.”

“A shoulder to cry on? What a strange expression.” Einen was confused. His friend was using even more odd phrases than he normally did.

Hadjar swore inwardly. His recent excursion into the hidden recesses of his memory had brought back the fragments of the past that he’d been certain were safely locked away and buried.

“You know what I mean.”

“What’s our plan?” Einen knelt down beside him, picked up a few vines, and began to weave a rope.

After hearing the words ‘our plan’, Hadjar felt a warmth in his heart. It was comforting to know that his loyal friend had his back even in the most dangerous of situations.

“In a nutshell…”

While they were weaving the rope, Hadjar told him the plan he’d come up with.

“It’s unusual for you to come up with something so cunning.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Hadjar nudged him with his shoulder.

“Are you sure this will work?”

Hadjar thought about his question. Lately, he hadn’t been sure of anything.

“As much as I can be sure of anything right now,” he shrugged. “Now, how about you tell me what happened after the girls and I fell through the crevice?”

“We fought those ugly… fish things, and then, all of a sudden, we were all pierced by pillars of flickering light. Then we found ourselves on the shore of the lake, surrounded by those warriors. They said something, but we couldn’t understand them, of course.”

“But they weren’t hostile, were they?” Hadjar tightened the knot and checked the rope for weak spots. It looked like it could hold up…

“They weren’t, right up until you and Annette appeared.”

“Appeared?”

“Two beams of light came from the tomb a few seconds after we were transported there. The first one brought you, and the second brought Derek.”

“Interesting,” Hadjar nodded.

There was a faint rustle behind them. Before the person was even illuminated by the firelight, a sword and a spear-staff were at his throat.

“Be careful, gentlemen!” Karein protested, raising his hands above his head. “You might scratch me!”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. Out of all the squad members, Karein Tarez was the only one who didn’t have a clear motive for participating in this expedition. Why had the heir of one of the wealthiest families in the seven Empires wanted to be part of such a dangerous mission?

“What do you want, Karein?” Hadjar lowered his sword, but didn’t dismiss it.

“I came to tell you that we’re ready.” Karein took a piece of dried fish out of his pocket and took a bite. “I get that you two are busy being buddy-buddy, but we’ve grown bored of waiting for you. When are we stealing that ship? And starting the fires?”

“Let me ask you something in return, Karein.” Hadjar let go of the rope, which Einen immediately put into his spatial artifact. “What are you doing in our squad? Why did your father send you here?”

For a moment, Karein’s mask of benevolence and friendliness disappeared. Einen and Hadjar instantly raised their weapons. They knew Karein was the strongest in their squad.

“I’m not poking my nose into your business, North Wind,” even his voice had changed, and it was now both cold and harsh. “I didn’t ask where you got that Divine level Technique, why you can speak the dead language of the Talesh, or why you were invited into the tomb by the Lord of the Heavens. So, stay out of my business as well. That’s fair, no?”

A red light flashed in Karein’s eyes. Hadjar had seen this before, when a stupid adjutant of Moon Leen had absorbed a crystal full of demonic energy. Except that man could only use it for a few seconds, but Karein... How was this even possible?

“Relax,” Karein said, going back to his relaxed act. “I’m here for adventure! For glory! And for women, of course! But I see everyone in this group is already taken. If Derek manages to raise the dead, maybe there will be some famed beauties among them that I can admire. If, of course, they haven’t decomposed by now.”

Laughing, he went back to the fire. Hadjar and Einen looked at each other again.

“Maybe Derek’s not the only unstable person we need to keep an eye on,” Einen struck the ground with his staff, which then went back into his spatial artifact. “By the Great Turtle, songs will be written about this mission.”

“Presuming any of us survive to tell the bards about it,” Hadjar murmured. Then he shouted, “Move out!”

***

“What predictable bastards,” Karein whispered, passing a telescope around.

“They’re acting like the definition of military procedure,” Rekka commented. “Even the class of vessels is arranged perfectly by code.”

“That just helps us,” Akena said.

The Princess had taken the order to camouflage herself way too far. The others had just smeared some earth everywhere and stuck a few leaves on their skin, but Akena looked like a bush. Annette was just grinning at them. She had some incredible ability to instantly disappear into the jungle without even using any magic.

“Does everyone remember their assigned tasks?” Hadjar whispered.

“Of course, commander,” Karein said with a warm smile. Hadjar wasn’t buying it, not after their last conversation. “Everything will go smoothly, I’m sure of it. I’m hungry, by the way. How about we stop by a tavern on our way to Lidus?”

Karein’s suggestion was ignored.

They were lying on a small hill that overlooked the shore of a dried-up lake. It was here that the Lascanian troops were camped. It was difficult to tell how many soldiers had survived Hadjar’s attack. But the four caravels that had followed the main fleet were carrying at least eight thousand warriors. Right now, they were loading boxes of loot onto the ships which were moored to hastily constructed sky piers. Hadjar could sense the presence of tribespeople, which meant the Lascanians had managed to take prisoners from the Karnak jungle.

“Go,” Hadjar ordered.

Chapter 904

T he only way for the plan to succeed was by sacrificing a member of the squad. One of them would have to stay behind to be a distraction. They had to be strong enough to hold off close to ten thousand Lascanian soldiers for almost a minute. As a result, they’d die heroically, because there would be no way for this warrior to climb aboard the ship they’d steal. Unless, of course, they could fly…

Hadjar, his hair tied back with a leather strap, calmly walked toward the enemy camp. The commanders’ shouts were so loud they could still be heard over the hustle and bustle of ten thousand soldiers working around the ships

“Be careful, you clumsy idiot!”

“If you drop that, I’ll break your knees!”

Like in all the other armies of the seven Empires, both men and women served and were treated equally, in terms of both training and punishments.

“Hey, what battalion are you from?” Two women appeared in front of Hadjar.

They were keeping watch at the ‘southern gate’ of the camp. The Lascanians had built it so that getting inside without being noticed was impossible. The passages between tents were protected by magic traps and signal artifacts.

“And why don’t you have any insignia?” The other girl asked.

They were both fair-haired and young. They hadn’t even known a man’s intimate hug, let alone one’s touch. Hadjar looked into one girl’s eyes. They were warm, but tenacious and sharp. She was a good, efficient soldier, and after being dismissed, she might become a mercenary or a mother… Eighteen, maybe twenty years old at most. A Heaven Soldier. Her accent was that of a native of the border steppes. She’d probably seen nothing else in her life except for her hometown, the military settlement, and the jungles of Karnak.

Somewhere inside the girl’s heart, under her artifact armor, there was the memory of a young man with freckles and a shepherd’s flute. She now regretted that she’d refused to go up to the roof with him to watch the stars at night.

His Black Blade pierced her flesh quietly. The last scene she saw before dying was a memory of her leaving with the recruiters of the Lascanian army when she’d been fourteen, and how the shepherd boy had been playing a sad song as she’d been taken away.

The second girl didn’t even manage to scream. Hadjar’s dagger, darting out in a wide arc, cut her larynx and vocal cords. When she fell, he picked her up with his foot and gently lowered her to the blood-drenched ground.

The body of the first girl gradually grew lighter, but also heavier in his hands: his Black Blade greedily absorbed her Spirit. Her young, vibrant face was drying up, turning into a mummy. Only her eyes remained the same, bright and vivid. There was still a glimmer of hope in them that she would get to return to her hometown soon, and that the shepherd boy would be waiting for her there. Her armor fell to the ground with a dull metallic clang, and dry dust was scattered by the rising wind.

“What’s going on here?” One of the officers peered into the passage. Hadjar cut off the other girl’s head because she was still alive and twitching in agony. Blood splattered over the mud covered in tracks. War was never a pretty sight.

“Sound the alarm!” The officer shouted. “Enemy attack!”

He tapped the amulet on his breastplate. It flashed purple, and similar flashes instantly appeared throughout the camp. Less than a heartbeat later, the alarm sounded, announcing his attack. Rekka had been right — everything was done by the book here.

Hadjar easily moved away from the bloody ground. In his left hand, he held the hopeful girl’s sword. He wasn’t a dual-wielding swordsman, but his training was enough to allow him to easily deflect the officer’s clumsy hammer attack, cut off his right arm, and then, with a backhand slash, cut off a good chunk of his left side, along with his armor, then throw him into the middle of the group of enemies rushing toward the ‘southern gate’. There were several hundred of them. Men or women, young or experienced… Death didn’t discriminate.

“DEREK!” Hadjar roared at the top of his lungs.

His roar, coupled with a burst of energy, sent a shockwave through the air. It struck the closest Lascanians, lifted them off the ground, and sent them flying, scattering them amongst the tents.

Officers led the way as more and more soldiers came running toward the noise. Hadjar sensed only one Lord’s aura in the entire camp. The rest were Spirit Knights and Heaven Soldiers. In the distance, in the thick of the jungle, the auras of Taniged and Derek blazed like a wildfire in the streams of the World River.

An arrow covered in purple energy whizzed past Hadjar’s ear. Hitting the ground behind him, it exploded into ice flowers that spread out several feet in all directions. As soon as they touched Hadjar’s feet, they instantly cracked and, turning into snowflakes, bounced off in the opposite direction.

“Shields up!” One of the commanders shouted.

At once, as if they were cogs in a machine, hundreds of soldiers came forward, moving in formation, and plunged their siege shields into the ground. A torrent of snow struck them and shot up into the sky.

“Archers!”

Hadjar heard seven hundred bows creak as they were drawn back.

“Fire!” The commander waved his sword at Hadjar.

Hundreds of arrows covered the sky and flew toward a lone target. The already dark night turned into absolute darkness for Hadjar.

He didn’t know any of the soldiers in front of him. He knew nothing about their lives, their homes, and they hadn’t personally done anything bad to him. But he did know that they were heading to his homeland with the intent to bring war and death. He would never allow such a thing to happen while he still lived, so they had to die.

A pillar of black energy erupted from the spot where he’d stood mere moments ago. It swirled like a tornado, sending hundreds of slashes in every direction, along with the arrows. The air was filled with the sounds of metal ripping, the screams of the dying, and the wails of the unfortunate survivors who’d been gravely wounded. The ground was covered in blood. He stood firmly in the center of all this madness, and he’d already assumed the form of a black dragon.

Chapter 905

T he black dragon made of fog and Sword mysteries rammed into the enemy formation. Hadjar’s shoulder smashed through the shield of a soldier who was unlucky enough to get in his way. Shards of steel bit into the nearby warriors, but they didn’t have time to feel the cold metal piercing their flesh. Before that happened, they were already turned into bloody chunks of flesh by the echoes of Hadjar’s rampaging attacks. From the outside, it looked as if the dragon’s claws had sliced through the warriors, and their bodies had been scattered in different directions. A rain of blood drenched the ranks behind them. The warrior that had been holding the shield Hadjar slammed into collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

A bowstring sang and an arrow almost hit Hadjar’s shoulder, but as soon as it came within a foot of him, an invisible force disintegrated it. Hadjar was still holding back his County. After all, if he were to unleash it properly, the soldiers within a radius of forty paces would’ve instantly died. But Hadjar’s goal wasn’t to destroy the enemy army, only to keep their attention focused on him.

Otherwise, instead of stealing a ship, the rest of the squad would end up trying to occupy a ship with an active self-destruct countdown, as the captains would rather die than let their ships be captured.

Ducking to the side, Hadjar dodged a broadsword that slid past his neck. Catching the soldier’s arm, he broke the man’s wrist. The enemy’s cry was like music to his ears. It had been a long time since he’d last had a simple fight against an enemy army. He could barely remember the last time he’d fought a fair, straightforward battle without any intrigue or secrets, against an enemy who’d simply come to take his land.

Hadjar, twisting the soldier’s hand, used his broadsword to decapitate a spearman who’d tried to stab his thigh, and then gutted the broadsword’s wielder. He kicked the body, which was choking on its own blood, back into the enemy lines.

Then he pushed off in the other direction, slamming into the helmeted faces of the heavy infantry with his elbows. Steel crunched through flesh and bone. Blood soaked his arms, and broken teeth rained down on his shoulder pads. Spinning around, he cut off the heads of the dying soldiers.

The Black Blade was allowed to feast. All three of them, even before they fell, were reduced to dust and scattered by the wind. Only their broken and slashed armor fell to the ground. Their parents would be waiting for their children to come back forever — those who’d come to Darnassus to wage war would remain in it for all eternity!

A circle of soldiers gradually closed in around Hadjar. Seven spearmen thrust their weapons toward him from all sides. Each weapon was shrouded in the mysteries of the Spear Spirit and the energy of the Heaven Soldiers. A long time ago, this would’ve been enough to send Hadjar to his forefathers.

Pushing off from the ground, Hadjar flew up and landed on the crossed spears. With a single blow, he knocked them out of the soldiers’ hands. The shaft of each spear flew straight up and rammed into the soldiers’ chins. Their necks snapped and their bodies fell. They choked on white foam and convulsed. Soon, they disappeared beneath the feet of the incoming reinforcements.

Hadjar dodged a mace and, diving under it, grabbed the man who’d attacked him by the face in one fluid movement. His fingers wrapped around the man’s visor. With a roar, he squeezed it and the opponent’s head burst like an overripe watermelon.

“Swordsmen! Shield wall!”

Immediately, a wall of shields formed around Hadjar. The lower row clung tightly to the upper one. Two dozen swordsmen leapt forward through the upper level. They wielded weapons ranging from a simple sword to a heavy, two-handed saber. Hadjar spun his Black Blade and rushed into combat, grinning all the while.

Five swordsmen stood in front of him, and each of them was a Spirit Knight at the initial stage, just like Hadjar. Seeing that their enemy had charged in to attack them, they all lunged forward at lightning speed. Their Sword Spirit mysteries, merging with their energy, rushed toward Hadjar, but didn’t reach him. At the very last moment, he created a cut in the air behind him with his will. Closing the distance between them and deceiving his enemies with the odd trajectory of his movements, he cut through their swords with one swing of his Black Blade.

Without stopping or losing any momentum, he pushed off with his left foot and jumped forward. Turning in the air quickly, he tripped the five swordsmen with his right foot and, while they fell, turned his sword backwards, slashing toward them.

A wave of blood hit the shields around them as the five swordsmen were split in half from head to toe along their spines in a split second. Just like before, instead of bones and entrails, only their mangled armor fell to the ground, white dust was scattered by the wind, and the Black Blade had once again received the food it craved.

The remaining fifteen swordsmen weren’t as zealous as their now-deceased comrades. Moving smoothly, they surrounded Hadjar, forming a tight ring of foes around him. And then, all at once, they attacked him with their Techniques.

Hadjar snarled and swung his Black Blade all around him, dark energy flashing as he did so. His sword moved with such immense speed that it seemed as if he was wielding eight swords at once. While simultaneously deflecting the attacks of seven swordsmen, he managed to keep track of whom they kept switching places with. The space they had to work with and the length of an average sword made it impossible for more than seven people to encircle someone at once.

However, none of their swords were able to so much as scratch Hadjar’s armor. The Black Blade whirled around Hadjar, and it kept deflecting, repelling, blocking, and countering the enemy.

The Spirit Knights couldn’t properly follow his movements as he was just too fast. They began to feel like they were fighting against a shadow that kept turning into mist and reappearing in a different place and in a completely different stance. They were fighting against a mirage, which was like trying to defeat death itself. With each new swing, they understood that there would soon be no one left to switch places with, because the ground was already littered with broken armor and white dust. Hadjar was managing to not only fence on equal terms with seven opponents at once, but to also find gaps in their defenses and send one swordsman after another to their forefathers.

Suddenly, above the sails of one of the caravels, green sparks shot up into the sky.

“At last,” Hadjar whispered and then stopped abruptly, unleashing his Kingdom and swinging his sword: “The Third Strike: Vacuum Sword!”

The black tornado that he conjured instantly reduced hundreds of soldiers standing nearby to blood and dust. It tore tents from the ground and turned fortifications into splinters. A thousand soldiers who’d been standing near the battle were drawn into this vortex, where they suffered an even worse fate than those who’d died instantly: they were slowly torn apart. The screams of the terrifying Technique’s victims merged into a single howl of anguish and death.

A blue Quetzal bird landed aboard the stolen ship.

“What took you so long?” Hadjar asked while watching the Black Blade greedily absorb the drops of blood that still clung to it.

“It took a while to neutralize the self-destruct hieroglyph,” Rekka replied, throwing the aforementioned artifact at Hadjar’s feet.

“Shall I blow it all up, commander?” Karein asked.

“Yeah,” Hadjar nodded.

Karein let a bit of his energy flow through the rope they’d prepared. The charges of magic gunpowder on the neighboring ships that were linked to it instantly turned into fireballs. The blast blew into the sails of the captured caravel, and Einen, who was at the wheel, pressed down on the pedals and raised the lever. The ship was launched several miles into the air in an instant.

The ground below them was ablaze. The wrecked ships fell, and with a horrendous crash, they broke apart, burying the soldiers who’d been lucky enough to escape from Hadjar’s Technique.

“DARKHAN!” A furious cry rang out.

A flood of someone’s will broke through the ship’s shield and poured onto the deck. Hadjar didn’t understand how Galkhad had suddenly appeared before him. Derek’s ‘Whip of Will’ grabbed the giant, pulled him off the deck, and dragged him down into the blazing wreckage.

“GALKHAD!” Anise shouted and ran after him.

As she ran past Hadjar, he struck the back of her head, instantly knocking her unconscious before she could go after Galkhad.

“Don’t stop!” Karein shouted to Einen.

Their ship jerked a few miles higher into the sky, where Derek’s will could no longer reach them.

Hadjar, who was gripping the side of the ship tightly, stared at the scarlet light illuminating the canopy of the dark jungle. Only nine people would be leaving the Karnak jungle after all…

Chapter 906

“H ow is she?”

Karein closed the door to the captain’s cabin and stopped next to Hadjar. Karein leaned on the rail and peered at the clouds floating past beneath the ship. Hadjar leaned back on the rail as well, threw back his head until his neck cracked, and looked at the darkening sky. Somewhere up there, familiar stars were shining. If he tried, he might even find the one he’d been born under. On that day, in the middle of autumn, when the northern wind had blown, Hadjar Duran, later Hadjar Traves, and now Hadjar Darkhan, the last of the Dark Storm tribe, had been born.

Ahead of them, the clouds were being pierced by the familiar peaks of black mountains covered in ever-present snowcaps. The wind started to blow. It brought a blizzard with it. Simultaneously, Karein and Hadjar took fur coats out of their spatial artifacts and put them on.

“Bad, like any woman who just lost her lover.” Karein took out a roll of special, highly intoxicating tobacco and started smoking it, exhaling rings that disappeared into the sky as soon as they passed through the ship’s magic shield. “She probably hates you now.”

“Makes sense.”

“Most things probably don’t make sense to her right now.”

Hadjar didn’t answer. After looking at Karein smoking for a while, he took out his own pipe. It had been a long time since he’d filled it with tobacco.

“Why did you send me to check on her?” Karein asked suddenly.

Hadjar looked around. Einen was at the wheel, the wind making the ribbons of his white mask flutter. He was still using it to hide the terrible scars he’d received in the jungles of Karnak. Tom was sitting in the crow’s nest and peering through a telescope. According to the latest news that Rekka had shared with them, in the three months since Orune’s death, all the northern Baronies had established air checkpoints.

Apart from these two, no one else was particularly busy. Einen’s will was strong enough for him to handle the ship on his own. That meant Hadjar couldn’t lie to Karein and say that the rest were preoccupied.

“Let me guess.” The aristocrat flicked his cigarette butt over the side of the ship, “Because if something happens, I can kill her?”

“Try to kill her,” Hadjar nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. “It wouldn’t be easy to kill Anise, trust me.”

“And why do you think that might be necessary?” Karein turned to face the clouds and stood right next to Hadjar. “She’s strong. Her emotional wounds are already on their way to healing. Dora and Akena are also helping her. It’s unlikely that she’ll break down and go into a frenzy because of the death of her life partner.”

The death of a life partner… Like everything else, even having a life partner on the path of cultivation, in other words, finding true love, had both positive and negative aspects. The most dangerous negative aspect was that after one’s life partner died, they would have a very hard time coping with this, to the point that they could die from soul wounds. And if they were strong in spirit, but not in mind, they would survive but turn mad.

There were many examples throughout history of cultivators who’d gone into a frenzy and slaughtered entire settlements until they were finally calmed down and sent to their forefathers, where they could once more embrace their lost lovers.

“Derek won’t kill Galkhad,” Hadjar took a long drag from his pipe and blew out an uneven smoke ring.

“I think so too,” Karein said. “Just because he received the magic of the dead doesn’t mean he can perform the Broken Threshold ritual right away. He needs to train first.”

Hadjar glanced sideways at the aristocrat. He was clever. And considering how differently Rekka treated him compared to everyone else, he was too clever.

“So,” Hadjar shook the tobacco out, tossing it overboard, and put the pipe back into his spatial ring, “When we see Galkhad again, you have to make sure you’re near her-”

“To kill him, if Derek ends up being able to break his mind, will, and Spirit. Or to kill Anise if she can’t endure the sight of what Derek will probably turn our giant pal into.”

Hadjar nodded stiffly. He knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty about what had happened. After all, Galkhad, like any other cultivator, did things his own way, and was an adult. The decision to jump in front of Derek’s will had been his and no one else’s. Nevertheless, Galkhad had helped Hadjar, even though he’d had every reason not to.

“Galkhad is strong,” Hadjar sighed. “He was able to give up his status as a junior heir of an aristocratic clan, his family, and the power that it gave him. He wouldn’t just surrender his soul and will to Derek so easily.”

Karein winced.

“Even if we ignore the magic of the dead, commander, they could torture him… I’ve seen how they can break those who are a hundred times stronger than Galkhad. How they can turn people into weak-willed worms who would do anything to end their agony, who don’t want to live anymore and will constantly beg for a quick death.”

Hadjar didn’t argue with him. He remembered all too well the year he’d spent in a dungeon, at the mercy of the man who’d killed his parents. He hadn’t been tortured, and he’d even been fed sometimes. But it had still been a trial that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“I can see an outpost!” Tom shouted. “It’s one hour away, just go north!”

Einen began to slow the ship down, and then threw a sky anchor into the clouds, which was a special artifact attached to a huge chain that looked like an anchor. When Hadjar had seen one for the first time, it had made him smile and then sigh with delight — a huge ship, standing on a cloud, which had been punched through by a multiton anchor. A cripple’s dream had come to life. He remembered a woman’s laughter mixed with tears and singing. He didn’t want to remember it. Never again. But the Shuk’Arka tribe had dredged up the memory stored under lock and key from the depths of his mind, and Hadjar would have to learn how to deal with it somehow. Luckily for him, he was already mostly used to it.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Einen stepped away from the wheel and put a hand on Hadjar’s shoulder. “This battle-”

“We would lose if we fought together,” Hadjar shook his head. “Follow the plan, my friend, and then we will drink wine to toast our glorious victory.”

Einen pressed his forehead to Hadjar’s.

“I’m not saying goodbye, barbarian. We’ll meet again.”

“We will.” Hadjar whispered.

After quickly hugging his dearest and most loyal friend, he turned around and, without looking back, jumped over the side of the ship. He had to fight this battle alone. It was time to put an end to the story that had brought him to Dahanatan, the capital of the Darnassus Empire, which he’d hated once, but now cherished.

The Quetzal bird spread its wings and disappeared beneath the clouds that covered the black mountains of Balium.

Chapter 907

A young guard who was stationed at the first sky outpost of the Free Baronies watched the blizzard raging beyond the magic barrier of the stronghold. The blizzard was so terrible that he constantly heard the roars of White Apes — terrifying creatures that sometimes attacked their fortress — in the howling of the wind and whirling snow. Only the strongest of the officers, some of whom were even on the verge of becoming true cultivators, ever went out to fight them.

To the guard, who was about twenty winters old, such lofty heights of cultivation seemed unreachable. He’d managed, with the support of his village, to reach the Core Formation Stage. In his village, he’d been an unsurpassed genius with amazing prospects, but here... Well, he wasn’t the weakest soldier, just average.

He had also won his Technique in a lottery. It would’ve normally taken him more than five years to collect the Glory points required to buy the Spirit level ‘Fire Falcon Blade’ Technique.

As someone who’d been hailed as a genius until recently, when he looked at the blizzard that could rend his flesh with ease, his heart sank.

“Wonderful!” The experienced guard next to him rubbed his cheeks with the snow he’d collected from the battlements of the fortress. “The winter this year will be warm, of course, but it’ll do.”

“Warm?” The young guard exclaimed. “It might be hard for you to discern with just one eye, but out there,” the young man waved his hand, pointing at the blizzard behind the magic barrier, “something truly crazy is going on.”

“Something truly crazy?” The guard laughed, and then turned toward the post next to theirs, where other experienced soldiers like himself were stationed. “Did you hear that? He said that something truly crazy is going on out there!”

The guards looked at each other, then laughed.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” another recruit whispered to him. He’d joined the outpost a month earlier than him. “They’ll-”

“They’ll what?”

“See for yourself.”

“You’re too young, boy!” The older guard, whose face and hands were crisscrossed with broad scars from blades, arrows, and claws, spoke up. “Eight years ago, back when you didn’t even know how to hold a sword properly, there was a real winter. Even Transformation level officers could die in that blizzard.”

“Do you remember, Serdrick,” some joker from the adjacent post shouted, “how you almost froze your… bits off?”

“Bits?” The scarred guard laughed. “I’ll show you what you’re calling bits and then you’ll see why you chose the wrong word.”

The soldiers laughed together.

“Eight years ago? That was when the beasts came down from the mountains, right?” The young guard remembered the night when his parents had taken him and his brother and hidden in the cellar. The next morning, when they’d come out, only a few sticks and some rubble had remained where their house had previously been.

All the experienced guards stopped laughing. They anxiously rubbed the fang and claw marks on their bodies and faces.

“It was.” Serdrick said gravely. “Back then, this wasn’t the first outpost fortress, boy, but the Sixth Pavilion of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, the temporary headquarters of the Moon Army of Balium and Lidus in their fight against the invaders of the Black Mountains.”

“The Moon Army? The Sixth Pavilion?”

“Yeah… What you see now is just a little late autumn breeze. The real winter’s yet to come. You’ll be wearing five fur coats and still be freezing.”

The young man didn’t pay much attention to his warning about the approaching cold weather. He was much more interested in the fact that he was stationed at a place that he’d heard so many stories about.

Both in Lidus and in Balium, the subject of the Moon Army had been taboo until the former warring kingdoms had become parts of the Darnassus Empire and its fully recognized baronies. This had happened not too long ago, so people still avoided mentioning the Moon Army and its leader…

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Serdrick snapped out of his reminiscing, adjusting the bandage that covered the terrible scar across his left eye.

The young man looked around, as if he were afraid that someone might hear them. “The stories about the Mad General? Was he really a fiend from the abyss? Did he actually strike a deal with the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, and then betray the Moon Army and his homeland to-”

A powerful punch to the gut knocked all the air out of the young man’s lungs. He crouched, dropped his spear, and gasped for air. The other guard grabbed him by his uniform, lifted him over the icy fortress wall, and held him over the edge of the chasm with a sneer.

“So, is this how young people honor the Generals of the past?”

The young man couldn’t comprehend what was happening because of how frightened he was. He stared at the white abyss below him. He heard the sound of running feet and the voices of the guards from the nearby post.

“Serdrick, calm down. Or do you want another reprimand?”

Someone pulled the young man back to safety.

“Did you hear him? He said that the Mad General betrayed us and-”

“We heard him, Serdrick.” The rest nodded. They loomed over the panting boy, who was pressing his whole body against the stone that separated him from the icy abyss. “We’ve been hearing that shit for eight years now. Soon, the General’s name will finally be cleared and we’ll be able to sing a funeral song for him.”

“Eight years,” Serdrick hissed and spat at the boy’s feet. “For eight years, I’ve endured the glory of our past being sullied by rotten, ignorant bastards like him. I’m not going to take it anymore! For eight years, brothers, I’ve been waiting to sing a funeral song for our General! Eight dishonest fucking years! If they send me to prison or beat me for shoving his filthy words back down his throat, then so be it!”

Serdrick’s pudgy fist shot up into the air. The young man covered his face with his hands. He waited for the pain to come, but it never did.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. He saw five frozen figures: Serdrick with his fist raised, and four other guards, who were holding him back. They were absolutely still and staring at something that was apparently beyond the fortress.

Not understanding what was happening, the young man looked at the same spot as well.

“By the gods and demons…”

A shadowy figure was gliding through the snowstorm. The wind was ruffling a white fur cloak. The young man couldn’t believe his eyes: the cloak had been made from the skin of a White Ape at the King Stage, a monster that even the commander of the fortress couldn’t beat.

Coming close to the magic barrier, the figure stretched out a hand toward it. The hand, which had a scarlet tattoo covering it almost entirely, easily passed through the barrier without creating a disturbance in the magic, and then a man appeared out of the blizzard. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in scars. He had a stern face and long, black hair that was decorated with white feathers and colored ornaments. He looked young, handsome, and wild. His White Ape fur cloak trailed behind him, erasing his tracks.

The young man jumped to his feet, “We need to sound the alarm and-”

Chapter 908

T he experienced guards were suddenly standing at attention. Tears of joy and pride rolled down their cheeks.

Serdrick was the first of the five guards to clench his fist and hit his chest with it. And then, as if he’d been waiting for this his whole life, he screamed with battle rage and then raised a fist toward the sky.

“RAAAHHH!” suddenly came from the other side of the fortress.

“RAAAHHH!” The guards inside the fortress joined in. They put on their armor and, after drawing their blades, ran to the wall.

The young man noticed that the other new recruits also couldn’t understand what was happening.

In less than a minute, several thousand experienced guards of the first outpost gathered atop the fortress wall. They thrust their fists into the air, shouting their war cry. Suddenly, they went quiet, raised their shields, and began to hit them with spears, hammers, axes, and swords. The various sounds merged into a rhythmic drumming.

“What’s going on out here? Damn bastards! I’ll whip you all for this idiocy! I’ll send you to…”

The commander, who had pushed the crowd aside, reached the edge of the wall. The huge man, who wielded a two-handed axe and was feared by everyone from the Black Mountains and their surroundings, suddenly froze.

“My General...” He whispered. Like the others, he raised his shield and began striking it with his axe.

Abruptly, the warriors fell silent. Thousands of warriors stared at the single figure standing in the snow at the foot of the fortress.

The man wearing the White Ape cloak held out his hand. A blade darker than darkness itself materialized out of thin air. Spinning it, he plunged the sword into the ground in front of him.

“RAAAHHH!” His roar, brimming with power and rage, shook the mountains. Along with it, a pillar of dark energy swirled around him and suddenly transformed into a huge, black dragon. It flew over the fortress and disappeared behind the mountain. The warriors stood in silence for a while longer. Then, as one, they took off their helmets and laid them on the wall. Without letting go of their weapons, they knelt down, pressed their heads against the ground, and, ignoring the confused newbies, only got up after a full minute.

“Send a messenger to the capital, to Commander-in-Chief Lergon,” the commander ordered, “And let him know that his old friend has returned.”

“Yes, sir, commander!” One of the guards saluted and ran down the stairs.

The officer turned to the others.

“May I have the honor, sir?” One of the oldest soldiers asked.

The commander nodded and roared at the top of his lungs, “Light the signal fires of the Moon Army of the Free Baronies! My allegiance to the flame!”

The young man simply couldn’t understand what was happening. All he knew was that, normally, a person could lose their rank and be punished for trying to go to the signal tower, which hadn’t been used for its intended purpose for eight years now.

Dozens of soldiers broke through the metal-bound doors and rushed up the tower. Serdrick was at the front. Grabbing an oil lamp hanging over the stacked wood, he tore off the covers that protected everything from the snow and smashed the container against the wood. The oil spilled onto the wood and then he used some flint. A pillar of fire erupted. Thousands of soldiers turned to the fire, saluting it.

They all pressed their fists to their chests in silence. The flames were dancing not only atop the signal tower, but also in their hearts, in their proud eyes and souls. They seemed like they were finally free, not at all like when the Legionnaires from Darnassus had come to the Barony on magic, flying ships.

Near the edge of the Black Mountains, a small, yellow dot lit up. Then another. And another. They kept going until a whole line of yellow dots stretched all the way to Lidus. The wind was alive with a single cry: “RAAAHHH!”

***

“General Lian,” an obese, middle-aged man burst into the office of the current General of the Moon Army of Lidus. “Did you see, General Lian-”

“I did, officer Simon, I did,” she replied.

She was standing at the window and watching the lights appearing in the night sky. The abandoned signal towers that hadn’t been used in eight years, ever since the last war between the Kingdoms and the nomad tribes. A signal light appeared over Spring Town and everything grew still.

The click of Lian’s heels as she stood at attention was the only sound that broke the deathly silence.

“My General,” she whispered, and then silently thrust her fist into the air.

Simon did the same, still breathing heavily. Hundreds of thousands of Moon Army soldiers did the same at the foot of the castle where Lian’s office was located. Their General had finally come home.

***

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the figure wearing a black traveling cloak crouched down near two tombstones. The lake nearby rippled. The tops of fruit trees were swaying. The smell of rose bushes, tulips, and wildflowers filled the air.

A hand bearing a scarlet tattoo brushed leaves and dry grass off the cold stone: Born Eren Duran, senior Lieutenant of the Moon Army, lost brother and found friend. May your forefathers greet you with honey and bread.

The figure took out a wide, brown wedding bracelet from a leather satchel tied to his belt. He placed the bracelet on the headstone, then touched his forehead to the stone and paused for a moment. When he got up, he took a wine bottle out of his spatial ring, uncorked it, took two long gulps, wiped his lips clean, and then poured the remaining wine on the grave.

Then he cleared the leaves off the second headstone: Sera, fire witch from the Sea of Sand. A true lover and a wonderful friend. May your forefathers welcome you with sweet milk and bread.

The figure placed a thin, white leather wedding bracelet and two desert flowers on the headstone.

“Who are you?” The blade of a broad saber pressed against the figure’s back. “How did you get into the Baroness’ garden?”

The fair-haired young man wearing simple clothes exuded the aura of an advanced-stage Spirit Knight. Behind him, ten Imperial legionnaires stood with their shields raised. They’d already activated their artifact armor and now looked like the most formidable of opponents… To anyone from these lands, at least.

“We’ll meet again soon, my friends,” the man whispered.

“I’ll ask you again, who are you?”

“Wait, Renen!” Baroness Elaine, wearing only her nightgown, ran out into the garden, waving away the maids who were running after her and trying to put a robe on her.

“Baroness,” Renen immediately bowed, but didn’t move his saber.

Elaine stopped next to the legionnaires. She stared at the black-haired man wrapped in the foggy cloak. He quickly hid his tattooed hand under his cloak. They stared at each other. Two pairs of bright, sky-blue eyes met.

Suddenly, Renen realized that he was no longer holding his saber. The weapon had somehow returned to its scabbard. And he was now holding his hand over his stomach, gasping for air.

“A strong will,” the hooded stranger said under his breath. “And a good soul. You’ll make a good father.”

Then the man turned to the Baroness. His gaze slid from her long, golden hair to her belly.

“Name your son after our father.”

A moment later, a huge Quetzal bird soared into the sky and disappeared somewhere among the clouds. What he left behind were shocked legionnaires, a confused Renen, a crying Elaine, and two wedding bracelets atop granite tombstones.

The northern wind started blowing.

Chapter 909

H adjar pulled the hood of his cloak down. Above him was the mountain where, almost nine years ago, he’d been able to talk to his sister for the first time in many years. He hadn’t been able to hug her back then…

Every year, Hadjar had grown stronger, but his enemies had become more powerful as well. Derek still didn’t know that Lidus was his homeland, and he didn’t know about the pregnant Elaine, either.

Hadjar had seen the child through the streams of the World River by using his Gaze. His father was the fair-haired swordsman, a Spirit Knight at the advanced stage. He had no special bloodline or power (which was true for some noble families as well), but Hadjar could sense that his heart was good and his will was strong. He’d be a good father to his nephew and a proper lover to Elaine.

“Damn it!” Hadjar sighed. While climbing the mountain, he relived the events of the past. “I didn’t hug her.”

He’d dreamt about doing just that during his darkest hours… Alas, as long as there were threats like Derek of the Steppe and others like him out there, Hadjar couldn’t endanger his parents’ home and his sister, especially now that he knew that Elaine was expecting.

Hadjar leaned down and ran his hand over the thin layer of snow that covered the ledge. It clung to his fingers, but he could barely feel the cold. The winds in Lidus, a region where millions of mortals lived, were so gentle that a Spirit Knight could barely feel them. The Black Mountains of Balium were the only exception, but even there, Hadjar could comfortably make do without a fur coat. However…

“It doesn’t matter.” With clenched fists, Hadjar straightened up and stepped into the abyss.

This time, the descent was much easier and far more pleasant than it used to be. Jumping into a turbulent mountain stream, Hadjar easily found the right path in the branching chaos of underwater corridors. The absolute memory of a Spirit Knight, with a bit of help from his neural network, did its job wonderfully.

Surfacing at a small ledge, Hadjar dried his clothes with his will. He could see and navigate well in this darkness, which wasn’t caused by any energy or aura. Hadjar looked at the almost decayed remnants of clothing, the coals from a fire, and fish bones with a smile. Despite the humidity, the grotto where he’d spent several days with his sister still bore evidence of their presence.

“You’re getting sentimental, aren’t you?” Hadjar whispered to himself.

He went back into the river. Long ago, he’d had to use fish entrails and the glow of mystic grass to navigate, but now, not paying any attention to them, he went past the underwater cave where he’d fought against a giant monster. He soon found himself at the bottom of a mountain lake.

Everything was still here, exactly as Hadjar remembered it: the ruins of ancient temples covered in moss and the nests of swallows, a once wide and beautiful road made of stone slabs dotted by lush grass, and columns which, due to encroaching vegetation, were now difficult to distinguish from their surroundings.

“It’s kind of amusing,” Hadjar drawled.

Previously, he hadn’t been able to even imagine what civilization these buildings could’ve belonged to. Now, just one glance was enough to determine they were remnants of the Talesh. He had destroyed their flying Mage City and its Library. At the time, he hadn’t suspected that he’d already seen the architecture and ruins of this ancient civilization and their legacy once before.

Walking along the path that he’d once trodden, Hadjar ran his fingers over the fragments of the distant past. They cut his flesh and the drops of blood evaporated before they reached the ground.

He recalled the cryptic words of the Tree of Life: The one who hasn’t been born yet will bring you death. The dead that Derek was planning to raise hadn’t really been born yet, technically speaking. Maybe a magic zombie would kill him? Hadjar was already tired of seeing the Tree of Life’s prophecy in everything.

This was akin to Freya’s hints. While the ‘rainbow’ had still been more or less clear, the ‘remember the gift’ and ‘don’t trust the half-breed’ were… Well, Hadjar had no other way to kill Derek. He could only use the Core given to him by Helmer.

And Annette… Hadjar couldn’t trust her. Her motives for not staying in the Green House and going to a foreign land remained vague and unclear to him. After all, there were many tribes living in Karnak. She could’ve stayed and tried to join another tribe, or maybe even tried to take revenge for her tribe. But this half-demoness had gone with complete strangers to another country instead. Why?

Hadjar doubted that Karnak would have any trouble with the dead. There weren’t many tribal conflicts in the Green House, and they burned their dead. There couldn’t be more than a hundred thousand dead bodies in the entirety of Karnak. Which wouldn’t really be a problem for those who controlled reality with their Word Magic.

“Greetings, Tree of Life,” Hadjar knelt and touched the cold, cracked stones with his forehead.

On the ledge, just like he remembered, above the bottomless abyss, a tree with blood red leaves grew. It swayed steadily in the nonexistent wind, its curved trunk almost hypnotic. The power that the Tree radiated was now much easier for him to perceive since he’d learned so much. This plant was much stronger than Helmer or Freya. Hadjar couldn’t even imagine how Derek was planning to take anything from such a creature.

“You’re here, General without an army,” a familiar whisper sounded in Hadjar’s head. “If you were here for the first time, I wouldn’t see... I don’t see... I won’t see... the fragment of my old enemy in your soul… Or I see it because you haven’t passed the trial yet... Or you’ve already overcome it and now you’re dead and your Shadow has come to visit me... Or the lost Spirits want to cloud my vision again, and you are only a mirage caused by fate… But you’re here and I am here, which means that today came at last. Hello, Mad General.”

Hadjar’s mind was much stronger now than when he’d first found himself ‘face to face’ with this creature. This time, he was prepared for what he’d have to put up with. That was why he seemed to have understood far more of the Tree’s words than he had on his first visit.

“We need to talk.”

“Aren’t we already doing that? Or haven’t you come here yet? Or won’t you come soon? But you are standing here, so we’re talking.”

This shit again!

Chapter 910

H adjar approached the Tree and, after touching its trunk with his palm, lay down on its roots. He saw them coming to life, intertwining into a unified shape, and then entangling him with tenderness and care. He felt warm, not physically, but mentally. It was as if he were back in Queen Elizabeth’s arms.

“You’ve experienced so much misery in the short time that you’ve been alive, Mad General... Or you are already dead and therefore, I can speak to you... But you haven’t yet met the one who hasn’t been born... Or you are dead because they weren’t born... Or because you’re alive, you weren’t born…”

“I don’t understand much of what you’re saying, oh wise Tree of Life, but-”

“Hush, Mad General... Didn’t your mother sing to you so that all your troubles and sorrows would go away? Or she will sing this song to you... Or her mother never sang that song to her and that’s why she would never sing it to you… I’m so sorry that you won’t get to hear this song in its entirety, Mad General …”

Hadjar remembered his mother singing to him. She’d always stopped after the second verse and, after putting down the Ron’Jah, had started tickling her son instead.

“A warrior is on his way here-”

“Derek of the Steppe,” the Tree of Life interrupted him. “He’s coming here... He came here... He’ll come here… And if so, then you didn’t let him die… Death, Mad General, you’ll know... you already know... you always knew… it isn’t as terrible as it seems to the living. Death is just the last journey that can’t be avoided. Everything that is visible isn’t permanent. Only the invisible is truly eternal.”

Hadjar remembered the Potter’s soul’s fragment saying something similar. Both then and now, they didn’t really touch his soul. But as soon as Hadjar had tried to repeat them to Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares had immediately turned pale and asked him to stop. Apparently, some knowledge could only harm an advanced mind or soul. Or maybe they were just empty, pseudo-philosophical words after all.

“He wants to take the symbol of Life from you. Its very nature. He wants to raise an army of the dead and destroy Darnassus.”

“Destroy Darnassus?” The whisper inside Hadjar’s head repeated. “So it hasn’t been destroyed yet... or it hasn’t been created… The Last King is still asleep… The horn hasn’t yet sung its last song… The ancient walls haven’t collapsed… The chains haven’t been broken… The key to the Mountain of Skulls doesn’t know that it’s the key... No, Mad General, the world can still sleep peacefully. A visible, last fragment of the Mother River as it dries up.”

Hadjar couldn’t believe his ears. He’d heard almost the exact same thing from the Guardian of the Spirit World when he had been brought there by the orcs.

“What does that mean, oh wise Tree? What do your words mean?”

“The same as any other words. They’re just the symbol of a possible future... of a past... of all those events that have happened… or are happening… or will happen... or will never happen... Life is like a river, Mad General: it seems constant and unchangeable, but it contains so many drops in it… Life is only a visible impermanence that people try to take control of, and therefore I exist... I see... saw… will see... I know... knew... will know every reflection from even the smallest droplet of life.”

Again, Hadjar didn’t understand most of what it was saying. His nose was bleeding, but not because there was an incredible pressure from some immense energy or an overwhelming aura.

Just one attempt to understand the Tree of Life’s words had caused significant damage to his mind. There were legends throughout the seven Empires which claimed that just having a short conversation with the Tree of Life could cause the speaker’s death or their complete and irrevocable madness.

“And what symbol are they?”

“A symbol that the world around you, Mad General, is visible.”

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat ran down his back. Goosebumps covered his body and his hands trembled. All that he had achieved… All the goals he’d set for himself… All the sacrifices that he, his friends, comrades, parents, ancestors, brother and sister had made… It was all so insignificant, so small, so temporary compared to what the Tree of Life had just said. It was all absolutely meaningless.

“The end of the world? The destruction of our world?”

The tree didn’t respond for a moment. It only tightened its roots around Hadjar, like a mother who wanted to calm her baby down. It was like that one song said: ‘All your troubles and grief will go away while I am with you’.

“Life is meaningless, Mad General, if it has no end. And the end is meaningless if it has no beginning. In all worlds, everything is born, lives, and dies. Such is life. Death is only its shadow.”

“But there are Immortals! There are Spirits and false gods! They…”

Hadjar abruptly stopped talking. How many Shadows of such beings had he encountered? How many legends of battles between the gods had he heard in which the gods had either heroically, or not so heroically, died? The only exception to the rule was the Black General, the Enemy that even the combined forces of all the gods, demons, and Spirits hadn’t been able to destroy. They had only managed to tear his soul into many pieces and had then scattered them around the world. The largest fragment of his soul had been imprisoned on or in the Mountain of Skulls. Hadjar still wasn’t sure about the specifics.

The Mountain of Skulls had been made from the remains of all the enemies that the Black General had defeated in his lifetime. The combined power of the remnants of their souls that had moved on to the cycle of rebirth had been used in an attempt to restrain his will and power. And they had. The Black General had been imprisoned in the Mountain of Skulls for hundreds of eons.

“You’ve come here... will come here... will never come... once... twice… you’ll leave for the last time... you won’t leave... for your torn soul... for the essence of life... to stop Derek... to help Derek... to save the world... to destroy the world... so many drops are in your river, Mad General. The Spirit of freedom… The Quetzal... its wings are strong and beautiful.”

Hadjar didn’t understand whether the Tree could see the past, present, and future simultaneously, or all possible versions of the past, present, and future simultaneously. Such thoughts made his head ache. There was some knowledge that even a Nameless couldn’t grasp, after all.

“Will I have to pass a trial?”

“Trials... You always have... had... will have… only trials make life meaningful and death scary. Without them, life is just a pointless journey toward death... but not today... yesterday... tomorrow... always… This time… next time… another time… I’ll tell you… told you... I am telling you... a story, Mad General. It was carved into a stone. The stone that was thrown into the Mother River’s stream.”

Chapter 911

H adjar was so used to being teleported at this point that he wasn’t even surprised to suddenly find himself standing at the top of a mountain. Or rather, a mountain range. Tall evergreen trees were all around him. He was standing on a bridge that connected several mountaintops. They were like high, thin stone needles piercing the clouds. They kind of looked like skyscrapers from back on Earth. An eagle soared overhead.

Hadjar turned around. The temple he saw had an amazing, unfamiliar look to it: red walls, many columns, and green roofs. Each of its buildings had several of these pointed roofs that seemed to have ruffles on them. The mostly round windows were covered with wooden shutters and were made from mica rather than glass.

Hadjar inhaled the clean air, which didn’t contain any traces of charcoal or gunpowder. So, even without seeing different stars, it became clear to him that this was an insanely ancient era.

Knowing that everything around him wasn’t real, but just a vision granted to him by the Tree of Life, he traversed the bridge. The first thing that caught his eye when he entered the temple were the signs of abandonment and desolation. Apparently, the temple had been abandoned in a hurry.

Hadjar crouched down. He ran his fingers over the soot left behind on the cracked stone floor. There was blood mixed into it. There were also distinctive marks from weapons and Techniques marring the walls. They were extremely weak, comparable to those that even mortals could use, but imbued with an incredible volume of mysteries. The people who’d lived or at least trained here might’ve had very little energy, but each of them had been a Wielder at least.

He’d seen this kind of thing before. In the visions that had to do with the warriors of the past, most had been at the level of simple practitioners, but their weapon mastery had been far greater than even the level of weapon mastery of some of the modern aristocrats.

Hadjar walked along the cracked paths, observing the broken columns and shattered doors pulled from their hinges. Broken pottery crunched under his feet. Burnt mats were scattered everywhere. Soot covered the scarlet stones of the collapsed walls. In the center of the temple was a huge pile of ashes. The remains of scrolls among them indicated that there was once a central building with a library here. The scrolls were wooden and strange, connected together with felt rope. They were so ancient that even in the library of the Mage City, there hadn’t been this many of them.

“Brothers and sisters,” Hadjar suddenly heard.

At first, he crouched down warily, and then, remembering that he was in a memory, he stepped out onto the ledge without fear. There, lying on many funeral pyres, were hundreds, if not thousands of skeletons that had been stacked atop each other. The temple must’ve been looted and destroyed a long time ago. But that didn’t seem to bother a man who was standing in front of the pyres. He was short and dressed in a simple, gray traveling cloak with many patches, a pair of canvas pants tied with a rope, and a white shirt. In his hands, he held a simple staff that was slightly curved at the top. He also wore clumsily woven bast shoes. A straw hat full of holes sat atop the man’s head. It turned out that someone could actually look even more raggedy than Hadjar.

He walked around the man and froze in amazement. His face was perfect, as if created by the hand of a brilliant sculptor. It could’ve captured any woman’s heart. On Earth, such an impossibly alluring face would certainly be associated with the devil, not with god. It was incredibly handsome. He could’ve looked at it forever.

The young man, who was about twenty-five, opened his eyes. They were two different colors: one was bright blue, the color of the sky, and the other was dark brown. He raised his staff and lightly struck the ground with it. The pyres burst into a bright, blue flame.

“In the Dragon Lands,” the young man suddenly said, “in the cave of the Heavenly Lotus, beneath the sign of the newly born star, you’ll find a sphere. Crack it, say the word you hear, and that word will lead you to the treasury, young warrior.”

The young man looked at Hadjar, who realized that he’d made two mistakes with his assumptions. He saw so much time reflected in this young man’s eyes that he appeared even older than Helmer or Freya. And this wasn’t just a vision, he really was in the past.

“If we meet for a third time, let’s share some tobacco and tell each other our stories, like two Generals ought to.” The young man suddenly smiled and touched Hadjar’s chest with his staff. “Don’t forget about my gift, son of dragons.”

“Who are you?”

***

Hadjar leapt to his feet, gasping for air. He was standing next to the Tree of Life. Dust from its roots covered his body. He was back in his own reality or…

“What was that?”

“The river of life flows, Mad General, along a channel that is called... will be called... was called fate. In that channel, there are thousands of thousands of thousands of drops, but only a single direction. I’ve brought you together... will bring you together... had brought you together... with someone you are destined to meet... aren’t destined to meet... have already met... haven’t met yet…”

Hadjar tried to comprehend everything he had seen, but couldn’t. Damn it all! His head ached.

“The Bloody General... neither a fae nor a human... without a home or family... cursed by the gods to wander endlessly for the sins he committed... didn’t commit... will commit... won’t ever commit… If you meet him, your fate will also be... won’t be... carved in stone.”

“I don’t understand!” Hadjar shouted, clutching his head. The crimson tree’s branches continued to sway with the absent wind.

“Here comes my moment... I’ve been waiting for it for so long... will wait... haven’t waited at all… I’m not eternal... I am eternal… finally... peace…”

“What?”

Suddenly, there was thunder. It was so powerful and loud that Hadjar covered his ears with his hands. And then came an unstoppable whirlwind of slashes. A rain of massive stones flew into the cave. They crushed the remains of the ancient civilization that time hadn’t yet managed to destroy. They fell into the abyss, disappearing without a sound. They fell into the lake, sealing the passage to the mountain river. But none landed on the Tree of Life, and not even the resulting dust touched its scarlet leaves.

As the hail of stones subsided, a figure that fell from the sky landed nearby, clutching two swords.

“Hello once again, my enemy-”

“Do you know what wasn’t born, Derek?” Hadjar interrupted the great Lascanian hero. “Fucking ship cannons.”

“What?”

Hadjar, standing in front of the Tree of Life, straightened up and looked at the sky. His homeland’s sky… He raised his fist and slammed it against his chest. A purple ray shot out from the broken artifact and surged into the sky, piercing through the magic sphere.

“BASTARD!” Derek roared, holding his swords out in front of him, but it was already too late.

Hundreds of ships appeared in the sky, gathered by the Commander-in-Chief of the Balium Army, Lieutenant-General Lergon, and Einen. These were ships from all the Free Baronies.

“My old friend...” Hadjar whispered and closed his eyes.

Instead of a rain of stone, a rain of steel and fire poured into the cave. What couldn’t be saved could only be destroyed so completely that not even a trace of it remained. Not a single leaf, or a speck of dust, not even a single sliver would be left of the Tree of Life. A shower of cannon shells filled the mouth of what looked like an erupting volcano right now.

Chapter 912

I n the split second before the fiery rain of molten steel filled the cavern, time seemed to slow down for Hadjar. He saw cannonballs coming toward him. Each of them was the size of a pumpkin, leaving trails of smoke and a burning, orange tail behind in their wake.

“Remember the gift.” Freya’s hint suddenly resounded in his head.

He once again saw the young man wearing a simple, gray cloak and holding a wooden staff on that mountain with the ancient, dilapidated temple. Suddenly, he realized that he’d already seen that cloak, staff, and even those simple pants and shirt.

“Are you going to the fort, soldier?” The old man sitting atop a cart that was heading to the border fort between Lascan and Darnassus had asked him.

Hadjar remembered his eyes. He’d tried not to look at them back then, lost in his own thoughts. It had been more important to him to get to Darigon as soon as possible so that he could get the letter for Orune. But now, he suddenly remembered those eyes… A bright blue one and a dark brown one. And the straw hat that the old man had given to Hadjar on that very cloudy day.

Hadjar mentally turned to his spatial ring, and then pulled out the old straw hat. Before he could figure out how to use it, the straw came to life. Like a mass of golden threads, it spread out, and then enclosed Hadjar inside an impenetrable straw sphere.

He heard the cannonballs outside. They were turning the ancient ruins to dust, erasing the last fragments of the ancient Talesh who had known the true Names of things, creatures, and elements, from the face of the earth. The people who’d opposed the gods and paid for it with their lives. And Hadjar was destroying their legacy.

A hail of leaden fire smashed everything around him to pieces, but the sphere of straw remained unmoved. It didn’t bend or crack, and not a shard or a single wisp of smoke got through it.

After a few moments, all was still. In less than a heartbeat, the straw around Hadjar burst into blue flames and dissolved, leaving only a light haze behind.

While he’d previously suspected that the combined firepower of two hundred skyships could wipe out an entire city, he was now sure of it.

A few moments ago, he’d been standing in the center of a huge volcanic cavern, but now he was standing on an almost level plateau. The wind that swept across the exposed rocks ruffled his hair and the scarf of his Call armor.

Hadjar turned around. Where the ledge with the Tree of Life had stood above the abyss, there was now nothing, only a steep mountain slope dotted with sharp stones.

Overhead, there were so many ships and smoke that the clear day had turned into twilight.

“Freedom... I’m free... was free... will be free... at last,” the whisper in Hadjar’s head faded.

“Nice... nice... try, Darkhan.”

Hadjar turned slowly toward the sound. Derek of the Steppe stood panting amidst the dust and ashes. He was leaning on his two swords embedded in the stone. His clothes and armor were in tatters. Chunks of steel had bitten into his skin, slicing through it and exposing his muscles. Some of his bones, unable to withstand the pressure, had broken and were now plainly visible. Shimmering, dark yellow blood ran down his singed skin. His hair rested across his shoulders, charred and burned.

The air still echoed from the defensive Technique that had allowed him to survive the attack, a Technique that was even capable of wounding or killing a Heaven Soldier despite being used for defense. This was the true power of a Nameless one who’d grasped the True Kingdom level of weapon mastery. Even an all-out attack from the united fleet of all the Free Baronies hadn’t been able to stop him.

“You’re strong, Derek, there’s no doubt about it,” Hadjar stood directly in front of his sworn enemy, his weapon still drawn. “But look around you, there’s no mountain left, let alone the Tree of Life. You lost. In your current condition, you can’t kill me. Go back to Lascan, and when the time comes, we’ll meet on the battlefield and settle all our issues. Face to face, just like you’ve always wanted.”

The northern wind didn’t die down. On the contrary, it grew stronger, bringing with it dust and lead shavings that danced in the air. The ships were gradually turning around for a second attack. Hadjar’s order had been very clear: shoot at the mountain until there are no living beings left.

“You’re talking about a fair fight…” It was difficult for Derek to speak. With each word, he also spat out blood. “But the ships are... preparing a second... attack.”

“You can try to kill me, then,” Hadjar responded, assuming a defensive stance. A transparent dragon tail coiled around him and revealed its sharp scales, each of which contained the mysteries of the Sword County.

“Kill... fight... lose...” Derek pulled his swords out of the stone and looked up sharply at the ships above him. “There was a time… Hadjar... when I really... wanted... to kill you. But now… that big guy… what I did to him…”

“Galkhad?” Hadjar frowned. “What did you do to him, Derek?”

“...Opened my eyes to the truth,” Derek continued, ignoring him. “Death is instantaneous and easy… but agony… is amazing, Hadjar. And you... I swore on the graves of my friends... will experience all that... I have experienced…”

Derek looked at Hadjar with bleary, almost white eyes that had completely lost all their humanity. He raised one of his swords and Hadjar prepared for the strike, but it never came. Instead, Derek put the sword back into its scabbard, and then showed Hadjar what was clamped between his fingers. A bright, scarlet leaf fluttered in the northern wind. It looked like a mix between a maple leaf and an oak leaf.

“The Second Strike...”

Hadjar, leaving deep holes in the rocks with the force of his charge, immediately surged forward. A stream of darkness exploded behind him, and ahead of him, like a spear, a ribbon of darkness within which dragon-swords danced shot out, aimed at Derek’s heart.

“Too late…” A mad smile twisted Derek’s face into an unholy abomination.

A streak of blue lightning arced across the sky. It pinned Hadjar to the rocks like a bug. He screamed in pain. The rocks exploded all around him, deep cracks forming along the entire mountain, and Hadjar couldn’t move. He lay on his back and watched the Lascan frigate float out of a cloud carrying the other great hero, Taniged the Cloudy. He held out his hand, and a huge cloud coiled around Derek, lifting him onto the deck of the ship.

“Agony awaits, Hadjar. Thank you for the lesson you taught me in the tomb…” He laughed maniacally.

Once Derek was safely back on the ship, Taniged snapped his fingers.

“NO!” Hadjar shouted.

White, cloudy wisps pierced the ships in the sky above him. Like enraged snakes, they crushed and tore them apart. There were explosions, screams, and then drops of blood rained down on Hadjar’s face.

Chapter 913

“B y the demons and gods!” Tom slapped the side of their stolen caravel. “Why are we staying out of the fight?”

“Because the barbarian was right,” Rekka, who was sharpening her Divine level blades that didn’t actually need it, shocked everyone by agreeing with Hadjar’s plan. “You and I are currently on a Lascanian ship. And,” Rekka pointed to the southwest, where, a few miles away, a fleet of two hundred ships from the Free Baronies was gathering under a shroud, “there are about two hundred Darnassian ships there. If any of them get confused, we’ll become a target. I, for one, don’t want to die because of-”

Rekka was interrupted by the whoosh of purple energy piercing the sky, and then by a simultaneous volley fired from eight thousand high-caliber cannons loaded with artifact shells and magic powder.

“When I see something like this,” Karein drawled, “It really sinks in that the war has begun.”

Streams of fire bathed the mountain range, leaving no traces of the two-mile-high peak behind. From above, the plateau now looked like a piece of cheese that someone had bitten into.

Einen gripped the wheel, “Barbarian, how were you planning to survive this?”

Rekka glanced at the islander, but said nothing. Then she exchanged a knowing look with Karein and continued to sharpen her blades. The two of them were all too aware of the fact that even a great hero probably wouldn’t be able to survive such a volley. The idea that Hadjar would have enough time to use his Technique that allowed him to turn into a Quetzal bird was ridiculous. In fact, he would need to be faster than even a Nameless who possessed a True Kingdom of the Dagger, and they were the fastest cultivators of all. Hadjar didn’t have such power. It was clearly a suicide mission and-

“Barbarian!” Tom slammed his fist against the railing. “Heavens help us! That son of demons managed to survive! By the gods, if I could stand him, we’d be good friends!”

Rekka, almost dropping her blades, leaned over the railing and watched as Hadjar dispersed the dust and soot with his will.

“We need to go get him!” Einen had already pressed the power transfer pedal when Rekka waved her hand.

“Wait!” She exclaimed.

All her experience as a member of the guard corps, which, unlike what people thought of them, didn’t just protect the Emperor, but also unraveled intrigues, told her that something was wrong here. The information the guards had on Derek had painted him in a very different light: he wasn’t a man who could be killed so easily, caught unawares by a simple trap.

Derek of the Steppe wasn’t very smart or experienced, but he had an amazing sense for what he could and couldn’t survive. It was so developed because he’d often had to fight opponents stronger than him. Hadjar also had that sense…

“By the demons!” Rekka swore. “Look!”

Across from Hadjar, a few hundred feet away, stood Derek of the Steppe. He didn’t look great, but he was still on his feet.

“Cannons!” Dora shouted. “We need to finish off the scoundrel!”

“No!” Rekka shouted. “Einen, channel all the ship’s energy into the shields and cloak! He wasn’t caught in our trap, we were caught in his!”

Einen looked at her, and then, pulling the necessary levers, redirected all the available energy into the magic hieroglyph. The caravel immediately disappeared from view, although it was already far from where the cave had been just a few moments ago.

Before anyone could ask Rekka why she was so scared, Hadjar suddenly rushed forward. His charge was so powerful that a wide crack in the ground was formed under the feet of a simple Spirit Knight, and then spread several hundred feet down the slope. Huge stones flew dozens of feet into the air.

A roaring black dragon flew along the rocks. Its power echoed around it, leaving a deep trench behind in its wake. Its tail stretched out into a stream of darkness that tore the mountain to shreds. And it was heading right at Derek.

A Lascanian ship appeared in the sky above the fleet of the Free Baronies, followed by the gasps of the squad members.

A red-haired man standing on the ship’s bow held out his hand. A thundercloud formed under the ship, and a blue streak of lightning descended from it. It struck Hadjar and pinned him down, then cut through the entire mountain.

The shockwave and flying rocks that erupted at the foot of the mountain swept away the nearby forest. Only uprooted trees, crushed animals, streams of viscous, dark blood, dry riverbeds, and charred fish were left behind. The mountain began to settle. Huge boulders broke off from it, rolling down and crashing to the ground.

Taniged the Cloudy waved his hand a second time and the cloud morphed into a giant hand. It lifted Derek onto the deck of the ship, where he was dragged away by soldiers and sailors.

“What the-”

Taniged snapped his fingers and the cloud changed once again. This time, it transformed into a swarm of enraged snakes that turned a fleet of two hundred ships into a firestorm, which then crashed like a flaming wave into the surface of the crumbling mountain.

“We have to go after him!”

Einen was already pressing the pedal when Rekka gave Karein a subtle nod. With a flash of scarlet light, he disappeared and reappeared behind Einen. Karein held him in a tight, painful grip, not allowing him to move an inch. Dora and Tom instantly drew their weapons. The elf pointed her hammer at Karein, and Tom put his sword to Geran’s throat.

“Until the Lascanians leave, we’ll follow orders,” Rekka remained calm. “As soon as their ship goes away, we’ll try to save the barbarian.”

“He’ll already be dead by then!” Tom protested angrily, surprising himself.

“So be it,” Karein said, just as calm as Rekka. “Our commander knew what he was getting into when he went to that mountain.”

He held Einen so firmly that the islander couldn’t even say a word. He could only open his inhuman, purple eyes wide and watch as a hail of fire, red-hot metal, hundreds of cannonballs falling from the ships, and tons of magic gunpowder, which was still exploding, descended on the collapsing mountain. If the massive landslides didn’t send his friend to his forefathers, then the flaming debris would.

“They’re gone,” Rekka said after the Lascanian ship turned, channeled power to its accelerator, and disappeared into the cloud created by Taniged. “Damn it! He managed to take a leaf from the Tree of Life with him! It was all in vain…”

Karein let go of Einen, but he only slumped against the wheel. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Hadjar had survived all that fire and exploding metal. If Einen had been alone, he would’ve rushed to his friend’s aid anyway. But… He looked at Dora, Rekka, Tom, and the others. Only their squad knew what Annette was doing in the hold right now. And only they could stop Derek.

“It’s the commander!” Karein suddenly tapped Einen’s shoulder and pointed at a small blue dot — the Quetzal bird had emerged from the flaming chaos.

Chapter 914

E laine was standing at a stained-glass window at the top of the northern tower of the Palace of Lidus and watching the mountain where their ancestral castle had once stood crumble to dust. The rubble flew everywhere and the fiery blaze that engulfed it was like a shroud, covering and erasing the past and the memories of it.

“What kind of monster has such power?” Elaine covered her mouth with her hand.

The Baroness held herself by the shoulders and shook with terror. Her fiancé saw that she was frightened.

“Great heroes.” Renen hugged his future wife. “Those who are at the peak of power in the seven Empires. Only they have such might. But what could great heroes want from your Barony, my love? And what does your brother have to do with them coming here?”

“Great heroes? Are they the strongest warriors?”

“They are. The war will certainly be decided by the outcome of their duels. Just one great hero is worth as much as five Legions. Fighting them is like fighting the gods. I once witnessed the rage of the great hero Orune, your brother’s late Master, and that was enough to make me wonder if he was actually Derger masquerading as a human. What can Hadjar possibly-”

“If they’re the strongest, he’ll fight them.” Elaine’s eyes suddenly flashed with a bright, fierce flame. “He’ll fight every single one of them and send them to their forefathers.”

“With all due respect to the Mad General, Elaine, he’s only a Spirit Knight. Even if he’s a disciple of the late Orune, may his forefathers welcome him, he’s still a Spirit Knight. He doesn’t even possess a True Kingdom. Normally, not even a few Nameless ones working together can stop even a single great hero. No one knows how many of them Lascan and Darnassus actually have. Your brother is crazy if he thinks that-”

“He doesn’t think,” Elaine shook her head. She watched the mountain collapse, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in her mind. “Everyone besides him thinks, but he doesn’t. He simply sets a goal and he achieves it, without paying attention to anything around him. Some people might say that’s a stupid approach, others that it’s an impossible thing to actually do. But that’s my brother. Our parents raised him like that. So did the Nanny, and the Master, and South Wind. Besides…” Elaine paused, putting her hands on her stomach and smiling, “He promised me that he’d come back and we’d meet at our old spot.” She looked up at the mountain that had been reduced to an ocean of dust and flames. “I’m waiting for you, brother… I’ll meet you at our spot as promised. Come back soon…”

***

“You look like shit, Derek,” Taniged was relaxing on a cloud, as usual. It floated a foot above the ground, and the great hero Taniged the Cloudy was sprawled out on it, drinking wine and talking.

Derek had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. If they hadn’t received direct orders from the Empress Regent Kelsa, mother of the rightful Emperor of Lascan, he never would’ve worked with Taniged.

“Shut up, Taniged,” Derek growled in response. “You completed your part of the task, and now you can go wherever you want.”

“I did,” the great hero nodded, and sipped some more wine, “but I want to stick around and see if you’ll die from casting your spell. If you die, I won’t burn your body. You look so shitty right now that you’ll probably reek if I do that. And I want to savor this delicious wine instead. I love the smell of it. Tart. Pleasant-”

“SHUT UP!” Derek snapped.

His True Kingdom of the Twin Swords activated for a moment and, covering a radius of hundreds of feet, assaulted Taniged’s soul. However, the latter only had to wave his wine bottle a little to disperse his attack.

Derek spat out blood and clutched his chest. Covered in bandages, half-bald, missing his front teeth, with long, chipped fingernails, he didn’t really look like the rash young man who’d once attended the Tournament of the Great held at the court of the Emperor of Lascan. The young man who’d defeated everyone, even the heirs of the aristocracy, demonstrated his power, and become a new great hero. And he certainly didn’t look like the ferocious warrior who’d singlehandedly slaughtered the orcs of the steppe, which had earned him his nickname.

“Don’t sass me, pup,” Taniged’s voice turned sharp. “I fought against Darnassus back when your grandfather’s forefathers were still cleaning up shit for a living. Even back then, my name thundered across all the seven Empires.”

Derek ignored him. Taniged was a pompous bastard from an aristocratic family. He had no idea what life was like in the small Baronies, what survival on the edge of the Empire was like when the capital didn’t care about its distant territories. What it felt like to live knowing that you’d never attain even a sliver of the power and freedom that the regular citizens from the capital took for granted. Taniged had never been poor, and therefore didn’t appreciate his power. He wasn’t like Derek or… That fucking Darkhan…

“Hey, toy, let’s get out of here,” Taniged got to his feet and the cloud carried him to a ship moored in the sky. “Let’s leave this madman to his lunacy. He stinks.”

Taniged laughed and, with a wave of his hand, created a cloud under the feet of the steel-clad, motionless giant who held a mighty axe with a bone handle. Except for Taniged, Derek, and a few crew members, who were unfazed by the horror at this point, no one knew that this handle had been made from the bones of the toy itself. The bones that had been pulled out of the still living giant… And that wasn’t even the worst of the spells that Derek had cast on his captive, turning him into his silent slave.

“Motherfucker,” Taniged whispered, leaving Derek to mess around with magic symbols on the ground. “If Lascan’s going to win the war this way, I refuse to participate. As long as the dead are fighting, no nobleman will cross the border with Darnassus… There’s no honor or glory in this kind of victory!”

Derek didn’t hear what Taniged the Cloudy had just said. When he finished drawing extremely intricate patterns on the rain-soaked ground, he placed a scarlet leaf in the center of them and began to speak the Words of the Dead, which only he could hear.

The clear, midday sky was gradually blocked out by dark clouds from which unnaturally bright, white lightning struck out. It pierced the ground, digging it up like a plow. Then it began to rain. Smelling like death and rot, the rain landed like the seeds of decay on the dying soil. Then thunder roared and the earth shook with the screams of the dead awakening from its depths.

***

Hadjar struggled to regain consciousness. Instead of finding himself on the threshold of his forefathers’ house, aboard the caravel, or in a hospital, he suddenly realized that he was in a dark room. Judging by its dampness, it was a basement.

He’d been chained to a stone altar with rusty but incredibly strong chains. They were draining the last of his power. He was covered in bruises and burns, and his energy body had been almost completely destroyed.

He saw a lot of tubes, flasks, bottles, alchemical burners, and apparatuses. In the center of the room, near the lectern where a book lay, stood a man in a scarlet cloak with a fur collar. He had thin hands with sharp nails, a receding hairline, and purple eyes. It took Hadjar a moment to recognize him.

“Mentor Markin?” He croaked.

“You’ve finally done it, my disciple,” Markin whispered. “Now we can move on to creating the Hundred Voices Pill and I’ll be able to save our country. First from the Lascanians, then from the Emperor, and finally, from the aristocrats. I’ll bring the people freedom and equality. I’ll fulfill the promise I made to my brothers and sisters.”

Markin placed his hands on the book’s pages and shouted. Symbols crawled out from the pages of the book and onto his skin. He raised his palms and spread them. A stream of black and purple energy formed between them, drawing in screaming substances from dozens of other vials and flasks.

Sensing that something was wrong, Hadjar looked behind Markin. Two purple, inhuman eyes shone in the darkness. Einen stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light of the alchemical fire.

“My friend... help... me…” was all he managed to whisper before he plunged into a world of agony.

Derek’s threat had come true, but not in the way he’d wanted it to.

Chapter 915

M arkin stared at the writhing body on the altar. Despite bleeding and losing a lot of energy from his many scars and wounds that were being torn open, the young cultivator was refusing to succumb to the ancient dark magic.

The Hundred Voices Pill was floating in the air. Kept aloft by only a fraction of Markin’s energy, it unleashed hundreds of tiny, delicate wisps into the physical world. They burrowed under Hadjar’s skin and opened up his old wounds. Markin had had no idea that a Spirit Knight could survive receiving so many injuries. Hadjar was completely covered in them, which meant that the preparation Technique used to create the Hundred Voices Pill, which was designed to weaken a Named one, could actually kill him instead.

“Don’t just stand there, disciple,” Markin muttered, “Give him some blood pills and medicine. We don’t want our final ingredient to go to his forefathers… Or rather, you don’t want that.”

“Of course, Master,” Einen said, bowing to Markin, and went over to the numerous vials and beakers. He bent down and opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Reaching into it, he pulled a carved box out into the dim light of the alchemical fire smoldering beneath several cauldrons. Opening it, he took out several scarlet pills and, approaching Hadjar, forcibly opened his mouth, held his nose shut, and then put several of them on his tongue.

The way Einen navigated this dark basement lab showed that he’d been here many times before. He moved around so freely, like he was in his own home.

Before walking back to stand behind his Master, Einen looked into the eyes of the cultivator lying on the altar. There was no anger there, no sadness, no regret, only emptiness, the absolute sort of emptiness that overtook a person who believed that they’d lost everything that was dear to them, everything that made their life meaningful.

“Stand back, disciple!” Markin snapped. “I don’t want the ceremony to hurt you.”

“Of course, Master,” Einen bowed again.

Markin silently mocked his naive disciple. The mage didn’t want the alchemical ritual to harm his disciple, but only because if Einen somehow touched it or became part of it, the Hundred Voices Pill might end up ruined, and the labor of several dozen centuries that Markin had put into it would be lost. He couldn’t risk his life’s work.

“The more he resists, the less likely he is to survive,” Markin said without turning around. Einen was still standing behind him. “If he continues like this, I won’t be able to fulfill my promise to spare your friend’s life. Talk to him.”

Einen looked from Markin to Hadjar, and then back again.

“I don’t think Hadjar will listen to me.” He said in a low, barely audible whisper.

Markin gritted his teeth, “Fine! I’ll do everything myself, you useless bum.”

Massaging his temples, Markin approached the magic book hovering in the air. The small pill was still floating above its rustling pages, drawing howling streams of energy from the ninety-nine vials around it. A circle had been drawn around the altar upon which Hadjar lay. More and more purple-black threads crawled out of the pill like worms, penetrated his skin, and then went even deeper, right into his soul. They beat on it, gnawed on it, and tore at it with their tiny, greedy mouths. What had once been a solid energy body, comparable in power to even the energy bodies of the strongest aristocrats, now looked like wisps of fading smoke.

Hadjar had stopped roaring in pain a long time ago. He struggled against the rusty chains that were sucking the energy out of him; he twitched in agony, clenching his teeth so hard that blood flowed from his gums. Silently, he fought against this invincible enemy.

“Think about this rationally, Hadjar Darkhan,” Markin leaned over the cultivator whom he didn’t perceive as anything more than the last ingredient. “Why are you doing this? After all, we have the same goal — to save Darnassus.”

Markin straightened up, pulled a stool over, and sat down with a lot of difficulty. Centuries of research into the forbidden magical arts and alchemy had allowed him to grasp the True Kingdom of Magic, but had taken away the physical fortitude that Lords could normally boast of. Everything in this world had a price. Especially power and magic.

“Oh, magic!” Markin continued to think aloud, as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the room. “The thing that the Talesh called ‘Words’, the mages of the Hundred Kingdoms called the ‘forbidden art of the abyss’, the priests of the Land of the Immortals call the ‘dance of reality’, and we in the seven Empires call ‘external energy’. It’s complex, Hadjar, it’s dangerous, it yearns for your soul, but first of all, it pays attention to one’s flesh.”

Markin clenched his fist.

“Once, these hands could easily hold a hammer, my young friend. Oh, by the gods and demons, my hammer was strong… The magic took it away first. I gave up all the mysteries I possessed just to scratch the surface of the true art.” Markin spread his arms out and then placed them on his lap. They were trembling slightly. His will and soul were strong, but his body was failing more and more with each passing day. “But I’ve never regretted it… No, my young friend, I never regretted it.”

Hadjar continued to twitch in the chains, and Markin only plunged deeper into his thoughts.

“My homeland, Hadjar, was destroyed long ago. It was erased in one of those senseless wars started by those in power in pursuit of their own goals, but ordinary people died and suffered for their ambitions. Ordinary people like you, your friend, and me.”

The magic worms that were slithering out of the Hundred Voices Pill turned into snakes. As wide as a man’s wrist, they penetrated deeper and deeper into Hadjar’s very core, who opened his mouth wide, but still made no sounds.

“You’re strong,” Markin patted the cultivator’s clenched fist. “I can respect that. But you couldn’t stop Derek, you couldn’t stop the Emperor, you couldn’t stop the aristocrats. You failed, Hadjar Darkhan. But I don’t blame you. No, on the contrary, I admire you.”

Markin, leaning on his staff, which had many runes, sigils, and hieroglyphs carved into it, rose to his feet. He hobbled back to the lectern.

“Do you know what ruins people, Hadjar? Even the most honest, bright, and just among them?” Markin was staring at the wall, but was clearly picturing something. “Power, my young friend. It’s definitely the greatest seductress and the root of immorality in this world, or any other. Anyone who succumbs to it once will never be the same again.”

Markin ignored Einen’s blank expression. He had learned how to discern the nuances of his disciple’s emotions almost a year ago…

“And I’ll destroy it, Hadjar. I’ll destroy the power of the seven Empires. Every human — every mortal, cultivator, or practitioner… I’ll give them true freedom. Freedom to be themselves. Strong or weak, whatever. If there’s no power, what’s the point of fighting? If there’s no power, there’s no reason to shed blood. People will be free to follow the path of cultivation in search of a better self and a bright tomorrow, and not merely so they can step on those below them.”

Markin placed his hand on the book’s pages.

“It’s time to finish this, Hadjar Darkhan.” Concentrating, the mage released his True Kingdom of Magic and directed it toward the book. “Songs will be written about your martyrdom for centuries, and for thousands of years, these songs will be sung by the free people. Be proud, Hadjar Darkhan, for you’ll soon become a legend.”

Makin smiled. His parents… His siblings… Finally, he’d fulfill his promise to them and no one else would ever have to cry over the ashes of a burned village... or steal stale bread to feed starving children... or please vile old men to buy expensive medicine for a dying mother… No one else in this world would have to go through what Markin had. The mage’s eyes flashed and Hadjar screamed.

Chapter 916

T he red patterns on his arm glowed and came to life. They slid off Hadjar’s body and were absorbed by the magical, dark purple wisps. He screamed as if he were literally being torn apart, as if a part of his soul was being ripped from him. As if someone powerful, hungry, and terrible was tearing off chunks of his flesh and devouring them.

Then, suddenly, everything went quiet. The pain was gone. It left behind a rotting abyss of infinite emptiness, into which Hadjar’s torn, cracked soul was now falling. After being split in half at birth, it had always been on the verge of doing so.

Suddenly, it came across a ‘dam’ — the Sword Spirit’s mark. The artificial Spirit didn’t want to lose its initiate, so it stood in the way of the abyss.

Then the true Name that Hadjar had earned all by himself appeared. The Name that was the personification of his true self. It became the second dam.

Together, they’d kept Hadjar’s soul from disintegrating for many years. But now, after the ritual, the second dam had been stolen. And Hadjar had been trying to break the first dam for many years, so his soul was gradually flowing into the hungry abyss through its many cracks.

“Hmm, what an interesting result.” Markin curiously watched the cultivator’s arm. Until a few moments ago, it had been completely covered in a red pattern, but now it was clear, untanned, as fresh as a newborn’s, unlike the rest of his life-worn body. “Hmm…”

Markin continued to chant the spell. His hands, which appeared to be weak, suddenly turned into two flexible vines. Hundreds of symbols, thousands of Words, and a wide variety of ingredients swirled around the flickering Hundred Voices pill, until it flashed and landed on the shadow cast by the book, looking like a bright, lilac-colored lump.

“Finally!” Markin whispered. “Behold, disciple, the greatest creation of alchemy since the age of the Drunken Monk! For hundreds of thousands of years, nothing like it has appeared in this world! It took over seventeen centuries to make! My whole life’s work is contained within this tiny pill! After swallowing it, I’ll rise above this mortal world and see what can be found beyond the True Kingdom!”

Markin carefully picked up the pill and placed it on his snakelike tongue. Then he swallowed it and collapsed into a chair.

“Oh, yes!” He whispered. “I can feel it! I can feel… What do I feel?”

Markin coughed. Clutching his throat, Darnassus’ strongest mage collapsed to the floor. He began to convulse, twitching in the throes of an agony even worse than Hadjar’s had been.

“No!” He shouted. “It’s mine! I won’t give it up! IT’S MINE!”

However, no matter how much he roared and struggled in agony, he still couldn’t contain the power flowing through his energy body. His Core rapidly shrank, and his aura weakened until he reached the initial stage of the Spirit Knight level.

“What is this? What’s happening to me?”

“It’s a Hundred Thousand Souls Pill, Master,” Einen said, drawing his spear-staff. “I suspect it’s even older than the one you’ve created. Maybe even its predecessor.”

“What did you-”

Einen showed him a purple pill wrapped in a whitish, foggy substance.

“Even great men are sometimes deceived by mortals’ tricks,” Einen said, “Especially sleight of hand.”

Markin remembered that Einen, without being told, had approached his friend and then returned to where he’d been standing before. It had been just a fraction of a second, a brief moment, less than a heartbeat, but Markin hadn’t been able to see Einen’s hands in that instant. He was so used to focusing on even the smallest ripples in the streams of the World River, on the most subtle manipulations of one’s will, that he simply hadn’t considered it necessary to watch his hands.

“Even so,” Markin gathered all his mental strength, “I still command the True King-”

He couldn’t finish his threat. The steely threads of green light that had appeared around him made it impossible for him to move.

“By the demons, back when you said your plan had some odd parts to it, I definitely wasn’t expecting things like this,” Karein’s voice came from the darkness.

“Normally, killing the high-ranking mage of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, Markin the Grey, would be a very serious crime,” Rekka’s voice added. “But I’m glad that I’m participating in this plan. Killing the Emperor? Destroying the aristocracy? You aren’t in your right mind, Master Markin.”

Almost the entire squad came out of the shadows, as if coming in through a door. Only Anise and Annette weren’t there.

“You might be interested to learn, Master,” Einen said, “About how I was able to escape your mind curse and avoid becoming your puppet?”

Behind him stood Dora, who held her hammer that was glowing with bright green light. Markin looked at it and sensed the power of a Divine level Technique in it, one powerful and dominating enough to contain even his True Kingdom. But where had she gotten such a powerful Technique, one that clearly used a living forest Spirit at that?

“It’s actually quite simple.” Einen stretched out his right hand. His skin suddenly flickered, and then a thin scar appeared on its surface. Unlike other oath scars, this one was visible to the naked eye: it looked too deep, as if it had pierced not only his skin and flesh, but even his soul.

Markin’s gaze was full of surprise and defeat.

“An oath of brotherhood, Master Markin. Even I didn’t know they had such a close relationship. In the last ten centuries, the strongest of cultivators have only sworn such an oath four times, so I can’t blame you for overlooking the possibility.” Rekka said.

“I can’t imagine swearing an oath of brotherhood with anyone,” Karein sighed.

“No one would... do that… with you,” Dora whispered. The Technique was clearly difficult to maintain and thus putting a great deal of strain on her.

“You’re right, Master.” Einen raised his spear above Markin’s head. “I am grateful for all the knowledge I’ve stolen from you. But if you thought there was anything in this world that could make me betray my brother, you’re a fool.”

“What a passionate speech!” Karein said, “I didn’t think our baldy was capable of such-”

The rest of Karein’s sentence was drowned out by an unpleasant crunching sound. The spear pierced both Markin’s skull and his soul. The great mage went to his forefathers.

Einen stared at the corpse of the man he should’ve considered his teacher. He regretted the fact that Markin, who had lost his family, hadn’t been able to find his place in this world. He’d seen only one path ahead of him. The path that Einen hoped would lead him back to his parents and siblings. After the war ended, Einen would pray to the Great Turtle that his forefathers would forgive Markin for all his sins and allow him to embrace his family once again.

“I honestly didn’t think...” came a rasp from the altar, “that... this... would work.”

Einen cleaned his spear and stepped over the lifeless body to come to his friend’s... his brother’s side. Unlocking the rusty chains, he grabbed his forearm and squeezed it tightly.

“We don’t have much time left, brother…”

“In Greven’Dor,” Hadjar wheezed, “When you... called me brother… in front of everyone... I thought... we’d get found out… for sure…”

Einen, ignoring Hadjar, put the Hundred Voices Pill in his hand.

“The shell I created will last for three days. After that, it’ll dissipate and... To be honest, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. I wasn’t able to decipher Markin’s notes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hadjar shook his head, “We’ve made it a... long... way. Now is not... the time…”

Einen nodded and took another pill from his pocket.

“This will take you to the Spirit World without any pain. It’s much better than the herb that the orcs fed you.”

“Orcs?” Rekka looked up from the manuscripts scattered across the tables. “So the barbarian is connected to Derek through the orcs! I was right!”

No one paid any attention to her.

“Three days...” Hadjar croaked, popping both pills. “Hold Derek back for... three... days. And I’ll bring... help.”

Hadjar closed his eyes and collapsed on the altar. Einen immediately took out a magical shroud from his spatial ring, which was soaked in a variety of medicines and alchemical potions. He covered Hadjar with it and then froze. Dora went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. Einen pressed his scarred cheek against her shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, putting his arm around her waist, “We’re supposed to fight the army of the dead.”

As Einen was leaving the laboratory, which was located in an unassuming basement in one of the poorest districts of Dahanatan, he activated a magic symbol. Until Hadjar woke up, it would protect him more reliably than any guardian. If he woke up…

Chapter 917

A tall and thin boy, his face covered in freckles, was running through a field of rye. He was running toward the house on the hill, around which the golden stalks of rye swayed in rhythm with the gusts of wind. His father was mowing the grass, his siblings were playing with their dogs, and his mother was sitting on the porch. The boy hugged his mother and pressed his cheek to her stomach. Her warm, gentle fingers ran through his hair.

“Is everything all right, my dear boy?” She whispered in his ear.

“It is now.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Go.” She rubbed her nose against his. “Play with your brothers and sisters.”

The boy wiped away his tears and smiled widely, “With pleasure!”

He started to run, but then turned around and looked at his mother a little apprehensively.

“You won’t disappear, will you?”

“I won’t.” She shook her head. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a tight braid that almost reached the ground. “I’ll never disappear again.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. The children in the yard called out:

“Markin! Big brother! Come play with us!”

“I’m on my way!”

The boy ran…

***

Hadjar was lying on the cold stone, all alone. He was in the dark, musty basement that should’ve become his grave, but instead became a place that hid him from the world.

“Who would’ve thought!” He muttered through his growing drowsiness. There were currently two high-grade alchemy pills in his body. One of them, wrapped in a protective shell, would give him a glimpse of the path that stretched beyond the True Kingdom, and the second would send him to the Spirit World. “Almost ten years ago, I took that cursed pill from the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, and now it has saved my life. Ironic… Progress update!”

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It was as Hadjar had expected: the Name-stripping rite had taken away his Name and greatly weakened the Spirit’s mark. So much so, in fact, that his neural network now had time to deal with it before Hadjar went to his forefathers. Over the course of the last few days, he had realized that his soul would die before his neural network cracked the mark.

“And it all started so well, too…”

Almost four years ago, Markin had ‘accidentally’ stumbled upon Einen and applied a light, almost imperceptible mind spell to him, which had looked slightly strange. Then Markin had offered Einen a chance to become his personal disciple. It was a case of ‘keep your friends close, and incredibly powerful mages who needed something from you even closer.’ Einen had agreed. A month later, it had turned out that Markin had actually needed Hadjar to make his horrifying pill. Or rather, Hadjar’s Name.

By that point, Hadjar and Einen had already sworn an oath of brotherhood atop the cliff of Underworld City in the Sea of Sand. Such an oath was an even rarer event than finding true love. A real friend, a friend to whom a person was bound by the strongest of ties, was extremely rare. What Hadjar and Nero had had was, in fact, spurred on by their blood. They’d been brothers, even though they hadn’t known it, and so their blood had pulled them close to each other.

Einen... was different. He was a man to whom Hadjar had entrusted his soul and the islander had done the same in turn. Their oath had easily overcome Markin’s spell, and from then on, Einen had plunged into a dangerous double life. But the slippery pirate and smuggler had managed to outwit the master mage, had stolen a lot of his magical knowledge, and had even replaced his Hundred Voices Pill with the one that Hadjar had kept with him all these years.

Their plan, which they’d come up with a few years ago, had succeeded. It had worked so well that it was almost frightening to think about.

“Well…” Hadjar croaked.

Alone in a dark cell, with only the alchemical fire to serve as a light source, he remembered the year he’d spent in the dungeon of the Royal Palace of Lidus.

“I’m coming...” Hadjar whispered and sank into a magical slumber.

***

“You know, I expected something more terrifying,” Karein commented while standing atop the fortifications, dressed in white, expensive-looking clothes that were actually Divine level armor.

“If I remember correctly,” Tom was standing next to him, “Your father was planning to give that armor to a concubine.”

“My father talks a lot,” Karein shrugged, “but I assure you, I’d also put it on a concubine so that she can then take it off again for my viewing pleasure. You wouldn’t understand, Tommy boy.”

Tom turned crimson, which matched the energy swirling around him.

“What a terrible curse it must be, Tommy boy, to die a virgin. I feel sorry for you, you know.”

“Shut up, Karein! I’m not going to die today!”

“Oh, I know, Tom, I know,” he nodded. “I just doubt that anyone would ever be with you, regardless of how long you get to live.”

Tom swore and swung his sword, but Dora immediately appeared between the two nobles. Clad in heavy armor and holding her enormous hammer in her hands, she looked like a siege tower despite her small stature.

“If you want to fight someone, just look carefully in front of you. I’m sure you’ll find a worthy opponent somewhere.”

“Alright, sugar... No offense, Einen,” Karein nodded at the islander. He was currently being enveloped by his rainbow ape Call, and was also armed with a fang-spear and a shield that looked like a turtle shell. Einen paid no attention to their banter. “She’s right, Tommy boy, just look at the sheer number of applicants for the position of your beloved.”

“I’ll kill you, Karein.”

“Get in line, young man!” Karein laughed, but his eyes were cold and steady. “By the gods... there are so many of them out there.”

All the squad members, with the exception of Annette, Akena, and Hadjar, were standing at the top of the hill.

“At least the Emperor gave us an army,” Dora said, shivering.

A sea of steel rippled behind them. Banners rose into the sky, horses neighed, and other mounts roared and whistled. In the sky, thousands of warships hovered in battle formation. The Fifth Legion would do battle against the great hero of Lascan.

The blackened leaf from the Tree of Life was dangling from a stone necklace that was around Derek’s neck, and behind him, another army was marching. The marching dead were so numerous that they covered the horizon. It looked like they outnumbered the living soldiers by over a hundred to one. Above them flew ghost ships with cracked hulls, torn sails, and tilted masts. Some of their cannons had been completely destroyed. There were so many of them that they blocked out the sky.

The first few ranks of the dead held various weapons and wore old, battered armor. Behind them, miles back, were dead with pitchforks, axes, scythes, and sickles. Men, women, old people, children… There were so many of them that there was no way to actually count them.

“I can’t believe the Emperor! ‘If the true Lascanian army isn’t attacking, I won’t send my main forces into battle.’ Damn it! The Emperor didn’t even send a great hero to help us! We’re the only elite cultivators here!” Karein grumbled.

“You consider me an elite cultivator, Karein?” Tom chuckled as he lowered the visor of his helmet.

“Last bit of flattery you’ll get from me, Tommy boy.” Karein waved a hand, and a part of his outfit rose to wrap around his face and neck. “Who’ll be the first to defeat a hundred thousand of the dead and become the coolest guy in the capital?”

“You’re crazy, Karein.”

“You’re a bore, Tommy. Not a damned thing I can do about that.” Karein shrugged, then turned to face the Fifth Legion and raised his sword high. “Attack!” He shouted and was the first to charge into battle.

Einen took one last look at the walls of the capital behind him before following the noble.

“Hurry up, brother,” he whispered and charged forward as well.

***

Hadjar opened his eyes. The laboratory’s walls and ceiling had been replaced by tall grass and a clear, blue sky.

“The Spirit World,” he whispered, and then asked the most important question: “How much time do I have left?”

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Chapter 918

T he Head of the Secret Office and a Nameless in his own right, General Dekoy Schuver, entered the Emperor’s office, only glancing at the courtiers, aristocrats, and military officials gathered outside the door who were waiting for an audience. They were sitting on simple wooden benches, their eyes glued to the fleecy carpets imported from the Sea of Sand. No matter how strong they were, no matter what clan or noble family they were from, they still didn’t risk meeting Schuver’s eyes.

Dekoy grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken in a human, elf, or other intelligent being that hadn’t been guilty of some sort of crime. Of course, he’d arrested innocent people before, back when Darnassus had been going through its worst period. Almost three thousand years had passed since then.

Many of the new Heads of the aristocratic families didn’t even remember that dog-eat-dog era. Dekoy had reached these dizzying heights of power by climbing over those who hadn’t been as cunning, cruel, or unscrupulous as him.

For almost twenty-five centuries, not a single innocent person had been imprisoned by the Secret Office. Nevertheless, all the cultivators, without exception, looked away… Each of them could be immediately dragged away by the scruff of their neck to the dungeons and, in less than a week, Schuver would uncover yet another case of financial fraud, corruption, or even an outright conspiracy. For twenty-five centuries, he hadn’t imprisoned any innocent people... because if you looked closely enough, everyone who was currently sitting in the Emperor’s waiting room had at least a pair of skeletons in their insanely rich and lavish closet.

Let them be afraid, He thought with disdain. The war’s right outside the capital’s walls, and they’re still plotting and scheming...

As Dekoy stepped into the office, he heard the sighs of relief that swept through the reception room. Sinful bastards…

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Dekoy bowed.

Emperor Morgan’s office wasn’t big. It could’ve easily been mistaken for the office of a secretary or an assistant. It was less than two hundred square feet and littered with stacks of papers that reached all the way up to the nine-foot-high ceiling. Some of them even looked like columns that were supporting the ceiling. Even the floor, which was decorated with a green carpet, was now completely covered in piles of papers, scrolls, various reports… The cabinets that lined the walls couldn’t contain them all, and so Morgan had come up with a unique system for sorting them.

For as long as Dekoy could remember, the Emperor had never delegated much to a secretary or assistant. He dealt with all the important documents, reports, bills, and so on by himself, trusting others with only as much work as his paranoia would allow him to.

It makes sense, Schuver thought as he carefully skirted the piles of papers. Even the Demon Prince would be confused by his elaborate schemes.

A massive wooden table stood by the only window in the rather dark room. A few of the most important papers were resting on it.

The Emperor, who was dressed in simple clothes, with his hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and not wearing any jewelry, was currently reading one of them. His Divine level blade was propped up against the back of a comfortable, but minimalistic chair.

“What do you want, Schuver, and what makes you think that you can get in without waiting in line?” The Emperor asked without taking his eyes off the report.

Dekoy looked through the window behind the Emperor. Only seven hundred feet away from the capital, the two armies were currently facing each other. One of them was the Fifth of the Thirteen Legions of the Empire. The other was an ocean of the dead. There were so many of them that even from here, the dead covered the horizon with their overwhelming numbers.

The magic that had raised them wasn’t just affecting them, but also their surroundings: the sky was full of green clouds from which white lightning would sometimes shoot out.

He also saw hastily-constructed fortifications, which consisted of stone walls and towers that had cannons mounted on them. Dekoy doubted that they’d last for more than five, maybe seven volleys at most. Either the cannons would explode, or the structures would fall apart and collapse right onto the heads of the legionaries.

“I already told you…” The Emperor casually opened one of the drawers, took out a piece of paper, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and began to write something down in his crooked, ugly handwriting. If Morgan didn’t have an experienced secretary, all of his inner circle would’ve been forced to hire cryptographers to translate their ruler’s atrocious handwriting, “that I won’t send anything more than what’s already been given to fight against a single Lascanian great hero.”

“With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty, that is an insane stance to take. Look at how many of them there are!”

With a bow, Schuver placed a sheet of parchment on the table, and on it was written a single number. It was so huge that you’d probably be forced to doubt the sanity of the person who’d written it. Dekoy had also had his doubts about the number until three separate scouting parties had reported that same figure, and then he’d realized that it was time to go to the Emperor with this.

“I already know how many there are.” Without looking at it, Morgan sent the sheet of paper over to one of the far stacks with his will.

Dekoy followed it with his gaze and concluded that by the end of the war, the office will have had at least two more piles added to it.

“Who sent you, Dekoy?” The Emperor finished writing the message, placed it on a special artifact, and closed his eyes for a moment. The iron tray covered in magic symbols suddenly lit up, and when it went out, the message was gone. This was Space Magic. Few artificers were able to apply it to their products, and only the most powerful of cultivators could muster enough energy to send an object to distant locations. That was why Morgan had made it so messages were delivered to him personally, and why he delivered his with the help of the artifact.

“The Tarez? The Dinos? Or maybe those big-eared remnants of the past?” Morgan leaned back in his chair. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead. Dekoy couldn’t imagine how much energy the Emperor needed in order to send messages through Space Magic hundreds of times a day, delivering them to even the most remote corners of Darnassus.

“The Tarez,” Schuver admitted, “The senior heir of that bastard Salm is out there right now.”

“That bastard Salm...” Morgan tapped his fingers on the tabletop and thought of something. “How did he persuade you to come to me with such a request?”

“Old debts,” Schuver shrugged. “And now I don’t have any…”

“So, the Tarez will be kept busy by your inspections in the near future,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “Tarez clearly knew what was coming when he demanded that you repay your debt in this way. He’s killing two birds with one stone: he’s distracting you and reminding me of his son at the same time.”

Dekoy had known all of this, but he couldn’t avoid repaying his debt. Lifting his right hand, he watched with relief as one of the many thin scars that only he could see disappeared. Another blood oath had been fulfilled.

“The war, Dekoy, is right at our doorstep. However, three of the seven aristocratic clans, instead of serving as my supporters, are muddying the waters,” Morgan intertwined his fingers and looked into Dekoy’s eyes. “Shall we reduce the number of wildcards while martial law is still in effect?”

Dekoy looked through the window.

“With all due respect, my Emperor-”

“I know, I know…” Morgan said. “You can’t see past your own nose again, my precious friend. Fortunately, out of all the people, you have the longest nose, which is why you’re the Head of the Secret Office…”

Schuver bowed. His feelings weren’t hurt. Compared to a master of schemes like Morgan the Fearless, he felt like a child planning something for the first time…

“We lost one of our strongest great heroes, Dekoy. And Lascan acquired a boy who owns the True Kingdom of the Twin Blades…”

“But-”

“But the army that stands behind that young bastard consists only of the dead. I don’t see a single living Lascanian warrior out there. This means that the hag just wants to exchange her rotten pawn for a crucial piece. I’m not planning to lose more than I can afford just to win this exchange.”

“And what if one of those children loses their lives out there? They’re the elite! In the future, they might even become great heroes!”

Morgan shrugged, “Salm isn’t the only one who can kill several birds with one stone. Now leave, Dekoy. I think you have a lot to do now.”

“The Tarez…” Dekoy bowed, turned, and left the office.

Emperor Morgan sat in silence for a moment, then turned to one of the piles of paper.

“Rector…”

The paper vibrated, moved, and then turned into autumn leaves. In its place appeared an old man who was leaning on a simple cane.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” he bowed. “You called for me?”

“I did,” Morgan said. “I’d like to talk about Master Markin and his experiments.”

The rector glanced at the parchment on the Emperor’s desk. The seal of the guard corps stung his eyes…

Chapter 919

“R iver Serpent!” The fang-spear in the rainbow ape’s paw flashed with a soft, green light.

The roar of mountain streams, which flowed between the ranks of the dead, could be heard. In each of the streams, vicious serpents were clearly visible, and they all looked like ghostly copies of Einen’s spear-staff. They impaled hundreds, no, thousands of the dead. They flowed for many hundreds of feet, leaving wide, deep furrows behind, into which mucus and pus flowed instead of blood.

The dead were no stronger than mortals, devoid of all energy and mysteries. The half-rusted artifacts they wore couldn’t protect them from the elite Techniques of the Darnassian cultivators. With just one thrust and one Technique, Einen had destroyed tens of thousands of the dead. He’d turned their bones to dust, and their armor and weapons to bits of ruined metal. But the opening in their ranks was also immediately filled by the dead who followed after them.

“Forest Hammer!”

Dora ran out from behind the rainbow ape and released her Spirit. The ‘Forest’ hieroglyph flashed behind her. Spreading out in a greenish halo, it turned the dead within a radius of a thousand paces into dry, creeping vines. They entangled those who came in contact with them and, after ensnaring them, crushed their bones and deformed their armor.

When the elf struck the ground with her hammer, it shook. This sent thousands of enemies into the air as the earth cracked and exploded beneath them, turning into a wave of immense power. They were immediately shot by arrows fired by the Legionnaires stationed behind the fortifications.

They tore apart the dead, digging into their bodies. The arrows that didn’t have any energy or Techniques only pierced them, unable to destroy them. The dead were limping and dragging their feet behind them, some with just one arm or even half of their body missing, but they continued to advance. As long as they weren’t completely destroyed, as long as they weren’t ground to dust, even the most terrible injuries couldn’t prevent them from advancing.

After the first wave of earth created by Dora’s hammer passed through the dead’s ranks, trees started growing from the cracks that had devoured the dead who had fallen into them. Imbued with an incredible amount of energy, they crushed the dead to dust. If Einen had destroyed tens of thousands with his single Technique, Dora had already pulverized hundreds of thousands with hers.

With a single blow of her hammer, the elf had created a small forest of magic trees whose crowns resembled hammers that was almost ten miles in diameter and thirty feet deep. But Dora didn’t stop there. Pushing off from the ground so hard she left a crater behind her, she soared to the first row of trees and brought her hammer down on them.

“Fall of the Forest!” She shouted.

The attack that struck the first row of trees immediately created a chain reaction. All of the titanic trees trembled, and then seemed to explode from within, turning into an eruption of splinters and leaves. She swung her hammer again and a multiton ocean of sharp splinters and leaves followed the movements of her weapon. They gathered in the sky and then formed a giant hammer.

“SHIELDS UP!” Einen roared.

He was the only one present who knew what Dora’s best destructive Technique was capable of. Unlike Einen’s, almost all of her Techniques were aimed at defeating as many opponents as possible. It was as if Dora had been preparing for war from birth by choosing to only study Techniques that could destroy an entire army at once.

“AAAAHHH!” The elf cried out. Blood trickled from her eyes and nose. The strain that Dora endured as the hammer loomed over her, visible even from the capital, was simply incredible.

Einen, whispering a spell, conjured a turtle shell shield in front of him. By channeling half of his energy into it, he was able to create a ghostly yet dense carapace that covered an area of several miles. The rest of the hundred-mile frontline was protected by the Legion’s shield wall. Legionnaires in heavy armor came forward and dug their shields into the ground. By overlapping them and channeling power into them, they erected a wall of energy

“HOLD THE WALL!” The shouts of the commanders, amplified by magic and energy, echoed across the field.

Dora struggled to raise her hammer, a movement that was echoed by the giant copy above her. Cracking could be heard. At first, it seemed like her armor had cracked, then her bones, but finally, it became clear that the ground beneath her had actually broken instead.

The ground Dora was standing on had been crushed, forming an impressive crater, from which cracks spread out. With a mighty roar and with blood oozing through the joints of her armor, Dora brought her hammer down on the army of the dead. An explosion shook the world. The huge hammer struck the dead. Even before the gigantic hammer touched them, its pressure alone was enough to turn nearly forty thousand of the dead into nothing more than dust.

When the hammer did finally hit the already compacted and empty ground, cracks the width of several carts instantly spread out for many miles. The dead plummeted into them. The earth joyfully accepted those who’d been taken from it against its will back into its embrace.

The shockwave that reached the sky and smashed dozens of ghost ships to pieces spread for fifty miles into the army of the dead. The echo reached the shields of the living army. Einen and the others shouted as they braced themselves against the remnants of the shockwave with their shields. After all, it had obliterated their enemies like they were straw dolls wearing paper.

However, even that wasn’t the main part of the Technique.

The titanic hammer made from compressed woodchips exploded in a cloud of wood that covered an enormous area. Everything inside that cloud was simply erased.

When everything was finally still again, the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief. Instead of a sea of the dead, they saw their homeland, even if it was damaged and covered in bone dust, torn armor, and cracks.

“Dora!” Einen, dismissing his shield, ran toward her. He caught her before she fell to the ground. She was clearly weakened, and he had to push several pills into her mouth. The color came back to her pale cheeks and the blood that had been flowing from her eyes and lips seemed to get reabsorbed by her body. She opened her eyes and looked at her beloved for a second before thankfully nodding at him and getting back to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Einen asked, still inside his rainbow ape Call.

“I am.”

“Tommy boy, I think that our little competition…” Karein said as he brushed the slime and rot from his blade, “was won by a third party.”

“I think-”

“I think,” Rekka interrupted them, “that the army is still standing here for a reason and that you’ll definitely have an opportunity to measure your… forces.”

She pointed at the horizon. Way off in the distance, another ocean of the dead was marching inexorably toward them.

Dora silently lowered the visor of her helmet and raised her hammer.

“Cannons!” Karein raised a fist. “FIRE!”

Chapter 920

“G iant! Giant! You’ve come to visit us again!”

Hadjar looked down. He’d woken up in a meadow. The sky was covered with clouds that cast strange shadows which resembled animals and birds. The grass was low and level, as if someone had carefully mowed it. There were a lot of flowers growing here. Music, light and subtle, filled the air. Children’s voices echoed like tiny bells. The wind, which seemed to be blowing from all directions, ruffled Hadjar’s hair and his simple, loose clothes. A gray cloak that had appeared from somewhere behind Hadjar merged with the shadows cast by the clouds.

A bud opened up close to his feet and a small girl with a round face, half of which was taken up by pitch-black, almond-shaped eyes, appeared on the flower. She had two pairs of butterfly wings.

“Beautiful flower!” Hadjar squatted down and held out a finger toward the bud. “Nice to meet you again.”

“Hi, giant!” The tiny girl wearing a dress that matched the bud she was sitting on hugged Hadjar’s finger. It felt like the light caress of a delicate petal. “You’ve been gone for so long that I thought you’d gotten lost in the mortal world! And it’s been so boring without you!”

“Boring...” echoed the chorus of laughing children’s voices. “Very boring…”

“They constantly trample us, tear us apart, and break us.” She started pouting and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Mortals are bad... Mortals are bad…”

The flowers began to close their buds and sink back into the ground, disappearing beneath the cover of the rapidly growing grass.

“Wait,” Hadjar, using all his acting skills, put on the saddest and most lost expression he could manage. “I need your help again, beautiful flower.”

The petals, which had almost closed, trembled and opened slightly. Her face appeared from inside. Her black eyes glinted in the sun.

“Am I really as beautiful as you say?”

Hadjar nodded, “I’ve walked many miles across dusty roads, oh beautiful flower, but I’ve never seen a flower more beautiful than you.”

She frowned.

“You’re lying,” She suddenly laughed. “You’ve already seen the one you think is the most beautiful! You’re lying, North Wind.”

“You’re lying...” the other voices echoed, laughing. “You’re lying... You’re lying…”

“I have? When?”

“But your words are so very sweet,” the girl interrupted Hadjar, “Sweeter than the honey that bees make from our nectar. So, I’ll help you again, North Wind. But know that when I help you a third time, I’ll ask for payment.”

These simple words suddenly embedded themselves in the remnants of Hadjar’s soul. It was a sensation akin to a blood oath, and the only difference was that he hadn’t sworn it personally. In the Spirit World, as Steppe Fang had warned him, one had to pay close attention to their every word and deed, never take anyone’s gifts until they were told three times that it was a gift with no strings attached, or ask for a favor until they were sure that they’d be able to pay for it.

“Ask your question, giant,” the creature continued to laugh. “Just remember that if-”

“If the question is too big, it will crush you,” He finished for her.

“That’s right,” the girl pouted, “You big ones are always hurting us. You step on us, ask us big questions, pick us to use as gifts. Remember, you can’t hold the most important gift!”

Hadjar had been staring into her dark eyes as they’d talked. They were pulling him in. They were two bottomless wells that promised to give him warmth and comfort, give him a caring, gentle caress... Hadjar shuddered.

He stood in the center of a sea of flowers. The creatures that sat in each of them weren’t harmless. They had large mouths full of sharp fangs that could devour an entire apple, even though the creatures themselves were the size of a finger.

Hadjar stood up abruptly, but he was smart enough not to move an inch from where he stood. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if he touched one of the flowers.

“The giant is sweating!” She laughed “The giant is afraid!”

The creatures in the flowers turned back into their previous harmless forms, looking like beautiful, tiny beings once again.

“You know a little more than you did before, giant.” Holding her stomach and flapping her wings, she rolled with laughter across her bud. When she stopped laughing and straightened back up, she looked into Hadjar’s eyes again and said with a chuckle, “Ask your question.”

“Can you help me find someone who can tell me where to find what I’m looking for?”

She frowned for a bit and then laughed, “You’ve learned how to ask light questions, giant. That’s good! Very good!” Tapping her lips with her finger, she flapped her wings and circled her bud. “Tell me, giant, is the thing you’re looking for big or small?”

“As big as I am.”

“So, it’s big... and is it important or not?”

Hadjar thought about it. The question was clearly a trick, like everything else in the Spirit World.

“As important to me as I am.”

She laughed again. Her laugh was echoed by the other creatures.

“Your brain is bursting with thoughts, giant!”

“Brain…” The other creatures swirled around them. “Brain…”

“I’ll aid you a second time, giant. Once more, and I’ll ask for payment.” She flew up to Hadjar’s face and landed on the tip of his nose. “You’re looking for something big and important, so an old woman will help you. Go to the old woman, who is helpful to some, but deadly to others. Only the old woman can help you. Be polite to her, but don’t forget about the laws of our land.”

“Old woman?” Hadjar asked. “What old woman?”

The flowers hurriedly disappeared into the grass that had started to grow, first reaching his knees, and then tickling his stomach.

“What old woman?” He shouted, but didn’t get an answer.

Hadjar started to brush off the growing grass, but his Sword Spirit mysteries and energy had left him. He was a mere mortal fighting against the moving grass that cut him as the childish laughter of the creatures filled the air.

“I’ll pick a flower,” Hadjar suddenly heard, still seeing nothing but the grass. “I’ll give it to my granddaughter as a gift, I’ll weave it in her hair, and I’ll whisper a word. My granddaughter will go to the forest…”

“Forgive us, old woman!”

And then all was still. Hadjar, now wearing torn clothes and covered in stinging, deep scratches, stood at the edge of an evergreen forest.

Chapter 921

H e was standing in front of a simple, well-maintained hut. It was obvious that somebody lived in it all year round. An old dog was sitting on the porch. Wagging its tail, it lazily shooed away flies. A round barrel filled with rainwater rested under the sloped roof. A ladle hung from it, swaying in the wind. On the fence sat a fat, fluffy, black cat. With its yellow eyes, it watched the dog’s tail and stalked it like prey.

The fence was slightly askew, the porch hadn’t been repaired or painted for a long time, and a couple of the steps were so rotten that you could potentially fall through them and break your ankle.

He walked along a worn path through a rye field (he couldn’t explain where the meadow had gone) and soon found himself near the gate. Like everything else, it had once delighted visitors with its carved decorations, but now it couldn’t even be closed. The latch and the gate brace lay on the fence.

Someone else might’ve gone inside without asking, but not Hadjar. There weren’t that many laws in the world that he followed, but one of them was the law of hospitality. A person’s home was their castle. Entering it uninvited was like a declaration of war.

He picked up a fallen bell from the ground and rang it. After the first ring, the dog stopped wagging its tail and got up. It growled, making the startled flies scatter. After the second ring, the cat, also getting up, hissed and lifted its tail into the air.

After the third ring, the old, unoiled door hinges of the hut squeaked and a heavily-built old woman came out. She was short and had once been very beautiful. She still had nice features, along with a tight, thick braid of gray hair that hung over her shoulder and went down to her knees. Her dark, almost black eyes shone with warmth and severity, coupled with the pride that every woman who understood life had. She knew her own worth, had experienced insults, and had become so wise that only someone with a strong willpower and core could find some common ground with her. She was wiping her hands on an apron that covered her simple, loose dress.

“The flowers tricked you, traveler.” The old woman smiled. Despite her age, her teeth were snow white. “Come in, don’t just stand behind the gate.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Hadjar began. “If I’ve come at a bad time, I can come back later. I’m in no hurry.”

The old woman’s smile grew wider, “You’re lying. I can see that you don’t have much time. Come in. I’ll finish my business later. Come in, don’t just stand there like a log.”

Hadjar nodded gratefully and placed the bell back where it had been previously, then put his hand on the gate. He pushed it, but it didn’t budge an inch, despite looking flimsy and light.

“Come in,” The old woman’s smile turned from good-natured to creepy. “Don’t keep me waiting, traveler.”

“Okay,” Hadjar nodded.

He no longer had any doubt that this wasn’t just a simple hut and an ordinary old woman, and so he pushed the gate with all he had. The hinges creaked and the gate moved forward. Breathing heavily as his face grew red from the effort, he pushed it forward with all his might. The dog growled and the cat hissed. Hadjar could feel his tendons twitching, his muscles almost tearing, and his bones creaking from the strain. Finally, the gate opened, and he was able to come into the yard.

“You’re strong, traveler,” the old woman said, clapping her hands. “I like strong people. Thank you for plowing my field. Now go and wash your face with rainwater, drink enough to sate your thirst, and then go inside. I may like strong people, but I don’t like sweaty people.”

“Your field?” Hadjar asked, breathing heavily.

Crouching, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and chest with the hem of his cloak, and as he put his hands on his knees, he turned to look at the rye field. A moment ago, when he’d first approached the hut, the field had been full of ripe, golden stalks just waiting for someone to come and collect them so that they could be turned into flour. And now a freshly plowed field stretched out behind him.

“How is this possible?”

He felt his hands aching. He lifted them and saw calluses. A simple plough appeared nearby, the kind which poor peasants who were unable to afford a horse or a mule plowed their land with.

The gate that closed behind him rang the bell and now looked new, tidy, elegant, and once more decorated with elaborate, pristine carvings. A strong, reliable latch was mounted on it.

“In the mortal world, we look with our eyes and listen with our ears, North Wind,” Steppe Fang’s voice echoed in his head. “But in the Spirit World, where the forefathers are waiting for us, we have neither eyes nor ears, only our heart and soul. Look with your soul, and listen with your heart, North Wind.”

“Look with your soul…” Hadjar grumbled. “That’s easy enough to say…”

Ignoring the cat and dog, he went over to the water barrel. Just a moment ago, he’d seen that it had been filled with fresh rainwater. Now it looked like a mass of musty, muddy, smelly muck covered in pondweed.

“Do you not like my water, traveler?” The old woman poked her head out of the hut. She held out a jug full of the purest spring water. “Take this and wash yourself with it instead, if you don’t like it.”

Almost fainting from the stench that wafted from the barrel, Hadjar clenched his teeth.

“No, thank you.” He shook his head. “A host always offers their best to their guest, and a guest should never offend their host.”

He took the ladle from its hook, scooped up the muck, closed his eyes, and poured it over his head. Expecting the worst, he was surprised to find his wounds tighten under the cool and pure water. Opening his eyes, Hadjar saw the same clean barrel from before.

“Take off your clothes, traveler,” the old woman said, approaching Hadjar. In her hands, instead of a jug, there was now a small basket. “You plowed my field, so I’ll wash your clothes to thank you. They’re dusty and old. You’ve walked many roads in them, but still kept them with you. I don’t want them to end up falling apart in my water.”

Hadjar didn’t argue with her. Guided by the same laws of hospitality, he undressed without any hesitation and, folding his clothes, put them in the basket. The old woman gave him a sharp look, reminiscent of a doctor examining a patient.

“You’re a mess, traveler... Get in, cool off, get some rest, and then come into my house. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Thank you,” Hadjar bowed, turned around, and climbed into the barrel.

As soon as he sank into the water, he instantly closed his eyes as bliss spread throughout his body. The wounds inflicted on him by the sharp grass immediately healed. And then other, much deeper and more terrible wounds, did so as well. The scars on his body and the fragment of his soul smoothed out, and the pain and the itching subsided.

The longer Hadjar stayed in the barrel, the colder the water became, until his teeth started chattering and he jumped out. He landed in snow that was shin deep.

Behind him, the ice came together. The water in the barrel froze all the way down to the bottom and turned into a huge block of ice.

“Get dressed, traveler,” a voice came from the hut. “Or you’ll catch a cold.”

His teeth chattering, Hadjar pulled his clothes off the line, quickly put them on, and jumped over the dilapidated steps to get to the porch. He was about to enter through the open door when he came to his senses and knocked on the door frame first.

“Come in, traveler,” the old woman repeated. “Come in voluntarily and of your own free will.”

These words, like the ones uttered by the flower, were now deeply embedded in his soul. Recalling his mother’s fairy tales, he replied, “I hope to receive your hospitality, my generous hostess,” and then went inside.

Chapter 922

“B y the gods and demons!” A boatswain shouted. “Move, you blasted children! If anyone hesitates, I’ll throw them overboard with a rock tied to their feet!”

Ahead, pale lightning arced across the sky behind the ghost ships, which the cabin boy had only heard about in the stories of drunken sailors and officers.

“Cabin boy!” A voice thundered in his ear. “Why are you standing there with your thumb up your ass? Straighten up! Where’s your safety line, you idiot? Do you want to join the undead?”

The cabin boy immediately straightened up and turned around. The boatswain was standing right beside him. He was six and a half feet tall, scarred, and missing his right eye. The sailors liked to jokingly claim that he was a textbook captain.

Why had he found himself on this ship and in the Fifth Legion as a whole? A month before completing the course to become a fighter, the young man had been thrown into this battle against the army of the dead, and was now serving on the flagship ‘Belle Neia’.

“Yes, sir!” The cabin boy snapped to attention and saluted.

“You aren’t on land anymore, boy!” The boatswain raised his fist.

During battle, there was one rule everyone had to follow — never harm their own people. They could harm the enemy, of course. It was even encouraged: for each dead enemy, Glory points were added to a fleet token that everyone wore along with their Legion insignia. But no one was allowed to batter their comrades. Even boatswains, who generally liked to make a point by using slaps and punches.

“Are you scared, boy?” The boatswain suddenly calmed down.

“I am, venerable Blim,” the cabin boy nodded.

He’d remembered that, in the navy, regardless of rank, it was customary to address everyone formally by using their first name and honorific, nothing else.

“It’s okay.” Blim checked the two long daggers fastened to his belt. It was strange to see a warrior of his size fighting with daggers. “Did you pass the full course of alchemy? What level are you?”

“An initial-stage Heaven Soldier,” he reported.

“A Heaven Soldier... One fed with alchemy and artifacts...” Blim spat. “Keep your nose to the wind, cabin boy, and maybe you’ll live to-”

He was cut off. Directly beneath their vessel, a whirlwind of unbridled power exploded.

“It’s the Marnil!” The cabin boy shouted. “It’s Dora Marnil! The Princess of the elves!”

“Idiot!” Blim shouted, grabbing the cabin boy before he almost fell over the side. “Put on a safety line, you fool! You’ll join the dead if you don’t!”

Without waiting for the boy to process what he wanted from him, Blim grabbed a rope tied to the rack and tied it around the boy. By the gods and demons, he tied one of the best knots he’d ever made.

When he looked around and realized that his crew didn’t need him at the moment, he leaned over the side.

“Have the gates of the abyss opened up?”

What he saw was amazing. Hordes of the dead were attacking the troops of the Fifth Legion. But so far, none of the dead had reached their shields and spears.

Despite being spread out over a hundred miles, they were being held back by only a few cultivators from the capital — five disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School and a short woman wearing the guard corps armor.

Dora Marnil, who everyone had recognized thanks to her characteristic clan armor, rushed forward. Blim had just caught the moment when she’d brought the giant energy hammer, which had almost reached the keel of the ‘Belle Neia’, down on the ocean of the dead.

“Hold on!” He put his arm around the boy and gripped the handrail with both hands. He did this just in time, as a moment later, the ship was rocked by the energy and shockwaves that struck its hull.

Blim looked down. At first, he even rejoiced when he saw how few of the dead were left after Dora’s attack. But two heartbeats later, he realized that the defeated dead were being replaced by hundreds of times more of them…

“By the gods and demons,” he breathed.

“Can they handle this?” The cabin boy whispered. “The disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School... they’re the most powerful disciples in the Empire, aren’t they? Can they handle this fight?”

“They can,” Blim lied.

“And the Emperor will send reinforcements soon,” the cabin boy nodded. “He’s probably preparing a trap. The Second and Seventh Legions will strike from the right and left flanks, and we’ll take the dead in a pincer maneuver. We’ll blow them all to dust, and then the three Legions will hit the Lascanian bastards.”

“Of course,” Blim lied a second time, much quieter now.

“We will all gain immortal glory, venerable Blim!” The boy’s eyes flashed with the fires of war. “Songs will be sung about us and-”

“Prepare to board!” The ship’s captain ordered.

Before the first salvo struck, the ‘Belle Neia” hit the side of a green ghost ship. The living began to fight the dead.

“Stay close, cabin boy!” Blim drew his daggers. They glowed with a bright, scarlet light that elongated the blades to almost twice their original length. Kicking a grappling hook into the abyss, he watched the dead men follow it, and then he cut into the ranks of those who’d already jumped aboard.

He threw the skeleton of a sailor over his shoulder, and cut the throat of another who was standing behind him. Instead of blood and the resistance of flesh, he felt only emptiness. With the very tip of his blade, he managed to strike the skeleton’s spine.

“Damn it!”

The dead man brought his battleaxe down on Blim’s leg with a slow but rather abrupt movement. He screamed in pain as the rusty blade slid through the iron plates of his greaves and cut off some of the flesh of his ankle.

Shifting one of his daggers into a reverse grip, the burly sailor brought his fist down on the dead man’s skull with all his power and energy. The skeleton turned to dust. However, there were hundreds of others right behind it. Sailors, soldiers, officers… Once the proud crew of a skyship, they were now turning their blades against their brethren.

Curse this magic… Fucking war…

“Don’t be afraid, cabin boy! We’ll break through!”

Blim expected to hear a shout in return, but… Turning, he saw the boy rising up from the deck, covered in blood. A cutlass was stuck in his chest. The glassy-eyed boy pulled it out of his chest slowly. His blood didn’t arc through the air, but flowed out in a steady stream.

“Cabin boy…” Blim whispered. Reaching out, he placed his hand on the dead youth’s face, then clenched his fist. Shaking off the grime from his daggers and gripping them tightly, he shouted, “FOR DARNASSUS!” and slammed into the enemy’s ranks.

Chapter 923

“W hat are you looking for around here, traveler?” The old woman put a plate and cup down in front of Hadjar.

They were sitting in a small kitchen. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, warming the simple iron plate that served as a stove. Round windows, covered with flower-embroidered curtains, let in enough light to keep the eyes from straining too much, but Hadjar still had to squint a little. Despite the fact that it had been winter outside by the time Hadjar had entered the house, it was warm inside.

Putting on mittens, she took the kettle off the stove and poured a fragrant drink into the cups. Placing them next to some cookies and gingerbread arranged in beautiful bowls, she sat down across from Hadjar and put her elbows on the table, resting her cheeks in her hands.

“Thank you.” Hadjar blew on the tea and sipped it. It was delicious, pleasant, but not really unusual.

“Help yourself.” The old woman pushed the gingerbread toward him.

Hadjar reached for it, but didn’t take any just yet. When he looked up, he didn’t dare meet the old woman’s eyes. The Spirit World wasn’t like the mortal world, and he had to remember that. The Spirit World had its own laws and its own way of doing things, which Hadjar didn’t fully understand.

“I offer them to you from the bottom of my heart, traveler,” she added. “Help yourself.”

Only then did Hadjar choose the smallest piece of gingerbread and try to take a bite. His teeth almost broke on a stone. Just a moment ago, he’d put some gingerbread in his mouth, but now he was holding a stone.

“Isn’t it delicious, traveler?” She asked, smiling. “Or would you like a cookie instead?”

She pushed the bowl of cookies toward him, but for a split second, it seemed to him like the bowl contained shards of old bones instead of cookies.

“It really is delicious.” With a sigh, Hadjar tried to bite into the stone again. This time, it really was gingerbread with blackberry jam. It was delicious, but also without anything too unique about it.

“Well, eat up then, and I’ll have a cup of tea with you,” She picked up her cup, blew gently on it, and took a few sips. Then she put it back on its saucer. “Tell me your story, traveler. What do you need?”

Hadjar, ready for anything and armed with Steppe Fang’s advice, still barely managed to stop himself from sharing too much. There was something about this place that weakened his vigilance and loosened his tongue. If Hadjar didn’t answer her, it would look like he was ignoring his host’s question. It wasn’t the gravest of offenses, but still a very clear snub.

“I’m looking for...” Hadjar bit into the gingerbread just in time, and this gave him a few seconds to think. “I’m looking for an old man, granny. My story is so long that I don’t know where the beginning is, or where the end is.”

“You don’t know...” She drawled. She toyed with her thick braid, which suddenly no longer looked gray, but snow white. “Well, when you do find out, will you tell me?”

“What if I don’t?”

“You’ll find out, traveler, you’ll find out for sure... Let’s say this: when the time comes, you’ll tell me stories until nightfall, when the sun shines on the patroness of mothers, and a flower with black petals and a blue bud blooms?”

These words sought Hadjar’s soul. However, this time they paused on the threshold, as if asking permission to enter according to the laws of hospitality. Hadjar began to suspect that these laws were much older and far more significant than the mortal world gave them credit for.

“Is that the price of your answer?”

“This is the price of our conversation, traveler. If you don’t accept it, we have nothing else to talk about. For the answer itself, I’ll demand as much as the question is worth.”

Hadjar thought about it for a few seconds. He drank the tea and ate the gingerbread. No one was rushing him, but he still felt time slipping through his fingers.

“I agree,” He finally nodded, and felt the words sink into his soul. Less than an hour had passed since he’d come to the Spirit World, and he had already made three commitments. “When will that time come?”

“Whenever you want it to,” She shrugged. “Or when you realize it has come. Now, tell me about this old man you’re looking for.”

Hadjar considered her request. How could he describe someone he’d only seen for a split second? He hadn’t even figured out who he really was yet…

“He played a string instrument, and was menacing but gentle. He could walk over mountains, but he didn’t look much taller than me. His hair was white, like the peaks of mountains in winter. He was belligerent, but soft and calm.”

She nodded as she listened, and when Hadjar finished speaking, she immediately answered him:

“I can help you with this old man. I just don’t know if you’re looking for him for a good or a bad reason. If you’re looking for him and you want to find him, I’ll tell you how to do it, but…”

“But what?”

“Have you seen my hut?”

“I have,” Hadjar nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

“Once, it was even more beautiful,” she sighed a little sadly. “But now my fence is askew, my porch is falling apart, and the roof is leaking. Help me, traveler. You’re so strong, after all.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” He agreed.

Her dark eyes flashed.

“Did you hear me, traveler?” She said in a different tone, one that wasn’t as soft and warm as before, “This is just a request, not the cost of my answer.”

“I did,” Hadjar nodded. Putting down his cup, he got up and went into the room, looking around. “Where are the tools?”

Standing there for a while, he waited for the old woman to come out of the kitchen. She held a box with hammers, nails of various lengths and thicknesses, a saw, and an axe.

“Take it.” She handed the box to him. He took it and almost bent under its weight. “I have to ask, traveler, why did you agree to help me?”

“You healed me,” Hadjar explained, “and even if you hadn’t, my parents taught me to respond to good with a hundredfold of good, and to evil with a tenfold of evil.”

She smiled, “The saying doesn’t really go like that, traveler.”

“Hmm?”

“They used to say that you should respond to evil with a hundredfold of evil, and to good with a tenfold of good…” She walked over to Hadjar and ran her wrinkled fingers down his cheek. “You had good parents. Don’t grieve for them more than you ought to, traveler. They’re fine now. They’re resting and waiting for you, but they don’t want you to join them anytime soon. Just like all those who have left us, they wait and they pray that we don’t come. This is their trial and ours.”

Hadjar suddenly realized that tears were flowing down his cheeks. Along with the tears, the remnants of the pain left behind by his parents’ death went away as well.

“Thank you,” he bowed. “I’ll get to work.”

“Go ahead.”

Chapter 924

U ntil nightfall, Hadjar, stripped to the waist, went to work repairing the hut despite the cold. He chopped wood that had appeared out of nowhere in the backyard, and then, using a saw, he made roof shingles, then climbed the roof, cleared the snow, nailed the shingles in place with a hammer, then repeated the process over and over.

After that, he made some new steps and tried to swap them out with the old ones on the porch, but quickly realized that it was a useless effort. So, armed with an axe, he broke the porch completely and replaced it with a new one, decorating it with the simple carvings that he was capable of making.

At night, under the starlight, he fixed the fence. All this time, the cat and the dog had been watching him, and the old woman sometimes brought out hot broth that warmed him up even though he was already feeling plenty hot from the work.

When he replaced the last board on the fence and carved a few symbols on it, he turned to call out to the old woman, but she was already standing behind him. To her right lay the dog, and to her left was the fat, black cat. They no longer hissed or growled at him, but accepted his presence calmly instead.

“Symbols?” She was surprised to see Hadjar’s work.

“So that strangers and uninvited people don’t come in,” he nodded.

“Did your mother teach you these?”

Hadjar just nodded. The symbols his mother had taught him weren’t magical, but illustrations for the stories she’d told.

“Well... I guess that’s fate...” The old woman whispered. “Thank you, traveler, for not just doing the job, but for doing it from the heart. What’s done from the heart should never remain unrewarded.”

She bent down and scooped up some snow, raised it to her lips, and whispered something over it. When she straightened back up, simple, loose clothes were in her hands. Unfurling them, she tossed them into the air. Stars flashed in the black velvet of the night sky, and they imprinted on the clothes. From white, they turned to dark blue with a barely visible, dancing star pattern. Then, after spreading them out on the snow, she picked up a handful of it again and threw it over them. A blizzard rose and when it subsided, the white swirls of a strong wind had been added to the star pattern. Hadjar stared at all of this with his mouth slightly open. He could sense that this was real magic, not a mere imitation like the magic used in the seven Empires or by the Talesh.

“Take them,” She handed the clothes to Hadjar. “When the time comes, take off your old ones. You spent half your soul in them, traveler. If you are destined to find the second half of your soul, put on these clothes. They’ll help heal the wound you inflicted on yourself, as self-inflicted wounds take longer to heal than others.”

Hadjar wondered who this old woman was and whether she was even human.

“Thank you,” He accepted the gift with a bow, hastily made a travel bag out of his gray cloak and put the clothes in it. “What is the cost-”

“We’re just talking, traveler,” her smile was kind. “I gave you my price for our conversation. And what conversations don’t contain at least a few questions?”

“Stories?” Hadjar didn’t understand what she was hoping for. “Is your price the stories I’ll tell you before the deadline?”

“Not stories,” she shook her head. “Just one story.”

“What story?”

She laughed, and Hadjar felt like he could hear a blizzard in her laughter. “Our story, traveler. The story of those who’ll one day be forgotten. But you, as well as those who came to me before you and will come after you, will tell people about us, so they’ll remember us. As long as they remember, we’ll keep on living. Some will wait in the dark, others in the light. People will be looking for us, and maybe they’ll even find us sometimes. For better or for worse — no one knows.”

As was the norm when he encountered these kinds of entities, Hadjar didn’t understand anything, but the old woman’s expression indicated that she didn’t expect anything else from him.

“You’ll find the old man you’re looking for if you go north. Keep going until you find him. Whatever obstacle gets in your way, don’t stop. No matter how cold you are, don’t try to warm yourself up. Whatever you hear, don’t listen to it. Whatever you see, don’t believe it. Follow your own path. It’ll lead you where it should, traveler, just like everyone else’s… Now go. My time will soon be over.”  She turned to the east. The sun was already rising there. “There must be balance in everything, traveler.”

“But-”

“Go,” She interrupted him without turning around. “We’ll meet again, traveler. When you meet the wandering mage, we’ll see each other again and talk for the last time. But that won’t happen anytime soon… Now... Go!”

Hadjar blinked and he was standing in front of the gate. It was old and dilapidated once again. The neat hut at the very edge of the forest was well-kept, but old and shabby. The roof leaked in places, the porch was broken and would probably break someone’s ankle, and the fence had many holes in it.

Hadjar shook his head and turned his back on the hut. To the left and right of him was rye, begging to be gathered, turned into flour, and then turned into gingerbread and cookies…

Without looking back, Hadjar set off down a path. Somehow, he was certain that it would lead him north, where the old man playing the lute was keeping the other half of his soul. He didn’t know whether the two of them would greet him peacefully. Would they even want to listen to him after everything that had happened between the three of them? Would they want to help him…? Hadjar only knew one thing — he had to try. Not only to save his life, but to save his homeland as well… To save Elaine and her unborn son, the heir to his family.

Hadjar stopped near two dry trees. They loomed over the path, forming a sort of arch. Beyond it was a place that looked like a dead steppe. The four winds blew over the lifeless wasteland.

Beyond this arch was the beginning of the path that the old woman had told him about.

“You met the Queen, giant!” A familiar voice said. “You met the Queen and survived! You’re special, giant. You killed Ana’Bree, who was destined to die twice for betraying the Winter Court, but the Queen still forgave you! Queen Mab never forgives anyone! You’re doomed, mortal! You’ll never be able to repay your debt to her! You’ll suffer forever! Stupid giant!”

Hadjar looked down. Instead of standing on the path, he found himself standing on the surface of a frozen lake. Instead of the tall, sharp grass that had cut his face, ice-encrusted spears rose up from the snow around him. What had once been flowers turned out to be blades, broken arrows, and bones. Small harpies with large, inky eyes and huge, fanged mouths were sitting on them.

Hadjar turned around quickly. Instead of the rye field, he saw endless expanses of snow. Instead of the green forest, he saw mountains, rivers, and snow-covered trees. Instead of the hut, there was a beautiful but terrifying ice palace. Around it lay thousands of dead. It was their spears that had cut Hadjar. The harpies that would break through the ice and carry pieces of flesh to the palace were the beautiful flowers.

Hadjar looked closer. Two seven-foot-tall knights were on patrol near the entrance to the palace. One of them was wearing gray armor and resembled a dog, and the other was wearing black armor and looked like a cat.

“The knights of the Winter Court will come for you one day,” the harpy laughed hysterically. “They’ll demand that you pay the price that Queen Mab named. She never forgives anyone!”

Hadjar looked at his hand, the one he’d held gingerbread made from local flour in. It was covered in congealed blood… Suppressing his urge to vomit, he turned around and silently headed toward the arch created by the dry trees. He heard the harpy’s laughter behind him.

In the Spirit World, a person should never trust their eyes and ears, only their heart and soul… But what should a man do if he’s already torn up the former and forgotten what the latter sounded like?

Chapter 925

“F IRE!”

A shouted command from one of the elite cultivators standing on the other side of the fortifications made the engineers stir and woke up officer Rakish. The two-hundred-year-old junior officer of the Fifth Legion, who commanded an entire battalion, had always dreamed of fighting amongst the clouds. However, the fact she was prone to air sickness and also had a fear of heights had made it impossible for her to join the proud ranks of the sky fleet soldiers.

Perhaps this fear had also been the reason why Rakish’s cultivation had stagnated. She would’ve most likely remained a mid-stage Heaven Soldier forever if it hadn’t been for the government program designed to increase the country’s power before the war.

For several years after becoming an initial-stage Spirit Knight, officer Rakish had enjoyed her restored youth, and a beauty she’d never known before. Her appearance might not have been as perfect as that of the noblewomen, but to ordinary practitioners and true cultivators at the initial stages… By the gods and demons, she hadn’t had so many lovers and admirers even in the bloom of her youth.

“Raise your shields!” Rakish gave orders as she stood behind her warriors, who had linked their shields into a single Legion Technique, the ‘Queen’s Hand’. “Prepare for an artillery barrage! Archers, stow your bows and get your blades out! Spearmen, get ready! Prepare to strike! One, two…”

While giving the orders, Rakish didn’t think much about them. Only half of her mind was focused on the war, and the other half was preoccupied with private, far more personal thoughts. She recalled all the men who had stoked the flames of passion in her heart, which had almost gone out at the end of her first century…

A cannonball flew past overhead. The walls of the fortifications shuddered, and clouds of gunpowder rose into the air. Fireballs, as well as the elite cultivators’ Techniques, mowed down the dead. However, the fireballs didn’t require the power and resources that the Empire invested into martial arts schools, where not everyone could study, to be effective.

She was thinking about starting a family, settling down in a city, maybe raising a son or a daughter... definitely a daughter…

As the cloud of ash and dust cleared, Rakish looked up at the sky. She saw the flagship ‘Belle Neia’ fighting against an enemy battleship. Rakish had only recently been transferred to the hastily-assembled Fifth Legion. Before that, she’d served for several decades on the border with Lascan. While she’d been stationed there, she’d slowly become unable to tell the civilian and soldier life apart due to the constant fighting.

“Get ready on nine!” She snapped, slapping a third-line soldier who’d forgotten to properly put on his balaclava on the back of the head. It was an Earth level artifact. Apparently, the young man had signed up for the army very recently, and that’s why he’d been given such worthless equipment. “Attack!”

No matter what your opponents were, you could always adapt to them. Rakish counted to ten. When she gave the signal, the cavalry of the dead struck their shields. The screams of those who were too weak could be heard. The rotten, worm-ridden, almost fleshless horses of the army of the dead were clad in rusty armor. When they slammed into the tips of the spears, they were crushed and turned to dust.

There were still some weaklings whose spears slipped out of their hands and struck them in the throat. Before, she would’ve cursed at them, but now she gave a terrifying order instead, “Destroy all the gravely wounded on the spot!”

Shocking the soldiers with her ruthlessness, she took a long glaive and, twisting it, added a Technique and mysteries at the One with the World level of weapon mastery to her attack, then struck the soldier who was dying of suffocation because of a broken trachea. He glowed with a lilac light and disappeared in a blaze of energy. All that was left of him was a broken suit of armor, and not a single piece of flesh, or even a single bone.

“If you die in this battle, you side with the enemy!” Rakish shouted, using the Voice Amplification Technique to make sure she was heard. “And what does the army of Darnassus feel toward its enemy?”

“Holy rage!” The soldiers answered in unison.

Thousands of dead horses clad in rusty armor beat against their interlocked shields. They ran into spears and pikes, their armor cracked, and their bones shattered. But where one dead man disappeared, two more took his place.

“Above us!” Rakish exclaimed as she heard the trebuchet ropes snap.

How ancient were the warriors and soldiers raised by the Lascanian great hero if they were using such outdated junk?

However, her command wasn’t necessary. The ‘Queen’s Hand’ Technique that the Legion could only use when in proper formation extended two miles into the sky. Almost scratching the undersides of the skyships, it protected the army from the threat of fire. But that didn’t stop the dead. They didn’t throw stones or barrels of burning tar. Their preferred ammunition were the other dead. Thousands of skeletons soared across the sky. Flying over the ranks of their allies, they crashed into the shimmering wall created by the two hundred thousand shields of the Legion working in unison.

“Great!” Rakish sighed, cleaning the blood off her glaive, “I have to kill my own people, and now the dead are raining on us.”

A command amulet burned her forearm. She looked and saw the symbol of the division commander on the artifact’s surface, who, in turn, had received orders from the army commander. Relaying orders quickly was the key to winning a battle.

“Take a step on one, two… five!” Rakish shouted. She covered the artifact with her hand, sent energy into it, and the message spread to the officers below her.

“Forward!”

“Now!”

“Advance!”

“Destroy the dead!”

Rakish, who was standing close to the second row of spearmen, got ready for the Legion’s advance. Never before had she seen two hundred thousand warriors raise their shields in unison, push their enemies away, and allow even more spearmen to unleash their energy in a gigantic attack. A stream of steel energy, full of mysteries at completely different levels, merged into a single image of a spear point. The giant silhouette obliterated everything in an area several dozen feet in front of it. Dust coming from broken bones and shattered armor filled the air.

“Brace shields!” The officers shouted when the order came through the artifacts.

The Legion lowered their shields to the ground immediately, and the third row of swordsmen began destroying the dead and wounded that were inside the recaptured area. The cannons thundered once more overhead.

“Take a step on one, two… ten!” Rakish shouted, sending two wounded soldiers to their forefathers with a single blow. She felt neither pity nor sorrow for them. This wasn’t the right time for such emotions. The funeral song would be sung either after their victory, or after…

The next thing Rakish heard was her mother’s voice, someone whom she’d never met. The door creaked. Her forefathers’ house was waiting for her.

***

“Damn it,” Tom swore, surrounded by several mountains of broken armor and weapons. Even using his best defensive Technique, he still hadn’t managed to avoid getting hit by the echo of Derek’s Technique.

The Lascanian great hero, who was standing on the back of a huge, dead reptile, lowered two swords enveloped in green energy. In front of him, a gap nearly seven hundred feet wide had been blasted open in the Legion’s shield wall. The dead poured in through it, running over each other like bugs.

“If we don’t stop him,” Karein began calmly. He was standing next to Tom, covered in mucus that had once been the dead’s blood. “The dead will break through. And then the Fifth Legion will fall apart.”

The two noblemen, who hated each other, glanced at one another briefly and then charged Derek together. Spreading his arms out wide, Derek roared with a power that shook the heavens:

“DARKHA-A-A-A-AN!”

Chapter 926

“D arkhan!” Hadjar heard.

Remembering the old woman’s instructions, and now knowing that she was, in fact, the Queen of the Winter Court of Fae, a being who rivaled the Jasper Emperor and the Prince of Demons in power, Hadjar didn’t dare stop.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been following the path that went through the dead land. Nothing grew here: not the bushes that could be found in the Wastelands, nor the cactuses which sometimes grew in the Sea of Sand, not oases, nor any other islands of life. There was only gray, dry, and cracked earth. There were no clouds above it, to ensure that not even a drop of life-giving rain was so much as accidentally given to the land. Hadjar walked along it and could sense that the earth was so dead that even the fire of life that still glowed within him couldn’t awaken it.

Suddenly, Hadjar saw an abyss in front of him. Dark and bottomless, it was directly under his left foot, which he hadn’t put down yet. But Hadjar didn’t stop. He kept moving forward without fear or doubt. He walked on the air that spanned the abyss. And once it was behind him, Hadjar didn’t turn around to check whether the abyss had been real or just an illusion.

“Brother, help us!” He heard Einen’s cry. “The dead are breaking through! We need your help! Come back!”

Hadjar didn’t stop. He knew this wasn’t a lie. The wind that blew in his face had brought him words from the real world, but it couldn’t slow him down.

“Damn it! Where is that barbarian?” Rekka shouted. “If we don’t stop Derek, the Emperor will just destroy us, that asshole, and half the Fifth Legion with a volley from ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’!”

“It’s no use,” Anise growled. “Derek can’t be killed with mortal weapons! Fucking necromancy!”

“Annette won’t make it in time... She definitely won’t make it...”

All these snippets from conversations and thoughts spoken aloud were brought by the howling wind. It blew with such force that Hadjar had to walk bent over with his hands outstretched in front of him. The raging wind even cut his skin.

Hadjar didn’t understand where the illusions began and reality ended, continuing to play the game of the Spirit World. He no longer knew if he was actually walking, or if he was just standing in an awkward position while facing the very first threat — a three-headed dog breathing fire. Hadjar had had to walk directly into its mouth to continue onward.

“I’ve only been here once, my disciple,” another familiar voice spoke next to Hadjar.

He remained silent. A shadow wrapped in a black cloak, with floating white hair, was walking ahead of him. Hadjar didn’t know whether this was the real Black General who had emerged from the depths of his dying soul, or an illusion, or something else. He simply walked on, despising everything that this dead earth offered him.

“I was born here,” the first Darkhan knelt down. He moved his hand over the gray, cracked earth and, closing his black eyes, drew in a deep breath of the dead air where no birds cried out, and no spring thunder boomed. There was nothing here. “For many eons, during which countless stars were born and died, my mother saved up tiny fragments of her life, little by little, to give me life, my disciple.”

Hadjar kept walking. The wind was so cold that ice began to form on his feet. It turned into the faces of the enemies he’d killed. By the High Heavens, they were countless. They devoured his flesh, tormented his soul. Sometimes, they devoured Hadjar completely, but even that didn’t stop him. After the faces in the ice finished devouring him, he would just appear out of thin air and continue his journey north.

“Like everyone else who was ever born, my disciple,” the first Darkhan kept walking next to him. Hadjar didn’t even remember when he’d first appeared. He just ignored him and kept walking, despising everything, overcoming everyone, not paying attention to anything. “I wasn’t asked whether I wanted to be born or not. I was simply born into this cold world and that was that. Nor was I asked when they put on my armor, gave me a sword, and ordered me to fight. They made me a slave, a servant... a weak-willed executioner of those whom my creators pointed at.”

The dead clung to Hadjar’s feet. The sins of his past hung like chains from his arms. The wind pierced his soul and tore at it.

Each time Hadjar took another step forward, he stepped over abysses that were larger than the universe, he passed through forests of spears that ended in other worlds, he swam through rivers of fire that were longer than time itself. And he never turned around or listened to anyone. He just kept going.

“I was born of the dead earth, my disciple. I was forged from the heart of the Wind. All those who were originally born in this world breathed life into me. Time was my godfather, Life became my godmother. Death put a sword in my hand. Darkness gave me this cloak,” Darkhan pulled it closer around him. “As long as the foreseeable is there, my disciple, nothing will stop me. This is my strength and my curse… This is your undoing. No matter how much you resist, no matter how much you fight, I will consume your soul, I will take your body, and I will shatter the Mountain of Skulls and finish what I started. This is my path, my disciple. You can’t stop me.”

Hadjar stayed silent. He kept walking… Until he was stopped by strong arms.

“I truly believed you’d come here, Hadjar.” An old man stood before him. His eyes were deep, the many scars on his muscular body were hidden behind simple clothes, and he held a lute and played it calmly, producing incredible music.

Hadjar looked around. All around him were vast expanses of rivers, hills, distant mountains, and forests.

“Not everyone,” the old man continued, “can cross the dead earth and pass through my breath to come here on their own. Last time, I brought you here myself, and now you’ve proven that you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” Hadjar asked. His throat hurt, as if he hadn’t spoken in ages.

“For battle, of course!” The old man explained. “Those with my name on their lips are born to fight. Some with a sword in their hands, others with a pen, or a string, sometimes a hammer...”

The old man stepped aside and Hadjar saw himself standing in a field of rye. It went up to his waist. His torso was naked. In his right hand, he held the Black Blade. In front of him stood his counterpart, holding the Black Blade in his left hand, except instead of it being black and the pattern on it being blue, it was the opposite — it was blue and the pattern was black.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the other Hadjar growled, and Hadjar realized that he was standing in the field as well. “You gave me up for an alien power! For the illusion of power! You gave up my anger for peace of mind! My anger for false honor! You forgot about me! You didn’t want to know about me! And after all these long years that I’ve still spent helping you... helping us live! I helped you win a war every day! Have you forgotten our battle? Me? Us?  Have you forgotten yourself?”

Hadjar gripped the hilt of his sword more comfortably. Before him stood his flickering counterpart. Sometimes, he turned into the old man, and then back into Hadjar.

“I came here to pay my debt,” Hadjar whispered, “To take back what’s rightfully mine. I won’t pretend I didn’t make mistakes, but even if I have to fall on my own sword, I’ll leave here victorious!”

“I’m not so sure about that. It’s my time to rule, and yours to be forgotten!”

Two Hadjars, raising their swords above their heads, rushed toward each other.

***

“So that was Markin’s plan…” The rector said.

He looked up and met Emperor Morgan’s gaze. They sat there for a while, and then, without a word, they got up from their chairs and went out onto the small balcony. They both looked northward. The sky in the east had turned green and lightning bolts were flashing behind the ghost ships, but in the sky to the north, a storm was being born. A storm that Darnassus had never seen before. A storm so powerful that it made the hearts of even the strongest of creatures tremble. A storm that could not only change the terrain, but also people’s fates.

“What is that, Morgan?” The rector asked in a hushed voice, unable to look away from the fascinating spectacle.

The Emperor hesitated. Alongside the ancient mage, he looked at the violent turbulence of the elements moving in from the north.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, “and that scares me.”

The rector looked at the strongest warrior of Darnassus, the greatest ruler who had ever lived. He looked at Morgan… Morgan the Fearless… Something that scared even him was coming to Dahanatan…

Chapter 927

H adjar ducked under his enemy’s sword. Knocking it aside with the flat of his own blade, he tried to attack his opponent’s leg, but the latter, as if knowing where the Black Blade would strike, simply raised his foot, and then stomped on the point of Hadjar’s sword, plunging it into the ground. Hadjar didn’t even have time to curse as the foe’s blade slid across his chest. But instead of drawing blood, it ‘put’ something in his open wound. Something Hadjar didn’t want to remember…

***

“Be quiet!” A voice said from the doorway. “Don’t wake the governess! She’ll give us a hard time if you do!”

He was lying on what must’ve been an uncomfortable bed, but he didn’t feel it. Since birth, twelve grueling years ago, he hadn’t been able to feel anything. It was all because of his parents, those two fucking bastards, who’d thrown him away like trash right on the doorstep of the orphanage. They hadn’t stopped and put him there carefully, but had thrown him out of the car window. It was a miracle that he’d survived at all, but he sometimes wished that he’d died that night. He’d suffered a brain injury that had left him unable to control his body, except for his right hand…

The hinges of the door creaked, opening his ‘private room’ — a former storeroom where a makeshift window had been cut into the wooden wall. There was almost never any light here, so when several children from the neighboring rooms started angling their glowing phone screens at him, it hurt his eyes.

“Look, he’s in here,” a red-haired, freckled boy whispered.

He didn’t remember the name of this lanky freak with crooked teeth and a cataract in his left eye. Maybe that was why no one had adopted him by the time he’d turned fourteen. Even when the TV people came to shoot another bullshit, tearful ad or whatever, the red-haired boy would be hidden away in the same storeroom as him. He hated the TV people…

“Idiot,” a broad-shouldered and stocky boy gave the redhead a slap on the head. “Where could a vegetable like him even go?”

“Ouch!” The redhead rubbed the back of his head.

“Okay, let’s begin.” A thirteen-year-old girl said. She was incredibly beautiful and someone all the boys in the orphanage lusted after. “Tomorrow is a Royal night.”

She took out a tube. It looked like the ones that were usually used to paint faces in summer camps. But the orphanage was far from a summer camp, and the tube contained… shit.

With his right hand, he grabbed a piece of chalk hanging by a string and wrote on the wall. He always erased what he’d written on the wall at the end of each day.

“Just try it, bitch.”

He’d learned how to write very quickly. Faster than some people had learned how to talk.

“Look,” the second girl laughed. “He even puts commas in his writing! What a nerd!”

“Stay still…!” A floorboard creaked, drowning out his name. The children fell silent. They waited for a while, then moved closer to him. “Don’t wave your hand around. Let me draw-”

The tube full of the brown substance was in front of his face. But he was ready. This wasn’t the first time they’d come, so this time, he was ready. A moment’s hesitation was enough to trick the girl. As she bent down, he snatched his own tube from under the blanket. It was empty, rolled up tight, and sharpened against a rough wall. With a deft swing of his arm, he plunged it into the girl’s left ear.

“What-” She didn’t realize what had just happened. Blood splattered on the wall, covering the writing and making it completely illegible. She fell to the floor and started screaming in pain and fear.

“What are you doing, you little shit?” One of the guys jumped on him.

But he was ready for that, too. He slammed his tube right into the boy’s stomach. A hot, viscous substance flowed down his arm as the tube sank deep into the boy’s stomach.

They pinned him down. There were more of them, and he only had one hand. They kicked the shit out of him. The two he’d wounded were still screaming. He just lay there and watched the tube of shit roll under the bed, leaving a nasty trail behind. He didn’t feel anything, only heard the employees of the institution come running.

“You brats!” The governess shouted. “What are you doing in here?”

The children were pulled away from him. Someone fretted over the wounded. He looked at all of them without a trace of fear in his clear, blue eyes.

“What have you done...” A sharp slap from the boss of the night shift drowned out his name once again. “You’ve crippled her!”

He lay on the floor. Outside the window, a fierce, northern wind was blowing, bringing a blizzard to the city. It was rather chilly. He lay on the cold floor, emaciated, almost looking like a skeleton, wearing nothing but dirty boxers that were changed every three days along with the bed linens. No one ever took him to the bathroom. He didn’t even realize he’d done so when he relieved himself… He simply didn’t feel it happen.

“Let him stay in there until morning,” the boss ordered. “It’ll be a good lesson for him.”

He watched the backs of the workers who were taking the children away. They comforted them and spoke kind words to them. He was lying on the cold floor. He’d probably get sick again…

The stocky boy turned around before leaving and moved his finger across his neck. He raised his numb hand, barely managing to do so, and gave him the middle finger. Then the door slammed shut. He was alone again.

It was all such fucking bullshit… He wouldn’t die here. In this place. No. He wasn’t going to give these bastards the satisfaction. He’d outlive them all, the fucking bastards.

Clinging to the rough floorboards, tearing his fingers and nails until they bled freely, he dragged himself back to bed. He was just twelve years old.

***

Hadjar recoiled. He held his chest and gasped like a fish out of water.

“Did you forget your name for their sake?” The other Hadjar, who was holding the blue sword, grimaced in disgust. “Do they deserve your protection?”

“Shut up,” Hadjar croaked.

“What did you just say?”

“I said shut your fucking mouth,” Hadjar growled. “I’ll kill you.”

The other Hadjar grinned furiously and spread his arms out.

“Come on then, weakling!” He reversed his grip on his sword, opening up his broad, scarred chest for an attack. The black cloak he was wearing fell behind him. “You’re nothing without me! Weakling! Come on, show me what you-”

The Black Blade plunged straight into his heart.

Chapter 928

“F lank him from the left!” Tom kicked off the ground and ran up the leg of the huge lizard skeleton. He launched a powerful slash, aiming his attack at the left side of Derek’s neck.

The Lascanian great hero stared at the capital of Darnassus, which was surrounded by high walls, and which had a massive siege symbol shining in the center of it.

“You’ll be able to rest in peace soon, mom,” Derek repeated like a mantra. Same as yesterday, and the day before that, and a year before that, same as every day since her death, he kept seeing the mutilated body of his mother right in front of him. The Darnassian bastards had tortured her…

He swatted away a moth that was next to him with his sword, which was crumbling because of the colossal amount of energy passing through it.

Tom, upon seeing a streak of dark gold light with hundreds of human skulls screaming inside of it, smiled. The enemy had fallen into his trap. It didn’t matter that he’d picked up this trick from that damned barbarian.

“Bloody Charge!” Tom used his clan Technique and the energy around him flashed scarlet.

Derek’s blade simply sliced through the scarlet haze, and Tom instantly moved to the right. He redirected his attack, making it so it bypassed Derek’s counterattack with ease, now aiming for the right side of his neck, not the left.

“How clever, Tommy boy!” Karein exclaimed.

Surrounded by chaotic, shimmering energy, he appeared in the spot where Tom had just been. Derek still had enough time to try and bat Tom away, creating a huge shockwave of light that swept over the raging battle between the living and the dead. But he wasn’t fast enough to block Karein’s follow-up attack.

“Together!” Tom shouted as he recovered in midair and his attack surged forward as well.

His sword struck Derek’s shoulder, close to his neck, and on the other side, Karein brought his sword down as well. There were two flashes, both filled with the Sword Spirit’s mysteries.

“Leave me alone,” a calm, bored voice demanded.

“What-”

The punch that struck the visor of his helmet was so powerful that it crushed not only the magical metal, but also Tom’s nose. Teeth flew through the air. There was a thunderclap. Leaving a white trail behind him, Tom was blasted away like a cannonball and slammed into the ground, creating an explosion that scattered hundreds of the dead upon impact. He lay at the bottom of a crater several feet deep and just as wide. He couldn’t get up, wheezing as he tried to recover.

On the other side of Derek, there was a similar thunderclap and subsequent explosion. Karein and Tom lay at equal distances from Derek, each of them struggling to get out of their respective craters. They were two amazingly powerful swordsmen whose attacks hadn’t even been able to scratch the great hero’s armor.

“DARKHA-A-A-A-N!” The black-and-gold swordsman roared again.

***

“DARKHA-A-A-A-N!”

Anise, who looked like a scarlet lightning bolt as she moved, was rushing to help her brother, but suddenly froze. Slowly, with an aching heart and tear-filled eyes, she turned to the west. Among the dead, a familiar figure rose up like a mountain. Its strange, heavy armor, the helmet with only eye slits, and the Lascanian standard attached to its back couldn’t hide…

“Galkhad,” Anise whispered.

Seeing that Derek was no longer paying attention to her brother, who was now in no real danger since he could easily handle a couple hundred of the dead even while injured, Anise clenched her fist and changed direction. The red lightning bolt turned and swept through a few thousand of the dead to approach the giant.

“Galkhad, what’s the matter with you?”

Anise managed to dodge a heavy axe that slammed into the spot where she’d stood a moment ago. The huge amount of energy that it had generated went into the ground and then shot out of it in the form of pillars of silver light. Exploding beneath the dead, they turned them to dust, and then surged up into the sky, hitting the undersides of the ghost ships and the ships of the Fifth Legion’s fleet.

“I don’t want to fight you, Galkhad!”

Anise crouched down abruptly. The axe moved over her head. The ocean of energy, devoid of any mysteries or Techniques, swept away several thousand of the dead, and then the wave rolled on, destroying everything it touched. Anise heard the screams of the legionnaires.

“Galkhad, I’m begging you,” Anise pleaded. “I know you’re still there, somewhere deep inside, and-”

“AAAHHH!” The creature roared and swung its axe to launch a third attack.

Anise, noticing that they were close to plowing into the Legion’s ranks, knew that she couldn’t let that happen, but she also couldn’t attack her lover... It was more than she could bear.

She stabbed her sword into the ground beside her and held out her arms. Anise was already on the move by the time the axe flew at her head. She moved easily and smoothly, and at the same time, the scarlet light of her clan Technique allowed her to move at an incredible speed and in an unpredictable trajectory. The edge of her right hand slammed into the elbow joint of Galkhad’s armor. The direction of the swing was shifted, and, instead of being a formidable weapon, it turned into a heavy and useless tool for just a moment.

At such speeds, even a fraction of a second was enough time for cities and kingdoms to be destroyed. Anise stood with her back to Galkhad’s chest. Her right hand turned into a claw. With her left hand, she grabbed the back of his head and, with a sharp burst of energy, threw him over her. The force with which Anise had thrown him was enough to send them both plunging into a crater.

“Galkhad...” while the giant lay still, Anise bent down and, clutching its helmet, whispered into the slits, seeing past them blank but dear, familiar eyes, “Follow my voice... come back to me... please… I can’t live without you... please… I love-”

“AAAHHH!” A steel fist tried to smash Anise’s head to pieces, but she was alert. With the ease of a soaring bird, she glided back through the air, and then assumed her stance once more, her palms outstretched.

Galkhad, or whatever creature Derek had turned him into, rose to its feet, grabbed its axe, and rushed forward like a mad bull.

“Galkhad…” Anise whispered.

She ducked under him, bracing her hand on the ground, and spun her body around. Her right leg moved and hooked the legs of the running giant. He fell head over heels to the ground, and Anise, looking into his eyes once again, whispered, “Please come back to me…”

Chapter 929

A s soon as Hadjar’s sword plunged into his foe’s body, something passed from him to Hadjar.

***

“Nero, you drunk bastard, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Shh... Hadji, don’t worry so much, and everything will be all right!”

“Don’t worry? We’re just begging for ten or fifteen extra shifts in the kitchen!”

“Are you afraid of peeling potatoes? Do the big, bad potatoes scare you?”

“Shut up, Nero!”

“Hush! They’re coming!”

Covered in mud and with camouflage paint on their faces, branches stuck behind their ears, they peeked out of the bushes. They’d arrived just in time. There was a small waterfall near the camp, where dozens of girls who served in the Bear squad of the Moon army were bathing. The light of the moon caressing their bodies made all of them look like incredibly beautiful statues. The two officers held their breaths as they admired the forbidden show before them.

“Well, well, well…”

They glanced at each other, then slowly turned their heads, but before either of them could say anything, two large, powerful, callused hands covered their mouths. Senior officer Dogar, decked out like his subordinates, with even more branches in his hair, had chosen the largest bush.

“You get top marks for your disguise, and your plan was mostly good, too. The lookout noticed you. I’ll have to lower your grade for not inviting your senior officer along. War is war, my honorable men, but you must have solidarity.”

Dogar moved his hands away and the friends were able to sigh in relief. They looked at each other and Nero winked at his friend.

“Does that mean that we aren’t going to be working extra shifts in the kitchen, honorable senior officer?”

“Of course you are!” Dogar whispered. “You’ll have to do twenty extra shifts of peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.”

“Twenty? That’s-”

The powerful hands covered their mouths again.

“Shh,” Dogar hissed, “You’ll blow our cover, you fools… It’ll be twenty shifts because I’ll do ten of them. I must also endure the punishment I deserve.”

“But why-”

“Bullying, officer Traves,” the head of the Bear squad interrupted Hadjar. “This is common bullying, get used to it already. And now, let’s admire the spectacle. They’ll start splashing around soon…”

Nero and Hadjar glanced at each other again. Strangely enough, these twenty extra shifts didn’t worry them. On the contrary, they just smiled from ear to ear and tried not to laugh…

***

Hadjar pulled his sword out of the other Hadjar’s chest. They backed away from each other. Panting, they stared at each other with eyes full of bitter resentment and hatred.

“When we came here,” the other Hadjar was leaning on his sword, which he’d stabbed into the ground. There was a gaping wound in his chest, the same as in Hadjar’s own, “You got rid of me... like I was nothing more than trash... just like they got rid of us.”

“Who are they?”

“EVERYONE!” The other Hadjar shouted. “All those who made our lives a living hell!”

“And that’s why you thought you had the right to return the favor…”

“We decided that! Not just me!”

Hadjar looked at the other half of himself, the one he’d rejected at birth.

“You wanted to do the same in this world,” he whispered. “I knew it... I knew it all along…”

“You’re a weakling,” the other Hadjar spat. “They only had to point a finger at you and you gave up instantly. And for what? The people you called your parents betrayed you!”

“They didn’t... They didn’t betray-”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you who you were?”

“Your father wasn’t a saint, nephew! He never was! You spent your entire childhood living in a lie that he built around you!”

“Your parents wanted to choose your path for you, so that you’d live the short, quiet life of a powerless and weak-willed creature!”

“She never told you who you really were…”

“He was never able to protect you or your mother…”

“They-”

“Stop!” Hadjar snapped. “Stop! This has nothing to do with our battle!”

“But it does!” The other Hadjar shouted in response. “You forgot! You forgot everything! You gave up on me! If I had been with you, that pathetic worm Primus wouldn’t have been able to deceive you! If I had been with you, all the people you lost would still be alive today! If I had been with you, you would’ve become-”

“Become who? Or what? If you’d been with me, I would’ve lived in the past forever. And I don’t want to do that!

“You don’t want to?” The other Hadjar roared. “Fucking useless coward!”

They charged at each other again. Their swords moved at an incredible speed. The both knew where the enemy would strike next, and they were ready to block even those attacks that never happened. They moved together in a whirlwind of slashes, racing across the field and soaring over the golden grass. Their movements were faster than the eye could follow, and their blows were more powerful than what a good set of armor could handle. They circled each other, leaving only light dust on the ground instead of clear tracks.

They swung at each other with unbridled ferocity, sparks of steel showering their shoulders and arms, and then those sparks rose into the sky and turned into lightning bolts. Blue and black, they intertwined into a frenzied dance of two dragons.

In the center of this riot of steel, blood, swords, and rage, sat the old man. He plucked the strings of his lute and sang his song that was sad, menacing, calm, and had fierce notes to it, all at once, just like the battle he was watching.

“AAAHHH!” Hadjar shouted.

He stopped abruptly, swung his body around to deflect his foe’s sword, and then caught his own as he moved back, slamming the blade under his left side. The back of the other Hadjar slammed into his own back in the same movement. His blue sword pierced Hadjar in turn. Standing back to back, impaled on each other’s swords, they were plunged into the memories they’d tried to escape.

***

“Ten thousand? Boy, you must be crazy.”

“That’s nothing to you.”

Cursing could be heard outside the door, and then an unfamiliar voice asked for the account number. In the modern world, even teenagers had their own accounts that were made along with the purchase of a phone.

The door to his room opened. A tall, stout man stood in the doorway. Behind him, the stocky boy was smiling slyly. He made the throat slitting gesture again, closed the door, and was apparently going to play the lookout.

“Not what I normally like,” the man grumbled, “But why not try it once…”

He started walking toward him, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants.

Really? Was there really such a monster in this world? Someone who would rape even him, an invalid?

When the man was within arm’s reach, he jerked his arm forward and the same tube from before, now a dangerous weapon, plunged into the monster’s thigh. The man screamed, not from pain, but from fright. The bastard slapped him so hard that his head jerked back and slammed into the wall. His nose started bleeding.

“Fucking freak,” the man growled.

He raised his pants back up, tightened his belt, and limped out of the room. There was more cursing from the other side of the door.

He hadn’t let go of his weapon all this time. As long as he had something to fight with, he would overcome everything. He would outlive everyone. Bastards…

***

“Hold on, my friend!” Einen ran to help Hadjar. Hadjar was currently fighting against a dozen Bedouin bandits on his own.

Jumping on the enemies’ heads, the islander spun his spear-staff. Wounded and bloodied, he stood back to back with Hadjar, who looked much the same.

“Funny,” Hadjar gasped. He could feel that one of his lungs had been punctured. “Are we going to die in this damned Sea of Sand?”

“We will all die one day,” Einen said in his irritating, philosophical way.

The friends looked at each other, smiled, and then growled in unison, “But not today!”

The dunes echoed with a battle cry as they rushed their foes.

Chapter 930

“B e quiet!” The door slammed shut behind the headmistress of the orphanage.

He wanted to say that he had no way to make any noise, but he couldn’t speak, and the headmistress never read what he wrote on the wall. Fucking bitch…

On this day, a TV crew had visited the institution. Right on his birthday… He lay in his room, staring at the ceiling and dreaming of adventures, freedom, the possibility of running across the sand. At least once. Same old, same old…

An hour later, he’d heard the click of heels.

“Where’s the toilet around here?” A young woman almost shouted.

She opened the door, met his gaze, and froze. She saw his dirty clothes, smelled the musty air, then noticed the chalk-covered wall and the hole that served as his ‘window’.

There was a scandal. They brought in a rich man who was part of the government. He made a speech. Several people were fired. One inspection came after another. The number of TV crews exceeded all reasonable expectations.

That woman had turned out to be a deputy’s assistant, and she’d made quite a fuss. To somehow fix the situation, the deputy had immediately said that he would take in the unfortunate, disabled boy who the state had let down. Under his care, he was moved to an elite clinic that towered over the city, located on a high hill. The deputy was applauded. They called him the savior of an abandoned child, and critiqued the state that would have surely collapsed a long time ago without such saintly people to prop it up. The public loved tragic stories with a happy ending, no matter how many lies there were in these stories. They preferred not to notice them. But not him…

All day long, as the deputy bustled around him, as he was put on display like an art piece, he observed the true nature of this wretched world, of these wretched, worthless, pathetic people, who were capable of nothing more than deceit and treachery.

He saw the deputy limping and clutching his aching hip. He was tall, stout, and wore a belt with an iron badge. A belt with an iron badge he’d seen before…

Until the door of the hospital room had closed behind the deputy, he’d kept gripping his sharpened tube tightly.

***

And so they knelt, back to back. Impaled by swords. Around them, the riot of color and lightning faded. The two dragons had disappeared. The storm in the sky was retreating. The wind started blowing. Pleasant and cool, coming from the north, it ruffled their hair.

The old man dressed in simple clothes, with a scarlet cloak fluttering behind him, was playing the lute. He played in a way that no mortal could replicate, as only the wind could play such music.

“All people are the same,” the other Hadjar croaked, gurgling blood.

“I’ve been lucky enough to meet some different people.” Hadjar answered.

Hadjar, clutching the blade of the blue sword, ignoring the pain that each movement caused him, pulled the blade out of his body. He collapsed in the dust. Lying face down on the ground, unable to move anything except for his right hand, he started laughing. With all his heart and soul. He laughed like he hadn’t laughed in a long time.

“Hadjar!” The wind brought with it the voices of those who were fighting the army of the dead. “Hurry up!”

He saw Einen and Dora lunging at Derek, who was riding a huge, dead reptile. The great hero of Lascan threw them aside like broken dolls. Dora’s huge, wooden hammer crumbled. Derek shattered the best of Einen’s defensive Techniques. Karein’s and Tom’s attacks couldn’t hurt him. Rekka was about to unleash her Divine level blades, which would take her life in the process.

“Hold on, brother,” Hadjar croaked.

He placed his right hand on the ground, then pulled up his left, then finally got to his feet.

“Goodbye.” Leaning on the Black Bade, he bowed to the old man playing the lute.

“Goodbye,” the old man responded without looking up from his instrument. He played music that Hadjar would’ve liked to play himself someday.

Without looking at the other Hadjar, he turned and started walking back toward the dead land.

“Countdown,” he ordered.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

There are 5 minutes and... 14… 13… 12 seconds left until the ‘Sword Spirit’s mark’ object is deciphered.]

“Countdown number two.”

[Processing request...

Request processed.

There are 9 minutes and… 7... 6… 5 seconds left before the protective shell around the ‘Hundred Voices Pill’ object decomposes.]

Well, the Spirit World was definitely having an effect on his body through his soul. There wasn’t much time left... Even if it cost him his life, he’d correct his mistake. Today would be the last day for both him and Derek. It was time for both of them to meet their forefathers and face their final trial.

“Why?”

Hadjar stopped. He couldn’t see him, but he knew that the other Hadjar was also on his feet behind him.

“Why don’t you just give up? Why would you do anything for them? Forget about your hero complex! You’re weak and insignificant!”

Hadjar remembered her laughing through her tears. He remembered her singing. Her beauty. And how much she’d loved him. And how much he’d loved her. And how he’d betrayed her by giving up and signing that confidentiality agreement.

Hadjar finally remembered. He remembered what had really happened that night. He remembered Helen crying. He remembered the photos she’d dropped in the rain. There’d been a single photo among them that hadn’t required any editing – the photo of her and that deputy. He remembered that one of the guys who’d attacked them in the alleyway had had the deputy’s surname. And the fact that he hadn’t been arrested. At the end of that day, he’d held a sharpened tube, not a knife, to his neck.

“I’m not a hero,” he whispered, remembering the faces of Primus, Sankesh, Markin, and Derek. They’d all wanted to remake the world as they’d seen fit, so that no one would ever have to go through what they had. They’d wanted to make the world a better place not for themselves, but for those who’d come after them…

Hadjar looked up at the sky. Somewhere up there, there were false gods who interfered with the Book of Fates, the Book of Thousands, or whatever it was called. They made mistakes, and ordinary people suffered for them. They started wars in which entire civilizations perished. And they did all that without paying their dues. Hadjar would collect those dues so that no one else would have to go through what he had…

“I am as much a monster as those whom I have killed and will kill,” He said a little sadly, but with unwavering determination.

He remembered the lashes he had taken for the Moon army soldiers. He’d done that simply because he’d been able to handle it and they hadn’t. He’d survive everything... He’d outlive everyone…

Hadjar turned and looked at the old man who had finished playing and the other Hadjar who was standing at a distance. Rage suffused Hadjar’s voice, and his eyes flashed with the bright light of unbending determination:

“I will go on as long as I remain the strongest monster of all!”

The old man got up and went to Hadjar.

“I remember my name. I never forgot it.”

The old man stood next to Hadjar. His cloak enveloped the whole world. His hair looked like snowy peaks. His scars were countless armies brandishing their weapons. His breath was the beating of war drums. His eyes were the banners of holy war.

“My name is…”

***

“How did you manage to lose his birth certificate?” The headmistress shouted at the employee. “How can we let him out now if he doesn’t even have any documents? Or do you want to not only lose your job, but also go to jail?”

“Let’s make some right now!” The employee offered. “We’ll put them in the electronic database, and as for papers... Who needs papers these days?”

“Fine…” The headmistress massaged her temples wearily.

The employee immediately started typing on a keyboard.

“What’s his name?”

“Boris.”

The employee kept typing.

“Finished, saved, and sent!”

The headmistress went over to the monitor. She checked the document and screamed:

“What did you write, you goddamned idiot? His name is Boris! Not Boreas! You’re actually illiterate, aren’t you?”

Boris, now Boreas, laughed in his mind. Well, it wasn’t like he could laugh in any other way.

***

“My name is North Wind,” Hadjar finished.

It didn’t matter what they called him: in the language of the ancients, ‘Darkhan’ translated to ‘The north wind’, or in Greek, ‘Boreas’ was the god of north wind and bringer of cold winter air, or even ‘Hadjar’, which meant ‘The wind coming from the northern mountains.’

“It was nice meeting you,” Hadjar bowed, “but I have a war waiting for me.”

His neural network’s counter moved to zero and Hadjar disappeared. Only the old man remained, still standing in the field. He resumed playing the lute and then started singing a song about the warrior who’d been born with his name on his lips.

Chapter 931

“H ello.”

Hadjar was standing on the edge of the dissolving darkness. It broke apart, revealing a vast valley with soft, green grass, a hill with a large stone, and the tree where the Quetzal bird slept.

Hadjar didn’t know why he’d divided the world of his soul and his inner darkness. They’d turned out to be one and the same, after all. When the darkness began to break, he saw the world of his soul and a familiar house standing somewhere in the distance. The house that he would enter one day, where his parents were waiting for him. And his brother. And everyone else who would judge him. One day, he would enter it. But not right now…

Right now, he was looking at the huge beetle-shaped hieroglyph hovering in front of him. 999 sword slashes made up its powerful body. Each of them contained more Sword Spirit mysteries than even the great swordsman Orune had been able to handle. Each of the slashes was a monstrous sword strike that contained Techniques and styles that Hadjar couldn’t even properly imagine. A creation of such incredible power… An enemy that Hadjar himself had invited into his soul of his own free will.

[Calculation performed.

The plan required to eliminate the object has been drawn up.]

Markers and numbers shone before Hadjar’s eyes: the angle at which he should strike, the place he should hit, the amount of power he should use… The path that his neural network outlined wasn’t just complicated, but impossible to pull off. The speed required to destroy the Sword Spirit’s mark was beyond even the late Orune’s ability. The power needed for every strike was beyond even Galkhad’s ability to muster. And the accuracy and number of strikes involved would make even Anise envious.

The mark vibrated slightly. Several of the smallest and faintest slashes on it had already been cut, which made Hadjar’s task a little easier.

“Probability of success?”

[Processing request...

Request processed…

The probability of the host destroying the object is incalculably small.]

“Incalculably small?” Hadjar smiled. “If you’d given me better odds than that, it would’ve been boring.”

Hadjar tied his hair back and took off his shirt. Tightly gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands, he kept his eyes on his enemy. Like always…

Not even a shadow of doubt or fear could be seen in his clear, blue eyes. Like always…

His unbending will was leading him to the most important battle of his life… The battle against his own mistakes. Like always…

The darkness was collapsing under him. It cracked and fell into the endless valley. Hadjar knew that when the last piece of darkness which had bound his mutilated soul together until now finally disappeared, he’d die.

“Let’s do this!” Cutting through the pillar of light released from the center of the mark, he charged forward.

***

The rector and the Emperor were standing on the balcony. On one side, the battle was raging. The battle was being fought on the ground and in the sky. The cannons thundered, sending up clouds of smoke and white powder. As soon as the ships fell, they immediately rose back up again bearing the banner of the army of the dead.

But the pair were concerned with something else. Such a battle looked like the Tournament of the Twelve to them: interesting, funny, and curious even, but no more than that.

The storm coming from the north was another matter entirely. Lightning bolts flashed in its depths, forming spears, hammers, and swords. Thunder rumbled like war drums. The clouds slid across the sky, covering it with a raging darkness. The rector and the Emperor thought they could see the face of a furious old man forming in the clouds. A dragon danced in each of his eyes, one black and the other blue.

“What’s going on, rector?” Morgan gripped the railing so hard that it began to crack.

“I-I don’t know,” the old man stammered. His cane switched between being a formidable weapon and a simple stick. “I have no idea, Your Imperial Majesty. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and there isn’t a single mention of something like this in the entire library of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.”

“Nor is there any record of it in the library of the Imperial Family…”

Even with their incredible memory and knowledge, neither of them had any clue about what this phenomenon was.

“It’s a will, honorable ones.”

The rector and the Emperor turned. Behind them stood the tall, foreign ‘Master’. However, both of them were aware of his true appearance and what he actually was. They bowed in unison. Naturally, the rector bowed a little deeper and more zealously than the Emperor.

“Greetings, great Chin’Ameh,” the Emperor of Darnassus said, “Head of the Magic Dawn pavilion.”

“Morgan,” the dragon mage nodded in reply. Ignoring the rector, he went out onto the balcony and stood by the railing. He watched the approaching storm. “What a beautiful sight… I must admit that I’ve only seen such a magnificent thing once before, and I’m happy that I’ll able to see it again.”

“The will? Whose will is it, great Chin’Ameh?”

“The will of the element, Morgan,” the dragon replied calmly. “The will of the old warrior, North Wind, is covering Dahanatan. Look at it carefully. Maybe you’ll see something that will grant you inspiration and help you understand some mysteries. Witnessing such a marvelous event is a gift from fate.”

“Old warrior? North Wind?” The rector and the Emperor exchanged glances. They didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“But who could’ve brought Boreas’ will here?” Chin’Ameh’s eyes narrowed.

“Brought?” Morgan repeated incredulously. “You mean to tell me that someone attracted the attention of such a powerful entity?”

The dragon didn’t answer immediately.

“In general, you’re right, young Morgan,” Chin’Ameh avoided giving a straight answer.

“You said you’ve seen this before,” the Emperor couldn’t afford to miss a chance to learn something new, especially when it concerned such a rare phenomenon. “Who attracted the will last time?”

“It happened a long time ago, back when the seven Empires were still being built. I was traveling the world and came across a cultivator who was going to try and pass the trial of the Heavens and the Earth. He asked me to be his guardian, as the trial was not only the highest honor that can be achieved on the path of cultivation, but also the most dangerous. Not just because of the trial itself, but also because it leaves a cultivator unprotected. In the end, just when the cultivator seemed to be winning, the will of the Original Born appeared to judge him. The cultivator couldn’t withstand its judgment and his soul disappeared from this world.”

The rector and the Emperor listened to his story with their mouths hanging open.

“The trial of the Heavens and the Earth… Why did he do it?”

Chin’Ameh turned to Morgan and whispered:

“To defeat the very last enemy, young Morgan. To defeat Time and become one of the Immortals.”

“Is someone in Dahanatan trying to pass the trial of the Heavens and the Earth and become an Immortal?”

“No,” Chin’Ameh denied firmly. “That’s out of the question. That trial has five stages. The judgment of the Original Born is the last of them. Just the first stage, the Sword of Heavenly Fire, would’ve destroyed all of Dahanatan, including you and your so-called great heroes. I’m certain that just one of its attacks would’ve been enough to do that.”

“One? How many attacks are there?”

“It depends.” The dragon shrugged. “The stronger the cultivator, the more difficult the trial of the Heavens and the Earth. The weakest must survive nine attacks. The strongest... I’ve only heard legends about them…”

“Nine attacks…” Morgan suddenly found it hard to breathe. Sweat rolled down his forehead. It had been a long time since he’d last felt this way.

“That is why what’s happening right now fascinates me, young Morgan. Something brought Boreas’ will here only because he wanted that. By the High Heavens, even the oldest legends don’t have any records of the Original Born answering the call of a mere mortal!”

Chapter 932

H adjar’s sword moved with incredible speed, turning into a blur of darkness that cut through the beetle’s slashes, which groaned under his attacks. It responded with streams of silver light. Hadjar didn’t have the time, energy, or desire to defend himself. He just let them pass through him. He endured the pain they brought and laughed at the wounds they inflicted on his already disappearing, cracking soul.

He fought with the fury of ten warriors and the strength of a hundred. Hadjar was an unstoppable whirlwind that brought his sword down on the wretched symbol dozens of times.

Waves of light kept piercing him They tore him apart, turning his body into chunks of flesh, but he pulled himself together again each time, growling all the while, made sure his heart was safe with his will, then rushed at the symbol again.

“832!” He shouted and turned back into a whirlwind of attacks, continuing to count in an even louder tone. “821!”

He didn’t even flinch as the agonizing fight dragged on. He didn’t know how much soul he had left, how many times he’d disappeared into streams of light, and how many times he’d come back.

He kept fighting on the edge of madness, on the edge of reality, on the edge between the World of the Soul and the Spirit World. His battle was the endless fight between a swordsman and the very essence of the Sword, against the personification of the Way of the Sword. It was absurd and disgustingly wrong, even blasphemous, but Hadjar didn’t care. He wasn’t a hero, a paragon of good, he was just a monster that hadn’t yet been killed by another, stronger monster. As long as he was alive, he’d continue fighting and doing what he thought was right…

Hadjar jumped away from the pillar of light and froze for a split second. His neural network counted down the second break. If he stopped for even a moment longer, the already destroyed sword slashes would recover and everything would be over.

“This is impossible…”

No matter how strong and fearless Hadjar was, he’d encountered an obstacle that he couldn’t overcome.

Two Sword Spirit marks flashed in front of him. Hadjar didn’t have enough time to attack both targets.

“Fuck you!” He shouted. “You think I’ll give up?”

He was about to launch his final, defiant attack when a figure in a black cloak with a blue sword appeared next to him. Time froze. Hadjar heard the last note of the song the old man had played. It was his parting gift…

“You came?” Hadjar looked at his other half standing next to him.

“We’ll fight together, side by side, one last time,” the other Hadjar said, “and then we’ll go our separate ways.”

Our separate ways... echoed in Hadjar’s head.

You’ll be killed by the one who wasn’t born, he remembered the Tree’s words. Well... maybe he was, like a true Roman fool, destined to fall by his own blade.

“Do you know what to do?” Hadjar stood next to the other Hadjar.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, weakling.”

“Sociopath.”

“Crybaby.”

“Lunatic.”

They both smiled widely and madly. Hadjar felt the gift end and time continued its merciless march.

“Let’s add one final touch,” Hadjar closed his eyes. When was the last time he’d done this? Back when he’d passed the very first trial of his life, the trial that Master Traves had imposed on him… Right now, Hadjar wanted to hear the sounds of the old world.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

Playing audio recording: ‘Way to Fall’ by Starsailor]

“That’s better!”

The two swordsmen charged forward.

***

Einen, swallowing a handful of pills, restored his Call’s armor and, after merging it with his defensive Technique, summoned the rainbow ape. It slammed its spear-fang against the turtle shell shield, destroying the nearby dead with a single shockwave.

“Dora!” He yelled as he held up his shield.

The elf, who’d also taken some pills, kicked off from his shield and flew into the air, bringing down her third huge attack on Derek’s head. Just like the last two times, he simply waved away the Green Hammer clan’s Divine level Technique, as if it were nothing more than a mosquito. The resulting ocean of impossibly sharp splinters destroyed tens of thousands of the dead, but more followed.

“Karein! Tom!” Dora managed to shout before falling back into Einen’s arms. The islander was still protecting the part of the Legion that had survived after the ‘Queen’s Hand’ Technique had been broken with his shield. Only a tenth of the soldiers were still alive. The others, the ones who hadn’t been obliterated, were already banging their weapons against the translucent green shell that protected the remnants of the third division.

The two swordsmen jumped toward Derek and used their best and most lethal Techniques. Tom’s three blood swords came down on Derek’s back. Karein’s sword, blazing with chaos lightning, now almost one hundred feet long, was aimed right at Derek’s heart. Behind Karein, the silhouette of his Spirit ー a demonic, two-tailed fox ー shone brightly.

“You’re bothering me!” Derek swung his swords.

Dozens of golden energy crescents were scattered everywhere. Tom and Karein managed to dodge away and get under the protection of Einen’s shell, but the others weren’t so lucky. The dead and the alive were both reduced to dust.

Everything was still for a moment, then Einen saw a streak of golden light coming toward their little island of life in this ocean of death, and heard the souls of the dying warriors around him scream.

Despite knowing that it still wouldn’t be enough, Einen nonetheless channeled all his remaining energy into the shield, “It looks like I’ll be going to my forefathers before you, brother.”

***

“Seventy-two!” Hadjar shouted.

“Seventy-one!” A second voice echoed.

Working together, never stopping the dance of blades, they finally reached the mark after cutting the upper slashes in the hieroglyph.

“After you... my brother...” Hadjar heard.

At the final, crucial moment, his heart shook. His sword wasn’t fast and strong enough to cut through the slash. A stream of silver light hit the small patch of darkness that hadn’t yet been destroyed during their fierce battle. He rolled and managed to sink his sword into the darkness, holding on grimly.

“Shit!” Hadjar saw the light pushing the other Hadjar away, who hadn’t been so lucky. He hadn’t managed to plunge his sword into the darkness in time and was now flying straight toward the grass, where death awaited them.

Recalling something, Hadjar pushed off from his sword. He swung his gray cloak and, wrapping it around the hilt of his sword, plunged into the abyss. He was just in time to catch the other Hadjar’s wrist.

“Grab my hand!” He shouted.

They hung over the soul world, which was already being covered by a gray haze. Death was coming for its prey, and their forefathers’ house was getting closer.

“Let me go!” The other Hadjar shouted. “You idiot! You still have time to finish off that scumbag!”

Hadjar wrapped the cloak around his arm and pulled them up.

“We’ll make it together! It was planning to only fight me, so we have a couple of seconds to spare.”

A tug. Another tug. The crumbling platform of darkness, frozen in the air, was so close. There was a crack. Then came the sound of the cloak tearing.

“It can’t hold us both,” the other Hadjar whispered. “What a stupid situation! Just like in the movies.”

“Stop bullshitting. We’ve never seen any movies!”

“Don’t you regret it?”

“Regret what? Shut up, damn you! I’m a little busy here.”

“Don’t you regret the past?”

Hadjar looked down. He met his own eyes. But instead of defiance, rage, or anger, there was only sadness, loneliness, and pain in them. So much pain. This was what Hadjar had given up when he’d been born… He’d given up the pain.

“You’re making a mess,” Hadjar growled. “We need-”

The cloak tore. The darkness fell apart and the Sword Spirit’s mark flashed victoriously. They fell into the grayness together.

“I think we’ll get there at the same time, brother,” Hadjar whispered.

With his arms outstretched, he spent the last few moments of his life enjoying the way the wind played with his hair, his body floating freely through the clouds. Just like he’d once dreamed while lying in that small room, he was finally free. He had friends who’d shed blood for him, and for whom he was ready to give his life in turn. He also had enemies. Some of them were honorable and dignified, others were far from it. He had a life and-

“Why are you still whining, you sniveling bastard?”

Hadjar opened his eyes. The hilt of the blue sword was protruding from his chest.

“Even if an army stands against us, I won’t betray you.” The other Hadjar was disappearing into the wind, smiling fearlessly. “Even if the Emperor sends legions after us, I won’t betray you. Even if demons and gods, heroes and villains alike, unite against us, they won’t be able to force me to betray myself. My name is…”

***

Einen, who was covering Dora with his body, waited for all of Derek’s rage to descend upon them, but it never did. He looked up and saw a dark figure.

“Hadjar?”

“Not today, baldy,” Hadjar, who was standing with his back to Einen’s shield, was holding back the two beams of golden light with the flat of his sword. “Today, none of us will go to our forefathers!”

The world shook as a shockwave turned half the army of the dead to dust.

Chapter 933

T he legionnaires had been preparing to meet their forefathers when they suddenly saw a storm cloud appear in the sky above Dahanatan. It was unusual. There was a huge, old man, who looked like he could grasp the entire universe in a single hand, standing amongst the lightning bolts. In one hand, he held all kinds of weapons, and in the other, he held a musical instrument that might have been his shield.

Each time the weapons banged against the shield, lightning bolts descended upon the capital. Like mad dragons who were on the prowl, they cut through the sky and then struck the ground. It was all so loud that many soldiers’ ears bled. The thunder was unnaturally rhythmic, too, as if this wasn’t just the rage of nature, but someone powerful playing a war drum instead.

A white lightning bolt struck the center of the army of the dead, and a tall, broad-shouldered young man came out of it as if going through a door. Despite his youth, he looked as wild and predatory as the lightning dragons cutting through the sky. There wasn’t a single scar on his body, but everyone could easily sense that this warrior had gone through the crucible of hundreds of thousands of battles.

Two gigantic beams of golden light, with the souls of warriors wailing inside of them, flashed. The legionnaires had seen these beams swat away elite cultivators, including Karein Tarez, a Lord who possessed the Sword Kingdom, and the junior heir Tom Dinos, like flies. Neither of them had been able to withstand the might of the Lascanian great hero.

Dora Marnil, the senior heiress of the Green Hammer elf clan, despite all her destructive power, had been shrugged off, and the legendary Einen the Islander’s impenetrable defense had been no stronger than a sheet of paper when faced with Derek’s attacks.

And all this power rained down on the lone figure. The gentle wind made his strange, magical clothes flutter. They were dark blue, or a light blue, the soldiers weren’t sure, covered in patterns depicting shining stars, and the image of a wind blowing past, embodied in white swirls.

The swordsman held a single blade in his hands. It looked deeply mystical with its black handle and cutting edge that looked as if they were made of darkness, and the blue flat side of the blade that had the pattern of a black Quetzal bird soaring into the clouds depicted on it.

“Not today, baldy,” his voice boomed like a war drum. Crouching slightly, he held his sword in a defensive stance. “Today, none of us will go to our forefathers!”

When the two golden beams struck the black and blue sword, the storm overhead rumbled with another crack of lightning and thunder which sounded like a triumphant, furious laugh. It made the turtle shell that covered the remnants of the third division vibrate. The dead fared a lot worse this time. Half their army turned to dust, forming a huge dueling circle.

The Lascanian great hero suddenly raised his fist and the dead froze where they were, both in the sky and on the ground. The legionnaires attacked them mercilessly for a moment, but, after seeing that they weren’t putting up a fight, they also froze, turning their gazes toward the two figures. One was standing on the back of a huge, dead lizard, and the other — in the air itself.

***

“Did you get some new toys, Darkhan?” Derek cracked his neck and assumed a fighting stance. “They won’t help you.”

Hadjar turned to Einen, “Long time no see, buddy. I’d forgotten how strange your eyes are.”

“Long time no see? What? It’s only been a few hours... and... What happened to your soul? It-”

“It’s whole!” Hadjar slapped his chest. “It’s an unusual feeling, to be honest. This magic of yours is a strange thing. Even after forty years, I still haven’t gotten used to it.”

“Forty years? What are you talking about? And... Those artifacts…”

Hadjar looked around. While everyone else had only spent a few hours fighting, for him, forty long years had passed since he’d destroyed the Sword Spirit’s mark. He’d spent all those years training on the Mountain of Elements, where he had been taught by Master Orune.

Hadjar pulled out the scroll that Orune had given him before he’d died. He’d said that it contained the recipe for his favorite meat dish. The maniac had understood that Hadjar would be too busy with other things and would forget about this parting gift. Until the mark was removed and the scroll revealed itself in all its true glory.

The wind blew past and the scroll in Hadjar’s hand turned to dust, which was immediately carried away toward the south, to Orune’s homeland.

“How did you become-”

“Don’t ignore me, Darkhan!” Golden energy swirled behind Hadjar.

“We’ll talk later, brother,” Hadjar turned and, holding his sword behind his back, went to his opponent. “A foe is waiting for me.”

Not understanding what was happening, Einen simply watched as another white lightning bolt struck the ground. It consumed both Hadjar and Derek. The lizard’s charred bones fell to the ground. The two warriors were moved to the center of the circle that had been created for them. In just an instant, they’d covered a distance that even a skyship would’ve needed at least a dozen seconds to cross. As far as Einen could remember, only one other person he knew of could do this — the late Orune.

***

“No one will interrupt us here.” Hadjar landed in front of Derek.

They stood in the center of the empty, makeshift ‘fighting ring’, and around them, several miles away, were the dead. Behind Hadjar stood the remnants of the living, which consisted of his squad and the surviving legionnaires.

“How did you…” Derek looked around, then quickly raised his swords. “It doesn’t matter… I thought you were better than this, Darkhan. Do you honestly think that acquiring some Divine level artifacts and pumping yourself up to the Lord level with the help of alchemy can help you defeat me? Or does that new tattoo of yours give you false confidence?”

Hadjar raised his right arm. Before, the Name on it had been written in scarlet, but now the ink had changed to become blue and black.

“No, my enemy,” Hadjar shook his head. “It’s just that I used to fight... at half power. Wielding alien power, at that. However, thanks to you, I was able to become myself again.” Hadjar raised his sword and looked at its new color and pattern. “I have my own power now. Thank you for that, Derek. But for all the grief you were going to bring my homeland, I’ll kill you. And I’ll kill anyone who follows you. Until there’s no one left to take up arms against Darnassus.”

Hadjar’s eyes flashed with rage and battle lust.

“Cocky bastard!” Derek laughed. “I’m bringing grief? Did my country take up arms against Darnassus? It’s easy to blame others for what your own country is doing and did, isn’t it? Was it Lascanian soldiers who killed my mother? And all those other children’s mothers?”

“Lascanian soldiers also killed the mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters of Darnassus,” Hadjar replied. “But my country didn’t cross your border. It wasn’t our warriors who trampled your lands, burned your villages, and killed innocent mortals.”

“Darnassian dog!” A tornado of golden energy swirled around Derek. “I thought I’d play around with you for a while, but my Kingdom alone is enough to destroy your filthy soul!”

“Oh, trust me, my enemy, you have no idea just how filthy it is.”

“DIE!”

The True Kingdom of the Twin Blades spread out, its deadly embrace covering an area of several hundred feet. Everyone watching the fight was prepared to see the arrogant swordsman get obliterated. But that didn’t happen. He didn’t even move, just held his sword out in front of him.

The north wind started blowing. At first softly, gently, then it grew fiercer, until gusts of blue wind swirled all around Hadjar in a radius of forty paces, and then they rose up and assumed the form of a blue and black dragon-sword.

“A County?” Derek laughed. “Are you going to hold me back with the County...? Wait... This isn’t the Sword County… What is this? Who are you? Where is the real Darkhan?”

“I’m right in front of you.” A mad grin distorted Hadjar’s face, and he rushed at his opponent. Thunder echoed across the battlefield.

Chapter 934

T he ground shook as the swordsman pushed away from it. The vibration had such immense force behind it that the fortifications, which were still standing after the battle with the dead, were destroyed. The cannons rolled over the legionnaires’ heads and, if not for the cables that held them, they would’ve killed many warriors.

There was no doubt that the power of this charge was so great that if the Fifth Legion had been nearby, only those who were protected by Heaven level or higher armor would’ve survived. All the others, if they weren’t Spirit Knights at least, would’ve simply disappeared.

The ground was torn apart and a wide crack that could’ve been the bed of a deep river appeared. The swordsman flew above the great hero and swung down in a vicious attack. There was a rumble.

“SHIELDS UP!” The officers roared, and the soldiers used the ‘Queen’s Hand’ again to protect themselves from the shockwave that was sure to follow the impact.

Derek took the blow on his crossed swords. He roared like a wild animal. Swirls of golden energy moved around him. The swords wailed with the screams of the agonized souls. A Divine level defensive Technique flashed with a bright light.

“Shield of the God of War!”

As soon as the black and blue blade struck it, the shield bent and shattered. Derek fell to the ground. A cloud of dust and rubble rose up, one so gigantic that it matched even the tallest buildings in Dahanatan. After hitting the undersides of the skyships, it spread out, sweeping away the dead that had survived the first collision. When it hit the ‘Queen’s Hand’, it pushed the legionnaires, who’d planted their feet in the ground, almost a foot back. The battle continued inside the crater, which was covered in jagged stones.

***

“What was that?” Derek got to his feet, spitting out more of his strange, golden blood.

“My Master called it the ‘Blue Wind Sword’. Something that is a sword, but doesn’t belong to the Sword Spirit. And it’s also a part of the North Wind Spirit, but not fully,” Hadjar tried to explain. “Because of that, once upon a time... well, technically, to you it would be... Fuck it! To cut a long story short, that was why he accepted me as a disciple.”

“Are you out of your mind, Darkhan…? No, you aren’t Darkhan... Where is DARKHAN?”

Derek’s furious roar spread out in the form of a dome of golden light. It crushed and swept away the stones inside the crater. Hadjar swung his sword precisely and cut the dome just enough to ensure that it didn’t touch the edges of his clothes.

“I’m right here!”

Hadjar ran at him again. Switching his sword to a reverse grip, he approached Derek and quickly slashed at his body.

Derek, though shocked, was still an ambidextrous swordsman. He blocked the attack with his right sword. When Hadjar’s sword struck his, the momentum of the attack destroyed the stones behind Derek.

Meanwhile, Derek’s left sword was moving toward Hadjar’s head. He had no way to block this attack as his sword was still entangled with Derek’s right sword.

There was no way for someone who hadn’t fought against one of the greatest ambidextrous swordsmen of all time for forty years to block it, that is. He’d spent four decades comprehending the science of fighting against great heroes, after all.

Hadjar let go of his sword. With his will, he turned it around and drove it into the ground. Jumping up to stand atop the handle of the Wind Blade (the sword’s new name), he slammed his shoulder into Derek’s left elbow. Following through with the motion, Hadjar slammed his knee into Derek’s chest, and then, grabbing his left arm, spun his body around and threw Derek into the air.

Not stopping for even an instant, he smoothly pushed off against the air as if it were a solid surface, and soared into the sky. He stretched out his hand toward the crater, and his sword rushed to answer his call. The handle flew perfectly into his hand and, using its momentum, he slashed upward.

Derek, who’d been defeated in a similar way before — by a series of deceptive maneuvers — in the tomb of the dead Lord of the Heavens, crossed his blades.

“Teachings of the God of War: Army!”

There was a golden flash, and the spectators gasped as a whole army appeared in the sky — ten thousands warriors, each of them holding two long sabers.

“TEACHINGS OF THE GOD OF WAR: SIEGE,” they yelled in unison.

As they raised their swords to the sky, they formed a massive, golden sword. Punching through the ghost ships and slicing through the clouds, it grew to an incredible size.

“AAARGHHH!” Derek roared, attacking Hadjar with this incredible Technique.

The power of the great heroes was undeniable — it was all-encompassing and all-consuming. If Derek had used it on the ground instead of in the air, the Legion wouldn’t have been saved even by the ‘Queen’s Hand’ Technique.

Surprising everyone, Hadjar survived the attack. Shrouded in blue light, he raised his sword above him, and when the golden blade came down on him, he... simply cut through it. Like a needle with proper force and skill behind it piercing even the thickest of leather, so too did he pierce Derek’s Technique and turn it into wisps of gold shimmering in the sky.

The ten thousand copies of Derek fell slowly to the ground

“The Fourth Strike,” Hadjar looked at his enemy, “Sword.”

Hadjar held his sword out in front of him. The gusts of blue wind behind him turned into a dragon’s maw, which, after passing through his body, grew to the size of a true Lord of the Heavens. Ten thousand paces long and two thousand paces wide, it was the embodiment of all the power Hadjar’s sword contained, and all the mysteries of the Blue Wind Sword, which he’d studied for forty years. Opening a maw that could swallow a battleship whole, the dragon flashed as it went through Derek’s army. Then it targeted Derek himself. For a second time, the two cultivators fell to the ground, and this time, the crater they created almost reached the edge of the ‘Queen’s Hand’. The jagged, cracked stones stretched up toward the sky, and a vortex of blue energy grew as well, destroying dozens of the ghost ships.

“May demons tear me apart!” Karein whispered, “What was in that pill you gave him?”

“I have no idea,” Einen said, “but I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.” Karein nodded.

“Hush!” Rekka hissed. “The battle isn’t over yet.”

Chapter 935

D erek wasn’t going to give up. Even though he was bloody and panting, standing knee-deep in an underground spring, he kept fighting. Leaving behind a flash of golden light, he charged Hadjar. His sword strikes rained down on him, but Hadjar parried and deflected all of them. He was moving at a speed that even Derek couldn’t keep up with. Derek’s swords only occasionally managed to get past Hadjar’s defenses, but as soon as they touched his unusual clothes, they felt like they’d collided with the strongest steel. Thousands of blows rained down from all sides, but all of them were met by the black and blue blade — one sword against two, and yet it was beating them in terms of speed.

Hadjar turned his sword, letting Derek’s own sword slide along its plane, and then, slightly twisting his wrist and moving his body to the side, he sent Derek’s saber toward his own hip. It distracted him for just a moment.

This was more than enough for Hadjar. He slid across the ground to Derek’s side, leaving a faint, blue haze behind in his wake. With his will, he made a cut in the space behind Derek. The latter, who hadn’t even had enough time to deal with his own weapon yet, finally lost his balance and fell backwards. Continuing to slide, Hadjar got behind his opponent. Turning his blade and his body, he slashed at Derek’s spine. A streak of blue light, within which dragons writhed, shot out of the crater’s mouth and surged up into the sky.

Derek flew a hundred feet through the air, bouncing along the ground, and finally stopped once he hit a giant rock. Golden blood flowed from a nasty wound on his back that completely exposed a dark spine and equally dark muscles. It was an attack that could’ve killed even a Nameless…

“I’m not done yet…” Derek croaked. He dug his swords into the ground and got up. “I’m not done at all… Whoever you are, you can’t kill me with mortal weapons… I’ll destroy you, then Darnassus, and then I’ll find that cowardly Darkhan and I’ll…”

Hadjar stared at the monster in front of him. In his eyes, he saw his own reflection. Well, maybe there would be another monster one day, one stronger than him, and Hadjar himself would then face his imminent demise.

“I know, Derek. I know.”

A white lightning bolt struck one of the jagged rocks. The young woman from the Karnak jungle came out of it. In her hands, she held a bow made from white bones. The bowstring had been made from a vein, and the arrow from a sharpened femur. The bow was glowing vividly.

“What-”

Annette’s lips moved and she said a Word. The bowstring sang, the arrow flew, and, turning into a lightning bolt, it pierced Derek’s chest. His swords fell from his hands. Golden blood bubbled at the corners of his lips. Losing strength, he fell to his knees.

Hadjar was already next to him.

“They... they... they…”

“They’re waiting for you, Derek,” Hadjar whispered. “Go to them.”

“Yes...” A hoarse voice came from the dying Lascanian great hero. “Forgive me... Darkhan…”

He closed his eyes, and that was the end of Derek of the Steppe.

The sky above the Fifth Legion gradually took on its normal, azure hue. The ghost ships disappeared, and the green glow of the clouds was gone too. The dark storm dissipated in a light haze.

The ocean of the dead that stood at the edge of the ‘Queen’s Hand’ turned into a morning mist that was soon blown away by the wind. But Hadjar was in no hurry to leave the crater. With his will, he moved Annette behind him and gripped his sword.

One of the clouds that had been present the whole time suddenly turned into a ribbon of energy, which then moved to the bottom of the crater. Taniged the Cloudy came out of it. He was a red-haired, rugged, scarred warrior. He was wearing battle gloves, which were Divine level artifacts. When had legendary artifacts, all of them far more valuable than mere money or resources, become so widespread?

Taniged silently bent down and picked up Derek’s body, then tossed it over his shoulder.

“I’m taking him,” he stated. “The stupid boy deserves to be buried in the land of his ancestors.”

Hadjar didn’t argue with him. He also wanted Derek to finally find peace.

“Why didn’t you help him?”

“Because there was no honor in that. The war has just begun, Orune’s disciple. We’ll fight. Rivers of blood will flood Lascan and Darnassus. But it will be the blood of the living. Fighting side by side, shield to shield. If the gods will it, maybe one of our countries will survive. One way or another, we’ll fight with honor and bards will sing about us for eons to come.”

“See you later, then, Taniged the Cloudy.”

The red-haired warrior just grunted, “You’ve become strong, no doubt about it. But don’t get cocky. You’re still not in our league.”

Hadjar only had time to raise his sword to block, and then it felt as if a whole mountain had slammed into him. He at least managed to move Annette with the ‘White Lightning Step’ before he smashed through dozens of rocks at the bottom of the crater. Flying almost a mile through the air after that hit, he landed at Dora’s and Einen’s feet.

His shirt had been torn to shreds where it covered his chest, and a black bruise in the shape of a hand was gradually appearing on his skin. Hadjar was wheezing, unable to catch his breath, and spitting out blood.

“Grow even stronger, Orune’s disciple!” They heard from above. “Or I’ll be bored!” Laughter rolled like thunder across Darnassus.

The war had just begun…

***

On the balcony of the ancient Palace stood a tall, menacing warrior. Crushing the railing with his hands, he watched Boreas’ will disappear.

“MINISTER JU!” He roared, and his voice echoed for miles around.

Everyone in the Dragon Lands shuddered in horror. The Emperor was displeased.

***

A man was limping along a road. He was wearing an old, gray cloak. His feet carried him forward, and his empty, gray eyes stared at the elusive, glowing sunset.

He heard a scream, and a heartbeat later, when he came around a bend under a hill, he saw several men trying to rip the clothes off several women. It was a strange sight. It sort of made sense to him, but he didn’t really understand it…

Suddenly, he realized that there was something in his hand. He looked down. Steel… Sword… It appeared to be a sword. A sword… He knew what to do with it.

He killed them quickly. Faster than he’d wanted to. Did he want to kill? No, he didn’t... or did he? He didn’t know. All he really knew was that he had a sword in his hand.

“Thank you...” He heard.

A young girl had said that….

“Not… at… all…” He answered, struggling to speak. He remembered the words, but he didn’t understand them very well.

“What’s your name?”

Name? Did he have a name? Yes. He had a name.

“Er... Erhard…”

Chapter 936

“I think that’s everything.” Chin’Ameh, who had been watching the duel between the bastard of the Dark Storm tribe and the slave of the God of War, fidgeted with the turban ribbon that hung down to his waist. Morgan noticed this, of course. Although, at the moment, he wasn’t interested in the dragon Master, but the boy.

Hadjar Darkhan was yet another small fish in the local pond who thought he was a shark, one able to overcome the laws of the Heavens and the Earth and become a Lord of the Heavens. There were so many of these small fries in Morgan’s memory that they outnumbered the blades of grass in the entire Empire. And every time they’d appeared, he’d used them for his own purposes, and then thrown them out into the real world, where they’d promptly been eaten by the larger fish.

But, by the gods and demons, something was wrong with Hadjar Darkhan. He not only had an incredible ability to get out of all the messes he got into thanks to his own stupidity, but he also benefitted from them! The fact that the Emperor knew the name and life story of a simple Spirit Knight was already impressive. Of course, it was mostly because of Orune that he’d even bothered to learn Hadjar’s name, but still.

“Young Hadjar still has room to grow.” Chin’Ameh smiled.

Then Taniged struck Hadjar. Morgan knew very well that if the second most powerful great hero had wanted to kill him, Darkhan wouldn’t have stood a chance. He rubbed his right shoulder. There, hidden beneath his expensive clothing and intricate patterns of tattoos, was a scar — a reminder of the times when he and Taniged had fought. Back then, the red-haired warrior hadn’t yet been a subject of Lascan, but a mercenary who’d fought for the Empire that had paid him more.

Taniged hadn’t even put half his power into the blow that had torn through Hadjar’s Divine level armor and sent him flying through rocks.

Only six people in all the seven Empires could’ve measured up to Orune in terms of power. What was particularly worrisome for Morgan was that four of them lived in Lascan. This imbalance in their quality of great heroes had pushed the technological development in Darnassus forward. ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’ would provide a counterbalance in the escalating war.

However, those who couldn’t plan at least ten steps ahead didn’t become Emperors. If the Regent Mother of the Lascanian Emperor (who still had no hair on his balls) had deigned to cross the border, she had a plan. Morgan still hadn’t figured out what she was up to.

Taniged and Morgan caught each other’s gazes. The old enemies who’d fought many deadly battles gave each other a curt nod. Taniged, with Derek’s body over his shoulder, disappeared into his ‘Step Through the Clouds’ Technique. It was perhaps the only Technique in the seven Empires that was a match for the speed of the ‘White Lightning Step’. Legends said that they had been created by the same cultivator who had achieved Immortality.

Speaking of immortality, he needed to extract certain oaths from the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School and immediately write down the important information he’d just learned so he could make it exclusive to the Imperial family’s library. Even a hint about how to gain immortality could turn-

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Chin’Ameh said suddenly, his gaze directed westward, somewhere beyond the horizon.

The rector and the Emperor glanced at each other again. They were the only two people in the city who knew exactly where the dragon was looking — at his homeland, the country that stood above even the seven Empires, the Dragon Lands.

“If this has anything to do with the delay in our tribute, great Chin’Ameh, we’ll-”

“No, young Morgan.” The Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion straightened up. Sweat dripped down his forehead and magical blood flowed from his nose. Even a single drop would be enough to make all the alchemists in Dahanatan tear each other’s throats out to get it. The shimmering dragon blood was considered an incredibly powerful ingredient. “You know the law: as long as you and Lascan are at war, the Ruby Palace will allow you to delay paying your tributes until the war is over.”

The Emperor nodded. It was an ancient law that had been established several eons ago. Along with many others, it made the seven Empires acutely aware of their overlords’ authority over them. They were only as independent as the strongest countries allowed them to be.

“We’re being summoned back to our homeland.” Chin’Ameh took out a handkerchief, wiped the blood away, then folded it carefully and handed it to Morgan. “Give this to young Hadjar Darkhan. Tell him that the conversation we had is now vitally important.”

“I will.” The Emperor accepted the handkerchief with a slight bow.

It was neither the time nor the place to show that he was surprised to learn that this unusual cultivator had already talked to the dragon Master.

Before turning into a wave of light, Chin’Ameh took one last look at the battlefield. It had once been a beautiful meadow that had soothed Morgan’s soul. It would take a year or so before the World River was restored in that area and the damage done by the cultivators was undone. The meadow would definitely return to its former state...

“Poor girl,” Chin’Ameh whispered. “She met her true life partner and then lost him… I’ll be waiting to hear the bards’ songs about this day, young Morgan. Tell her that for me.”

Chin’Ameh disappeared so quickly and mysteriously that Morgan couldn’t even sense it. The only thing he left behind was a simple, jade hair clip lying on the parapet. There were several hieroglyphs written on it in the dragon language. A language that no mortal, or even Immortal, could learn. Only dragons could communicate using it.

“My Emperor,” the rector bowed suddenly. “Did I hear him correctly? Did he really say ‘we-’”

“Yes, he did say…”

Morgan stopped abruptly. So many things had happened in the past hour that he’d overlooked the dragon Master’s slip of the tongue. Damn it! This meant that all this time, another representative of the dragon tribe had been here, but Morgan hadn’t known about it. But... The dragon Emperor wouldn’t call just any old small fry back to his Palace. Chin’Ameh held a position in the Dragon Lands comparable to that of the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. So, what had the high-ranking dragon been doing in Darnassus? And, more importantly, why hadn’t he known anything about it?

Morgan touched the medallion on his chest and, sending a spark of will and energy into it, growled:

“Head of the Secret Office!”

Then, turning to the battlefield, he spotted the girl Chin’Ameh had mentioned. By the gods and demons! Why did it have to be the disgraced Dinos?

Chapter 937

A nise, helplessly covering her mouth with her hands, watched Galkhad screaming in agony as streams of green light seeped out of his armor. The disgusting, dead energy escaped through the joints of the armor, the eye slits in the helmet, from every possible crack, and into the sky. Galkhad shouted as if his soul was being torn out of him. Unable to help in any way, Anise sat next to her lover, crying silently.

Then it stopped. The green light disappeared, and Galkhad stopped moving. A second passed... two… three… Nothing happened.

“Anise...” suddenly came from the depths of the armor.

The voice surprised and even horrified her for a moment. It sounded as if someone tiny had been plopped into a huge suit of armor. However, in less than a heartbeat, that feeling turned into joy as she realized her beloved was with her again. She wanted to see his face, run her fingers through his hair, and look into his eyes…

“Galkhad! Here, let me help you.” Anise smiled through her tears.

She reached for the helmet, but he, fighting through the pain, caught her hand just a second before she snapped off the buckles on the leather belts.

“No... Don’t...” He said. “I don’t want... you... to see me... like this.”

Anise had seen soldiers die from injuries more than once. She wasn’t a healer, so she couldn’t tell what was wrong with him just from the sound of his voice, but what she’d heard convinced her that Galkhad was seriously wounded. She could hear the blood pooling in his lungs, and could tell by how much he was struggling that he had internal injuries as well.

“We need to get you to the Marnil healer! Hera will-”

Anise reached out to help him get up, but he didn’t release her wrist.

“No…” He managed to croak out. “I’m beyond help.”

“What are you talking about?” Anise’s eyes filled with tears again. “Of course she’ll help you! You’re just a-”

“Look... through... the River.”

Anise shook her head fiercely. She already knew what she’d see if she looked at him through the World River… Instead, she said:

“It’ll be all right,” her tears were falling on his helmet. “Stand up... It’ll be all right…”

“Look!” Galkhad, or what was left of him, demanded with the last of his strength.

And she did. Closing her eyes, Anise turned her gaze to the streams of the World River. Everything that existed under the light of the stars was within its cold embrace. Everything visible and invisible. The World River was everything, and yet it only existed in the thin line that connected the four mythical worlds. Some even speculated that it was their border.

The physical world disappeared, replaced by strands of energy that were woven into shapes of such impossible complexity that no mortal could ever comprehend them. Even a simple stone was an incredibly complex nexus of energy.

Each cultivator, when viewed through the World River, looked like an intricate system of energy channels and nodes. And Galkhad… He was a terrible sight, so frightening that it was a miracle that she managed to stop herself from recoiling in horror from what she saw. Whatever Derek had done to his captive, it hadn’t left anything human in him. He must have suffered so much... Anise couldn’t even imagine such anguish.

The gauntlet rose shakily up to Anise’s face.

“Don’t... cry... my love...” An iron finger wiped a tear from the girl’s cheek. “I... want to see... your smile... one last time.”

Anise smiled through the tears. Through the heartache. Through the desperation that consumed her from within.

Galkhad looked at her, her jet-black hair and glowing, emerald eyes. Every movement of her long lashes, every sigh of her pink lips, every curve of her snow-white skin, and all her almost imperceptible freckles were absolutely beautiful. The few fleeting years he’d spent holding her in his arms had been the happiest of his life.

“Did we... win?”

Anise nodded.

“You won,” she whispered.

Galkhad leaned back. His hand slid down to her stomach. A white lightning bolt struck nearby. Tom, Einen, Dora, and Hadjar walked out of it. They headed toward them, but then froze. They saw them and instantly understood that Galkhad couldn’t be saved. Even the greatest of healing mages couldn’t help him now, because healing preserved life, and it was impossible to preserve life where death already ruled. Galkhad was certainly dead. But for some mysterious reason, he hadn’t left the world of the living yet.

“My friends...” He whispered, looking at them. “It... was ... an honor... to fight by your side.”

They came up to him, stood together around him and, drawing their weapons, plunged them into the ground. It was the greatest expression of respect, the highest honor that could be bestowed upon someone in this world…

Galkhad finally understood. He realized that happiness was so simple. It wasn’t something you found in the path of cultivation or in power… He looked at his beloved, at the friends who’d once been his enemies. This was happiness.

“Name him... ” He wheezed, feeling his forefathers’ hands already reaching out toward him. “Asmerhad.”

“Asmerhad…” Anise smiled. “Serene peak…”

“I... will... wait for you. But... please... don’t hurry....”

She was still clutching the gauntlet when the semblance of life left Galkhad’s body. His glassy eyes stared at the clouds floating across the sky… Crows circled above them. They stared in disbelief at the battlefield, where only one body remained. All the dead had disappeared when Derek had died. Tens of thousands of legionnaires slain, and not a single body to put on funeral pyres and sing funeral songs for. Only mounds of ruined armor were left. They shone under the hot sun. The cry of a woman who had lost her true love in the war echoed over the decimated land.

***

By nightfall, a fire was lit. A huge tower of wood had been built behind the only defensive outpost that had survived the battle. There were no bodies on it, only armors and weapons that would be melted down to pay tribute to those who had fallen in battle.

The only exception was a powerful Spirit Knight, clutching an axe placed on his mighty chest, who lay atop the pyre. Anise still held the torch she’d used to light the wood. Tears were still running down her cheeks. Her left hand was on her stomach.

Hadjar looked at her and realized that this was the only thing stopping her from collapsing under the weight of her emotional wounds. The power that any woman gained when she became a mother…

At the funeral table, which was made of logs and cluttered with moonshine and bread, Hadjar sat next to Karein Tares, Dora Marnil, Einen the Islander, Annette from the Shuk’Arka tribe, and Tom Dinos. They were drinking silently. All of them had lived through this battle, and the journey before it, and now they were seeing off their dead comrades who were embarking on their last voyage…

In his lust for battle, his longing for the clash of weapons and the sounds of war drums, Hadjar had completely forgotten how he hated war from the bottom of his heart.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” Rekka stepped out of a shadow behind them. “The Emperor wants to talk to you. Immediately.”

Hadjar silently took out his old, battered Ron’Jah from his spatial ring. Worn, battered, but not forgotten.

“He can wait,” he replied and, ignoring Rekka’s shock, touched the strings.

Even if the Jasper Emperor or the Prince of Demons had called for him just then, they would’ve had to wait until Hadjar finished singing a funeral song for a departed friend. The friend he’d found only after his death…

Chapter 938

T here were only a few people currently present in the huge hall that could hold up to two thousand guests. The doors closed behind him as he entered a glittering room that had a ceiling higher than mortal archers could ever hope to shoot. Chin’Ameh was always impressed by this room, every single time he saw it. Even if he assumed his true form of a Lord of the Heavens, he’d feel as comfortable here as he would in his own cave.

But, more than the scale of the structure created under the rule of the Thundercloud tribe, the Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion admired its beauty. Like any dragon, he valued beauty in everything: in bodies, in thoughts, and in material things. Chin’Ameh could swear by the High Heavens and the Ancestor’s Spirit that there was no structure more beautiful than the Imperial Palace of the Dragon Lands in the entire White Dragon Region.

There were no windows in the throne room. The walls were monolithic, several feet thick, built from the strongest decorative stone, and adorned with carvings, tapestries, and paintings. The hall was still well lit during the day and dark at night. According to some legends and rumors, dwarves had been hired by the ancient Emperor to build this splendor.

The ceiling, made entirely of rubies of the highest quality and covered with all sorts of magic runes and symbols, could take on a variety of forms. It could become so dense that even Chin’Ameh couldn’t scratch it in his true form. Or it could become transparent and almost invisible, letting in the light of the sun or moon. But whatever happened, it always remained there.

The scenes from the past, which were depicted by the rubies, were striking in their scale and detail. Even now, eons later, Chin’Ameh couldn’t stop relishing the fact that he could discern even the smallest pattern on the Thundercloud tribe’s coat of arms, all of them made from rubies, simple stones from the land of mortals.

“Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion, speak.” A deep, strong voice broke the silence.

Taking a step back, Chin’Ameh bent down and folded his hands in front of him. He bowed his head, touched his horns to his elbows, and knelt down. After first bowing three times to the Emperor and then, as required by etiquette, to the coat of arms of the Emperor’s tribe, he straightened up.

A man sat on a throne that was made from an alloy of all the precious metals found in the White Dragon Region. He was six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong chin and wide cheekbones. His thick, black brows were furrowed. Clear eyes, imbued with primal power, reflected his sharp intelligence. Dressed in black and gold, loose robes made of the most precious fabrics, wearing a crown with seven prongs, he cut an imposing figure as he never took his eyes off his subjects.

His throne stood on a pedestal with fourteen steps leading up to it, and each step had swords, spears, hammers, axes, daggers, and other weapons embedded in the stone.

With this, the dragon Emperor emphasized that he didn’t need guards. He wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. His hand rested on the hilt of a giant battleaxe that was propped up against the right arm of his throne.

“My Emperor,” Chin’Ameh said.

He didn’t look away. Like the Emperor, he felt no fear. The time when he had feared his ruler had passed long ago. Now his hands gripped a magic staff, and his mind held knowledge about mysteries so wondrous and subtle that it was impossible to describe them in words and pass them on to disciples. Chin’Ameh was a mage, one whose eyes pierced the World River, and whose will changed its current. He knew the secrets of 546 Words. None of the dragon mages of the past, except perhaps the late Hu’Chin, the Blue Flame, had been his equals in the art of magic. Gone were the days of him being weak and frail, afraid of the cultivators who followed the Way of Weapons, their Kingdoms, or their Techniques.

“Explain to me, mage, how you didn’t notice a rootless dragon in Darnassus, where you went to acquire a new servant for your Pavilion.”

“I didn’t meet any other tribesmen there, apart from Minister Ju, that is.” Chin’Ameh nodded at the Minister, who was standing nearby.

As always, he looked prideful and haughty. His attire was only slightly inferior to the Emperor’s own. Chin’Ameh didn’t even want to think about Ju’s treasure trove, which was rumored to have been acquired in a dishonest way. If his Pavilion had received a tenth of the Minister’s wealth, they would’ve been able to bring magic in the Dragon Lands to a new age of prosperity and advancement.

“You’re lying, Chin’Ameh,” Ju hissed. His eyes glittered with bestial fury. “I know you’re lying!”

“And how do you know that?” Chin’Ameh arched an eyebrow. “Is there anything you, by mistake, of course, didn’t tell this Council?” Chin’Ameh gestured at the Ministers and Pavilion Leaders standing behind him. “And the Emperor himself, may the High Heavens extend into eternity around him?”

“Are you accusing me of treason, rootless?”

Now the mage’s eyes flashed with rage, and his energy and mysteries swirled around him.

“Words have great power, Minister,” Chin’Ameh said, making the other Pavilion Heads reach for their weapons. Some were even ready to assume their true forms at any moment, which, for creatures at their level, was humiliating, but survival was more valuable than saving face. “Watch what you say if you don’t want to find that out for yourself.”

“Are you threatening me, plebeian?”

“ENOUGH!” The Emperor’s roar made everyone in the hall prostrate themselves. Not because it was a law, but because no one could stand. The power of the Dragon Emperor was at a level that even Chin’Ameh couldn’t comprehend. He was confident in his ability to escape from the Emperor, but defeating him in a fair fight… In the entire White Dragon Region, there wasn’t a single beast, human, orc, or elf that could do that. Not yet…

“Heed my order, Minister Ju and Chin’Ameh. Go back to Darnassus. Find me this rootless dragon and bring him here.” The Emperor’s mouth twisted into a smile. Carnivorous. Vicious. Wild. One showing rows of terrifying fangs. “He must be brought back safe and sound. As for Darnassus... they will answer to me for harboring a runaway dragon! But more on that later. You’re dismissed.”

Minister Ju and Chin’Ameh bowed and left the Ruby Palace’s throne room.

***

“Go right in, he’s waiting for you.”

A tent flap opened and a limping figure wearing a dusty, mud-covered, ragged cloak stepped inside. The figure immediately struck their chest with their fists and then knelt down.

“First Chief!”

There was a brief silence.

“Rise, Steppe Fang, last of the Steppe Wolf tribe. Tell me, why did you come here?”

Steppe Fang looked at the huge, red-skinned orc sitting in front of him. He caressed the flames of the fire, which illuminated Steppe Fang’s disfigured face.

“I came to ask for your hunters, First Chief,” he growled, “to go with me across the Great Water and the Wild Rocks to the lands of the Steppe Wolf tribe and avenge their fallen brethren.”

“Are you asking me to go to war with the human Empire?”

“Empire? No.” Steppe Fang growled. “EMPIRES!”

Note from the author

Hello folks!
Thank you very much for your time spent reading the series and giving it a chance in the first place! We hope you’ve had no regrets!

A whole team of editors, translators and artists is working to get this book as quickly as possible to you, and in the best state possible, as well. Every time a new book is published, it is both a reason for our team to celebrate and a reason for them to get nervous, wondering if this is when it all comes crashing down.

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Many people don’t think about it, but every day, the world sees thousands of new books published. For the past two years, we have been trying to ‘survive’ in this competitive environment, despite the fact that we started way behind the ‘starting line’ itself, as translating and adapting a text originally written in another language puts us in a disadvantageous position. We’re fighting for every opportunity we can to climb a little higher in the rankings, so that more people can learn about us and our precious baby, the ‘Dragon Heart’ series. So, any help you can give us, from purchasing the books and reviewing them, all the way to recommending them to other readers, is something we treasure.

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More good news! You can now read more about the Mad General’s adventures. There are also side stories that delve deeper into the Nameless World to be found here.

ASH The Legends of the Nameless World

AVAILABLE in KINDLE UNLIMITED

"The Legends of the Nameless World cycle" includes the stories of key characters of the "Dragon Heart" saga. "Ash" is the first of the prequels to the "Dragon Heart" series. It can be read as a stand-alone book.
Even before Myristal went out, before the battle of the Heavens and the Earth broke out, before the Black General was imprisoned on the Mountain of Skulls, a wizard had wandered the endless expanses of the Nameless World in search of his past and his future. This is the legend of Ash, the Master of a Thousand Words, the Bloody General. What’s true and what is fiction is up to you to decide. But this is how his story was told to young children, so that they wouldn’t be afraid and have nightmares, back when the legends of the old world were still remembered.

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German version

'Dragon Heart' is translated into German and will be released in April.

If you have German friends it’d be great if you’ll advice them reading my books in German. Thank you!

Steinerner Wille (Drachen-Herz Buch 1)

What to read next

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Enjoying his childhood, he looked down on everyone. Little did he know that his ignorance would be his undoing. Now, he’s an outcast and looked down upon everyone. He has to endure humiliation as he stares into the eyes of the one who took everything from him. He’s aware that the strong won't hesitate to stab the weak in the back.

But what if he becomes one of the strong? How much power would it take to avenge his father’s death? How much power would he need to bleed dry the bastard that had taken everything from him? And will others remember their lesson or will they, too, seek to get their revenge?

#wuxia #reigncarnation #matrial_arts #litrpg

Rick Scar: Player Reached the Top (5 of 8 books)

The world of 100 levels and terrible dangerous creatures waits for you.

Two Thousand Forty-Four. The world of games changed long ago.
"Ascension" has become one of the most popular VRMMO games. It is a huge world divided into a hundred Floors, with each Floor a boundless location with its own countries, tribes, and millions of players.
The object of the game is to unlock all the gates and conquer the top.
Having joined the game, Will Thomson doesn't realize that he is all by himself. Then he accepts the first quest ...
Cursed Rat: level 46 ...

#wuxia #reigncarnation #matrial_arts #litrpg

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