Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2021-06-17 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fiction
Description: Not everyone managed to survive the bloody battle. The strong, the brave, the courageous, and the good all fell with honor. The war spared few and took away many of the best... Hadjar Darkhan was one of the few who survived and is now ready to continue his journey. The battle is over, and the dead have been sent on their last journey. The unknown and the perils of the imminent war are still waiting for Hadjar. He can sense that his life is about to be filled with the clang of weapons and armor and the beating of war drums. He hates war! But he also longs for it... Is there anything worse than

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Path to the Unknown

Book XI

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

HELLO ALL!

Chapter 939

Chapter 940

Chapter 941

Chapter 942

Chapter 943

Chapter 944

Chapter 945

Chapter 946

Chapter 947

Chapter 948

Chapter 949

Chapter 950

Chapter 951

Chapter 952

Chapter 953

Chapter 954

Chapter 955

Chapter 956

Chapter 957

Chapter 958

Chapter 959

Chapter 960

Chapter 961

Chapter 962

Chapter 963

Chapter 964

Chapter 965

Chapter 966

Chapter 967

Chapter 968

Chapter 969

Chapter 970

Chapter 971

Chapter 972

Chapter 973

Chapter 974

Chapter 975

Chapter 976

Chapter 977

Chapter 978

Chapter 979

Chapter 980

Chapter 981

Chapter 982

Chapter 983

Chapter 984

Chapter 985

Chapter 986

Chapter 987

Chapter 988

Chapter 989

Chapter 990

Chapter 991

Chapter 992

Chapter 993

Chapter 994

Chapter 995

Chapter 996

Chapter 997

Chapter 998

Chapter 999

Chapter 1000

Chapter 1001

Chapter 1002

Chapter 1003

Chapter 1004

Chapter 1005

Chapter 1006

Chapter 1007

Chapter 1008

Chapter 1009

Chapter 1010

Chapter 1011

Chapter 1012

Chapter 1013

Chapter 1014

Chapter 1015

Chapter 1016

Chapter 1017

Chapter 1018

Chapter 1019

Chapter 1020

Chapter 1021

Chapter 1022

Chapter 1023

Chapter 1024

Chapter 1025

Chapter 1026

Chapter 1027

Chapter 1028

Chapter 1029

Chapter 1030

Chapter 1031

Chapter 1032

Chapter 1033

Chapter 1034

Note from the author

ASH The Legends of the Nameless World

MERCH

The book 12 is opened for the PRE-ORDER

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.

11 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 939

D ahanatan greeted the three cultivators riding in on horses, courtesy of the Fifth Legion, with the eerie silence of midnight. The hour when, according to old legends, witches would try to steal the souls of newborns. Mortals called it, ‘the witching hour’.

However, it was one thing for a town of mere mortals to be silent, and quite another for the capital of Darnassus, the city of a thousand lights and countless inhabitants, to be so eerily still, even at midnight. Its walls, which seemed high enough to reach the sky, could’ve also served as avenues, as three carriages or four carts could’ve easily passed each other atop them. In the center rose a thin spire, the skyport, which usually looked like a disturbed hive, with thousands of skyships moored at various levels and almost as many taking off or landing there. People went about their daily business in the streets, and at night, they went out for a walk, to have fun, or to continue their eternal celebration of life. The capital of the Empire was always full of life... Always, except right now: empty streets and avenues were the norm, along with closed shutters. Sometimes, the iron heels of boots rattled as the guardsmen were sent out on another patrol.

“It’s because of the curfew,” Rekka explained to Einen and Hadjar, who were following her. “After ten o’clock in the evening, anyone found to still be out on the streets will be thoroughly searched and questioned.”

Hadjar looked toward the Forbidden City. Due to the fact that the Emperor’s Palace was located in a low area and was surrounded by high walls and an impenetrable magical dome, there was no way to see what was happening there right now. But he could at least see the administrative center, the most exclusive street, where the houses, or rather, the palaces of rich nobles were.

That was also where the atelier Hadjar had gone to before the ill-fated reception at the Palace was. Lady Brahmi’s atelier was located almost in the dead center of Eighth Avenue, where, in order to build a house, you had to have enough Imperial coin to drown several horses in. Considering how much Hadjar had spent on a single outfit there, he didn’t doubt Brahmi’s wealth.

“Of course, that doesn’t apply to all the districts,” Rekka answered their silent question, and immediately nodded in the direction of two aristocratic districts to the north of the city: the elven district, which looked more like a park, and the Predatory Blades clan’s district, hidden from the outside world by high walls. They, just like the districts of the other five aristocratic families, were as lively and as bright as ever. Compared to the lights burning there, the rest of the capital looked somewhat depressing and gloomy.

“They have their own defenses,” Rekka continued, “We need to hurry. Or rather, you need to hurry, Hadjar. The Emperor didn’t invite Einen and me.”

“If he really wants me to hurry, I could get to his Palace in an instant.”

Rekka, without stopping her horse, turned around. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun and glistened slightly. No matter how powerful a cultivator was, they were still people as well. Apparently, once she’d found herself in the chambers of the Forbidden City reserved for the guard corps, she’d immediately made sure she looked presentable. Hadjar noticed some blush, a bit of light lipstick, mascara on her lashes, some kind of hair ointment, and new, spacious clothes. People were people, even if they were immensely powerful…

“You’ve grown stronger, Hadjar, much stronger. By the gods and demons, I don’t even know for sure just how much stronger you are now, or how you managed to achieve that in such a short time. But don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re as powerful as your Master, may his forefathers accept him. Even the great swordsman Orune had trouble breaking through the protective dome of the Forbidden City with the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique.”

Rekka turned away with a snort of disdain. Hadjar looked at the magic symbol floating over the Forbidden City. Unlike other, similar magic symbols, it wasn’t made from dense energy, but actual stone. Now that he was a Lord, Hadjar felt the world around him differently. He’d changed more than Rekka could ever imagine. And thanks to those changes, he was aware of the fact that, if he wanted to, and had ten seconds, he could break through the barrier and get in using the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique, even though it was nowhere near as potent as his Master’s had been. But he simply didn’t care enough to prove anything to anyone.

“Don’t you think, barbarian” Einen whispered in one of the dialects from the Islands, “that you owe me a story. And besides, I want to know what effect the One Hundred Voices Pill had.”

Hadjar raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not planning to make another one, barbarian,” the islander said in his usual, calm manner.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, baldy,” he responded immediately. Taking a deep breath, he began his tale: “It all started when I merged with the other half of my soul and we, well... I mean... I broke the Sword Spirit’s seal...”

***

The knowledge required to use the final strike of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique came to Hadjar on its own. He’d gotten no explanations or training from the Black General. It just appeared in his mind, filled his arms, and changed his energy channels again, making them even stronger than they already were.

At first, Hadjar had assumed that the first strike, the ‘Flying Sword’, released a murderous amount of energy and mysteries in order to hit the greatest number of enemies possible, but he soon realized that he’d been using it incorrectly. The ‘Flying Sword’ really did do the greatest damage possible, but only to one target, finishing a fight with a monstrous attack that destroyed a foe’s armor, body and, if they were weak enough, their very soul.

The final strike, that bore the simple, but ever so comprehensive name, the ‘Sword’, was created in order to destroy everything that a swordsman could reach with it. When Hadjar had unleashed this power and struck the Sword Spirit’s seal shining above the shard of darkness he’d been standing on, he’d hit not one, not two of his neural network’s markers, but all the remaining ones simultaneously. With just one attack, monstrous in its complexity and power, he’d destroyed the Sword Spirit’s mark.

As he’d fallen toward the meadow in his soul world, the last thing Hadjar had thought about was whether this Technique had been a parting gift from the Enemy or something else entirely.

Then came an impact. But not the one a person experienced after landing on hard and cold ground, but rather the kind of impact a naughty child sometimes received from a strict father — a slap on the back of their head, one that made Hadjar bend forward and almost drop his sword.

“What the fuck?”

He straightened up and looked around. Through the haze of his whirling thoughts, he saw the figure of a tall, half-naked man, whose torso was covered in scars and a Name tattoo. A necklace made of fangs hung around his neck.

“Master Orune?” Hadjar whispered in disbelief. “But you aren’t related to me... you shouldn’t be at my forefathers’ house.”

“If you’re really this stupid, my disciple, you’ll end up there soon enough,” the great swordsman laughed his usual, bestial laugh. “Go on, tell me where we are, then...”

Hadjar looked around again, and what he saw surprised him even more than the fact that Orune was standing next to him. They were on a wide mountain plateau, which had a stone path leading down that was clearly not natural. A jungle was spread out in all directions at the foot of the mountain, and a layer of frosty snow clung to the top of it. Hadjar and Orune were standing in the middle of the path.

“The Mountain of Elements... but how is this possible?”

“Hmm, the Mountain of Elements...” Orune murmured. “Okay, that’ll do. I see the training ground I used to practice in as a child. But I don’t think what we see is that relevant.”

Hadjar tried to understand what he was saying, but that gave him a headache.

“Relevant to what?”

“To our last training session, disciple. Let’s not stand around, we don’t have much time, only forty years.”

What? Forty years!

Chapter 940

T he first five years were the hardest. No, Orune didn’t whack him with sticks, didn’t force him to fight monsters, didn’t starve him, didn’t pull any tricks at all, he just made Hadjar feel like himself. They sat back to back in a lotus position, immersed in shallow meditation, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, without any interruptions.

“The sense of unity will come naturally, disciple,” Orune said.

As they were on the border between worlds and free from the shackles of their bodies, their minds were flexible enough to meditate and also have conversations at the same time.

“Unity with what?”

“With what was taken from you, pup.”

Hadjar smiled slightly at the insult. Orune never changed. Not even his own death had changed him: the way he talked and the speed at which the great swordsman got mad were still the same.

“With the other half of your soul.”

Hadjar shuddered. Or rather, it seemed to him like he shuddered. After all, he wasn’t actually sitting and meditating on the Mountain of Elements, and Orune wasn’t really there with him. It was only an illusion. Orune’s ashes had already been scattered over his homeland, and Hadjar was currently in Markin’s basement laboratory. If not in this situation, if not to the loyal Master who’d given his life for him, when would he confess his sins and to whom?

“I separated it from myself... Through my own stupidity and cowardice, I took half my soul and-”

Orune’s loud laughter interrupted him. With his head thrown back, without breaking his meditation, he laughed heartily and at the top of his lungs. He laughed so hard that had they been in the physical world, he would’ve choked.

“Your arrogance and confidence, pup, surpass even mine!” Orune stopped laughing and added, “It’s a pity that those are the only things you’ve surpassed me in so far.”

“What do you mean, Master?”

“Do you actually believe that you, as a mortal infant no less, could’ve torn your soul apart? You couldn’t even feel the energy of this world back then, see the World River, or comprehend any mysteries, especially not the mysteries of Life and Death. I don’t even think that someone who grasps the True Kingdom of Life and Death would be able to split their soul in half and still survive.”

Hadjar was shocked.

“The Kingdom of Life and Death? What’s that?”

Orune swore very colorfully. Hadjar liked the curses and instantly stored them in his neural network’s database.

“Didn’t you spend a single Glory point to attend the lectures, talks, and presentations of the Mentors and Masters in ‘The Holy Sky’ School?”

“I didn’t,” Hadjar had never attended a single class. “There were more important things to do, Master. For example, surviving and-”

“And buying a lot of Techniques that allow you to hit someone with a sword, and poorly at that,” Orune interrupted him. “That’s the kind of praiseworthy zeal that’s fit for an idiot, pup, but anyone who intends to climb to the top of the path of cultivation must understand where they are going. And this requires knowledge about not only how to hold a sword properly, but also why to even hold it. And in order to learn that, you need to understand a lot.”

Hadjar hadn’t expected to hear such words coming from the great swordsman Orune, who’d lived almost like an animal. Then he remembered that Orune, who’d only been a Lord, had struck deep fear into the hearts of Nameless level cultivators, and everything made sense.

“Please, teach me.”

“Of course I’ll teach you, pup,” Orune laughed, “but listen carefully. I’m not good at explanations, so I’ll say this only once.”

Hadjar turned to listen.

“Look around you, pup. You’re surrounded by the visible and invisible in this world. That sword you hold in your hands… A mortal only sees a length of steel when they look at it. A practitioner sees steel and bits of energy. A cultivator sees steel and a stream of energy and mysteries flowing through it. They see a mystery and a secret that they seek to unravel. They see the visible and feel the invisible, and thus, through the invisible, move along the path of possessing the visible.”

Despite the fact that Orune had said that he wasn’t good at explaining things, Hadjar understood what he was talking about perfectly.

“The visible and invisible, Hadjar… it’s always everywhere around us. It flows through us. It makes us who we are. It’s our past, present, and future. It’s the World River and all the mysteries in it. These are our souls, our feelings, our dreams, our fears. It’s the heat of the fire, the chill of the wind, and the caresses of a wave.”

Hadjar was immersed in Orune’s words and, at the same time, immersed in himself. His breathing steadied, his meditation became deeper, and the world around them became less dense, but brighter.

“You can only know the visible through the invisible. You could be the greatest swordsmith, but not know how to fight with swords. To become a swordsmith, you need to feel the fire of a forge, the hammer in your hands, see the bubbling steel and not fear its wrath. The invisible, pup, is what makes us Masters, what enables a Wielder to bring a sword into the physical world with a wave of their hand. What mortals talk about in their legends is reality for us, as we know the invisible.”

Images swirled in Hadjar’s mind.

“But the invisible extends far beyond that, pup. You can be with thousands of women. And they’d all look different: their breasts, their skin, their hair, their eyes, even what’s between their legs. But only when you find the one who’ll give you a part of the invisible, who will respond to your soul with her own, only then will you understand that all the ones who came before her were the same. The physical things are always just that — physical.”

Hadjar smelled flowers and earth. Black hair moved in front of his face. But whose hair was it? Who was calling out to him?

“Can we see the wind? The thunder? Can we see the moment when a leaf must break off from the branch and go on its long-awaited journey? Can we capture the moment when a young man falls in love with a girl? Can we sense the moment when a parent is imbued with the greatest and strongest feeling — love for their child?”

Hadjar heard a voice. It was saying something to him.

“The visible doesn’t matter. It’s fleeting and impermanent. Only the invisible is true and eternal. Only it gives us real power. Our true strength. You were strong for your age and your level of cultivation, pup. There’s no denying it. But how many times did entities stronger than you take your power away?”

Hadjar recalled all the trials where he’d found himself deprived not only of energy, but also his mysteries. There were far too many of them.

“But every time you were robbed of borrowed, alien power, you kept your own.”

Hadjar remembered the whisper of the wind, and how he always knew exactly how to hold a sword, how to strike with it, how to dodge, how to attack. This was what he’d earned with his own sweat and blood, with experience. Something that couldn’t be taken away from him.

“When we grasp the mysteries, when we attain what we call the Kingdoms, we only lose our way, pup. We dive into the World River and find what was created before us. We find Spirits that were created by those who treaded the path of cultivation before us. We take their power and try to make it our own. But no matter how diligently you follow this path, you’ll never catch up with the one who went first.”

Hadjar remembered the countless Spirits that resided in the World River.

“But there, in the midst of all that false power, there is also true knowledge.”

“What is this knowledge?” Hadjar asked.

Chapter 941

O rune just laughed mirthlessly.

“I never found mine, pup. After almost thirty centuries, I didn’t find my own knowledge. I grasped the True Kingdom of the Twin Blades, the True Kingdom of the Falling Leaf, the True Wind Kingdom, the True Mountain Bear Fang Kingdom, the True Saber Kingdom, and the True Lightning Kingdom. And I was even able to combine some of them together. I possessed the True Kingdom of the Twin Lightning Blades and the True Kingdom of the Falling Leaf Sword, and was close to creating the True Kingdom of the Leaf Sword in the Wind, but…”

Hadjar couldn’t believe his ears. Orune had grasped six True Kingdoms! Six! He’d then created two combined Kingdoms and had even begun to combine a third. His level of cultivation couldn’t possibly be measured in terms of simple energy and divided into levels. Maybe his Core hadn’t been as big and strong as a Nameless one’s, but the mysteries he’d possessed… Fucking hell! None of the warriors in the seven Empires would’ve been able to match him. Not even Morgan or the Scarlet Swordsman from Lascan had been as strong as him… Hadjar had no doubt that, if Orune had felt like it, he could’ve fought Chin’Ameh, the dragon Master, on equal terms.

“But it was all just a curtain, pup,” Orune continued, “A very heavy and dense curtain that didn’t allow me to see the truth. The truth that everyone is looking for. Mortals call it the meaning of life, while cultivators call it that which fills the void inside of them.”

Hadjar felt like he had just learned something incredibly mysterious and mystical.

“What does this have to do with my soul and me?”

“When I first saw you fighting in the arena against Tom Dinos, I sensed that there was something else hidden behind the Sword Spirit’s mark. Something true. I saw the Wind in your movements, how your sword was drenched in it, felt it rushing through it. I couldn’t do something like that even when I fought using the True Wind Kingdom. And then I saw the scar on your soul. No one else in all of Darnassus could’ve done that, except for me and old Hashim, the Moonlight sect Head.”

Hadjar recalled the Council called by Emperor Morgan. Since he’d gathered everyone who possessed a Kingdom, he’d also invited the leader of the Moonlight sect. He hadn’t seemed very strong, but knowing that Orune, who hadn’t demonstrated even a tenth of what he’d actually possessed and had chosen to hide his power instead, thought highly of him, Hadjar felt like this might have been the case with Hashim as well.

“What I’m trying to say, Hadjar, is that I’ll try to pass on the knowledge I gained about the invisible and the Kingdoms to you in the forty years we have to work with, but... your soul, pup, wasn’t torn apart by you. Even Hera doesn’t possess the True Kingdom of Life. And the True Kingdom of Death was forgotten ever since necromancy was banned. So-”

“Someone powerful tore my soul apart,” Hadjar whispered.

“Not just powerful, pup, but incredibly, unimaginably powerful, versed in mysteries so subtle and profound that no one living in the seven Empires today can understand a single speck of them. But something else is bothering me.”

“What?”

“Whoever did this wanted to make you stronger, Hadjar. By having only half a soul, you were deprived of external energy, almost completely cut off from the invisible. But even so, even with the Sword Spirit’s mark acting as a ‘crutch’, you grasped the Sword Kingdom. While you were fighting here, your other half was soaking up the invisible like a sponge. Now that you’re whole again, I have a feeling that you’ll be able to merge the visible and the invisible, or what we call the internal and external energy. I believe that you’ll become a Lord through this fusion, Hadjar, which means the two energies will merge and thus help you gain an understanding of the True Knowledge. It usually takes a mere cultivator like me more than thirty centuries to do something like that, but you’ll take less than one. All thanks to the one who tore your soul apart. Whatever they wanted, one thing is certain: they wanted you to grow stronger as quickly as possible.”

Hadjar broke out in a cold sweat. He sat in deep meditation and saw his life on Earth flash in his mind. According to everyone who’d told him about the soul, with the return of the second half of his, all the memories of his life on Earth would come back as well and torture him.

But that didn’t really happen. He still remembered the highlights of everything that had happened to him, same as before, with the same emotions and impressions. The only real change was that everything had become clearer: the hatred that he’d felt for everyone, the loneliness that he’d gotten used to, and even grown to love, and the rage he’d felt when someone had tried to encroach on his right to live. Everything had been clearer, but nothing substantial had happened beyond that.

Suddenly, he remembered the screech of a car’s wheels as it had turned away from his wheelchair at the last moment. The counter in the hospital that had fallen toward him, but had slid off to the side at the last second. The faulty wiring in his room that had sparked, and then abruptly went out. And countless other accidents... This was what had incited his rage. He’d felt like the world itself had been constantly trying to erase him, and he had been forced to defend himself against it.

Except Hadjar suddenly realized that he hadn’t been fighting alone. During all the years he’d spent on Earth, someone had stood by him. Someone had protected him and led him down the path that ended at the neurosurgeon’s table.

Helen… Had she been a mere pawn? An accident? Or the reason for him to willingly submit himself to the doctors’ knife?

“Master.”

“Yes, pup?”

“I have to become stronger.” Hadjar clenched his fists. “I must become a lot stronger.”

Orune was silent for a moment.

“I’m at your service, my disciple.”

***

After ten years of training and meditation, Hadjar was finally able to combine the internal energy he’d lived with all these years with the external energy that the second half of his soul was imbued with.

He became a Lord. His physical and energy body became stronger and more powerful, and his mind grew sharper and faster. He was able to see things that he hadn’t seen before. The Gaze, Orune’s Technique, could show him even the faintest flows of energy in the world.

Hadjar now knew that he could, with sufficient skill, cut off a Technique from the cultivator who’d used it. Orune spent another year teaching him this Technique. Not because it was incredibly useful, though it was applicable in real combat, but because it allowed Hadjar to better understand his new self.

***

The twenty years of meditation and training that came after that led Hadjar to realize what his true self was.

It was difficult. While immersed in deep meditation, Hadjar had to overcome his inner demons and deceptive illusions one at a time. He scrubbed his soul clean of everything that had soiled it over the years. The last illusion he had to overcome was the most challenging for him to face.

He saw his Ron’Jah and his old laptop. Music… He loved it more than almost anything else in this world or any other. But not enough to sacrifice what mattered most for its sake. He finally broke that illusion as well, realizing that music had just been his way of surviving, his way to fight the world, to come out victorious.

Then the way opened up for Hadjar. His own, unique way, the one that suited only him. Even Markin wouldn’t have been able to tell whether this was due to his own efforts or because of the effects of the Hundred Voices Pill. However, given the speed with which Hadjar was adjusting to everything, it was probably both.

Beyond the last illusion, Hadjar saw the first steps on his path. It began with an old man holding a sword, not a lute. It resembled the Black Blade, but it was a different color: it had a black hilt and edge, but also a blue blade with the black pattern of a Quetzal bird flying toward the clouds emblazoned across it. The old man showed him the way.

When Hadjar opened his eyes again, he no longer held the Black Blade, but the one that the old man had been holding. Instead of his normal Call’s armor, he now wore the clothes made for him by Queen Mab, the ruler of the Winter Fae.

Hadjar knew that this would be his Call until the end of time. It was both her gift and her curse: this Call could easily withstand a powerful attack, but was less useful than rags before even the weakest of a Winter Fae’s attacks.

The sword he was holding was the Blue Wind Sword, forged from his will, from his desire, and from his soul.

“Legends say, my disciple,” Orune explained, “That Immortals don’t need a weapon because their own souls are their weapons.”

***

The Gates of Rage looked exactly like Hadjar remembered them.

“Your story sounds like something out of a legend, barbarian,” Einen said. “And the Blue Wind Sword Kingdom sounds too pretentious.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“What about the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique? You learned the first stage of it, didn’t you?”

The first stage of the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique allowed a cultivator to move almost instantly to any point within a radius of one mile. Orune, who’d mastered the third stage, could’ve travelled a distance of almost a hundred miles. Back when he’d taken Hadjar from the Wastelands, thanks to the mysteries that he’d comprehended, he’d been able to increase this distance to an almost unimaginable degree. Crossing half of Darnassus in just a few moments had been no more difficult for Orune than taking a single step. It was unbelievable, but that had been the true strength of the great swordsman.

“Orune put the ingredients needed to master the first stage into the same scroll where he sealed a part of his consciousness,” Hadjar explained. “The magic seal was attuned to break at the same time as the Sword Spirit’s mark was destroyed. Orune believed I could-”

“I still can’t believe he was that powerful… He could’ve taken over the seven Empires if he’d wanted to.”

“Perhaps,” Hadjar didn’t dismiss the idea outright.

They dismounted and came up to the veil that Rekka had already disappeared behind.

“You didn’t say what happened to you in the last five years, barbarian.”

Hadjar stared at his friend. After a few seconds, the islander nodded and followed Rekka inside the veil. Hadjar looked up at the starry sky. He hoped that Orune had found what he’d been looking for at his forefathers’ house — peace. The veil closed behind Hadjar.

***

It was their last day on the Mountain of Elements. They sat on a cliff and looked over at the jungle. Or rather, Hadjar did. Orune didn’t share what he saw.

“I taught you everything I could, disciple. In time, you’ll become much stronger than me.”

Hadjar remained silent.

“You grasped the Blue Wind Sword County... shit, couldn’t you think of a better name?”

They both laughed.

“You also mastered the first stage of the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique. Something even the most brilliant scions of aristocratic families would take two centuries to do, you managed to pull off in only forty years.”

“All thanks to you, Master.”

The great swordsman sighed wearily.

“But where you’re going, Hadjar... Nothing will help you: none of the Techniques you inherited from others, nor the ‘White Lightning Step’... not even the True Kingdom of the Blue Wind Sword.”

“They won’t?”

Orune nodded.

“True power, Hadjar, always comes from yourself, from how aware of the visible and invisible of this world you are. One day, you’ll have to create your own Techniques that will be perfect for you. What you’re using right now was created by others for others.”

Hadjar had been thinking about this for a long time now. Probably since the chained dragon Traves had told him, back in that underwater cave many decades ago, that Techniques were just insignificant husks, not true power, and that one day, Hadjar wouldn’t need any Techniques. And the only way to reach these lofty heights of cultivation was through the creation of your own Techniques.

“To create a Sword Technique, Hadjar, you need to have a foundation on which to build it. You don’t have that yet. So, I’ll give you the last of my knowledge. It would be useless to most, but not to you. When the time comes, use it. Learn other cultivators’ styles, pup. Create your own foundations based on theirs. If you pull it off, you’ll grow stronger. If not, you’ll die a quick and easy death.”

Before Hadjar was left alone on the Mountain of Elements, he learned the secret of how a cultivator could become a mortal. When the time came, he would have to strip himself of power and become a mortal again in order to fill the gaps in his cultivation and lay the foundations to create his own fighting style.

***

Hadjar entered the Forbidden City without knowing that he was being watched from the darkness by inhuman eyes.

Chapter 942

“E verything was restored quickly here,” Hadjar noted, surprised.

The last time he’d seen the garden of the Forbidden City, it had looked no better than the battlefield outside the city. But now, just six months later, the famous garden, one of the Forbidden City’s main attractions, was once again breathtakingly beautiful.

After walking along the stone-paved paths, Hadjar reached the Palace. He noticed that the number of guards at the main gate and patrols in general had increased. Everyone who wore the emblem of the guard corps considered it their sacred duty to cast a look of disdain and dislike at Hadjar. It wasn’t pure hatred, but it was still a little unpleasant to experience.

“Senior Lieutenant Geran!” Six guards at the massive gates stood at attention and saluted her.

“Oh, she was promoted,” Einen grunted.

Hadjar was still surprised by the fact that a member of the aristocratic Geran family, who were famous for building forts and castles, was serving in the rather unremarkable guard corps. It was definitely a great honor to guard the Forbidden City and the Imperial family, but…

Hadjar glanced sideways at the two Divine level swords in Rekka’s hands, which were causing her to gradually wither as a cultivator. These parasites were draining her power and… He suddenly stumbled. Until recently, Geran had looked sickly, but now her energy body was just as good and as strong as a Spirit Knight’s at the advanced stage. By the High Heavens! Something was fishy here.

“Lord Baligor rewarded us for our success.” Rekka shrugged.

“Success?” Hadjar asked. As he passed the six guards, he gave them a slight nod and was glad to see the anger in their eyes. “I’m not sure that our foray into the jungle of Karnak could ever be called successful and-”

He stopped abruptly, remembering Princess Akena showing him the parchment she’d taken from the tomb of the ancient Dragon Emperor. He also realized that the Fifth Legion had held back the entire army of the dead, and that almost all of the army of the dead’s attacks had only reached a quarter of the Legion…

As for Derek’s battle against Hadjar… Well, after Taniged’s single strike, which still echoed in his physical and energy structure, one thing had become clear to him: great heroes were a whole different breed of cultivator. For example, Orune, who had hidden his incredible power all his life, wouldn’t have had much trouble beating Derek, even if the latter had possessed the True Kingdom of the Twin Blades and Techniques from the scrolls of the God of War.

As for Rekka and Akena… It dawned on Hadjar that Baligor had wanted Rekka to join them for a reason. Emperor Morgan had, once again, played them like a fiddle. Their trip to Karnak hadn’t been organized in order to prevent the arrival of the enemy army that would’ve easily been destroyed by two volleys from ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’, but for the sake of the parchment that Akena had brought back. Hadjar hadn’t seen the Princess since their return to Darnassus.

Hadjar shared these thoughts with Einen.

“I thought about that, too,” the islander said, frowning. “His Imperial Majesty is clearly up to something, and I’m sure it’ll be directly related to the final battle of this war.”

“Most likely,” Hadjar nodded. “It’s obvious what these two are up to,” Hadjar glanced toward Rekka. No matter what dialect they spoke in, they were smart enough not to say people’s actual names out loud. “But what did the guy gain from this trip? His father probably pulled many strings to get him in our squad.”

Einen said nothing, nor did he try to answer this bothersome question. All of them had been used in someone else’s plans. And the feeling, by the Evening Stars, was humiliating.

“Try to show some respect, barbarian,” Rekka hissed as they stopped at a door. “You, Einen, will wait outside with me. Only Hadjar Darkhan has been granted an audience with His Imperial Majesty.”

Without saying anything, the islander leaned back against a tapestry and opened his inhuman, purple eyes slightly. He stared at the door. Hadjar still didn’t know how his eyes worked, but he had a feeling that the closed door and the enchantment on it wouldn’t stop Einen from seeing and hearing what was happening behind it.

“You do realize that you are walking on thin ice, Einen?” Rekka, drawing her twin swords, came close to the islander.

“We all walk on it until it cracks,” Einen replied in his usual way.

Not knowing how to answer that, Rekka went over to the door and opened it for Hadjar.

“At the invitation of His Imperial Majesty,” she said, her voice full of respect and awe, and then finished in a completely deadpan tone, “Hadjar Darkhan, a disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, has arrived.”

Hadjar didn’t immediately realize who she was talking about. A moment later, it dawned on him that, with everything that had happened, he’d forgotten that he was still a disciple at ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

As he walked into the spacious but simply decorated room, he thought about the Jade Cloud list that ranked the power of inner circle and personal disciples. Drunken Leaf, a cultivator whom Hadjar hadn’t yet crossed blades with, was always in first place.

The door closed behind him and the shadows surrounding the golden throne dissipated. Hadjar’s thoughts took a completely different turn. If the woman sitting on the throne hadn’t had a striking resemblance to Akena, Hadjar would’ve thought that this was some kind of practical joke or a very clever trap.

The woman sitting on the throne was as unbelievably beautiful as she was powerful. Even when she was completely still, it was clear how confident she was from the way she held herself. Her jade eyes were sharp, and her black curls hung over her shoulder. Her scarlet dress had a very unusual cut: The incredibly deep neckline showed off her astonishingly full bust as it went lower and got lost behind a gold belt. But that wasn’t the only area the dress revealed and the Empress proudly showed off. Her shoulders were completely bare, and the soft curve of her collarbone could be seen. The full length skirt of the dress mirrored the neckline, as it had a long slit which revealed not only the tops of her lacy thigh-high stockings, but went even higher. On other women, this outfit would’ve looked cheap or vulgar, but the appeal she had due to not only her beauty, but also her confidence, made it feel enticing and gave her an even more dominant aura instead.

“My Empress,” Hadjar bowed. He’d forgotten all the courtly gestures during the years he’d spent away from the Palace, so his bow looked more like an awkward twitch.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” the Empress’ voice was velvety. “The disciple of the great swordsman… Are you ready?”

“Ready?” Hadjar asked, confused. “For what?”

“Let’s get started, then.”

The Empress reached into her belt and pulled out a small stone disc with a symbol carved into it. Whispering something to it, she held the artifact out in front of her. Hadjar was struck by such incredible power that he collapsed to the fleecy carpet. The pressure completely immobilized him, not just his body, but also the energy inside of him. Without the mysteries of the Blue Wind that rose up and covered him in a ghostly, bluish veil, he would’ve instantly gone to his forefathers.

“That’s enough, my dear,” a familiar voice said, and Hadjar, sweating profusely, saw Emperor Morgan emerging from a secret door hidden behind a painting. “Young Hadjar isn’t ready to accept the medallion of a great hero just yet.”

Chapter 943

“I wanted to personally check if that was the case, my love,” the Empress rose from the throne, moving smoothly over the carpet, as if she wasn’t touching the ground at all. She caressed the Emperor’s hand for a moment and then disappeared into the same passage from which her husband had just emerged. Before she left the room, she murmured, “I expected more from Tarisfal’s disciple.”

As soon as the Empress left, the pressure disappeared. Hadjar got to his feet, panting. He hadn’t managed to use his Call or the Blue Blade (the shortened name of the sword), as they’d been completely blocked by a strange force.

“Sit down, young Hadjar,” Emperor Morgan, dressed in very modest clothing, sat down on the throne. “I apologize for my wife’s abrupt actions. Like everyone else from the Eternal Mountain clan, she can be a bit rough.”

Hadjar sat down in an armchair and silently took a glass of water that had been placed on the nearby table. The luxurious glass made from a rare material didn’t matter to Hadjar as much as the cold water in it did.

“What was that?” He asked after he had quenched his aching thirst. “I thought I was invited here for an audience, not a torture session.”

“Torture?” The Emperor put his fingers together and rested his chin on them. His expression was calm, but his cunning, sharp gaze projected an air of mercilessness. “If you like, I can call in General Dekoy Schuver to assure you that you haven’t been tortured yet.”

Yet? That single word contained so many promises at once. The threat was so obvious, yet so subtle, that it was impossible to ignore it or not take it seriously.

Scan the premises, Hadjar ordered in his mind, Identify any danger.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

The perimeter is safe for now. The host will be notified of any threats with a delay of 0.000001 seconds.]

“These are just formalities, young Hadjar,” Morgan spread his arms out and leaned back, reaching out and taking a few grapes from a fruit bowl. “The Empress Regent proclaimed Derek of the Steppe a great hero of her country. You beat him. That gave you the right to take the test required to earn such a title in Darnassus.”

In most cases, Hadjar thought before speaking. But considering the fact that he was dealing with Morgan, who was known for weaving words and schemes more skillfully than spiders weaved their webs, he had to be extra cautious and think twice before saying anything. Fortunately, a Lord’s mind, coupled with his neural network, made it possible for him to process information much faster than before.

“I believe that Lascan has a similar procedure for accepting such a title,” Hadjar said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“Not similar, young Hadjar,” the Emperor shook his head. “It’s exactly the same in all seven Empires. This raises a question: are you sure that you would’ve been able to defeat Derek of the Steppe if he hadn’t already been seriously injured and exhausted by the magic of the dead?”

Hadjar clearly knew the answer to the question, but he also knew that he needed to not only think about what his answer should be, but also what the Emperor wanted him to answer, and what he needed as an answer. If it hadn’t been for the two conversations Hadjar had had with the Tree of Life, he would’ve lost his mind by now.

“The Regent of Lascan wanted us to think that Derek had more power than he actually did.”

“I like that you used the word ‘us’ there, young Hadjar,” Emperor Morgan looked less tense. But... that might’ve been a trap. Fucking schemer! “You’re right. Derek of the Steppe most likely had the minimum power required to become a great hero. We’ll never know whether he passed the test or not. Regardless, the Regent took advantage of the situation, the death of your Master, to break through our border defenses with a single, subtle prick.”

A single, subtle prick? The Regent had flung Derek’s life, lost in the maze of his soul, into the grinder without a second thought. After all, the life of just one, even gifted, cultivator was nothing to an Emperor or Regent when compared to the danger of losing their entire Empire. Hadjar kept this in mind as he planned not only to survive this war, but also to avoid becoming Morgan’s puppet. Orune’s stories had been enough to convince him that nothing good would ever come of it.

“We restored the balance, young Hadjar,” Morgan continued. His foxlike gaze pierced the core of his very being. It felt like he knew all of Hadjar’s secrets. It took a lot of effort to convince himself that this was just an illusion. “The skirmishes on the border have been raging for centuries. We have ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’, Lascan has more capable great heroes. If it hadn’t been for Orune’s death, the war probably wouldn’t have started yet. Alas, the balance was restored only now, when the war has already started.”

Hadjar could guess what Morgan was aiming at, but decided to use a wait-and-see tactic. After ten seconds of silence, the Emperor used his first trump card:

“Of course, your triumphant appearance on the battlefield didn’t go unnoticed, young Hadjar,” Morgan plopped another grape into his mouth. Even this cocky gesture looked grand and regal when it became part of his performance. “Each of the Empires is keeping their eyes on you. Especially Lascan, of course. That’s why I’m so glad that you used the word ‘us’.”

“My homeland is here. I’m pretty sure you discovered my past and my relationship with the Darnassus Empire a long time ago.”

“Lidus had a hard time of it,” the Emperor didn’t deny the obvious. “Just like many other small countries under our control.”

“Perhaps, but I was born in Lidus.”

“The Governor didn’t take the life of a single citizen of Lidus,” Morgan reminded him.

Hadjar was about to reply, but stopped himself. He realized that he’d just lost the first round. The Emperor had directed him straight to where he’d wanted him.

“I’ve sworn an oath to Darnassus, Your Imperial Majesty. I shed my blood for Darnassus, which my small homeland is now a part of. Your hints regarding my possible disloyalty are offensive.”

Morgan spread his arms out again, “My deepest apologies, Hadjar Darkhan, for suspecting you of anything untoward. These are tough times.”

The two of them fell silent again.

“You mastered the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique at the Imperial level, Hadjar. Such knowledge isn’t supposed to be gained without my permission,” the Emperor used his second trump card. “We can solve this problem in two ways. One, you have to swear never to use it…”

“That’s unlikely,” Hadjar shook his head.

“I understand that very well,” the Emperor smirked. “The second option is for you to swear not to divulge any information regarding the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique.”

Formulate the best possible oath for this situation, Hadjar ordered his neural network. If he’d had time, he could’ve done it himself, but since speed was crucial in mind games like these, he couldn’t risk it.

“I swear not to divulge the information regarding the events, their course, and their content, which led me to master the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique under no circumstances,” Hadjar read the green text that had appeared before his eyes, “to no one, living or dead, of this world or another, animate or inanimate, of my own will, under someone else’s instructions, due to deception or truth, not even through hints or secret methods of communication.”

When he finished speaking, Hadjar exhaled and sipped some more water from his glass. It, like the air itself, had been scanned by his neural network for any hidden threats.

Now Morgan fell silent.

“I wanted to find out how you, young Hadjar, attained the power you now possess,” Morgan said, all the false calm vanishing from his gaze. “It might’ve helped in the war.”

“I am a guest in your house,” Hadjar bowed without getting up. “I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way.”

“There’s no need to hide behind the laws of hospitality, young Hadjar,” the Emperor said. He reached for a box sitting next to the bowl of fruit. Opening the carved lid, he took out two items: a hairclip and a handkerchief.

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. He extended his senses toward the handkerchief, which instantly responded with a familiar feeling.

“I see you recognize these items.” With his will, the Emperor moved the items to Hadjar’s lap. “Chin’Ameh asked me to tell you that the conversation you had has become vitally important to you. The hairclip is his gift to Anise Dinos.”

Hadjar nodded stiffly and put the artifacts in his spatial ring.

“You can leave now, young Hadjar. Wait for further instructions.”

“My Emperor,” Hadjar stood up, bowed, and, as required by etiquette, took a few steps backwards before turning and walking out the door.

Chapter 944

T he Emperor sat in silence for a few minutes, then sighed, massaged his temples, and said, “What do you think?”

Across from the painting that covered the secret passage, a hidden door opened in a wall. Dekoy Schuver, the Head of the Secret Office, stepped out of the dark corridor. He looked tired and a little annoyed. Sitting down in the same armchair Hadjar had just vacated, he sipped some water from a similar glass.

“He knows that Chin’Ameh is a dragon.”

Emperor Morgan had had to clue Schuver in about the White Dragon Region. And they’d both disliked it. Morgan didn’t like that another person now knew how things actually stood. And Schuver didn’t like knowing that he wasn’t a dangerous shark. In the best case scenario, he was a tenacious salmon. Getting knocked down a few pegs had been both useful and terribly painful for him.

“So, he knows about the Dragon Lands,” Morgan said thoughtfully, “but he pretends he doesn’t…”

“Why did you ask him to swear an oath, my Emperor?”

Morgan, looking at the painting, whispered, “I didn’t want to show that I know that he knows.”

“Hadjar Darkhan is young and arrogant, but I think he understands that much.”

“Of course he does. But as long as I don’t voice it, the question is still up in the air.”

Dekoy Schuver wanted to curse. Moran was just too good at scheming. He himself could play such games well enough to stay the leader of the Secret Office. But he, like everyone else, was still a long way from reaching Morgan’s level.

“What I don’t like,” Morgan continued, popping some more grapes into his mouth, “is what Darkhan himself understands. It’s one thing to have Orune’s disciple walking around, attracting the attention of the Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion. But it’s quite another thing for that same disciple to not be bound by oaths and know how to move the pieces in our game.”

This was quite a compliment coming from the Emperor.

“However, this will be good for us.” The cruel smile that appeared on Morgan’s face made the general, spy, and executioner wince. He was really glad that the Emperor was talking about Hadjar, and not him. “But let’s get to the point... Have you worked out the details of our little revenge, Dekoy?”

“Yes. We’ll strike right at the heart of their manufacturing facilities…”

***

“So, the Head of the Secret Office was watching us...” Hadjar whispered to himself after his neural network gave him a full report. If not for its unique abilities, he wouldn’t have noticed General Schuver at all. He knew Dekoy hadn’t been there just to observe him, and that he and the Emperor probably had more important things to discuss than one young cultivator.

“What happened, baldy?” As he stepped out into the corridor, Hadjar noticed that Einen was bandaging his eyes, and that there were red stains on the bandage.

“The Emperor is very strong,” he replied.

Rekka, who was standing nearby, grinned triumphantly, as if saying, ‘I told you so!’ However, Hadjar was taken aback — this was the first time he’d seen Einen’s inhuman eyes get injured in the process of him using them to watch someone. Hadjar turned and looked at the door leading to the room where Morgan the Bold currently was. Just how powerful was the ruler of Darnassus?

“Do you know Blood Magic, my friend?” Hadjar switched to an Island dialect and, taking his temporarily blinded friend by the elbow, led him through the maze of corridors.

“Well, don’t you have perfect manners!” Rekka shouted after them, offended. “Barbarians! Find the exit yourselves!”

Hadjar didn’t react.

“I know a few spells,” Einen responded, not asking why his friend needed them. “But let’s talk about that later. I need to rest.”

“Of course.”

The moment they were out of the Palace, they were surrounded by guards who wordlessly escorted them all the way back to the Gates of Rage.  Hadjar and Einen passed through the magic veil and ran into Dora.

“What happened to you?” The elf gasped and waved her hand over Einen’s eyes. “You need to see my aunt right away!”

“Hi, Dora,” Hadjar nodded at her amusedly.

The elf responded with a sharp, hostile gesture and dragged Einen down the avenue.

“My father wanted to talk to you, Hadjar,” Dora said without turning around. “Einen and I will be waiting for you at our house.”

Our house? After returning from the Storm Mountain, Hadjar hadn’t had a chance to discuss any personal issues with Einen due to the constant deluge of events. He suddenly realized that his friend wasn’t just visiting the elven district, but actually living there. He was living with the former Princess and now junior heir of the elven clan. Neither of them could’ve imagined such a thing happening when they’d left the Sea of Sand.

And now the elven King wanted to see him. Why?

“Does everyone need to talk to me?” Hadjar sighed a little wearily.

“You have no idea, Hadji!”

By the High Heavens!

Hadjar didn’t know how he’d ended up in that same, ill-fated dark alley. Out of the shadows, as if coming through a door, someone very familiar to Hadjar stepped out. The Emissary of the Demon Prince, the Lord of Nightmares, Helmer. Clad in his living, gray cloak covered in fanged mouths and eyes visible through the slits, he walked among a horde of small lumps of fear – all of them were the embodiments of people’s nightmares. His face was hidden by a wide-brimmed, gray hat, under which only one scarlet eye could be seen. In his hands, he held a red, bleeding sphere.

“We’re running out of time, Hadji,” the demon said without wasting time on his usual antics and games. “It’s time to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“The Tarez…”

“That’s right…” Helmer moved closer to Hadjar, who felt a little uneasy around the demon. “I need answers, mortal. What is the Tarez family hiding and what is their connection to our kind? I’ll give you until the end of the decade to find out. When the red moon graces the sky, I’ll return either for answers, or your soul.”

Hadjar swore colorfully. Helmer grinned, turned around, and headed back into the shadows.

“Helmer.”

The demon stopped and turned around.

“Do you know anything about how my soul was split in half?”

“You shouldn’t dwell on it, Hadji. You managed to put it back together, survive, and become stronger. You should celebrate. Just don’t forget about the Tarez.”

“I still want to know.” Hadjar didn’t give up.

They stared at each other for a while, until Helmer sighed and looked up at the gray sky. It was going to rain.

“Do you know how I survived for all these eons, Hadji?” Helmer stepped into the shadows. He gradually disappeared into them, and only his eye and sphere continued to glow scarlet. “I’ve never fooled around with those who can destroy me with a single thought. My advice to you is to forget about your question and live as if nothing ever happened.”

Helmer disappeared. Hadjar, now standing alone in the alleyway, realized that Helmer knew something. And that something scared even him, the Emissary of the Demon Prince…

“This day can’t possibly get any worse,” Hadjar drawled and turned toward the street, but before he could take even two steps, he collided with Anise.

“What are you-”

“I need his head,” the girl’s green eyes glimmered menacingly.

“Whose head?”

“You swore, Hadjar. You, Einen, and Dora. You swore an oath to help us overthrow our uncle. The time has come to fulfill your oath.”

The day got worse.

Chapter 945

T he elven district looked exactly the same as it had during Hadjar’s last visit. Except now there were a lot more warriors standing on the high, living wall made up of the crowns of massive magical trees, with numerous wooden bridges and towers connecting them.

Rekka had been right about the aristocrats being able to protect themselves. Even so, when you took into account that the Green Hammer district was located in the immediate vicinity of the Forbidden City, and that the elves themselves were the second oldest family of Darnassus, right after the Imperial family itself, they really didn’t need much protecting.

Hadjar was mostly trying to distract himself from his recent conversations with Anise Dinos and Helmer. Which request posed a bigger problem?

An arrow struck the ground near Hadjar’s boots. He raised his head and followed its trajectory.

“One more step, human,” the archer said with disgust. The archer, an elf at the Spirit Knight level, tilted his head to the side and grinned, “And the next arrow will hit a little higher.”

Hadjar sighed wearily. Noticing that his helmet was golden, not silver, he concluded that the guard was an officer.

“I was invited here for an audience with your King,” Hadjar bowed slightly, then plucked the arrow from the ground and placed it in his spatial artifact.

If someone was being rude, that didn’t mean Hadjar had to stoop to their level.

Hadjar took another step forward. Turning on his heel, he deflected the arrow that had flown straight at his groin with the Blue Blade. The two halves of the arrow sank almost a hand’s width into the pavement. The elf hadn’t used a single drop of energy, only mysteries at the Wielder level.

Of all the cultivators who used weapons, archers were the most dangerous on the battlefield. A Spirit Knight level archer could hit a target ten or even fifteen miles away, far beyond the reach of even Orune’s full power.

“I think I made myself very clear, human,” he said seriously. Other archers were running toward him from all sides. The Heaven Soldiers at various stages had drawn their bows and were already nocking arrows. “Stay where you are.”

Hadjar sent the Blue Blade back into his soul. He wasn’t afraid of these archers. Even so, he would be careful, as there weren’t as many high-level archers in all the rest of Darnassus as the Green Hammer clan had at their disposal, even though the elves mostly chose to wield hammers, not bows.

“Consult your superior,” Hadjar advised. “I don’t have much time to waste at the gate.”

He was still speaking calmly. Before, he probably would’ve gotten pissed off and done something stupid. But now that he could truly feel his own power, he saw the world a little differently.

Hadjar knew that he could easily send all these archers to their forefathers, and just as easily destroy the gates of the elven district. But there really was no reason for him to do any of that.

“Stop, Talis.” The huge branches began to unravel the impenetrable wall they’d created. The gate of the Green Hammer district was an amazing creation of magic... “Don’t hurt our guest... for now.”

“Yes, senior heiress Enora.” The Spirit Knight saluted, and then ordered the other archers to stand down.

“You are a guest in our home, Hadjar Darkhan, disciple of the great hero Orune,” Enora Marnil, Dora’s older sister, did a half-turn and held out her hand toward the district.

The law of hospitality… It wasn’t just Hadjar who respected it…

“Thank you,” Hadjar bowed, as was required by etiquette.

Without hesitation, fear, or caution, he entered through the massive canopy of trees, and then stepped inside the district. The branches behind him were already tangled in a solid mass again, and over twenty pairs of eyes followed him. In addition to the guard corps, who couldn’t forget the insult to their honor, there were other people in Dahanatan who didn’t like Hadjar Darkhan.

“You look wonderful, honorable senior heiress,” Hadjar bowed again.

“You too, Hadjar Darkhan,” she replied with a nod, and then carefully observed his clothes. After visiting the Forbidden City, Hadjar had decided that it would be better to meditate more often than to remove his Call’s armor. “You’re wearing strange clothes, swordsman… They have an air of winter about them.”

At first, he didn’t understand how she could’ve noticed, and then he remembered the old legends. The elves weren’t just descendants of the Forest Spirit, but were also very distant relatives of the Fae of the Summer Court.

“They were a gift. Senior heiress, when I told your guards that I didn’t have much time to waste, I wasn’t lying. Let’s resolve our problems quickly and then get back to dealing with personal matters.”

Enora said nothing. Her perfectly fitted metal armor reflected the rays of sunlight that came in through the leaves. Her brown hair framed her round, gorgeous face. In her hands, she held a halberd that shone with golden energy. She was beautiful. Not half as much as her younger sister, but still breathtaking enough to drive mortal men crazy. Hadjar had seen so many beautiful women over the years that he no longer paid much attention to them. A person got used to everything, even overwhelming, carnal beauty.

“You’ve changed, Hadjar,” Enora said suddenly, switching to an informal tone. “I still remember the boy who tried to escape from my father’s domain. And now he comes to my home as a swordsman without fear… Despite the radical change, very little time has passed, even by human standards.”

“Perhaps… It’s all the same in the end. Now, if you don’t mind, I really should visit your father. Honestly, I’m running out of time.”

Enora smiled. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and walked silently along the path that weaved between the local houses. Well, it was difficult to call them ‘houses’. It would seem that the elven premises were ‘grown’ inside trees, and it looked as if the trees themselves willingly grew in such a way that several ‘buildings’ formed inside of them. Connected by ladders, rope bridges, or wooden bridges, they wound upwards, toward the treetops, in a line.

The elven Palace looked mind-bogglingly fabulous, lofty, and very light, but also impenetrable. Like the Forbidden City, it had a bit of a fortress feeling about it. Hadjar, after becoming a Lord, had begun to sense and see the world around him in much greater detail, and the militaristic atmosphere around the Palace of Agvar Marnil didn’t go unnoticed by him. There was something that connected the elves to the Imperial family. Given Akena’s relationship with Dora, it wasn’t exactly the best of connections…

Chapter 946

“Y our Majesty.” Hadjar bowed, and the gesture was much more elegant this time. “Your Highness.”

The second bow was directed at the elven King’s sister, Hera, the most famous and powerful healer of Darnassus, who could bring a cultivator back even from the brink of death.

“Hadjar Darkhan, Orune’s disciple,” Agvar appeared before him in his human form: a tall, thin, and fit old man with greenish eyes that glimmered with wisdom and age.

This was a very deceptive appearance. Hadjar could see the King’s true form and true self. He wasn’t actually peaceful, wise, or good-natured. No more than someone who wore a King’s crown should be, at any rate. The wise and the good only became rulers in fairy tales. In reality, power went to those who were ready to fight for it, and those were people of a completely different sort.

“Let’s talk outside.” The King, dressed in a cloak that looked as if it were made of leaves and twigs, pointed toward a gazebo that stood near a pond.

“Father,” Enora bowed. “Auntie.”

Turning around, she left the court grounds. She soon disappeared into the mess that this magical forest pretended was a system of paths and roads.

There were no fences or walls inside the elven district, and Agvar’s Palace was among the other buildings. Going about their business, the elves carefully skirted the Palace and its immediate surroundings. It almost felt like they were alone.

Almost. Hadjar had sensed three dozen archers hiding nearby, including Talis. His neural network had marked all the foes it could sense on his mental map, showing a total of forty-three hostiles, one of which was marked as deadly and inanimate. In other words, Hadjar was standing in the middle of a well-placed trap.

“You’re wearing cold clothes, young Hadjar,” Agvar led the way into the gazebo. Like everything here, it was alive — a huge bush of some sort of purple flowers that curled into a jug shape, and there were several benches inside, made in a similar manner from those same purple flowers.

“I can feel the touch of the Dark Queen in them,” Hera whispered. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid, and her features were delicate. The healer looked tired, but that was understandable — the war not only took its toll on the soldiers, but also on the ones who healed them.

“I’m sure Dora already told you what happened at Greven’Dor.” Hadjar shrugged.

“She did.” Agvar held out his index finger and a small bird, very similar to a wagtail, landed on it. He began to pet it gently, and it sang its song. How idyllic… However, the bird was being marked by his neural network as that inanimate and deadly threat. The Gaze failed to break through the illusion that enveloped the artifact, which made it appear like a bird. Whatever the elven King was holding in his hands, it was his trump card that was supposed to overcome the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique and the Divine level Call armor that Hadjar had.

“Don’t meddle in the affairs of the Winter Court,” Hera said, making the sacred gesture of her people and her faith. “That isn’t why we called you here, young swordsman.”

Hadjar waited. He folded his arms in a way that made his sleeves come together like a tube. Queen Mab had seemed to know that situations where Hadjar would need to hide his sword might arise in the future. Like right now. The Blue Blade fit perfectly in the wide sleeves. Even if one looked closely at them, due to their shape and length, it would remain completely invisible…

“I heard you visited the Forbidden City, Hadjar,” Agvar continued to stroke the bird. Hera fidgeted with a hairclip in her hand. The neural network also marked it as a threat, but not a deadly one.

All three of them were ready for battle. Gone were the days when Hadjar had been afraid of the Marnil siblings. He wouldn’t be able to defeat both Agvar and Hera in a fair fight, but he could hold them back long enough to fight his way out. The elves had more power in their domain than Morgan, but outside the walls of the Green Hammer district, they were subordinates of the Empire, like any other citizen. They wouldn’t dare touch him out on the streets of the capital since they didn’t want to incur the Emperor’s wrath.

“There is no need to be so quiet, young swordsman.” Hera smiled.

Her smile was kind and friendly, and all the while, Hera was clutching a dangerous artifact.

South Wind had told Hadjar that a man should only trust two women smiling at him — his mother and his daughter. Even a wife’s smile wasn’t on that list…

“To be honest, honorable King Agvar and healer Hera,” Hadjar sighed wearily. “From the moment I stepped foot in your district, I got tired of repeating myself: I have very little time to spare. Let’s get down to business, resolve our issues, and go our separate ways.”

The King and his sister exchanged glances. Their silent conversation didn’t last long, but during that time, Hadjar managed to think up four plans for how to retreat and one for how to attack them. Only one plan for how he’d retreat was approved by his neural network. The network gave it a thirty percent success rate, which was, for its computing module’s standards, pretty generous.

Hadjar had grown much stronger, more experienced, and far wiser. It was a direct result of the forty years he’d spent fighting and talking with Orune on the Mountain of Elements... or wherever they’d been in the ever-changing Spirit World.

“None of us expected, young swordsman,” Agvar’s gaze grew heavy, and his hand hovered over the silent bird, “for you to overcome the barrier between the Spirit Knight and the Lord level in such a short time, in less than the mere eight years allotted to you originally. I can’t remember a single legend that mentions a hero who managed to accomplish what even young geniuses take decades to do in just four years.”

Putting aside the fact that Hadjar had spent forty years on the Mountain of Elements, he was still in his third decade.

By the standards of cultivators, he wasn’t far off from being a newborn. But by the standards of the aristocrats, he was almost at the end of the period when cultivators progressed the fastest. That was why, if a person was still a Spirit Knight after their first century, it would take them twice as long to progress to the next level, even if the cultivator was incredibly talented. That was why the capital was filled with Spirit Knights who were seven centuries old, or even older. And Lords who were already over one and a half or two thousand years old. He often forgot about this, as he was usually surrounded by the crème de la crème, by the absolute geniuses and the strongest elites, which were the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’, and the ‘Meltwater’ and ‘Quick Dream’ Schools as well.

Even Drunken Leaf, the strongest disciple of all three Schools, was already almost ninety years old. By mortal standards, he was an old man, but by cultivator standards, he was practically a boy as he wasn’t even a century old yet.

“I got lucky.” Hadjar shrugged, “and if you wanted to congratulate me, you could’ve simply sent a messenger.”

“On the contrary, descendant of Darkhan, there is nothing to congratulate you on.”

Agvar nodded gently and two dozen arrows covered in multicolored energy struck the ground around the gazebo. They formed a magic symbol that instantly lit up. The threads of energy that came out of it enveloped the gazebo and closed it off from the outside world. The chances that his neural network had given him dropped from 30% to 11.5%. This was a much more familiar power balance to Hadjar.

The archers came out of their hiding places. Talis watched Hadjar’s every move. Five arrows were nocked on his bow at once. Hadjar sensed the magical symbol blocking his energy and mysteries. Along with the pressure of magic, the power of Agvar’s Palace suddenly activated. It wasn’t as powerful as the ancient Dragon Emperor’s tomb, but it could still suppress a tenth of Hadjar’s potential.

“We need an oath from you, Darkhan,” Agvar squeezed the bird, and it turned into a long, thin twig. It looked dry and ordinary, but exuded as much destructive power as the wooden dagger given to Hadjar by the Shuk’Arka tribe.

The trap Hadjar had, knowing full well what was waiting for him, still chosen to walk into, finally activated.

Chapter 947

M aintaining his composure, Hadjar asked in a flat tone:

“What kind of oath?”

“That you’ll, under no circumstances, raise your sword, in the broadest sense of the word, against our people,” Hera clutched the hairclip so tightly that drops of shimmering blood began to fall from her hand and onto the floor of the gazebo. In the places they landed, roses sprouted, the thorns of which looked much more menacing than the arrows around them. “And that, when summoned, you’ll fight under our banner in both the current war and any future ones. In return, we’ll swear to keep your secret and not pass it on to anyone in any possible or impossible way.”

Hadjar didn’t need the computing module’s help to smell the stench that South Wind had talked about so much. With this ‘agreement’, they were trying to force another slave collar on him.

“So, you want me to be your slave?” Hadjar arched an eyebrow and leaned back. “In exchange for a simple promise to keep your mouths shut?”

“Let me remind you, Prince of Lidus,” Agvar hissed, “that it’s better to be a living slave than a dead fool.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never worn a slave collar.” Hadjar shrugged. “Or like a coward.”

Agvar’s eyes narrowed, and the twig in his hands seemed to move.

“Don’t forget your place, bastard. You’re talking to the King of the elves!”

“I just spoke to the Emperor of all Darnassus,” Hadjar retorted. “Compared to that, a conversation with you doesn’t really impress me.”

The flowers under his feet began to grow. Their thorns touched the hem of Hadjar’s clothing. Suddenly, a thin layer of ice covered the plants. In a split second, the roses turned into pure ice. The wind blew, scattering the ice shards, which melted almost instantly.

Hera clearly suppressed a scream and quickly put away her hairclip. Like the roses, it was also covered in ice. A black, cold burn appeared on the healer’s palm. When she saw it, she grimaced, placed her free hand over it, and it disappeared without leaving a single trace.

“Is everything all right?” Agvar looked worried.

“Yes.” Hera nodded slowly. “My magic probably won’t be able to harm Mab’s items.”

Hadjar kept silent. He knew full well that when faced with a threat from any Winter Court Fae, the armor created by the Winter Queen would be no stronger than a scrap of cheap cloth. But he couldn’t have even imagined that they’d be so strong against the magic of the Summer Court.

His neural network, having received new data, instantly moved the King’s twig from the ‘deadly’ category to the ‘presumably deadly’ category and raised his escape plan’s chances of success to 15%.

“The fact that you know about my past won’t help much in our negotiations,” Hadjar tried to get things back on track.

“Negotiations?” Agvar gradually assumed his true form: his skin turned into tree bark, his eyes into red gems, his hair and beard into green moss, and his aura grew stronger by the second. “You’ll swear this oath, or, by the Great Forest, I’ll send you to your forefathers and destroy the rot in your soul.”

A few years ago, faced with such threats, Hadjar would’ve tried to wiggle out of this and look for opportunities to outwit his enemy. But now there was no need for trickery.

Hadjar didn’t sense any greater threats than the ones already present. The elves had laid out all their trump cards, and he hadn’t even started to consider his yet. He began to understand Morgan now. He was strong enough to replace tricks with a game of information and bluffs. And schemes… Hadjar hated those from the bottom of his heart, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to plot.

“Negotiations, honorable King,” Hadjar said with a slight bow. He would’ve normally drawn the Blue Blade, summoned the Blue Wind and the Quetzal bird, and fought his way to freedom. But Anise had messed up all his plans with her insistence to get revenge on her uncle. “You see, I already told you that I spoke to the Emperor. And he, as far as I could understand, is going to send me somewhere again in the near future. I think the oath you’re demanding of me will break my word to the Emperor. When he questions me, I’ll have to tell him why.”

“We’ll add a non-disclosure clause in your part of the oath, then.”

“And when I don’t answer him, he’ll send me to General Schuver. During torture, sooner or later, I’ll either break and die, or I’ll break, try to answer him, and then die.”

“Are you so unsure of your fortitude, swordsman?” Agvar’s voice was full of contempt.

“I’m simply confident in General Schuver’s skill,” Hadjar ignored the insult. He was too old to react rashly, like a pouty child, when people insulted him. Until a certain line was crossed, Hadjar could afford to look at such things from afar, if not from above. Gone were the days of his reckless, boyish rage.

Even Orune, powerful as he’d been, had understood this. That was why he’d remained the ‘faithful dog of Darnassus’, because there had been more at stake than just his pride. Somewhere in this district, his friend and sworn brother had found his peace and home. Hadjar couldn’t risk Einen’s happiness for the sake of his ego.

“If you die, it’ll be easier for everyone,” Hera said. Like her brother, she now bore little resemblance to the wise, beautiful healer she’d first appeared to be.

“Perhaps.” Hadjar shrugged. “But General Schuver and Morgan will begin their investigation anyway. Then something may come to light that won’t be pleasant for you either. Given that our country is currently under martial law, His Imperial Highness won’t even need a trial or investigation…”

“You-”

Agvar waved his hand, and his sister stopped mid-sentence. The King stared at Hadjar for a while, and then the twig in his hands turned back into a bird.

“I’m sure you knew what would be waiting for you here, when you came to us,” his face and body regained its human features, and his voice became tired.

“I did,” Hadjar confirmed. “It would’ve been strange for anything else to happen. The Rainbow Poison I lived through made me stronger. That couldn’t help but worry you. As for the fragment of the Black General’s soul, I’ve been living with him for decades. If nothing terrible has happened yet, then-”

“It might still happen later,” the King interrupted him. He waved his hand again and the magic symbol disappeared, followed by the archers. They hid in shadows like Einen. “You’ve changed, Hadjar Darkhan, Orune’s disciple… We may soon have to deal with a new great swordsman of Darnassus.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty,” Hadjar bowed.

They were both playing the game. Agvar, who’d worn the crown on his head for so many years, was better at it than Hadjar. The King hadn’t really lost, Hadjar just had better cards at the moment. Who knew what would happen in the next round. Fucking intrigue…

“Swear to me, Hadjar Darkhan,” the King continued abruptly, “That you’ll never tell your secret or the Black General’s secret to anyone, whether you want to or at the instigation of others. We, in turn, will do the same.”

Hadjar almost asked why he hadn’t just started with this, but caught himself in time. Agvar could’ve gotten a powerful slave if he’d succeeded, so why not give it a shot? He didn’t lose anything in the process, after all. Soon, they had both given their word and got up to leave the gazebo.

“I’m glad that you’re fighting for Darnassus in this war, Hadjar Darkhan,” Agvar put his forearm forward and Hadjar did the same.

“As are you, Your Majesty,” he said. “Today, we have a common enemy. A very powerful one. I think our differences can wait to be resolved after this enemy is defeated.”

Agvar only smiled, looking a little tired and sad.

“Let me teach you something, young Hadjar: we’ll always have enemies… We’ll always have the Enemy.”

Hadjar bowed. Deeply. As was required by the laws of hospitality. They hadn’t violated them; they’d danced on the edge of doing so, but hadn’t actually done it.

“Enora,” the senior heiress came out of the shadows after her father called out to her, fully armed and with her Spirit primed and ready. “Show our guest out. He has other things to do, and we’ve taken up a lot of his time already.”

“Of course, father.” Enora made a half-turn, hinting to Hadjar that it was time to go.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Hadjar bowed twice and was already turning around when he heard a voice behind him.

“Is everything all right with your friend’s eyes, young Hadjar? For some reason, Einen has refused my sister’s help.”

Hadjar turned very slowly, making sure they could see his every move. The Blue Blade appeared in his hand. If there was one thing he’d learned from Emperor Morgan, it was that, in the end, there was only one thing that mattered in any games like these — power.

All the elves in the Green Hammer district suddenly felt a sword at their throats. Something incredibly powerful held their lives in its hands. The County of the Blue Wind Sword surrounded the Palace. It shattered its aura with frightening ease. A white lightning bolt descended from the sky like a roaring dragon. Hadjar disappeared inside of it, leaving behind a gazebo that had been cut in half.

“Father, you-”

Agvar, whose severed beard fell away, only stared at the black crack in the ground left behind by the departing swordsman.

“Young Tarisfal found a good heir,” was all the King said. He turned and walked back to the Palace, chuckling slightly. Soon… Very soon…

***

Hadjar, standing in a deserted avenue, mentally put a checkmark next to the ‘Spring the Marnil’s trap’ entry on his list of unavoidable tasks. There was still plenty on that list: ‘Uphold my oath to Anise’, ‘Make good on my deal with Helmer’, and ‘The Emperor’s vague hint about another mission’. And he’d need to deal with all of that in the next ten days.

“I fucking hate schemes,” Hadjar murmured, and then headed down the street.

Chapter 948

B efore he committed to anything, Hadjar wanted to deal with a few more important and urgent matters first, so he went to Eighth Avenue.

The sheer size of the capital had always impressed Hadjar. Even though he’d lived here for several years (most of which he’d spent outside the city, or within the territory of ‘The Holy Sky’ School), he still couldn’t get used to the fact that there were dozens of palaces to be found in a single street. Each of them was so tall it brushed up against the clouds, and each had its own rather large fenced off and protected territory.

The patrols mostly consisted of elite mercenaries, who were Spirit Knights at the middle or advanced stages. They often had some sort of monster along with them: one that was spiky, toothy, or capable of spitting acid at foes, and more.

At the end of Eighth Avenue, which was as large as an entire mortal city, in the midst of all the luxury and splendor, was a strange, overgrown plot, upon which stood a low, three-story house. Visitors often mistook it for someone’s gatehouse or storage shed. Only visitors made such a mistake. The locals knew perfectly well who owned this plot of land and the house built on it.

The plot was rather big, like all the others around here — at least 2,500 acres, overgrown with weeds and some trees that had been bent and twisted by the difficult life in the center of the capital. It was strange to see such a wart on Dahanatan’s beautiful face... unless, of course, you knew who it belonged to.

Hadjar approached two pegs that had been driven into the ground, which served as a sort of gate, and dared to cross the border. There were no protections to be found, no magic veil or shield. There wasn’t an idiot alive who’d dare to try and break into the domain of the great swordsman Orune. Yes, this weed-infested plot, as well as the house that stood on it, had once belonged to Hadjar’s late Master.

“Greetings,” Hadjar bowed deeply to the house, as required by etiquette.

This was his house now. Even if not for long…

At first, Hadjar had wanted to give this inheritance to Orune’s only friend — Mentor Jean. However, after Orune’s death, once he’d paid homage and sung the funeral song, Jean had resigned as a Mentor of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. Taking his wife and child with him, he’d left the capital, and no one knew exactly where he’d gone to. One of the few people who’d known Orune from back when he’d still been called Tarisfal had simply disappeared.

And so, Hadjar had become the default owner of this ‘estate’ and the land, even a small piece of which was worth more than Hadjar could ever imagine. He could easily convert this giant mess into an artifact at the Divine level…

However, he had completely different plans for this place. Rolling up the sleeves of his Call and grabbing a rake from a nearby barn, Hadjar began to clean up the overgrown mess, shocking the few passersby. There was still some time left until nightfall, and the cultivators wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. Why not keep himself busy with some ‘active meditation?’

***

A few people were sitting around a table so massive and heavy it could’ve been used to reinforce the gates of a fortress.

Tom Dinos, who’d put his feet up on the table, was sipping a sweet-smelling concoction from a tin bowl. He looked around and frowned at the sight of the bare walls devoid of portraits, paintings, or tapestries. The house looked even poorer and simpler inside than it did from the outside. He ran a finger over a lone dresser and sneezed. The layer of dust was a few inches thick.

His sister, Anise Dinos, was sitting next to him. She looked far more on edge than her younger brother. Clasping her hands together, she kept her eyes on Hadjar, who was sitting across from her, with Annette of the Shuk’Arka tribe on his right. She’d spent the past few days learning Darnassian. Given that she was able to use the magic Words that had created this world, mere human languages were no trouble for her. Even without the absolute memory of a Spirit Knight, and with a completely different energy body structure, she’d learned how to express herself quite well.

Dora and Einen were seated to Hadjar’s left. Einen had removed his blindfold and was keeping his eyes open. Purple and inhuman, they monitored the situation vigilantly. A mask adorned with magical symbols covered the lower half of the islander’s face, hiding the terrible scars there (a souvenir of sorts from their trip to the jungle of Karnak). Hadjar, who’d finally gained the ability to use external energy, or magic, to put it simply, hadn’t yet managed to immerse himself in it at a sufficiently deep level to understand what they meant, but the sharpened perceptions of a Lord told him that they all carried a healing power.

“So,” Hadjar cleared his throat, “let’s get started…”

Anise looked at an empty chair next to her. Galkhad should’ve been sitting in it. The beloved father of her future child. The man she’d never get to wed.

“You all swore an oath to me,” Anise whispered. “To me and Galkhad. In exchange for our loyalty and help, you swore to help us overthrow the Head of the Predatory Blades clan.”

“Well, not all of them, actually,” Tom pointed at Annette with his bowl. “Our guest didn’t swear any oaths.”

“Not swear.” Annette’s voice was absolutely beautiful. “I not swear to anyone... I will go myself, if want…”

Tom just smiled and shook his head. As he grew older, he behaved more and more like Karein.

“We remember our oaths, my friend,” Dora squeezed Einen’s hand, speaking in a soft, warm tone. “And none of us are backing out.”

Anise looked around at everyone and, after making sure that no one was looking away, continued, “Then we should start developing a plan.  This will be our best chance to strike, while the authorities of Darnassus are busy with the first few months of the war with Lascan. And-”

“Well,” Hadjar, interrupting Anise, took out a stack of papers from his ring. Using his will, he handed them out to everyone at the table. “We’ve already taken the first step toward fulfilling our oath, then.”

“What step?” Anise didn’t look at the stack of papers in front of her.

“We neutralized Laris Dinos,” Hadjar shrugged.

He said this casually, as if killing one of the best swordsmen of the generation was easy… Although, at his current level, Hadjar would’ve needed only two attacks to send Laris to his forefathers.

“How will that help us, barbarian?” Tom, unlike his sister, still took the papers. “What are these, anyway?”

“A script,” Hadjar replied in an even tone, “For our little revolution.”

The cultivators decided to read the papers. Annette, who’d helped Hadjar clean up Orune’s house, already knew the plan. She wasn’t obliged to help them, but she couldn’t yet find her place in this new life. That was why she was trying to stay close to someone who was at least relatively familiar to her. Hadjar understood this and... used it. The realization that he was slowly turning into the people he hated so much sickened him.

“Surprisingly, Hadjar,” Tom put the papers away, “What I’ve just read looks like a passably competent plan, and not at all like a harebrained adventure.”

Hadjar and Einen just looked at each other. Unlike the others, the islander knew the whole plan.

After another half an hour of discussion and amendments, the cultivators came to an agreement and, after swearing some additional oaths, began preparing for the most outrageous coup Dahanatan had seen in the last few centuries.

Chapter 949

B rustor Dinos was in his chambers. Despite their apparent simplicity, the walls of the chambers were made of the most expensive type of wood. The floors were covered in the best carpets made by masters from the Sea of Sand. The many tapestries and paintings depicted scenes from myths and legends.

Several people were sleeping on a huge bed, under a canopy. Curled up next to Brustor were so many lovely concubines that it was almost impossible to make out where one began and the other ended. Brustor’s wife, who’d given him two heirs, was currently in the women’s wing, as outlined by the rules. She had no right to leave without the permission of the Head of the family. For centuries, it had been like this, and so it would continue to be…

“My son,” Brustor whispered.

Getting up without caring if he woke someone, he walked over the bodies of the groaning concubines and got out of bed. Burying his toes in the thick carpets, he put on a robe that had been made by Lady Brahmi herself. He went over to a stained-glass window and picked up a bottle of three-century-old wine and a glass made of crystal as clear as a mountain spring.

Brustor had always loved the finer things in life: the best wine in the most expensive glass; the most beautiful women wearing the finest outfits; the best blades in the best sheaths, with which you could buy loyalty; the most expensive horses in stables that were more opulent than those of most other nobles’ actual houses.

Once, Brustor had been deprived of all this luxury. His grandfather, his father, and his elder brother had owned everything. Brustor had only gotten the ‘leftovers’ from the main family’s table. The family from which he, the youngest son, had been thrown out like trash. As soon as he’d gone to ‘The Holy Sky’ School, he had instantly learned what it meant to be a junior heir, a buffoon. An unappreciated and unnoticed shadow of someone who, by the grace of the gods, had been lucky enough to be born a few years earlier. It didn’t matter if the younger son was more talented or smarter, the bloodline couldn’t be interrupted, and only the firstborn could inherit the position of clan Head. It had always been like that…

Brustor didn’t take a sip. Instead, he put the glass back on the windowsill, then leaned on it.

He’d hated them all: his father, his grandfather, his brother. He’d hated them for the slaps that had painted his face red, for spitting on him, and the leftovers that he’d had to steal from servants after getting punished. He’d hated them because they’d punished him for all his brother’s mistakes, as they couldn’t touch the senior heir, the man who’d one day rule the Predatory Blades clan. He’d hated them…

But most of all, he’d hated them not for the humiliation and deprivation, but for how they’d destroyed his life and trampled his honor. For the fact that the wife he should’ve loved lived in another wing of the Palace, and for how the sight of her made Brustor sick. For having concubines in his bed whose faces he wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

“Lenis,” Brustor whispered. He saw her reflection in the wine, which was moving around in the glass.

Brustor loved the finer things in life. He loved Lenis, Salm Tarez’s younger sister. Back when they’d attended the classes and trials of ‘The Holy Sky’ School together, completely different people had been the Heads of their clans.

He’d loved her... every flutter of her lashes, every breath she’d taken, every elegant movement, the scent of her brown hair… He’d thought he had found true love, that he’d found his solace and companion on the path of cultivation.

She’d loved him back. They’d wanted to run away together to the far northeast, to the unknown Foreign Lands that didn’t belong to any of the seven Empires, a region full of secrets and danger.

According to legends, once upon a time, dragons, including the greatest mage, Hu-Chun, had lived there. No matter who went to the Foreign Lands, they never came back. Brustor had wanted that more than anything… He’d wanted to run away with her and never come back.

But his brother... had taken her from him. On the day of their wedding, Brustor had asked her to run away with him. She’d just laughed in his face. Why would she possibly have needed a worthless junior heir when she’d been going to marry the future Head of the clan and have everything — the best swords, the best dresses, the best... the best... the best…

“My son...” Brustor whispered.

The traitor’s reflection in the wine changed to that of his eldest son. His future heir, someone who could’ve removed the burden of power from Brustor’s shoulders, someone who’d been the most talented swordsman of Dahanatan.

Brustor had another son, Paris, who was currently sleeping in the neighboring wing. The boy was about ten, but he’d already reached the Weapon’s Heart level of weapon mastery and the Spirit Knight level of cultivation. Paris would be truly great and outshine even Tarisfal, may the old bastard be accepted by his forefathers. But Paris wouldn’t have to endure the same things his father had been forced to put up with. He’d be free as a bird. He’d go wherever his heart led him and would own what his sword could win him.

Laris should’ve become the clan Head… A tear rolled down Brustor’s cheek. It landed in the glass of wine and dispersed the image of his late son.

He lived by the code of the sword. With his sword, he’d won his authority. With his sword, he’d taken revenge on his father and brother, even that traitor Lenis, but… He’d never been able to kill the girl who looked so much like her mother. Her eyes were the same, as well as her elegant movements and beautiful hair… Anise had become a servant instead. Brustor had thrown her out of his heart and home like a stray. Just like they’d once done to him.

“My son…”

“Father…”

Brustor almost jumped. He turned slowly, almost sliding down the wall. There, in the depths of the chamber, shadows swirled. A radiant, handsome man with fair hair and pale skin emerged from them. Tall, stately, proud, and full of confidence. Free, like his brother. Free, like his father. Ready to fight for what he believed in, even if it might not agree with his father’s views. But Brustor was willing to forgive everything if it meant he could hold him in his arms once more.

“My son...” Brustor stepped toward the shadows, but stopped himself. “No, this is impossible… I saw it myself... I saw Tarisfal’s pup kill you.”

“You did...” The shadow stretched toward Brustor. Gradually, it changed as it came out into the light. Its skin shifted from pale to gray. Scabs appeared all over it, worms ate through its bones, and its hair fell to the floor, exposing its bare skull. “You saw it happen, but you didn’t do anything... Why didn’t you save me, father?”

“The sword…” Brustor whispered, his heart aching. “The code of the sword…”

“Those are just words written by your ancestors, father! You didn’t save me because you’re loyal to them, but... Why didn’t you at least avenge me, father?” The skeleton touched Brustor’s shoulder. Its hand was cold, wet, and smelled of death. “Why does my killer still walk this earth? Why have I not been burned? Not given to the World River? Answer me, father!”

Brustor blinked and the apparition disappeared. He was standing alone once again. The concubines were sleeping. The wine was rippling in the glass. A few strands of hair were on the floor, and a wet spot was spreading across the fabric of his expensive robe.

“My son…”

***

Hadjar stepped out of the tangle of magic symbols that Annette and Einen had drawn. They were both exhausted. Anise and Dora hurriedly began to heal them.

Hadjar was looking at the Predatory Blades district. Tom was standing next to him, also looking in that direction.

“Do you think he bought it?”

Hadjar recalled Brustor’s expression. Even without Einen’s shadow magic fused with Annette’s necromancy, which had turned Hadjar into an exact copy of Laris, sooner or later, Brustor would’ve still come for his head. The Predatory Blades clan would’ve still honored a new Head soon after the current one died of soul wounds. All Hadjar had done was speed up the natural course of events.

“He did.”

Chapter 950

S everal hours later, a carriage pulled by four bay horses approached the house at the end of Eighth Avenue. Hadjar left the house, not letting on that he’d been waiting for it, and walked across the rather clean yard to get to the two pegs. Not crossing the invisible line, he rolled up his sleeves and stood there, looking straight ahead, because he respected the laws of hospitality a lot. The only thing that actually separated society from complete anarchy and ruin weren’t the laws of Empires or pure power, but an understanding that one’s own freedom ended where another person’s freedom began.

A stereotypical old man got out of the carriage a few seconds later. Hadjar didn’t need any help guessing that he was an attorney of the Predatory Blades clan. All of them, for some reason, looked almost exactly the same: old, haughty, with their nose in the clouds, and brimming with self-importance. This was how they looked in front of everyone, except the clan Heads. When around them, they instantly turned into whiny and beaten dogs. Even if no one had beaten them yet…

“Hadjar Darkhan, disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School?” The old man asked.

He spoke as if he wasn’t dealing with one of the best swordsmen in Darnassus (Hadjar was modest, but he also knew his own worth), but with a common hobo instead. Hadjar would’ve never allowed such disrespect, not toward a hobo, or even a King. Life had taught him that courtesy and respect were stronger than any metal. Especially when you didn’t really know someone…

“That’s right.” Hadjar nodded.

“I urge you to accept this invitation from the Great Dinos clan, also known as the Predatory Blades clan. The reception is being held in honor of senior heir Paris Dinos, the youngest son of the clan Head, Brustor Dinos, to honor his accomplishments.”

The old man held out a paper scroll, not mere parchment. It was a clear sign of wealth and status. Not every noble family could afford to use paper for invitations. The very fact that Hadjar was being visited by the clan’s attorney, and not by a simple servant, spoke volumes.

“Thank-” Hadjar reached out, almost closing his fingers around the scroll, but the old man suddenly loosened his grip. Caught in the wind, the invitation, decorated with monograms and tied with a scarlet ribbon, fell to the dirt at Hadjar’s feet. The old man didn’t apologize. He stood there, with his hand still outstretched, a sneer on his lips, radiating complete confidence in his superiority. A clear example that old age didn’t mean one also gained intelligence or wisdom. He’d lived long enough for his hair to turn gray, but not long enough to acquire a brain. He didn’t even realize how simply and blatantly he was being used.

Hadjar, just as the old man had expected, bent down to pick up the invitation, dusted it off, and held it without putting it away in his spatial artifact, as was required by etiquette.

“You didn’t have to bow to me, young man,” the old man grunted.

This was quite a serious insult. Being the personal disciple of a great hero made Hadjar equal in status to the senior heirs of aristocratic families. He was at the very top of the social structure of Dahanatan. But Hadjar didn’t really care about any of that. The power he possessed was insignificant in his opinion, and ever since he’d eaten those first scraps in Primus’ dungeon, he’d stopped caring about whether he was a Prince or a circus freak. Titles didn’t matter. The important thing was that the old man was a servant, and Hadjar was almost an aristocrat. The lawyer’s words were akin to the old man throwing a glove in Hadjar’s face.

Hadjar looked behind his visitor, at the dark carriage emblazoned with the white coat of arms of the Predatory Blades clan. Brustor would have to try a little harder. So far, his provocations weren’t even a match for the insults that Hadjar had received during his meetings with Emperor Morgan.

Shocking the old man, Hadjar bowed deeply.

“Only a silly young man,” he said, straightening back up, “doesn’t feel respect toward someone whose hair is whiter than his.”

Now the old man was embarrassed. Just a few words, expertly wielding the laws of hospitality, had been enough for Hadjar to make him look like a pathetic mutt that didn’t know when to bark and when to look like a formidable guardian. Blushing as he realized that he had tarnished his dignity as a senior, the old man turned and disappeared into the carriage. It soon turned around and continued down the avenue to deliver other invitations.

Hadjar shook his head and headed back into the house, where Tom, Anise, Dora, Einen, and Annette, who was currently sleeping on the couch, were waiting for him. The spell had drained too much of Annette’s power, and now she was resting. The Talesh, the real mages, were too weak, not much stronger than mortals, and could only survive thanks to their powerful Spirits.

Hadjar, who’d spent decades on the Mountain of Elements, comprehending magic in the form of the Wind Kingdom, and then combining it with the mysteries of the Sword Spirit, which had stayed with him even after the mark had been broken, considered such cultivation one-sided and wrong. There was a reason that the ancients of Earth claimed that a strong body housed a strong spirit. It was impossible to develop only one of them properly while forgetting everything else.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Anise hissed.

It was obvious how much she and her brother hated this man. Hadjar was certain that if it hadn’t been for their plan, the siblings would’ve torn the old man apart as soon as he’d left the clan’s district.

“Because it was a trap,” Hadjar unfolded the scroll and read it out loud, “On the third day, I, along with up to ten attendants, am cordially invited to Paris’ celebration.”

“A trap?” Tom asked. “What kind of trap?”

“The clan’s attorney is the face of the clan,” Anise answered instead of Hadjar. “If the barbarian had laid so much as a finger on him, it would’ve been considered equal to an attack on Brustor himself, and would’ve given him an excuse to retaliate with everything he has.”

“Isn’t that what we need? Don’t we want Brustor to attack the barbarian?”

“That’s why I’m asking you, Hadjar.” Anise narrowed her eyes and took a step toward him, “Why did you pass up this opportunity?”

“Because it was too obvious,” Hadjar sighed. “If I’d taken the bait, it would’ve looked too easy.”

“Easy?” Tom looked absolutely confused. “For whom? For Brustor? He thinks everyone around him is a fool. He wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Maybe,” Anise said, her anger slowly being replaced by understanding. “But there are others watching us as well.”

Hadjar nodded, “That’s why we’ll invite Rekka Geran to come with us.” He grabbed a quill and some ink.

“Why her?” Dora didn’t seem too happy about the prospect of talking to Rekka again.

“Because,” Hadjar had already started writing, “our friend is a very talented double agent: she works for both the guard corps and the Secret Office.”

These words had the same effect as a bomb going off, and only Einen knew that this wasn’t even the most reckless thing his friend had planned.

Chapter 951

T he Predatory Blades clan wasn’t as militant as the Geran clan, the Green Hammer clan, or the Eternal Mountain clan, but their district still had the kind of military might that the rest of the aristocratic families could only dream of.

The streets and avenues in their district were narrow and cozy. In the center of the district was a castle with a gate and a barbican, a moat filled with alchemical water, a drawbridge, battlements on the walls, arrowslits, and even cannons. It was supposed to look menacing, but it didn’t.

Maybe that was because the bridge was lowered, the cannons weren’t manned, and the servants were standing near the barbican to greet guests. There were colorful, lavish outfits and expensive jewelry on beautiful women, elegant men, and happy children. The outfits that the children wore were especially weird to Hadjar, as they were of a very similar cut and style as the outfits the grownups themselves had on.

“I’d really hoped that the Emperor’s reception would be the last event of this type I’d ever have to go to.” Hadjar leaned back in the carriage and drew the curtains over the window.

“But you didn’t throw away Miss Brahmi’s outfit.” Tom smiled, swirling a crystal wine glass. He was wearing a suit that resembled a military doublet.

“I paid too much for it to throw it away,” Hadjar grumbled.

His Call, which had been made by Queen Mab, certainly didn’t look worse than the outfit made by Dahanatan’s most famous tailor, but since his Call was also Divine level armor and exuded that sort of energy, Hadjar couldn’t show up wearing it. If not because of etiquette, then because the guards wouldn’t let him in if he did.

“If you earn the title of great hero one day, you’ll have to go to more than one such reception.”

Anise, as usual, was wearing a black skirt and a top with an intricate pattern of missing sections that left just enough material to cover everything that had to be covered.

“Speaking of titles,” their carriage was moving slowly ― the line of carriages bringing nobles to the celebration stretched out all the way to the beginning of the street, “Rekka, can you explain what the Empress tried to do to me?”

“Her Imperial Highness, as the eldest woman in the Imperial family, holds the seal of the first hero. It’s an ancient artifact that dates back to the beginning of the Hundred Kingdoms Era.” Rekka was wearing a ceremonial version of her guardswoman armor. It might’ve looked lighter than her usual armor, but a mortal wouldn’t have been able to move an inch in it.

Hadjar remembered the stone disc with which the Empress had knocked him to the ground.

“And what does that seal do?”

“It releases power equal to the full might of the first hero of the Hundred Kingdoms, but only for a few seconds.” Rekka liked it when she was asked to explain something. “Don’t ask me what his name was, no one remembers it. We only know that he was an ambidextrous swordsman and that he had a strange nickname. Something to do with crooked legs.”

“A nickname?”

Rekka nodded, “They didn’t know about Names back then, Hadjar. So, when a cultivator, or, as they were called back then, a hero, earned one, society gave them a nickname. They usually weren’t pleasant.”

Hadjar thought this was a very funny tradition, although it didn’t make any sense to him. Once he’d become a Lord and begun to perceive the world around him a little differently, he’d sensed that the tattoo on his arm held much more meaning than simply ‘Darkhan’. There was something else in it, both mystical and magical.

“Wait, does that mean,” Tom leaned forward, “that the title of a great hero isn’t just an honorary title?”

“It isn’t.” Rekka snorted. With each breath she took, the scabbards of her swords banged against her armor. “In fact, originally, there were only seven great heroes.”

“Because of the number of Empires?” Dora guessed.

Like Anise, she preferred to wear clothes instead of armor, and her dress was silver. She always had a cloak as part of her outfit, and wore a tiara in her snow-white hair.

“Because of the number of discs.” Einen, who was wearing the same doublet he’d worn to the Emperor’s ball, looked out the window at the line of carriages that stretched out in front of and behind them.

The Dinos were clearly having all the elites of the capital over. Many of them had returned from their temporary shelters for such an important occasion. Hadjar tried not to consider them cowards, because everyone, like Mentor Jean for example, had their own reasons for leaving, but... They’d still run away and left the city with all their belongings while others had stayed to fight and defend their homeland.

“The islander is right,” Rekka said. “There were only seven ancient seals. They were given to those who could withstand the might of the first great hero.”

“So what’s the point of it all?” Hadjar, like Einen, went back to looking out at the street. “Why do we need great heroes?”

“Like all great men and women, they are needed to protect the people from great threats. The ones who possessed the seal of a great hero would fight the most dangerous monsters, opponents, or anomalies. They were the shields of that era.”

“The seven heroes were seven shields?” Hadjar felt like he’d seen that symbol somewhere before. Due to his sharpened senses since becoming a Lord, he could feel Dora and Einen tense up. So, they were hiding something… Well, everyone had their own secrets. “So, people weren’t divided before the era of the Hundred Kingdoms?”

“They were,” Rekka adjusted her belt, and the edges of the scabbards glinted dangerously in the light, “but the people back then were also able to unite when faced with a threat that could destroy them all.”

Hadjar looked at everyone. He was sure that none of them had any idea that Darnassus, like all the other Empires, was under the thumb of the Dragon Lands.

“Now, many eons later, people are much more powerful,” Rekka continued, “and one seal is enough for one Empire. As for your question, Hadjar, the one who’s worthy of the title becomes something like an emissary of the Emperor. They aren’t subject to the laws of society and they stand above any branch of government. The money they receive monthly exceeds the annual income of the Heavenly Wind clan.”

With the start of the war, the Geran family’s treasury had filled up so much that they were no longer the poorest of the seven aristocratic families. That position now belonged to the Heavenly Wind clan that owned a civilian aircraft business. The turbulent times and the dangerous skies had affected them greatly.

Even so, the annual income of an aristocratic clan was a colossal sum. Which led to a logical follow-up question: how rich was the Imperial family? As far as Hadjar could gather, they were the ones paying the great heroes. And there wasn’t just one great hero in the country, but several. Well, at least it was now clear how Orune had gotten his hands on such an impressive collection of precious rarities.

“And, of course, they swear an oath to become the Emperor’s direct vassal,” Rekka added suddenly. “Each of the great heroes is a personal servant of the ruler. That is the greatest honor, one that surpasses all the other perks of the title.”

Hadjar had his own opinion about that. After her brief explanation, Hadjar realized that he would never pass the seal test.

The atmosphere was tense. Einen and Dora were holding hands but looking in different directions. Anise and Tom were somewhat nervous. Rekka, on the other hand, looked far too relaxed and calm. Everyone that Hadjar was relying on right now had secrets and plans. Even Einen. Well, Hadjar had some of his own as well…

Chapter 952

“Y our invitation, please.” Three people appeared in front of Hadjar as soon as he got out of the carriage. They were all wearing armor and their hands were intentionally resting on the hilts of their weapons. All three were advanced-stage Spirit Knights who possessed Wielder level mysteries. Even by the standards of Dahanatan, they were a very powerful trio. They certainly weren’t ordinary servants.

“Here you go.” Hadjar took out the paper scroll and handed it to one of the guards.

He broke the seal and read the contents, “The disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, Hadjar Darkhan, and his entourage.”

The nearest servant rushed across the bridge to the valet. Hadjar wondered why the Predatory Blades clan didn’t seem to use any communication artifacts.

The guard looked at the people standing behind Hadjar.

“Junior heiress of the Green Hammer clan, Dora Marnil,” he bowed deeply. He was a middle-aged man with a thick, gray-streaked beard and his hair was in a tight braid. He looked stately and pleasant, and was most likely a part of an aristocratic family as well. “Rekka Geran, officer of the guard corps. Einen the Islander. Junior heir Tom Dinos and his servant. Please, come in.”

The guard moved aside. The rest of the guards did the same.

The other Dinos standing by the drawbridge looked at Tom and Anise as if they were shit that had gotten stuck to their boots. Contempt was in the air. It was clear why Tom and Anise rarely returned to their home and spent most of their time in ‘The Holy Sky’ School or some hotel.

Walking ahead of them, Hadjar felt stares directed at him as well. There wasn’t just contempt in them, but also downright hatred. The Dinos warriors who stood along the bridge gripped the hilts of their swords tightly. They were frowning, eyes full of bloodlust. Obviously, they’d respected or even loved Laris, who’d been a renowned swordsman. For swordsmen, someone else’s strength was either the object of envy or motivational admiration.

So far, everything was going according to plan.

Passing through the gates set in the massive walls, Hadjar and his companions found themselves inside the Palace. They saw that this was a huge training area fenced off from the outside world. All around them, there were either parade grounds or obstacle courses, training dummies, racks of various weapons, and pits filled with some nasty surprises. It was obvious that the best swordsmen in the Empire trained here.

It was rumored that the Predatory Blades clan was capable of destroying any other aristocratic family, and that even a few of the weaker ones working together wouldn’t be their match. Although, after Brustor had risen to power, the Dinos had never shown off their might. Brustor was a peaceful man. After murdering his brother and sister-in-law, he hadn’t drawn his sword at all.

Until that fateful evening when he’d had to pass himself off as the late Laris, Hadjar hadn’t believed the rumors, but after he’d seen the man standing near the window, he’d no longer doubted them. He wasn’t a swordsman who’d orchestrated a coup within his clan. He was a broken warrior who just wanted peace and prosperity. However, peace and prosperity would be his undoing.

After walking along the stone-paved road that cut through the parade and training grounds they came to the main complex of the Palace. There were other buildings there, but they all paled in comparison to the architectural feat that stood before them. The Palace was shaped like a sword pointing upward, and was the tallest building that Hadjar had seen in Dahanatan. He counted at least thirty-four floors in the main tower alone. Even back on Earth, where the steel giants had long ago pierced the clouds, this structure would’ve been considered impressive.

“It was built by my distant ancestors,” Anise, who was walking beside him, whispered.

As a Lord, Hadjar was particularly sensitive to the flow of mysteries and energies. He could feel the great blade slicing through the heavens, literally ripping through the streams of the World River and capturing the Sword Spirit’s mysteries.

“They accumulate-”

“Sword Spirit mysteries, yes,” Anise nodded. She, unlike the other guests, kept her hand on the hilt of her sword and her head on a swivel. “Even your Master, the great swordsman Orune, once paid my grandfather an exorbitant sum of money to meditate in the Sword Chamber for ten years.”

“What’s the Sword Chamber?”

Anise smiled a little sadly. Tom was carefully examining his shoes.

“If we succeed, I’ll show you instead of just telling you.”

Hadjar glanced at Anise out of the corner of his eye. She looked tense, but not because they were going to attempt a very deadly scheme. Instead, she was tense for some other reason, and that worried Hadjar a little. He was well aware that during the past three days, while he and Einen had been working out the details of their plan, Tom and Anise hadn’t been idle either, but...

Rekka, who was there as a sort of guarantee that the Emperor and General Schuver had nothing against their plot, looked far from calm.

Hadjar wanted to curse. What he was about to do felt like he was trying to put his head in a lion’s mouth while hoping that he’d manage to pull it back out before the maw closed around his neck.

The real problem wasn’t even Brustor. Hadjar had no doubt that the swordsman had accumulated enough knowledge and treasure in his ten centuries of life to be a serious opponent, but Hadjar would be able to handle him. With some difficulty, but he would.

The actual problem was the current state of things and the Emperor. Morgan probably wouldn’t have been bothered by a small coup within a clan at some other time. After all, he hadn’t cared last time. But during times of war, when Darnassus was threatened with total annihilation, such feuds only made the Empire weaker and created weaknesses for the enemy to exploit.

That was exactly what Rekka was here for: to show the Emperor that Hadjar’s and Anise’s actions wouldn’t harm the Empire any more than this ticking time bomb would have otherwise.

Rekka knew that, too. Hadjar hoped that she was simply nervous because she didn’t know all the details, and not because someone powerful didn’t approve of their plan.

Hadjar had no intention of fleeing the country. Given the new position of Lidus, he was now bound to Darnassus by the strongest of ties. The Emperor knew this. And Hadjar knew that the Emperor knew… Damn all schemes to hell!

Head buzzing with thoughts, Hadjar stepped into the building where he was about to pull off a deadly coup. It was pretty strange that he, a person who hated all the underhanded aristocratic behavior, wasn’t just a participant in this plan, but one of its leaders…

“It’s starting…” Anise whispered.

Chapter 953

T he valet who met them at the entrance to the Palace ballroom looked exactly like Hadjar had imagined he would: tall, older, with a perfect posture, and with more honor and dignity in his eyes than all the Predatory Blades clan members combined. Such a person instantly inspired respect.

“Honorable guests.” He said exactly what he meant, without a single note of flattery or haughtiness, “I am obliged to remind you that the laws of hospitality apply in this hall, as well as the laws of the Darnassus Empire. Please respect and follow them.”

“Thank you,” Hadjar bowed slightly. “We hope that we won’t have to disturb the peace in this home.”

The valet nodded. His white-gloved hand was already on the door handle, which he turned, and then, over the sound of the music, the chatter, the rustle of dresses and doublets, and the click of heels, he announced loudly:

“Hadjar Darkhan, the disciple of the great swordsman Orune, and his entourage.”

Hadjar looked at the valet and saw a plea for forgiveness in the man’s eyes. Despite how honorable and dignified he was, he was still just a servant bound by oaths. Brustor thought he was playing a very clever game here, but he was moving his pawns carelessly. The way he’d forced the valet to break the rules and announce Hadjar using the wrong title had turned this servant into Brustor’s foe. And only a fool disregarded the damage that the ‘little people’ could do. Entire Empires fell because of the ‘little people,’ after all… Power always resided on the shoulders of the people, and not the other way around.

Heading inside, Hadjar didn’t pay much attention to the decor. It wasn’t very different from the halls in the Forbidden City. Well, when compared to the Imperial Palace, it did feel much simpler and poorer, but it was definitely far from that.

“Everyone knows their part,” Anise whispered. She stood behind her brother, as a servant should. “May the gods protect our hearts, friends.”

“None of us will die here today, sister,” Tom said. He looked Dora, Einen, and Hadjar in the eye, and then headed toward a podium at the north end of the hall.

“You know what to do.” Hadjar nodded at Einen and Dora.

She took Einen’s arm and led him to another part of the hall. Since Tom and Anise had gone to pay their respects to their clan Head, Dora went to do the same with hers.

Hadjar and Rekka were left alone in the center of the hall. He caught all sorts of glances directed his way: some curious, some full of hatred, some cold, and even a few lustful ones.

Hadjar was surprised to realize that he knew quite a few of the nobles present. It was a very tight-knit and powerful community, and yet, he had somehow gotten to know some of them.

“Perhaps you’ll finally tell me what you’re up to, barbarian,” Rekka said, moving to stand in front of him. A few men had been headed toward him to exchange a few words, but after spotting a member of the guard corps, they turned around.

Hadjar tilted his head to the side and smiled slightly, “No.”

“I’m...” She began, already having an answer prepared for what she’d expected him to respond with. “What did you just say?”

Hadjar moved closer to her, leaned in, and whispered in her ear, “The fact that you’re here, Rekka, already tells me everything I need to know. That’s your purpose, just to be here.”

Hadjar moved away and watched as Rekka’s face turned pale, and then understanding appeared in her eyes, which was soon replaced by blind rage. Hadjar knew perfectly well that there was no creature in the world more terrifying than an offended or humiliated woman. However, he couldn’t simply let the fact that he and those closest to him had been used for someone’s selfish plans go unpunished.

“Is this payback for Karnak, barbarian?” Rekka hissed.

“Exactly.” Hadjar nodded. “My advice to you, bloodhound — don’t run into me ever again. The next time I see you, I’ll send you to your forefathers.”

Rekka reached for her blades, then put her hands behind her back instead. Hadjar was no longer the same man who’d gone into the jungle with her. He was now the man who had easily defeated an enemy that had instilled fear in her.

“When did you find out?”

“About your blades?” Hadjar nodded at them. “How you came with us in order to find a way to cure yourself? As well as the fact that this is why you serve two masters? Not to mention the fact that you’re the one who nearly got us killed three times? Almost immediately, Rekka.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Those who learned about my secret, barbarian, are with their forefathers now. Along with the people they cared about.” She nodded toward Einen and Dora.

His Kingdom had already begun to rise up around Hadjar when gentle fingers took his hand.

“Go away, you filthy rat.” The hiss would’ve made even the most jaded warrior tense up, “Or I’ll break all your limbs and throw you out of here myself.”

Rekka instantly snapped to attention and saluted.

“Your Imperial Highness,” she bowed.

With a click of her heels, Rekka left and soon disappeared into the crowd.

“Princess,” Hadjar bowed.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” The hiss changed to a pleasant, gentle tone, “To you, it’s just Akena.”

“I’m sorry, Akena.” Hadjar straightened up and looked deep into her beautiful, green eyes.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she laughed. Then she took a step back and spun around. The hem of her dress lifted during her twirl, revealing her ankles and a bit of her calves. She was wearing a snow-white dress decorated with silver stars and constellations, and with every movement she made, a glittering speck would come off it and disappear after a moment.

“What do you think?” She asked, smiling.

“Lady Brahmi has surpassed herself.”

Akena smiled even wider and, taking Hadjar’s arm, went over to the table covered in appetizers. People made way for her and bowed as soon as they saw her. She didn’t acknowledge them in any way.

“She said that she took inspiration from the armor of some swordsman,” Akena ate a tiny crab cake with a graceful movement.

“I’m flattered,” Hadjar nodded. “But, Akena, please don’t take me for a fool. What are you doing here? The Imperial family doesn’t attend these kinds of events.”

Still smiling, Akena ate another appetizer.

“Is that why you invited that rat in a skirt?”

Hadjar was well aware of how much Akena and Rekka loathed each other, but hearing the Princess say such things still felt unusual.

“If I’d known inviting you was an option, Princess, I would’ve sent a messenger immediately.”

They stared at each other for a few long seconds.

“It’s my father’s payment for Karnak,” Akena said, a little sad and disappointed. “My brother hates these kinds of events, so I’m here instead. Besides, you and I know each other a little. Father thought this would be enough to let you understand everything.”

“Fucking schemes!” Hadjar didn’t even realize he’d said that out loud.

“Exactly,” Akena laughed, and then winked at Hadjar. “You sometimes remind me of him and my brother — the three of you are all allergic to fun.”

“I hope that’s the only thing I-”

“My Princess,” a familiar voice interrupted Hadjar. Brustor Dinos, accompanied by his wife, a little boy, and Tom and Anise, came up to them. “It is an honor to welcome a member of the Imperial Family to my humble abode.”

“Head of the Predatory Blades clan,” Akena nodded. “I came as a favor for your guest, Hadjar Darkhan, and your relatives, Tom and Anise Dinos.”

“Of course, Princess, of course.” Brustor nodded, and then turned to Hadjar. “A disciple of the great swordsman Tarisfal… Well, I expected something more from someone carrying that title.”

Hadjar looked at Tom and Anise, noticed Rekka in the distance, and Einen and Dora walking toward them. Today, he’d finally fulfill his oath…

“Hello, Hadjar Darkhan.” The boy came forward. He had an unprecedented talent for the Way of the Sword. “I’m your biggest fan in this clan. Please don’t listen to my father. His belief in the code of the sword is wavering and he can’t forgive the fact that Laris was weaker than you.”

The very eloquent and mature boy held out his hand to Hadjar.

“I hope to become your equal one day, Swordsman Darkhan, so that we can fight the enemies of Darnassus side by side.”

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. The boy was sincere, fearless, and spoke from the heart. The same heart Hadjar was supposed to stab…

Chapter 954

B rustor looked down at his son with disapproval. His gaze, full of fatherly love and affection, still promised a punishment. Paris didn’t care. He was happy, slightly cheeky, and lighthearted, smiling as he shook Hadjar’s hand. He wondered how a child could have such a strong will, spirit and, what was even more impressive, such a strong body.

“Take him away,” Brustor hissed. He didn’t even turn to his beautiful wife and gave the order as if he were addressing a servant, not the second most important person in the clan.

“Let’s go, Paris.” She leaned over and took the boy’s hand.

He immediately straightened up, the happy smile fading from his face. He pressed his cheek to the back of her hand.

“Of course, mom,” holding her hand tightly, he disappeared with her into the crowd.

Hadjar watched them go and felt his heavy heart beating hard.

“Why is your big boy still clinging to his mother’s skirt?” Salm Tarez slid in from behind the dancing nobles, who were all watching the scene unfold.

Wearing the most expensive clothes as always, he had one of his youngest wives on his left. The platinum-haired beauty was about eighteen years old. On his right, in striking contrast, was a statuesque, tall lady who knew everything about the aristocrats, and in whose eyes centuries of intrigue and hundreds of different schemes could be seen, related to both business and love. Hadjar had heard a lot about Salm’s eldest wife. Compared to her, even the most venomous of snakes would look as harmless as a fluffy, cuddly rabbit. Now he knew that this was far from an exaggeration.

He met her eye. Letitia Tarez. A beautiful, poisonous flower that had driven men crazy back before Hadjar’s grandfather had even been born. In the entire Empire, there was only one opponent worthy of facing Morgan in the arena of scheming, and that was Letitia. She looked at Hadjar with slight interest, but soon turned her bored, brown eyes to the table that held all sorts of wine.

“Head of House Tarez,” Brustor said, greeting his equal in rank.

The old adversaries, and perhaps outright enemies, shook hands. But there was still so much mutual dislike in this ‘friendly’ gesture that Letitia rolled her eyes. She whispered something to her husband, and, taking the younger wife’s hand, she went over to the wine table. Polygamy wasn’t officially forbidden in Dahanatan. Salm Tarez didn’t just have the largest harem of concubines, but also five or six actual wives.

“Tomorrow,” Brustor said loudly, so everyone could hear, “My son, the senior heir of the clan, will go to ‘The Holy Sky’ School! He will be its youngest and most outstanding student ever!”

“Really?” Tarez’s eyebrows shot up and he took a few steps back. “Will his mommy go with him, too?”

Brustor turned red, not from shame, but from his barely contained urge to grab his sword.

“What do you say, Karein?” Salm continued. “Will you take care of the boy? We aristocrats have to stick together, after all. Will you make sure young Paris doesn’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd... brushes his teeth on time… goes to bed early and eats right?”

“Of course I will, father,” Karein answered calmly. He was chewing on something quite noisily, not caring about the reaction of the other guests. He even wiped his hands clean on someone’s back. The irritated noble turned around, but upon seeing Karein, pretended that everything was fine and rushed away.

After Laris’ death, the Tarez clan had climbed to one spot above the Predatory Blades clan. At the moment, they weren’t the strongest, but they were still the richest, and they were already nipping at the heels of the two top spots on the list of the Empire’s seven strongest clans – the elves and the Eternal Mountain clan, the Head of which wasn’t attending the celebration.

“Hadjar!” Karein held out his hand to him. “I’m glad to see you here, buddy. A bit of chaos during events like these is never a bad thing.”

Hadjar shook his hand.

“Einen, Anise, Tom, Dora, Your Imperial Majesty… Is the Karnak gang back together? Oh, wait, I don’t see little Rekka and that minx Annette. Damn it, I got all dressed up for her. I wanted to impress her... By the way, where is she?”

Only an idiot wouldn’t have realized that there was something else behind Karein’s ostentatious ease and good mood.

“Congratulations!” Agvar shook hands with Brustor. “Paris is a worthy replacement for Laris.”

“Replacement?” Brustor repeated. “My eldest son is dead, Agvar. He died, like many young men, in the pursuit of honor and glory, but our gracious Emperor didn’t even consider it necessary to finish the Tournament so that the memory of my son would at least live on through the ages.”

“Even if there hadn’t been a war, Head of the Predatory Blades clan, no one would’ve remembered your son,” Princess Akena, who was holding Hadjar’s right hand, looked at Brustor as if she were looking at a pile of dung. Although, to be honest, this was how she normally looked at the very pinnacle of the aristocracy anyway. “No one remembers those who came in fiftieth or something to that effect, just the person who takes first place.”

Brustor turned to the Princess. With a bow, he replied:

“Big words, Princess, especially coming from the youngest of the Imperial line.”

The room got silent. Even Hadjar was surprised by Brustor’s behavior. He had literally thrown the fact that Akena was a freak in her face. An unplanned child. An outcast, despite all the love and care of the Imperial family. A mistake and a serious problem for the whole Empire all at once.

“But that’s not the important thing right now.” Ignoring the general consternation, Brustor came close to Hadjar. “Hadjar Darkhan, disciple of the greatest swordsman Tarisfal. Your Master and I were eternal rivals. Our blades won us fame in all seven Empires. But, alas, I never got the opportunity to cross swords with him in this century. Will you help me calm my heart and have a duel with me, so that I may test my sword skills?”

The silence became even more deafening. The people stared at the Head of an aristocratic family that had existed for hundreds of centuries. They stared at Brustor Dinos, a haughty and arrogant swordsman who always looked down on those lower than him on the social ladder. A man who stood at the peak of both power and the social ladder of the Empire; who could enter the Forbidden City without an invitation; who owned an entire district in Dahanatan and could afford to buy anything he wanted. And this man had just asked  Hadjar Darkhan for a duel, a young man who, despite what had happened in the past few months, was a simple barbarian, someone who wasn’t even a native of Darnassus.

Compared to that, the calm and simple answer sounded much harsher:

“No.”

Chapter 955

A fter Hadjar’s reply, the silence that pressed down on the guests became dark and deadly. Letitia, who’d poured some wine into her glass, swirled it and, inhaling the aroma, looked at Hadjar with far more interest. Salm’s youngest wife looked scared and huddled up to Letitia. Karein looked dumbfounded. Agvar and Hera exchanged glances and held their hands close to their magical items. Only Hadjar’s entourage and the Princess remained calm.

“Are you denying me this favor, young Hadjar?” Brustor almost turned redder than he’d been when Salm Tarez, who was currently sipping some grape juice way too casually, had insulted him. “At my celebration? In my own home?”

“I am,” Hadjar nodded. “It doesn’t make any sense, honorable Head of the Predatory Blades clan. Your skill is no match for my late Master’s. And I’m not yet worthy of defending his name in such duels. If you seek me out in a few centuries, I think I’ll be able to show you-”

Hadjar saw Brustor reach into his pocket and grab a glove. He saw the white leather accessory flying toward his face. He could’ve stopped it. He could’ve dodged it. He could’ve turned it, along with half the hall, to dust without even drawing his sword. But he didn’t. He allowed the humiliating gesture to land. The glove hit his face and fell to the floor.

“Such insults, Hadjar Darkhan, can only be paid for with blood!” Brustor growled. “I see it as my sacred duty to show an arrogant commoner like you what the true face of the aristocracy really is!”

“What are you doing, Brustor?” Akena moved in front of Hadjar. “Apologize at once! You have no moral right to challenge a man who merely rejected your request!”

“Moral right? Maybe not, honorable Princess,” Brustor, turning to the Princess, didn’t bow, despite etiquette demanding he do so. “But not even you, or your father, for that matter, can take away the rights that were carved into the stones of law by our distant ancestors. And according to the laws of Darnassus, any citizen can challenge another citizen to a duel! And as of recently, the disciple of Tarisfal, the elder brother of the Baroness of Lidus, is a citizen of Darnassus!”

Whispers rippled through the room. Rumors spread faster than a forest fire in the capital. Everyone already knew that Hadjar was much older than the age he’d given when he’d first entered ‘The Holy Sky’ School. But it was one thing to know about it, and quite another to say it openly and loudly enough for all to hear. With this, Brustor had insulted the rector by bringing up the fact that he’d been tricked by a hick from such a distant part of the country that its citizens hadn’t even become subjects of the Empire until just recently.

“Just like he has the right to refuse,” Akena hissed. She turned to Hadjar, and winked. “Refuse this duel, Hadjar Darkhan. You have every right to ignore this man’s attempts to avenge his son’s death.”

The Princess’ own words were no less audacious than Brustor’s had been. And he knew it. So, everyone had decided to throw their trump cards on the table and take off their masks, showing their true faces.

The Head of the Predatory Blades clan had been completely right when he’d spoken about the ‘true face of the aristocracy’. Behind the glitz and the glamour were vicious fangs, ready to rip out the throat of anyone who came too close or was deceived by their intoxicating beauty. That was why young men who didn’t know the rules of the game often died for nothing, hoping that, in the end, they would somehow get everything they’d ever dreamed of.

“Of course, my Princess,” Hadjar bowed. “But if a man has any honor, then he can’t ignore a glove thrown at him.”

Hadjar bent down and, as required by etiquette, picked up the glove and put it in his pocket. There were many stories and songs about this simple act. From century to century, from era to era, men had used this right to legally kill. But only men. No matter how forward the society of the seven Empires was in terms of equality, the ancient law applied only to men. Women had no right to challenge anyone to a duel.

“You’re too much like them,” Akena whispered so quietly that Hadjar barely heard it. She didn’t need to specify who she was talking about.

“I hope your eldest son will act as my second, Salm?” Brustor asked.

“Oh, of course, my old friend,” the Head of House Tarez nodded. “Karein, would you mind being the second of the Head of the Predatory Blades clan?”

“Act as a second to the man who’s trying to kill my friend?” Karein appeared to be surprised, but when he met his father’s stern gaze, he shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Hadjar. Duty is an evil thing sometimes.”

He stood at Brustor’s right side, leaving Hadjar completely confused about whether this was part of Karein’s act, or if he actually considered him a friend.

“As the glove thrower,” Karein said to Brustor, “Choose the time and place.”

“Now. In the courtyard of my Palace.”

“The time and place are set,” Karein said, turning to Hadjar. “Who will be your second?”

Einen stepped forward without hesitation. Dressed in a doublet and holding a spear-staff, he showed no hesitation in declaring himself an enemy of the Predatory Blades clan. He was like that — both as slippery as a snake and as fearless as a demon.

“Einen Kesalia,” the islander introduced himself.

“And what weapon will your ward choose?”

“Whatever the glove thrower likes,” Einen said.

“The one who received the glove has spoken,” Karein nodded, and then drew his knife, the kind with which every true cultivator swore a blood oath. “Head to where the duel will take place, gentlemen. Let’s not take too long. The hot dishes will get too cold, and I haven’t even had breakfast today.”

Soon, a huge crowd gathered in the courtyard. The people stood around the training ground, with Hadjar Darkhan and Brustor Dinos right in the center of them. Two swordsmen who’d been brought together by fate.

Hadjar looked up. Heavy, dark clouds covered the sky. The thunderstorms and rainy season were returning to the capital. The north wind was blowing. Hadjar heard its stories once again. Stories about faraway lands and wonders that had never been seen by a single inhabitant of the seven Empires before. About creatures whose breath was powerful enough to erase Dahanatan from existence.

These stories all flashed through Hadjar’s mind and went away just as quickly, leaving only an aftertaste and vague images behind. He could never remember what the wind told him. Sometimes, he even felt like he didn’t really understand it, and that made him wonder what the real name of the one who spoke to him was…

“I’ll let you have the first attack, boy.”

Brustor drew his sword. Slightly curved, covered in runes and engravings, it exuded the aura of a Divine level artifact. Hadjar instantly recognized the sword — Laris Dinos had used it. This was a sword that rightfully belonged to Hadjar since he’d defeated its previous wielder.

The first raindrops fell on his face. It was raining again… Just like it had rained that night when he’d watched his own uncle rip the heart out of his mother’s chest.

“According to the ancient laws,” Hadjar said, “When the Head of a noble family challenges another Head of a noble family, if the latter doesn’t have an heir, they can have a servant take their place. Using this right carved into stone by our predecessors, as the legitimate, albeit temporary Head of the Kesalia family, I will have a servant take my place ― Anise Dinos.”

Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and Anise stepped out onto the sand of the training ground, her shoes off and her sword drawn. Her green eyes were blazing with rage, and her hair was floating around her from the sheer amount of energy she was unleashing.

Chapter 956

T he heavy silence that descended on the courtyard of the Predatory Blades clan’s Palace felt heavier than a mountain. It almost crushed people and made their hearts skip a beat.

The Darnassus Empire, like all the other seven Empires, stood upon seven pillars. Seven was a number that carried a sacred meaning, one that came from the very beginning of time. It was a number whose magical meaning had been lost long ago, but the memory of its sanctity was still alive in the people’s hearts.

The very idea that an eighth aristocratic family might somehow appear was so blasphemous that people began chuckling in disbelief. Then a wave of hysterical laughter swept through the crowd, which was once again replaced by a heavy silence. The people suddenly realized that this wasn’t a joke.

“What’s going on here?” Brustor growled. “Have you no courage or honor, you bastard? What kind of nonsense is this? An aristocratic family with you as its Head? There are seven aristocratic families in Darnassus, and I certainly don’t remember the Kesalia family being one of them!”

“Ancient laws,” Hadjar replied calmly. “It’s said that the seven clans were made to protect the seven sides of the Empire. With their wings, they’d shelter them from all storms. The Empire grew, and so did the families and their power. The Empire faced wars and turmoil. Some families were replaced by others.”

“Enough of this history lesson!” Brustor took a step forward, but his throat met the tip of Anise’s blade. “Get out of my way, you bitch!”

Brustor swung down, and then the Blue Blade pierced the ground. Everything froze. Raindrops hung in the air. Everyone there suddenly felt unsafe, like a blade was hovering at their throats. They sensed that if they moved an inch, they would certainly lose their heads.

The wind swirled. It was harsh, cold, and could reach the very depths of the soul. Even the most powerful of the guests sensed that a tenth of their power was being blocked. Everything around them had turned into the True Sword Kingdom, which was also tightly intertwined with the North Wind Kingdom.

His Divine level armor fluttered behind Hadjar. Blue flashes of lightning arced around him. The Quetzal bird depicted on his sword seemed to flap its wings, and with each flap, the Blue Wind Kingdom increased in size. It was supposed to only be a County. According to all the known rules, it couldn’t exceed a radius of forty paces, but it easily covered seventy paces, then a hundred, and stopped only at a hundred and twenty paces — three times the ultimate power of a simple County.

“You have to listen to me, Head of the Predatory Blades clan!” Hadjar’s voice mixed with the rumbling of the thunder, and it was difficult to tell them apart. “The Darnassus Empire has annexed the Northern Baronies and the Islands. The territory it acquired is sufficiently large to warrant creating another aristocratic family to cover it with its wings. Rekka Geran, I would ask you to step forward and provide the letter from the Secret Office, who are in charge of the aristocracy, which shows that they have approved our application to create a new aristocratic family.”

Rekka, who’d been hiding in the crowd this whole time, stepped forward and unfurled a scroll with an emerald medallion that bore the Imperial family’s crest.

“Two days ago,” she began to read, “The application to create the Kesalia aristocratic family was sent to the Secret Office. Einen Kesalia was given the role of the Head of the family, but due to the unforeseen consequences of his combat trauma and his inability to conduct the clan’s affairs properly, Hadjar Darkhan, born Hadjar Duran, was appointed the temporary, fully authorized Head of the Kesalia family.”

“That’s nonsense,” Salm Tarez grunted. He was one of the few people who still felt relatively calm in Hadjar’s County. “Not a single aristocratic family has been created since the Sky Wind clan was made a hundred centuries ago. No one has managed to save up enough material wealth to create a clan since then.”

Whispers of approval echoed through the crowd. It wasn’t enough to simply wait for a significant increase in Darnassian territory (which had admittedly been provided by the Northern Baronies and the thousands of islands with their maritime territories) to create an aristocratic family. In addition, it was also necessary to pay a security contribution to the Empire’s treasury. A sum that was so great that many of the larger noble families hadn’t been able to save up enough to pay it for centuries.

“The contribution they made,” Rekka continued reading, “Was an original scroll that contains the full stance of a Divine level Sword Technique.”

“Full stance?”

“Did you hear that? An actual Divine level stance?”

“How is that even possible? Aren’t all Divine level Techniques in the hands of the Imperial family?”

“No wonder their application was approved! A scroll like that is worth more than the entire Predatory Blades clan district!”

Hadjar had given up the Black Wind scroll, which depicted the Black General posing for a painting, using a relatively simple stance to do so. However, even this simple depiction contained so many profound mysteries that, in Darnassus, it was a Divine level Technique. Hadjar didn’t regret giving it away, as he could still train using a rather detailed copy created by his neural network. Yet another thread connecting Hadjar to the past had been severed.

“There’s one more point that needs to be covered,” Letitia Tarez added, looking surprisingly calm. “The Head of an aristocratic family must be related by family ties to a representative of another aristocratic family and-”

As lightning struck and thunder roared, Dora stepped forward.

“I, Dora Marnil, with the aristocracy and the Imperial family as my witnesses, announce that I am the bride to be of Einen Kesalia, the Head of the Kesalia family.”

“Daughter!” Agvar roared. “Come to your senses! Are you really going to leave our family?”

“I am, father,” Dora answered.

“For what?” Agvar, who was rapidly becoming less human, pointed at Einen. “Do you truly want to bind yourself to him? To a commoner? To a human? Think about what your children will be!”

“My children will be great warriors, father,” Dora stated firmly. She took Einen’s hand and looked at her father and aunt. “I’m not leaving the clan for just anyone, but for the one who is my fate and heart.”

“Dora, please reconsider,” Hera whispered. She glanced at Hadjar and pressed her hands to her mouth. “You’ll bind your blood... our blood, not only to Einen, but also to-”

“It’s done, auntie,” Dora interrupted her. “I have no doubt that this is the right path forward. You did everything you could to make me come to this decision, so I hope that, in the future, our clans will be able to maintain a friendly relationship.”

There was heavy silence once again. Everyone knew what happened after an eighth aristocratic family appeared in the Empire: it had half a century to destroy another clan and, after taking its place by any means, become the new seventh clan.

“What will your clan do?” Salm asked, leaning forward. “With what wings will your family cover the Baronies and Islands?”

Hadjar pulled his sword out of the ground and dispersed his County, “War.”

Somewhere in the distance, war drums started playing. They mixed with the thunder. Anise spun around and kicked Brustor in the chest, knocking him back a few steps. They both turned into scarlet lightning bolts.

While thousands of eyes were fixed on what was happening, Hadjar, hidden by Einen’s shadows, watching the raindrops slide down his sword, headed back to the Palace. Somewhere in there, the rightful heir of the Dinos clan, Paris Dinos, was waiting for him. This would be the last night of his life, as Anise had wished. Hadjar had sworn an oath to her. He couldn’t break it.

Chapter 957

H adjar knew exactly where to go — Anise had described all the passages and corridors of the Palace in detail to him several times. With the help of his neural network, he’d made a copy of the building in his mind, and had studied its layout so much he now knew it as well as Orune’s house.

Turning at a tapestry, which depicted a dancing creature vaguely resembling a troll, Hadjar found himself in front of a massive gate that separated the female and male wings. Two guards stood near the entrance, and they seemed to be waiting for him. The two were battle-scarred swordsmen, both advanced-stage Spirit Knights, and as elite warriors of the Dinos family, they possessed mysteries at the Weapon’s Heart level.

Hadjar slid across the floor. With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the silvery Technique of the nearest swordsman. Ducking under his arm, Hadjar grabbed his wrist and twisted it. There was a crunching sound, along with a pained yell, and then the guard’s sword went through his own throat.

Hadjar turned on his heel and shielded himself from the flow of another silvery Technique with the body he held up with his left hand. Dozens of swift sword slashes merged together, reducing the twitching corpse to bloody shreds.

Clutching the remnants of the hand that had held the sword, with bits of the guard’s head still smeared on the blade, Hadjar tossed it forward. Turning into a blue lightning bolt, the sword whizzed by, flew through the second guard’s chest, and embedded itself hilt-deep into the magic stone wall.

The guard, not yet realizing that he was dead, took a step forward and swung his sword, but then his eyes glazed over and he fell down, first to his knees, and then he fell face-first into a pool of blood.

What had just happened had required just a couple of movements and had transpired in a heartbeat.

Approaching the corpse, he bent over and closed the guard’s eyes. Not caring that his Call was getting stained by blood, Hadjar said a few prayers for the man’s soul. How many Lascanians would this warrior have defeated in the war? How many residents of Darnassus would he have protected from the same fate that ultimately befell him? War was a terrible thing indeed, but coups…

Hadjar’s right hand burned with incredible power. The scar left behind by his blood oath was still visible only to him. It couldn’t be erased. The oath led him forward. Hadjar stood up and breathed out the mysteries of the Sword and Wind. The massive gate, barricaded with magic and steel, was blown to smithereens. They rained down on the wing’s defenders as they exploded outward into a wide corridor. A hundred female guards raised their swords and shields.

“Hold the line!” An officer in the middle of the formation barked. “Destroy the intruder!”

Hadjar sighed. With his blade still sheathed, he charged into the enemy’s formation, assuming the form of a blue wind, swift as lightning and as light as a feather.

***

“Impudent girl!” Brustor’s eyes glimmered with fury. Scarlet energy raged in bright bursts all around him, pouring into the ‘Bloody Hunt’ Technique — the clan’s signature Technique.

To the spectators, Anise and Brustor looked like flashes of otherwise still silhouettes. Each of their moves continued on from their previous actions, but their bodies appeared at completely different spots in the training ground every time.

“You’ll see your father today!”

With a roar, Brustor sent an upward slash at Anise’s chest. A stream of scarlet light rushed forward in the wake of his Divine level blade.

Even though both of them were using the same Technique, their styles were completely different. Brustor attacked with zeal and rage. He attacked so fiercely and openly that it seemed like he didn’t care about his defense. But his attack was his defense. It was merciless and unstoppable, leaving no time for his foe to think, or even the smallest opportunity for them to attempt a counterattack. He looked like a starving beast that was about to take everything from its enemy.

In contrast, Anise’s movements were light and discrete. She looked like a spring breeze, like an autumn leaf dancing in the wind, like a grain of sand disappearing in a vast, golden beach. She pushed off the ground and closed the distance between them, letting the scarlet stream of deadly energy pass an inch away from her face. She moved in a wide arc around Brustor. The hem of her skirt flew up like the wings of a raven, and just like a bird of prey, Anise used her Technique to attack mercilessly, bringing her sword down directly on her enemy's head.

He raised his sword to defend himself. This simple move channeled so much strength and power that the ground around him cracked. Huge chunks of earth flew up at Anise, passing through the scarlet barrier beneath her.

The very notion that she could pierce such a defense seemed laughable. As soon as Anise’s blade touched the scarlet barrier filled with the power of the Divine level artifact, the Blue Wind Sword, she would surely be instantly destroyed.

The spectators breathed a sigh of relief after seeing that the duel would end in Brustor’s victory, but then Anise suddenly disappeared and reappeared in a completely different spot.

The Dinos family’s ‘Bloody Charge’ Technique wasn’t all-powerful. It could change the trajectory of a movement and then shift the user’s position, but only once in a single movement. Anise had already used her single shot to get above her uncle. However, after disappearing for a second time, she’d somehow gotten behind him.

“What?” Brustor, tearing his muscles in the process, tried to shift his defense to another position, but he obviously couldn’t manage it. “A double step? How can you possibly-”

“DIE!” Anise roared.

Her sword also flashed scarlet and struck Brustor’s spine directly. The spectators gasped again. But instead of seeing a fountain of blood, broken bones, and entrails, sparks flew up. One of many amulets fell from Brustor’s belt, quickly rusting over. The rules of the duel that Hadjar had chosen allowed both opponents to use any amulets, talismans, or artifacts they had at their disposal.

Brustor was well prepared to duel Orune’s disciple. He was wearing all the defensive and offensive talismans that he’d acquired over the centuries. But he hadn’t even considered the possibility that he, a Nameless level cultivator who possessed a Sword Duchy, would be forced to use even a single one of them in a duel against an advanced-stage Spirit Knight who’d only recently comprehended the Weapon’s Heart.

Lowering his sword and calmly turning to Anise, Brustor let the cold raindrops fall on his face, ignoring the falling stones behind him. The massive chunks, which had been torn out of the floor, landed all across the training ground, turning it from a flat surface into an eerie stone garden.

“If you miss your parents so much, Anise,” he whispered, “I’ll make sure to send you to them as soon as possible.”

He released his Kingdom.

Chapter 958

H adjar felt a mighty Sword Duchy being unleashed somewhere at the foot of the Palace. It brushed against the walls of the ancient building, making it shudder. The streams of the World River trembled and the mysteries flashed scarlet. There was no doubt that Brustor was worthy of being the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. If great heroes didn’t exist, with their True Kingdoms and Divine level Techniques, Brustor Dinos and his kind would’ve been the most powerful people in the seven Empires…

Hadjar charged into a formation of forty guards, most of which were advanced-stage Spirit Knights, a few were initial-stage Lords, and one was even a mid-stage Lord. Whatever the outcome of tonight’s conflict ended up being, the Predatory Blades clan would lose half of its best fighters. There was no avoiding it.

Hadjar moved like a hurricane and fought like a wild beast, without mercy or doubt, without any unnecessary flare or elegance. Every move he made had only one purpose — to kill. It wasn’t beautiful or smooth. The attacks struck vital areas, aiming to ruthlessly and quickly send his enemies to their forefathers.

While the others had mostly just trained and sparred, Hadjar had fought. His whole life, from the moment he’d been born on Earth, had been a constant war for survival. Hadjar might not have been a good warrior, but he was a good soldier.

With the back of his hand, Hadjar deflected an enemy’s blade and spun around. His elbow struck one of the guards in the forehead. Denting the helmet like it was made of tinfoil, he split her skull in half without stopping.

Picking up speed, he snatched her sword from her limp hands and swung it just once, in a short arc. A roaring stream of blue wind, within which dragon-swords danced, struck the front row of guards.

Their shields, which they’d overlapped, were shining with scarlet energy, but soon began to crack and bend under the attack’s might. Still, they were ultimately able to withstand a swing similar to the one the Black General had done for the artist.

The sword in Hadjar’s hands, unable to withstand the energies and mysteries that had just passed through it, crumbled. All that remained of it was the hilt and a bit of blade sticking out of it. That was more than enough…

Continuing the movement, Hadjar crouched down, dodging the lunge of another guard, and plunged the broken sword into her jaw. Warm blood coated his hand. He waved it as if he were shaking the blood off, and each of the blood droplets flared up with the Sword and Wind Spirits’ mysteries. They rained down on the shields. Those who hadn’t managed to hide behind their shields in time fell, their bodies now riddled with holes.

Hadjar continued his deadly dance. He smashed artifact armor to pieces with his fist, driving sharp fragments into the guards’ bodies, reducing their bones and entrails to paste. He kept moving forward, all the while leaving a bloody trail of carnage behind.

Once he was in front of the shields, Hadjar ripped into the shield of one of the guards with his fingers, then kept going, slamming his hand through the guard herself, and then he cut off the head of the guard standing next to her.

Attacks rained down on him, but none of them so much as scratched his Call.

Hadjar maneuvered into position behind a guard who was slashing at him. With a powerful blow to her elbow, he ripped her arm from her shoulder. The sword that she’d been clutching went right through the helmet of the swordswoman hurrying to her rescue. The girl screamed, clutching her shoulder. She knelt down, stunned by the agony, then fell silent as Hadjar kicked the back of her head.

Hadjar ran on, mowing down the guards in his way. Some were strewn across the floor, others struck so hard they ended up halfway embedded in the wall. With a quick turn and a vicious kick, he even sent one of the guards flying through the stained-glass window…

***

Shards of multicolored glass rained down on the spectators, but no one paid any attention to them. Just like they didn’t pay any attention to the broken bits of armor and pieces of flesh landing nearby. The guests, who were now witnesses of vengeance, or perhaps justice, simply stared at the scarlet, fiery flashes of Brustor’s Sword Duchy.

“Goodbye, Lenis,” Brustor whispered quietly.

The single swing of his sword generated an ocean of vicious, scarlet light. Streams of bloody crescents that overlapped with each other, leaving deep cuts in the ground and making the protective dome crack, rushed toward Anise.

The fact that she, a mere Spirit Knight, didn’t die instantly when the Kingdom was released could be considered a miracle in itself. Anise couldn’t move. Pinned by Brustor’s power, she could only watch certain doom approach her.

“Lenis...” echoed in her head.

That had been her mother’s name. She’d been a beautiful woman who had doted on her children. She’d always been cold toward her husband, but she had loved Tom and Anise more than anything else in this world. The memory of her flashed through Anise’s mind. If the gods decided that she and Galkhad should have a daughter, she’d name her after her mother — a flower that bloomed only at midnight, and shone even brighter than the moon. Lenis…

Thoughts about the flower, its radiance, the child that was already developing inside of her, her mother, and her hands on Anise’s face, mixed with everything that she’d lived through in the jungles of Karnak and in the battle against the army of the dead.

If Lenis hadn’t married the Head of the Predatory Blades clan, Anise wouldn’t have been born. If she hadn’t been born, there wouldn’t have been a spark that embodied a new life under her heart right now, and Galkhad would’ve still been the junior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan. It was a connection that had passed through time.

A flower... A name... A child... Death... Life… How was it possible to tell where one began and the other ended? Didn’t the death of one mean life for another? Didn’t the corpses of animals fertilize the soil, which helped plants grow? Didn’t the previous generation give way to the next one? Someone’s birth caused someone’s death. If Brustor hadn’t been born, Anise would’ve been combing her mother’s hair right now. It was all connected, and so closely intertwined.

There was a meaning in all of this. A deep, mysterious meaning, the mere glimpse of which terrified Anise. She was terrified to realize that she was just a grain of sand in the vast universe. Merely a small spark of life that was destined to disappear one day to make room for another. Sparks combined into light. And light needed darkness to exist. They were connected. Like life and death. Like a flower and a name. Like external and internal energy. What people shared was actually a single whole.

Anise picked up her sword. Her eyes flashed with a bright light, and she allowed this understanding, this new sense of the world and herself, to pass through her and flow into the deepest recesses of her soul.

Chapter 959

“O ur Head...” Blood spurted from the officer’s mouth. She was clutching her sword, which was sticking out of her stomach, “Will avenge us and-”

Hadjar flicked his wrist. The officer’s neck snapped, and her head now hung at an unnatural angle. Blood frothed at the corners of her lips, and her tongue swelled instantly. She fell to the floor, and with a gurgling sound, her body sank into the pool of blood that had flooded the corridor.

Hadjar stood ankle-deep in the blood of those who didn’t have anything against him personally, and had just found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. They weren’t even his enemies, not really. Their common enemy, the one that truly threatened every family in Darnassus, was currently in the west. The Lascanians had already crossed the border, soaking Darnassian soil with the blood of its own people.

However, Hadjar wasn’t fighting the enemies of his homeland, defending his sister, or his parents’ home, but killing the warriors who could’ve fought against those same foes alongside him instead.

He raised his hand. We pay for all our decisions, Hadjar recalled South Wind’s words. We pay with age, gold, or blood. The scar left behind by his oath to Anise still glistened. No matter how much blood Hadjar spilled, no matter how much of it soaked his clothes, he couldn’t get rid of the scar and what was waiting for him up ahead. He continued forward.

The female guards at the gate leading to the women’s wing had only been the first batch of people he’d been forced to kill, and there was now a trail of corpses behind him. Torn, broken bodies, driven into the floor, embedded in the walls and ceiling, their limbs scattered across the corridors, broken swords, torn armor and shields… He certainly would’ve looked barbaric to civilized people right now. But clean, elegant, and beautiful kills didn’t matter to those who fought as a means of survival. Those people just followed their instincts. Maybe that was why he’d had no trouble training under Orune.

Having sent another guard to her forefathers, Hadjar stopped at a door decorated with precious stones that created a beautiful pattern. Blood covered the corridor floor. How many people had he killed today? A hundred? No, almost three hundred. Without even drawing his sword or releasing his Kingdom. Without using any real mysteries or energy. Why?

Perhaps he’d wanted to feel something, to remember what it was like to fight, to feel an enemy’s blood running down his hands, to feel it as he took a life.

A bit of his will turned the door of the chambers, which were the pinnacle of the jewelry of the seven Empires, into little more than a puff of precious dust blown away by the wind.

On the other side stood a ten-year-old boy. He was gripping a simple Heaven level sword with both hands. Behind him stood his mother, a Spirit Knight at the initial stage with Wielder level mysteries...

Now that he’d joined his two Kingdoms together and reached the Lord level, he had a much more profound sense of the world and its connectedness as a whole. Even the levels of weapon mastery had their own facets. One Wielder could still be no match for another… All these gradations, all the levels and stages, were really just dust sticking to the feet of someone walking the path of cultivation.

And the main thing was… The main thing was that Hadjar was facing a boy who was going to try and protect his mother from a murderer. Hadjar looked at Paris Dinos, but he saw a different boy in his place. He saw himself. And instead of the boy’s mother, he saw his own, he saw Elizabeth…

Hadjar lowered his gaze. A pool of blood was spreading under him. In it, he didn’t see his own reflection. He saw Primus.

***

The streams of energy swirled around Anise. She felt the inner and outer energies merging inside of her, forming a single, indestructible whole.

“You actually reached the Lord level?” Brustor chuckled haughtily.

To him, a Nameless who possessed the Sword Kingdom, Lords were like flies. Fleeting. Unimportant. Not even worth remembering.

The scarlet glow enveloped Anise. It rose up in a violent tornado and, by breaking through the dome, forced Agvar Marnil and Salm Tarez to shield the spectators with their own Kingdoms.

However, Anise’s aura didn’t disappear from the World River. Brustor’s attack, devoid of any Techniques, a simple slash that only contained overwhelming mysteries and energy, didn’t kill her.

Suddenly, shocking everyone, the scarlet tornado exploded into the petals of a flower that only bloomed during the full moon. The power shattered the protective dome, and Anise turned into a flash of scarlet lightning. Her movements were so much faster now that the air filled with red sparks in her wake. The sand also turned into glittering glass and then crashed down into a hole made by Anise’s steps.

The amulets on Brustor’s belt flashed and fell one by one. But none of them could stop Anise’s power.

“Im... impossible…” Brustor, sinking to his knees, gripped the blade that was sticking out of his chest and piercing his heart. Behind him, clutching his Divine level sword that she’d snatched from his hands, stood Anise. Behind her, the ‘Sword’ symbol floated in the air.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It can’t be…”

“Anise Dinos is indeed a genius of the sword!”

“Genius? She’s a monster!”

“Impossible!”

“That’s really it, isn’t it? It’s the legendary True Spirit!”

“Yes, it’s the fourth kind of Spirit, the essence of the Sword Spirit itself! She’s marked by it!”

Brustor tried to turn around, but couldn’t. His strength failed him and he fell onto his side. Blood flowed from his wound, soaking the sand. His mind was buzzing. If he’d taken her more seriously, he could’ve defended himself properly. If he’d used an actual Technique, he would’ve surely killed her. She was a Lord that didn’t even have a Kingdom. But she’d caught him off guard. Just as he had once taken his brother, who’d been several times stronger than him, by surprise. It hadn’t taken much — he’d just needed to kill the baby in Lenis’ arms right in front of him.

“Can you feel it, uncle?” Anise leaned down toward the fallen man. “That is the judgment of our forefathers, which you won’t survive. It’s-”

Brustor’s aura flashed, aimed right at Anise’s stomach. He hadn’t yet opened the door leading to his forefathers’ house. He could sense the new life inside of her. He’d take it with him, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

“No!” Anise recoiled.

She instinctively defended herself with her right hand, and the scarlet stream of light protected her with its glow. When it cleared, Anise was already sitting down. The Divine level blade sank into the ground in front of her. Blood spurted from her right shoulder. Anise popped a handful of pills into her mouth and the wound quickly healed.

“What…”

“How is this possible…”

Tears streamed down Anise’s cheeks as she realized what had just happened. The ‘Sword’ symbol behind her had cracked. Broken and weakened, it retreated back inside its wounded wielder.

“You... will never… be… the Queen... of the Sword…” Brustor’s eyes glazed over and he stilled.

A heavy silence once again descended on the courtyard.

Chapter 960

“Y our father is dead, boy,” Hadjar said, and was surprised to hear himself using the word ‘boy’. He’d grown accustomed to dealing with those much older and more powerful than himself, and now, Hadjar had suddenly swapped places with them: he was the more powerful and older one this time, facing a talented boy for whom he felt nothing but pity now that fate had brought them together. Fate loved this kind of cruel irony.

“I sense it too, Darkhan,” Paris nodded. He kept his brown eyes fixed on Hadjar, watching his every move. The aura of an advanced-stage Spirit Knight mixed with mysteries at the Weapon’s Heart level spread out around him.

The boy didn’t even need to summon his Spirit for Hadjar to know exactly what kind of power he possessed. In this generation, the Predatory Blades clan had brought up not one master of the Sword, but two. Even then, this wouldn’t be enough to save either of them. Perhaps that was the case because such rare ‘birds’ were usually not destined to spread their wings and fly high?

Hadjar had no doubt that Paris would’ve one day surpassed Tarisfal, and even Hadjar himself at his future peak. Compared to such a monstrous genius, he was nothing more than a talented swordsman. Moreover, his talent didn’t lay purely in the Way of the Sword. He wasn’t destined to light his own Sword star in the World River, which would then merge with the one that already existed. This was something that every swordsman aspired to. Well, with some exceptions.

“It’s an honor for me to fight you, Darkhan,” the boy said, his eyes showing neither fear nor regret, only the desire to test himself in battle. “Please, don’t hold back. I want to know how strong my sword really is.”

Hadjar drew his Blue Blade. He channeled real power and mysteries into an attack. There was a crash of metal. Torrents of energy melted the walls and crushed the ancient stones.

***

The violent flow of energy smashing through the ceiling made the spectators scream in horror. Agvar’s and Salm’s Kingdoms that were sheltering the people trembled and cracked. Both cultivators felt an incredible power burst forth somewhere above their heads, a power that was terrible and deadly.

“It’s over.” Anise got to her feet. She took out loose, black robes from her spatial artifact and put them on. The only thing that reminded after the terrible injury she’d sustained was her right sleeve, which was wet from the rain and fluttering in the wind. Anise held her sword in her left hand.

“I, Anise Dinos, am leaving the Kesalia clan and now call upon my blood!” She plunged her sword into the ground and cut her palm against its edge. Her blood flowed down toward the ground, glowing gold, and the mark of the Predatory Blades clan appeared on her palm, which she held up above her head. “By the rite of the ancients, I, Anise Dinos, the eldest daughter of Tenes Dinos, the rightful Head of the Predatory Blades clan, by right of blood, declare myself the current Head of the Predatory Blades clan!”

“Nonsense!”

“You presumptuous wench! Paris is our rightful Head!”

“Paris is the true heir by right of might!”

“Your father was weak! Brustor took the crown by the code of the Sword.”

“That’s enough!” Even the halfway diminished might of the legendary True Sword Spirit was enough to silence the protests coming from the ranks of the Predatory Blades clan. Anise, leaning heavily on her sword, moved her wet hair away from her face. “Paris Dinos is dead! His mother is dead! His brother is dead! And his father is dead! The whole family of my father’s murderer has gone to their forefathers! Tom and I are now the only heirs of the Predatory Blades clan! By the rite of the ancients, if my words are true, I call forth the crown!”

A second passed… then two… then three…. A crown with five prongs, each representing a different type of sword, appeared on Anise’s head.

“Dinos clan!” Anise growled. “Bow down to your Sword Queen!”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then a white-haired man stepped forward. He was the head Sword Master of the Dinos clan.

“The crown, according to the Sword code, belongs to the strongest,” he proclaimed, then added, “My Queen,” And dropped to his right knee.

“My Queen,” another said.

“My Queen!”

“My Queen!”

Thousands of the Predatory Blades clan members were soon kneeling to welcome their new Queen, who’d taken the crown by right of the strong, as had been their custom since the time of the ancients. The clan followed the Way of the Sword and the path of the strong. Only the strongest could rule the strong. All the Dinos were taught this since birth. They lived it. Each of them was fully dedicated to this practice. All they wanted was to become the strongest.

After a few heartbeats, almost no Dinos were left standing.

“Brother?” Anise looked at him.

Tom stood in the rain. Amongst the kneeling people, he stood tall like a mountain. In his hands, he held his sword.

“Why do you need power, sister?” He whispered. It was hard to tell if those were raindrops running down his face, or tears. “We wanted justice. We wanted peace for our parents.”

“They’ll only rest in peace when the crown is returned to their rightful heir! First to me, and then to my child!” She placed her hand on her stomach.

Whispers flew through the ranks of guests who’d expected a boring, ordinary celebration, but had witnessed the most controversial event in the capital of the last decade instead.

“We could’ve simply stayed with our friends,” Tom whispered. “Paris would’ve become the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. He’s worthy of it, sister... He isn’t like our father and uncle. Not like you and me... He would’ve made our clan truly great, would’ve made it worthy of the glory of the ancients… He would’ve freed us all from the burden... of trying to be the strongest…”

Tom suddenly looked up at his sister. His eyes were bright, full of dignity and fire. His sword didn’t waver as he cut off the right sleeve of his doublet. His hand didn’t tremble as he tossed the heirloom sword he’d been holding onto the sand. His heart didn’t so much as skip a beat as his fingers dug into his flesh.

“There’s no honor in this, Anise Dinos,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your late beloved showed me the way, and may the gods be with me, I’m not afraid to follow it.”

There was a flash of lightning. Thunder roared. Anise’s cry of horror and despair mixed with it as Tom tore a piece of flesh from his shoulder, the one that held the coat of arms of their family.

“From this day forward!” Tom roared, no longer hiding his tears. “I, Tom Dinos, am no longer a part of the Predatory Blades clan! May the great forefathers deny me, and may my blood rot!”

Spitting on his own piece of flesh lying on the sand, and ignoring the ugly scar that started forming over the wound on his shoulder, Tom the Rootless turned to leave what had once been his home.

“Not so fast, young man!” A bloodthirsty smile appeared on the face of the man the entire capital feared. “No one move! No one is allowed to leave this district! This area is now under the control of my forces! The Secret Office is going to investigate what happened and what should come next!”

From behind General Dekoy Schuver, a stream of black-armored, white-cloaked warriors poured in through the gates.

Chapter 961

H adjar looked at the boy lying in front of him in a pool of blood, his chest cut open, clutching the remnants of his sword. The other half of it had flown through the ceiling, broken by the energies and mysteries he’d unleashed. Hadjar dismissed the Blue Blade and looked at the boy’s pale mother. She didn’t dare move.

“You’re... strong… Darkhan.”

Paris got to his feet, wheezing and spitting blood. Staggering, he still held the scrap of steel in front him, but it was devoid of any power, nothing more than a useless, broken artifact.

“I... can’t... beat you yet.”

Hadjar looked at this amazing child. There was no fear in his blurry eyes, only regret that he was too weak to protect the one person he truly loved. How many ten-year-old boys who’d had the whole world at their feet since birth could’ve boasted of such a magnificent willpower, such a solid inner core, such indomitable strength of character, and such pure honor?

“I once spared someone… Someone who was supposed to die, boy,” Hadjar said, nearly choking on the words. “It cost too many lives.”

“Then... don’t hesitate... Darkhan,” Paris panted. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from weakness. “But before... you do... please... do as I ask.”

Hadjar looked at the boy, but he saw himself in his place. He saw Elizabeth standing behind him, and he was Primus. For years, he’d hated his uncle for what he had done. He’d devoted many nights to thoughts of revenge, and these thoughts had given him strength. But they had also brought the void with them.

“Why don’t you want to kill me?” Hadjar asked suddenly.

“Why... should I... want... to do that? You’re a hero... of our country.”

“Your father died because of me.”

Paris frowned and took a step back, not away from Hadjar, but closer to his mother.

“He... hurt... my mother. Badly...”

Hadjar sighed and looked up at the starry night sky. The rain was washing the blood off his face and his beautiful Call armor. It soon shimmered with the pattern of clouds floating across the sky once again.

Hadjar had already made a mistake once. It had almost turned into a disaster. He’d sworn an oath that he couldn’t break. But, as Helmer had once said, the laws of the Heavens and the Earth and blood oaths were like good brothel workers ― they could be bent as much as you wanted.

“According to my oath, I have to kill Paris Dinos and his mother.” Hadjar realized that he was walking on a tightrope ― falling to one side would mean death, but the other would mean a fate much worse than death ― dishonor. “And I also can’t help him escape. Fortunately, my oath doesn’t forbid me from saying it.”

A heartbeat passed, then another. Hadjar prayed to every god and demon he could that the boy would be smart enough to get it. Paris suddenly smiled widely and tore off his right sleeve.

“From this day forward!” The boy almost laughed. “I, Paris Dinos, am no longer a part of the Predatory Blades clan! May the great forefathers deny me, and may my blood rot!”

A terrible scar appeared on his right shoulder. A few seconds later, a similar one appeared on his mother’s shoulder as well.

“You’re a real he-” Paris the Rootless didn’t get to finish speaking. The strength left the boy’s body and he almost fell into a puddle of rain and blood, but Hadjar caught him in time. He pinched his nose and put some pills into the boy’s mouth. The boy swallowed, and in less than a second, the wound on his chest healed, leaving a long scar behind.

“Why are you doing this, warrior?” Paris’ mother suddenly asked.

Hadjar looked up at her.

“Take this,” he held out a spatial ring that he’d taken from an officer’s finger. “It has enough money to help you leave and settle anywhere you like. There are also a few pills in there, an artifact sword, and a scroll with a Technique. If Paris wants to, he can learn it.”

The single mother, who was now on the run, accepted the ring.

“Why?” She asked again.

“I hope he gets to live a long and happy life,” Hadjar smiled a little sadly.

A white lightning bolt carried the unconscious Paris and his mother out of the Palace.

Hadjar, wearily wiping sweat from his brow, leaned back against the wall and slid down it. He looked up at the sky and the stars. Had Traves, who’d been able to gaze through time with his consciousness, known that, one day, the sword Technique he’d created would pass through Hadjar’s hands and, after being improved, end up in the hands of Paris the Rootless, a true genius of the Sword Spirit?

“The Sword of the Light Northern Breeze,” Hadjar whispered. “My first creation. I wonder if that makes Paris my disciple…”

Hadjar sat there, staring up at the stars. They were cold and lifeless, little more than distant lights from the past, brought into the present at a speed unreachable to either mortal or cultivator. The ancients back on Earth had used to say that the gods watched us with eyes of the past, and that those eyes were the stars.

Hadjar had once made a mistake. But it had shown him the true path. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t simple. It was torture to follow it. Dangerous and deadly. That was the way of honor. The ancients had claimed that dishonest men ‘follow a crooked path’, but that wasn’t quite right. They followed a straight, smooth, level, and simple road. The easiest one. The crooked path, on the other hand, the one covered in weeds, full of monsters, with death at every step, that was the right way. Only a few followed it. The others just blindly followed a simple path that led to nowhere.

“I’ve spent way too much time around Einen,” Hadjar mused. “Or maybe it’s just such a strange evening.” He concluded after his lengthy ruminations.

“Yep, the evening is quite strange.” Dekoy Schuver, the Head of the Secret Office, entered the ruined chambers, stepping over the bodies and squeamishly avoiding the scraps of flesh and bloodstained stones.

“What nasty work you’ve done here, Hadjar!” He took a chair that had somehow survived Hadjar’s attack and placed it in front of him.

Moving the cloak that covered his doublet out of the way, he sat down. Hadjar saw the reflection of his own face in his polished, black boots. He saw himself, not Primus, which made him happy. He was glad that, of the two roads, he’d had the strength to choose the difficult one.

“You’ve killed so many,” Dekoy shook his head. “How many did you kill exactly? About four hundred brave Dinos warriors? You left this clan without a way to continue existing by killing so many of their women. Tell me, Hadjar Darkhan, what should Darnassus do in the midst of its war, when in approximately forty-five years, the entire Predatory Blades clan, one of the strongest pillars of the Empire, dies out?”

“Hope that the Kesalia clan will rise to take its place.”

The truth was that everyone had received a different version of the plan that evening. That’s how Tom had found out about the oath Hadjar had sworn to Anise. He’d asked Hadjar for a chance to make sure that Anise didn’t become another Brustor. Tom had seen what had happened with his own eyes. So, it was actually Tom, not Anise, who’d signed the death warrant of the Predatory Blades clan when he’d left. And while it dwindled with the passing decades, the Kesalia clan would grow, fulfilling the plan Hadjar had laid out for Einen.

“Do you realize, Darkhan, that you’ve destroyed the Dinos clan?” Schuver was playing with something in his hands. “Without asking permission, during a time of war, no less? Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

To topple a statue, you didn’t need to break the whole thing, it was enough to break its base. That was exactly what Hadjar had done ― he’d murdered most of the women of the clan, ruining the chance of there being enough offspring to properly sustain the clan. As a result, it’d be easily overthrown. Anise had made her choice.

“I’ve committed high treason,” Hadjar nodded.

“You really do live up to your reputation as the Mad General, don’t you?” Dekoy rose and pushed back the chair. “A traitor in Lidus. Now a traitor in Dahanatan. Have you no shame?”

Everything had its price. And the right, not even necessarily good, actions had a very high one. And Hadjar was now going to pay that price in full.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what this is.” Schuver held out the thing he’d been toying with.

“A slave collar,” Hadjar said.

Chapter 962

“W ake up, barbarian...” Someone slapped Hadjar’s face. “Wake up! By the Great Turtle... What did they do to you?”

Hadjar opened his eyes. He couldn’t discern whether this was a delusion or reality. Thankfully, his neural network informed him that this wasn’t just another hallucination brought on by magical and alchemical torture.

“My… friend…” He had trouble speaking. “You... look... better.”

Einen really did look better — the scars on his face had become less visible. He hadn’t become a Lord, but apparently, he’d either found or created some kind of treatment. Hadjar assumed it was the latter.

His thoughts were buzzing around like angry bees. The dungeon… Where was he? Was he in Primus’ dungeon? Was he still lying there, little more than an exhausted, delusional, gray-haired skeleton of a mortal who thought he was a cultivator? Or perhaps it wasn’t all just a fantasy he’d concocted?

“Come to your senses!” Another slap stung his cheek.

“Th… tha… thanks…” He croaked.

Einen carefully unhooked Hadjar from the chains he’d been suspended from.

“By the Great Turtle, barbarian... You’re as light as a feather!”

Einen pulled the hooks out from between Hadjar’s ribs. He set him down on the cloak that covered the wet, rotten straw on the floor of the stone dungeon. Then he chased away the rats that had gnawed Hadjar’s fingers and toes to the bone over the past few days. It was ironic — almost a quarter of a century ago, he’d sometimes been forced to eat rats to survive, and now they’d avenged their fallen brethren by doing the same to him in turn. Life was truly cyclical.

“Drink this,” Einen held a jar of smelly liquid up to Hadjar’s cracked lips.

A sip… Another one... Countless wounds, cuts, burns, bite marks, and even acid burns started healing. Einen’s drug purged everything that Hadjar had been forced to ingest along with the pus, foul blood, and junk that had clogged and destroyed his energy channels. Gradually, his mind cleared.

“Hold on, I’ll get all this crap off you.”

In just a few minutes, using some magical picks, he skillfully unlocked the slave collar that had turned Hadjar from one of the strongest swordsmen in the seven Empires into a mere mortal. The energy that immediately surged into his tortured energy body hurt so badly that he couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

“Hold on, brother,” Einen whispered. Putting his hand over Hadjar’s mouth, he leaned on him, and then, taking out a carving knife, made an incision across his throat, into which he then poured some sort of concoction that burned as it went down. Hadjar lost consciousness.

When he awoke, he felt better ― his energy channels had reconnected. It would take at least a week for Hadjar to return to full strength, but this was enough for now. His body, which had been covered in a lot of new, terrible scars, didn’t hurt and even looked tolerable: the torn muscles and tendons, as well as his broken bones, had healed.

“I want you to know.” Sitting next to him, Einen was wiping the sweat from his brow with the edge of his robes, “I just gave you a drug that costs as much as half of Orune’s house.”

“Great plans...” Hadjar still found it hard to speak, “require great investments.”

“Plans?” Einen said, keeping his usual cool demeanor. “What I suggest are plans. And when we try following any sort of plan, nothing happens as planned!”

“Fair enough,” Hadjar nodded.

“We’ve been through all sorts of crazy things together over the years, my friend, but this... this... this crosses all the boundaries.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was a moment of silence, and then they started laughing. They were sitting and laughing in the middle of the very place that the entire capital feared — in the dungeons of the Secret Office located in the immediate vicinity of the Forbidden City. They were laughing heartily, despite being surrounded by bloodthirsty rats, the scraps of Hadjar’s flesh, and the blood-drenched hooks he’d just recently been hanging from.

“How long have I been here?” Hadjar asked.

“Don’t you remember?”

“No,” Hadjar shook his head with a shrug.

His will was strong. Too strong. He wouldn’t have given in to torture, and would’ve died instead to avoid giving away what they were trying to get out of him. Therefore, Hadjar had given control of his body and a part of his consciousness to something that had no feelings. While his neural network had dealt with the torture Hadjar’s body, spirit, and mind had been going through, he’d been immersed in the deepest of meditation, where he’d been able to preserve his ‘self’. Together with his neural network, he’d created an indestructible barrier around who he was.

“Four days,” Einen answered.

“Four days?” Hadjar exhaled and slowly unclenched his fists. It had felt like closer to four years had passed while he’d been meditating so deeply. “You weren’t in a hurry, were you?”

“It only took me four days to sneak in undetected and also smuggle some ‘cargo’ into the second most hidden and secure location in the Darnassus Empire! Bards will sing about ‘how I weren’t in a hurry’! If they ever find out about this in my homeland, I will become the most famous smuggler and pirate in the history of the Islands!”

Saying something boastful like this was rare for Einen.

“I don’t doubt it,” Hadjar patted his shoulder. “Not at all... Now, let’s get to the next item on the agenda. If four days have passed, then there isn’t much time left before my scheduled rendezvous with Helmer. Have you brought our toy?”

Instead of answering, Einen waved his hand and an exact copy of Hadjar appeared on the floor of the dungeon. The creature was either a skeleton that still had some bits of skin on it, or a mummy. But, most importantly and most surprising of all, the creature was breathing.

“Necromancy,” they said in a chorus of disgust.

The cadaver, which had been premade by Annette, wasn’t alive, at least not in the literal sense of the word, but it exhibited enough signs of life to deceive the executioners of the Secret Office for a while.

“Follow my instructions.” With another wave of his hand, Einen revealed a set of tools that made something inside Hadjar shiver.

Together, they started making sure that the cadaver looked exactly like Einen had found him. It took them no more than half an hour, and then they hung the living corpse on the hooks. Hadjar looked at it and knew that for many years to come, this would feature prominently in his nightmares.

“Rumors say, barbarian,” Einen wiped his hands on his cloak and eyed their handiwork, “that you nearly drove one of the executioners mad by muttering something to yourself during your torture.”

“Really?”

Hadjar couldn’t resist taking a look at several scenes from his neural network’s memory, and he shuddered in horror after witnessing them. Before going into meditation, he’d asked the neural network to make the worst possible sounds it could find in his memory.

“By the High Heavens,” Hadjar breathed, and tried really hard to erase the memory from his mind, “I was…rapping… in Russian...”

“What? What is that?” Einen tried to understand, but simply couldn’t.

Hadjar didn’t answer him. He pushed open the heavy door that led to the dungeon corridor. The most difficult part of their endeavor still awaited them — sneaking into Dekoy Schuver’s office, stealing the files he had on the Tarez clan, then sneaking into the merchants’ district and finding out what had piqued Helmer’s curiosity before the executioners of the Secret Office caught on to their deception, and before the time limit the demon had given Hadjar ran out.

“Let’s get this party started, baldy,” Hadjar left the cell.

“You’re mad.” Einen followed his friend without hesitation.

Chapter 963

H adjar and Einen stepped out into the corridor of the Secret Office’s dungeons and carefully closed the door behind them. While Einen redid the protective magic symbols on it, Hadjar carefully looked around. The place looked like a sewer. It was very narrow and almost round, which made the ceiling so low that they could easily reach up and touch it. The walls, covered in black mold and mildew, were old, badly cracked, and dripping with a viscous, scarlet liquid. Its slow, sticky drops fell into the gutter that ran through the center of the floor.

At first, Hadjar thought it was some kind of tar, or maybe some magical alchemical ingredient that had an effect on the consciousness or energy of the prisoners, but after looking at it more closely, Hadjar recoiled. It was blood. Black, thick, old, and smelling of pain and despair.

“What a creepy place…” Hadjar touched the liquid.

“You have no idea, barbarian,” Einen whispered as he finished up his work, “The things I’ve seen in here…”

Hadjar looked at his friend, his eyebrow raised, and then, dramatically, he wiped his bloody fingers on the damp wall.

“Hmm... well, okay, you know perfectly well,” Einen said.

They walked past the other cells.

“This is one of the lower floors of their citadel,” Einen explained, stepping carefully over the bodies of the guards. They weren’t dead, just sleeping peacefully. Some were curled up, their weapons tucked under their heads like pillows, and others were even sucking their thumbs. “Don’t worry, when they wake up, they won’t remember a thing.”

“You know, my friend, I wouldn’t exactly mind if they never woke up.”

Einen smiled.

“You said this was a lower floor. How many more are there?”

“I counted nine floors.” After they went through the door that divided the corridor into two sections, Einen began, just as skilfully and quickly as with the previous door, restoring the seal on it. “They keep their most dangerous... guests here. The higher we go, the nicer it gets. I think it’s very metaphorical and-”

“I have to interrupt your philosophy hour there, baldy. Please shut up.”

“Barbarian,” Einen sighed.

While he was busy with the door, Hadjar went over to one of the cells. It had a small window, which the guards used to see what was happening inside. For about a second, Hadjar fought the temptation, but then, giving into it, he peeked inside. He recoiled, making a variety of sacred signs as he did so.

Apparently, the executioners had treated him with relative care. What he’d seen inside would haunt him: a man was hanging from a crucifix. His black hair hung in ragged streaks from his scarred and dented skull. Long and dirty, his hair reached all the way down to the floor, and the slimy larvae of some vile insects were climbing up it. His left leg ended in torn and rotting flesh and bone. Wrapped in ointment-soaked bandages, it had fused with them into a single, sickening whole. His fingers were twisted at unnatural angles. Some of them had been cut, broken, gnawed, or even split in half, with rusty metal sticking out of the nails. His privates had been mockingly nailed to a decorated board on the opposite side of the room, and a tube had taken their place, leaking straight onto his legs. Rats were feasting on his innards as well.

Hadjar leaned the back of his head against the wall and started hyperventilating. He’d seen a lot in his life. He’d seen the cadaver he and Einen had hung in his cell. He’d even seen the unimaginable things Primus had done to his Nanny. He’d seen the horrors of war. But what he had just seen in that cell…

And the stench… It had gotten inside his lungs, penetrated every cell of his body, and seeped into his very soul, getting permanently stuck in his memories.

“Don’t look,” Einen straightened up and stepped away from the door. “While I was looking for you, barbarian, I saw... I don’t know what. Maybe Darnassus isn’t worth killing so many people for, if it does that to its subjects.”

“Every Empire has a citadel like this,” Hadjar spat, catching his breath. He remembered perfectly well how his own father, accompanied by the head of a similar organization, had left to attend to someone’s interrogation... “We don’t know what they did. Maybe, like me, they slaughtered an entire clan during wartime…”

“Maybe,” Einen shrugged. “Come on. We don’t have much time left. The potion will wear off by the end of the hour.”

Hadjar was just about to take a step forward when a voice came from the cell:

“The Raven... is circling the Nameless World... The grave Raven... is singing its song... The world’s end... is coming…”

It was an old horror story meant to frighten children. Hadjar had used to scare his sister with it when their mother would ask him to watch her.

Some urge Hadjar couldn’t resist made him turn around and walk back to the cell. He looked inside. Even if he wanted to, the man couldn’t speak — he didn’t have a tongue, or even a lower jaw.

“The Raven...” the voice seemed to be coming from inside the tortured man’s body. “The Raven... Do you hear the Raven flapping its wings inside your soul… North Wind?”

Hadjar flinched, then grabbed the handle of the door. It was locked, without any magic, without a single rune, without a drop of energy being used. However, all of Hadjar’s power, coupled with the mysteries of the Wind and Sword he possessed, still wasn’t enough to move the handle even slightly.

“Don’t bother, North Wind,” the prisoner’s single eye, despite all the wounds and torture, was clear and revealed the glimmer of a rational mind. “You can’t save me. I’ve been betrayed and forgotten. I’m like the grave Raven in the cemetery. You can’t find me. I’ll only rise again at the end of the world. And in that bright flame, in which the first Name will burn, I’ll find freedom to breathe once more.”

Hadjar tugged at the handle, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t budge.

“What are you doing, barbarian?” Einen put his hand on his shoulder and Hadjar shuddered.

“Didn’t you hear that? He called me by name.”

Einen frowned, “I don’t think he can talk.”

“What?”

Hadjar looked inside the cell again. There, in the corner, lay a yellowed skeleton.

“Are you sure you’ve gotten all the toxins out of your body?” Einen looked worried and wary.

Hadjar once again checked his body with his mind and Spirit, and then with the help of his neural network. Only the latter was able to find a sliver of a percent of impurities in it, but that wasn’t enough to cause such hallucinations.

“Maybe it’s because of Annette’s magic?” Einen guessed.

“Maybe,” Hadjar said, subconsciously touching his arm, where Annette had woven her magic into his Name tattoo so that Einen could find him.

They couldn’t have entered the citadel without first making Hadjar a prisoner, since it was protected by an impenetrable spell that couldn’t be broken from the outside, only from the inside. So, Hadjar had become a kind of battering ram. There were some advantages to the fact that necromancy had been banned in the seven Empires eons ago, and was therefore hard to recognize and notice.

“Let’s go,” Einen turned and headed toward the spiral staircase. “Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Hadjar nodded.

He watched as the figure that had hung on the crucifix a second ago now stood on his one remaining leg in the darkness of the corridor.

“Find me, North Wind,” he whispered, “before the unfortunate lover destroys the star of the worlds.”

And then he was gone, leaving the corridor dark, damp, and empty in his wake.

Hadjar took a few deep breaths and followed his friend. He could think about this insanity later.

Chapter 964

“I don’t understand why you need the Tarez file,” Einen, equipped with a variety of gadgets and tools, most of which were strange and powerful magical artifacts, murmured.

Hadjar was standing next to General Dekoy Schuver, who was sleeping at his desk. The terror of Dahanatan, Emperor Morgan’s best bloodhound… was peacefully snoring and drooling on some no doubt important documents.

Just like the Emperor’s office, if you believed the rumors, Schuver’s office was surprisingly small. The entire left wall was covered with shelves which were crammed full of scrolls, books, something that looked vaguely like folders, and some wooden crates tied down with ropes, inside which were more scrolls. Each item had a magic seal on it that was best left untouched unless one wanted to lose a hand.

Some of the folders were wrapped in pieces of cloth with the coat of arms of some of the noble families stamped on them. In addition to the seven great clans, there were other major organizations that General Schuver monitored. It made sense, seeing as a war was the most convenient time to redistribute power.

In addition to the shelves, there was a massive table made of rare wood, several expensive carpets from the Sea of Sand, and a stained-glass window that spanned the entire north wall. It offered a stunning view of Eighth Avenue, in the center of which stood the Secret Office.

The hidden safe, which contained documents pertaining to Schuver’s most important cases, wasn’t difficult to find… at least for Einen. Hadjar never would’ve found it on his own. It was behind the Emperor’s portrait. On Earth, it would’ve had some locking mechanism or something similar. But here, it was covered in so much magic, runes, and symbols that, after Einen had removed the veil which had hidden it from view, a single glance through the World River had made Hadjar’s head hurt, despite the fact that he was a Lord. Only the Great Turtle knew how Einen, a mid-stage Spirit Knight, had dealt with this obstacle.

“Give me more of his blood.”

Hadjar looked at Schuver, who already had three cuts on his cheek.

“Are you sure he won’t wake up?” Hadjar asked warily.

He wasn’t afraid of Schuver’s own power, but assumed that even his full might wouldn’t be enough to get him out of the Secret Office. An incredible amount of diverse magic permeated every stone in this building. After entering the place of their own free will, few people would be able to get out. Even Orune would’ve needed to use his full potential to break through the jumble of enchantment and magic here. After he’d seen the defenses of this building, it became clear to Hadjar that the Forbidden City was far more protected than Morgan let on…

“The potion I sprayed into the ventilation system was created by Mentor Markin, who planned to use it on the Forbidden City and all the great heroes who would’ve come to the Emperor’s reception.”

“A reception for just the great heroes?”

“According to Markin’s papers, it was just one of their regular meetings,” Einen continued to work on the portrait without turning to Hadjar. “He claimed that this was where the solutions for the most important issues facing Darnassus were decided on.”

“So, they don’t just acquire the title and the position of a servant along with it…”

“They’re more like personal confidants. Markin believed that the Emperor and all the great heroes were keeping some sort of secret, and that they were needed to protect this secret. After Orune’s death, Morgan seemed far more concerned with the internal situation than the war with Lascan.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the Dragon Lands?”

Hadjar was keeping a few secrets from Einen, but the Dragon Lands and their power over the seven Empires weren’t among them.

“I don’t think so,” the islander shrugged and stuck a magic needle into the portrait. “Blood, barbarian, give me more of his blood.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Hadjar cut General Schuver’s cheek with the Blue Blade for the fourth time, and then, with his will, sent a few drops in Einen’s direction. The islander then picked them up with his own will and lowered them onto a metal disc, which he’d attached to the needle stuck in the portrait.

“It’s all secrets and schemes yet again,” Hadjar sighed and shook his head wearily. “Things used to be simple.”

“Back when we had to protect Rahaim’s caravan from bandits, we didn’t know that Rahaim was a magical copy of the Lord who dwelled in the mythical Underworld City, looking for the legendary library of the Mage City, because, since childhood, he’d been in love with a girl who was actually a golem, and the person who wanted to find us and stop us was his son, whom he had betrayed… If that seems like a simpler time with no secrets and schemes to you, my friend, then sure, things used to be simple before.”

“Was it really necessary to give me that lecture right now?”

Einen shrugged again.

“Secrets and mysteries are the essence of our universe. Everything around us is a mystery, starting with our first breath and ending with our death. To us simple cultivators, stumbling along the path of cultivation, the whole universe is hidden behind a thick curtain. We just look at it through a narrow-”

Hadjar swore under his breath, “Maybe you should stop talking and focus on your work.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t be such a barbarian.” Einen chuckled. He skillfully clicked something, then turned something, and drew several magic runes and symbols with his will, causing the Emperor’s portrait to roll up and disappear into the upper edge of the frame.

“I’m certain,” he took a step back and wiped his hands on his pants, “that the bards would’ve sung songs about this for centuries — Einen the Islander broke into the Secret Office citadel and robbed General Schuver’s personal safe! My forefathers will probably be drinking for a couple of centuries to celebrate this.”

“You’re so modest,” Hadjar snorted.

He moved closer to the safe — a simple recess in the wall — and saw several scrolls. Among them, he found one bearing the seal of the Tarez clan.

“You can pick them up, don’t worry. They don’t have the same magic on them as the scrolls on the shelves.”

“Don’t you find that odd?”

“I don’t.” Einen responded immediately, “It’s overly confident, arrogant, and contemptuous because Schuver thinks no one could ever break into it.”

“That’s reasonable,” Hadjar agreed.

He took out the Tarez scroll. After unrolling it for a moment, he rolled it back up. Even without his neural network, this glimpse would’ve been enough for him to remember the information on it with ease. As he put it back, Hadjar’s hand suddenly trembled. Inside, among the two dozen other scrolls, Hadjar noticed the most nondescript, thinnest, and oldest scroll, which obviously hadn’t been opened for a long time. It was bound by rope and had a seal on it bearing a crest that depicted a soaring raven. Hadjar had already seen this symbol before — it was the symbol of the Raven sect, the followers of the Black General.

“Damn it,” Hadjar swore, “Things really were simpler back in the Sea of Sand…”

Chapter 965

“A re you sure you want to go in alone?”

Hidden in Einen’s shadows, the two friends were standing at the high wall of Darnassus’ best and most successful merchant district. Unlike all the others, the Tarez family’s district was never closed, and had no security. Well, there wasn’t any in the outer perimeter, at least, where the best shops selling the rarest artifacts, alchemical ingredients, and scrolls of various Techniques were. Everything that could be sold was sold here, from fabrics to ancient treasure maps.

The two were standing near the high wall of the inner part of the Tarez family’s district, the third most secure place in the capital, right after the Forbidden City and the Secret Office.

Despite the fact that the walls were only a few feet thick, and the fact that the guards on the parapet were very spaced out, with only two guards standing watch at every hundred feet, the place had an incredible amount of magic at its disposal. The presence of any outsider would be instantly noticed, and, if necessary, the person would be subdued, or worse, by the magic itself.

The only part with no magic protection were the gates, which led to the garden of the Tarez Palace. They were guarded by four golems — huge stone dogs stylized to look like mythical guardian dogs. They were massive, with square jaws, a fiery mane, red fur, and paws as thick as an oak tree. Each dog was about fifteen feet tall at the withers, and roughly four times as long.

Hadjar had no doubt that he could defeat them, but he’d definitely get wounded in the process. And that was only if he was at his best, which he currently wasn’t.

“The deal I made with Helmer is mine alone, baldy,” Hadjar was putting on special clothes made by Annette and Einen using fabric from the Islands. They had a special ability to absorb magic. Working together with Annette’s Word Magic, the islander had made a very expensive artifact, for which the nobles would’ve paid ridiculous amounts of money. Even the Secret Office would’ve gladly paid up for just one such artifact.

There was one problem about the outfit, though: the person wearing it couldn’t use any Techniques or mysteries. Otherwise, they’d immediately give away their presence and completely destroy its subtle magic.

“Then I’ll see you soon, my friend.” Einen took a few steps back and crouched, holding out his cupped hands. “May the Spirit of the monkey who stole the peach of wisdom from the garden of the Jasper Palace be with you.”

The monkey thief who’d gone up against the Heavens as a part of the Black General’s army was the symbolic protector of all pirates and adventurers. Hadjar had wanted to ask what connection she had with Einen’s Ape Technique, but he hadn’t dared. Everyone had their secrets… His friend’s purple eyes shone like bright stars in the darkness.

“See you soon,” Hadjar nodded.

His thick, black clothes clung tightly to him. After getting a running start, he pushed off the ground, and then from Einen’s cupped hands. Einen sunk down into his shadow and disappeared. Hadjar soared up. The beautiful queen of the night floated out from behind heavy, dark clouds. It was almost a full moon, which would mark the end of the time limit the demon had given him to complete this task.

Hadjar, arms outstretched, waited until he reached the peak of his inertia, where he hung for a couple of moments, suspended in the air, and then he began the freefall back down. With a wave of his hand, he released a ribbon. Without making a single sound, it coiled around a merlon on the wall. Gripping the ribbon tightly, Hadjar fell down and then swung up, but this time, he went much higher, reaching the parapet.

Soundlessly, he landed on his toes and the pads of his fingers, which were also wrapped in ribbons. Quickly, he approached the nearest guard. With a single hit to the back of his head, he dislodged the vertebra that connected the man’s head to his spine. The guard’s death was instantaneous and painless.

The first guard hadn’t yet fallen before Hadjar was already wrapping the ribbon around the mouth of the second guard. He just grunted as his head spun around several times.

Hadjar sat them both down against the battlements and then placed a bottle of wine between them. If someone saw them from afar, they’d think they were absolutely drunk. It would take at least a minute before they tried to shout at them, then they’d go over to them and realize that they were actually dead. Simple solutions were always good.

Pushing off the fortress wall, Hadjar jumped back down so that he could see what was happening atop the wall. In the air, he did a few somersaults and landed right behind a bush. The flowers reached toward him, as if sniffing him, and then froze.

The beautiful, elegant garden, with its fruit trees, fish ponds, stone paths, and bridges, wasn’t actually an indulgence, but one of their most reliable guards.

General Schuver’s file, which had included a detailed map of the Tarez’s Palace, had marked every bush and tree, every flowerbed and pond. The Green Hammer clan and its mages had done their best to fulfill the Tarez’s order and had created a huge, living guardian capable of destroying a platoon of Nameless ones if they ventured in here.

Carefully walking along the enchanted stone paths that intersected the deadly garden, Hadjar soon came to the wall of the high Palace. It had been made in the architectural style of the Sea of Sand, as a way to pay homage to the ancestors of the Tarez. It had rounded walls, towers topped with flattened domes resembling maces, and was decorated with white stone and blue mosaics made from precious stone.

“Merchants,” Hadjar muttered with an eye roll.

Cautiously, pressing against the wall and quieting down as patrols passed by (unlike in the Predatory Blades clan district, there weren’t any Spirit Knights higher than the middle stage here), Hadjar approached the door leading inside the east wing of the Palace. It was there, according to Schuver’s file, that a ‘mysterious, unexplored area of the Palace’ was located, one that even Salm’s inner circle wasn’t allowed to enter.

Once he got inside, Hadjar found himself in a simple winter garden. If it hadn’t been for the file, he wouldn’t have known what to do. He went over to an apple tree and pressed down on a protruding root. In the center of the garden, a magical mechanism creaked and a spiral staircase began to form in the floor. Hadjar carefully descended it, walking toward the dim twilight only illuminated by magic torches.

The closer he got, the more clearly he sensed that something was happening down below. Soon, he found himself standing on the balcony of a huge amphitheater. It was an area hundreds of feet across, decorated with statues of various creatures that had come right from the most terrible and ancient of legends along its rim: men with goat legs and deer antlers supported the ceiling with their shoulders; women with two pairs of breasts pressed against statues of men whose genitals wriggled like snakes; winged maidens also acted as supports and men who looked more like animals lay at their bestial feet.

In recent times, according to the reports, very few of the Tarez had been seen in the city — they’d gathered in this amphitheater. Some were wearing robes, while others were naked and in a trance, undulating and bowing as they stood in a semicircle, worshiping some stone deity — a disturbing monster that looked like dozens of different creatures had been forcefully combined into a single entity.

Salm was bending over the altar. In his hands shone a dagger made from a material Hadjar didn’t recognize. On the altar, wrapped in magic ropes, lay Karein Tarez, half-naked and with a magic symbol written in blood on his chest. One of Salm’s wives lay at the foot of the altar. The blood was still dripping from her cut throat.

Hadjar’s gaze met Karein’s, and he whispered through dry, broken lips:

“Help me... friend…”

A heartbeat passed, then another… Salm, shouting something in an unfamiliar language, brought the dagger down toward Karein’s chest. Hadjar rushed forward, assisted by his mysteries and energy, but he didn’t manage to push Salm aside in time, forcing Karein to free one of his hands and grab onto Salm’s arm himself. The dagger didn’t end up plunging into the center of the magic symbol, but underneath one of his ribs instead.

“NO!” Salm roared, and something far more disturbing than the True Sword Kingdom began to spread all around him.

But it was already too late — Hadjar felt as if he and Karein were sinking into the stone altar. They held hands and kept falling until Hadjar realized he was lying in grass. Tall, green grass swayed all around him, and white clouds floated overhead, covering the azure sky and the bright, midday sun. It was daytime. He’d been in the amphitheater of some sort of sect just moments ago, and now he was lying in a meadow. It wasn’t an illusion, either. It felt far too real.

“Where are we?”

“In the Spirit… World...” Karein croaked from the left. “In... the land of... the fairies… Now help me... or… I’ll bleed... to death…”

Hadjar swore.

Chapter 966

B y the time Hadjar found Karein in the meadow, he’d already lost consciousness. The slim, muscular Karein Tarez was lying on his back. With his right hand, he’d covered the bleeding wound in his side, and with his left, he’d dug a hole next to him.

“Fucking shit,” Hadjar swore.

On his fourth attempt, he finally managed to open the spatial artifact that he had gotten from the assassins of the Dead Moon clan who’d attacked the Storm Mountain. On his ninth attempt, he pulled out some bandages and a bottle of ointment.

As they were currently on the border of the Spirit World, in the Fae Lands, Hadjar sensed something amiss in the streams of the World River. In the mortal world, it flowed in a steady, calm stream, passing through everything that existed: past, present, and future, visible and invisible alike. Here, it was like a mountain stream — sometimes quiet, sometimes wild and washing away everything in its path, or like a flowing lake, a waterfall, a twisting river, and then a quiet stream once again… The World River in the Spirit World, even in this distant region Karein and Hadjar had found themselves in, was as malleable as the Spirit World itself.

Hadjar moved Karein’s hand and immediately grimaced. The wound had an abnormal, pungent smell to it, and it looked as if it had been inflicted a month ago at best, not just a few minutes ago. And in all this time, it hadn’t started healing in any way, and had only been festering instead.

He was glad to see that his Blue Blade still responded to his will and instantly appeared in this world. In fact, his Call’s armor responded in the same way, as well as the Wind and Sword mysteries. The only thing that was beyond his control, and looked unfamiliar and alien to him, was the energy. What passed through the World River in the fairies’ land was very different from what Hadjar was used to harnessing in the mortal world.

“I can worry about that later,” he whispered under his breath.

Hadjar cut off the festering flesh, not allowing his sword to dig into Karein’s energy structure. His Blue Blade, being a successor of the Black General’s sword, still had all its properties, including its carnivorous nature. There was something foreign inside the wound.

“By the High Heavens!” Summoning his will and mysteries with a wave of his hand, Hadjar destroyed the writhing, white worms that had fallen out of the wound. They disappeared in flashes of some unknown energy that Hadjar had never come across back in the mortal world. It felt somehow wrong.

Black blood spurted from the wound, bubbling and boiling in the sun. Karein twitched and growled. Hadjar pinned him to the ground, and stabbed the Blue Blade into the wound.

“AAAHHH!” Karein cried out.

Ignoring the tears running down the man’s face and carefully controlling the hungry, probing tendrils of the Blue Blade’s energy, Hadjar allowed them to enter Karein’s energy structure. It concentrated completely on the unknown substance — a throbbing, scarlet lump that was lodged somewhere in the region of his lower ribs.

As the tendrils approached it, Hadjar felt the Blue Blade’s disgust. It clearly didn’t see this lump as something edible. Fighting against the sword’s resistance, Hadjar forced it to touch the pulsating parasite. The tendrils of energy began to rapidly dissolve, and a wave of unbearable pain passed through Hadjar’s arm. He instantly pulled the blade out of the wound and a fountain of black blood sprayed across the ground. It burned the grass and the soil like acid.

“Damn it,” Hadjar swore again. “What the hell is that?”

Trying not to touch the wound directly, Hadjar carefully treated it with the ointment, and then wrapped it tightly with some magic bandages. But after only a few seconds, they were covered in black dots, and then a thick liquid started spreading out under them. The wound was clearly some sort of anomaly… Even by the standards of the many kinds of injuries that cultivators could inflict with their Techniques.

A few attempts later, Hadjar took a skin of medical water from the ring and, after washing his hands, scrubbed the magic symbols from Karein’s chest. They disappeared with exactly the same hissing as the worms had. Five minutes of healing later, Karein’s entire torso looked like it had been burned with fire and acid for months.

“What have they done to you?” Hadjar asked, shaking his head.

Thrusting his sword into the ground, Hadjar leaned his back against it and looked up at the sky. It differed from the one in the mortal world. It looked as if it had been painted there. It was the type of idealized sky you could only see in the landscapes made by the best artists. This alone, even without the storm in the streams of the World River, was enough to make Hadjar believe that he really was in another world. Or another dimension … It was all far too complicated.

“Th… Thank… you…” Karein croaked once he woke up a few hours later. “Water…”

Hadjar came out of his shallow meditation, stretched because he’d been in a lotus position for so long, picked up the skin of medical water and, after bringing his Blue Blade to Karein’s throat, lifted his head gently and leaned the bottle against his lips.

After the first sip, Karein coughed, but didn’t stop drinking. Only after he’d drunk a quarter of it did he lean back on the pile of rags that Hadjar had used to make a pillow for him.

“I thought that...” he began slowly, “My father would stab me. Like a pig…”

“I never would’ve guessed you two had such a prickly relationship.”

“Prickly?” Karein smiled wryly. “Good pun, Hadjar. I see I was a good influence on you.”

Hadjar’s sword was still hovering over Karein’s throat. It had lightly scratched his skin, and a red drop ran down the blade. It was normal, red blood, not the black substance that was still oozing out of the wound.

“Is this how you… communicate, Hadjar?” Karein kept up his banter, despite finding it hard to breathe. “Chatting with someone... while your sword is at the other person’s throat… Seems kind of weird.”

“I only do this with people who could be a threat to me.”

“A threat?” Karein reached for his wounded side, but didn’t touch the bandages. “I’m... only a threat... to the local ecosystem.”

Even with one foot on the threshold of his forefathers’ house, Karein refused to drop the act. Hadjar knew this type of person well, and was even closely connected to a few of them: Nero... Helmer… They all hid the pain that gnawed at them from within. Those who laughed the loudest and smiled the brightest often suffered from the worst and most poisonous melancholy.

“Why did your father want to kill you?”

Karein let out a morose laugh.

“We’re on the border of the Spirit World, Hadjar... In the Fae Lands... The place which our mothers and grandmothers told us about... fairytales made real. And you... are interested in my father?”

Now it was Hadjar’s turn to smile, “I’m guessing it’s all somehow connected.”

Karein said nothing at first, then sighed wearily and closed his eyes.

“We only have twenty-four hours, Hadjar. Then I’ll die. After that, the passage to the mortal world will be closed. Are you sure you want to waste your time talking? Can you not feel the Spirit World slowly devouring you from the inside out?”

Hadjar could feel it. The mysteries of the Blue Wind Sword had so far protected his energy structure from the dangerous atmosphere, but this was one of those battles that were doomed to end in defeat. In less than a week, Hadjar’s energy and physical body would completely decompose. Instead of answering Karein’s question, Hadjar just pressed the blade a little harder against his throat.

Chapter 967

T he wind was blowing, making the tall grass in the meadow sway. The two figures stood still. Hadjar’s blue robes fluttered. He held his sword against Karein’s throat. Karein was still lying on the ground.

“To answer your question, Hadjar, I need to ask you one first.”

“Okay.”

“Who do you think merchants hate the most, aside from beggars?” Karein closed his eyes and, despite the sword at his throat, visibly relaxed.

Hadjar didn’t take long to answer that question, “Warriors?”

“You’re right to an extent, Hadjar. Warriors hate merchants because they always cheat. Merchants hate warriors because they’re stronger and can take what merchants earn with their labor through brute force.”

“From what I can remember, it’s usually the opposite,” Hadjar snorted. “It’s usually merchants who are the reason warriors die. They put someone else’s life on the line and profit off the death of those who defend their interests.”

“You say that because you’re a warrior.” He still didn’t dare touch his wound and instead kept digging at the dirt instead. Apparently, it was hurting him really badly. “My father always said that there’s no shame in paying for someone’s life. After all, we only offer the money. You take it of your own free will. And you die for it of your own free will as well.”

“And you earn a ton of coin in the process.”

“Why not? Everyone is earning something, Hadjar,” Karein shrugged. “Money, fame, honor, women, knowledge, jewelry, and even respect. All these are just specific benefits that we exchange for the most important thing.”

“Which is?”

“Our time, Hadjar,” Karein whispered. “A mercenary working for the Tarez clan earns seven hundred Imperial coins a month.”

Hadjar froze. To a mercenary, that was a huge amount. It really wasn’t shameful to risk your life for such an enormous payout.

“With that money,” Karein continued, “they can buy a new shield, a new sword, feed their family, or just go to a brothel... One way or another, they’ll spend it, exchange it for something. A month of their life will be exchanged for something that’s valuable to them. So, money’s only a measure of time in the end. If you think about it, the little round pieces of metal that clink in your purse aren’t currency at all. They are-”

“Time,” Hadjar finished with a nod. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying that the eternal bickering between warriors and merchants has nothing to do with my father. He’s so strong that he doesn’t need to be afraid of almost any warrior in the Empire. So, I’ll ask you again, Hadjar. Who do merchants hate the most?”

Hadjar thought about it for a few seconds, and then it dawned on him:

“Those who have too much currency.”

“Exactly!” Karein’s fingers dug particularly hard into the ground. “Even a Heaven Soldier, in the right circumstances, can live at least fifteen hundred years. What about a Spirit Knight, or a Lord? They can live for a truly long time — hundreds of centuries. Which devalues the absolute currency of the seven Empires. The stronger a society, the longer its cultivators live, the worse it is for the merchants. Immortality is a merchant’s greatest enemy.”

“Is your father planning to beat time?”

“Beat time, Hadjar?” Karein laughed, “My father isn’t an idiot… No, he didn’t intend to defeat time. On the contrary, he wanted to help it.”

“Help it? How can he help time?”

Karein opened his eyes and looked at Hadjar. He smiled bitterly:

“Did you see that thing inside of me?”

Hadjar nodded.

“Allow me to explain why it’s there,” Karein said, leaning back against his makeshift pillow. “You can’t just take a cultivator’s time away, Hadjar. That would be theft. Merchants aren’t thieves. We deceive, cheat, trade, but those who steal are thieves. We’re merchants.”

“Is there a difference?”

“To a warrior, maybe not, but to us... We have our own code of honor. We exchange one product for another. We always have to give something back after we’ve taken something. Otherwise, we are no longer merchants, but criminals. ”

Hadjar kept quiet. He remembered Simon, the plump supply officer of the Moon army. He’d talked about the same things when he’d been drunk. He’d tried to get an exorbitant payment for any item, but he had still given the item in return at the end…

“Did you see my father’s temple?”

Hadjar nodded again.

“I did too... although, by the gods and demons, I wish I never had...” A trickle of red ran down the corners of his mouth. “My father spent his whole life looking for a way to become stronger. And he’s found it in what you’re wearing right now…”

Hadjar looked at himself, “My Call?”

“Yeah,” Karein cleared his throat. “He’s always believed that the answer to the question of how to give power to a cultivator by taking away their time lies in the mixing of human and nonhuman blood. By the gods, he’s very successful at it.”

Hadjar remembered the secret temple and the figures he’d seen there.

“Your father’s wives… All of them…”

“Are the hosts of different blood Inheritances,” Karein said. “Along with his other experiments, he was also trying to create something unique that would also be a powerful creature and related to him by blood. Like my numerous brothers and sisters were.”

“But I thought you were the only son of the Tarez family.”

“The only one who was lucky enough to live to an age that made it possible for me to run away to ‘The Holy Sky’ School,” Karein smiled wryly. “You know, I had so many brothers at one point that my father was too lazy to come up with names for all of them. He called them all-”

“Ymir…”

“Exactly. Ymir… Do you remember that old fairytale? About Ymir, the fairy of many faces, who can assume any form he wishes?”

It was now clear to Hadjar why Karein hated being called by his first name…

“But what does this have to do with him trying to sacrifice you?”

“His experiments have their limitations. The blood that my father mixed together didn’t achieve the results that he dreams of. And his dreams are insane.”

“Trading power in return for one’s time?”

Karein nodded.

“When he realized that he wouldn’t be able to achieve what he wanted by just instilling the blood essence into a cultivator, he decided to add some occult practices to the mix.”

After finally getting over his shock, Hadjar suddenly remembered that it was Helmer who’d sent him to the Tarez family’s district.

“That parasite inside of you… it’s not made from the blood of magical animals or Fae, is it?”

Karein nodded again.

“It’s demon blood… What do you know about the Demon Parade, Hadjar?”

Hadjar shuddered. Fucking hell…

Chapter 968

“A bit,” Hadjar answered. “Almost nothing, really.”

“Too bad,” Karein suddenly said. “I don’t know much either. I only know that it’ll be soon and that my father has plans for it. He was going to sacrifice me for the sake of those plans.”

“He wanted to sacrifice his son for the sake of the Demon Parade?”

“Yeah. It sounds crazy, but that’s all I know, Hadjar. That dagger he used, those symbols and statues, all of it’s connected with the Demon Parade somehow. And so is the parasite he put inside of me when I was a kid.”

“Is that why you’re so-”

“Handsome? Smart? Irresistible? Loved by all women? That’s just my nature, Hadjar. In every sense of the word. My mother was…” Karein stopped. He closed his eyes, sighed several times, gathered his strength, and said something terrible, “…was a half-breed from some Fae family who are famous for being able to seduce anyone.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about your power, which is abnormal for the Tarez clan.”

“That sounds like discrimination, and even racism, my friend.”

“I’m not so sure I can call you a friend.”

“Well, you jumped in front of a dagger to save me. Sounds like something a friend would do, no?”

“I just didn’t want to see the man who had my back in Karnak get slaughtered like a pig.”

“If they’d tried to cut my throat instead of stabbing my chest, you wouldn’t have intervened?”

“Well, I think I would’ve taken a little longer to do so.”

Karein smiled. Hadjar smiled back. They were silent for a while, watching the clouds float by over their heads, the grass swaying in the wind, which turned it into the emerald waves of a rustling sea.

“Yes, Hadjar. I’m strong because of the demon blood, or whatever it was my father put inside of me... as unnatural as that sounds. That’s also why I’m dying. Salm succeeded. I really do only have a day or two left, then I’ll have to go meet my forefathers.”

Hadjar sighed. Then swore. Then swore again. Then he dismissed the Blue Blade. Karein rubbed his neck and sighed, too. His sigh was more relaxed this time.

Hadjar could now uphold his end of the deal with Helmer. He’d found out everything the demon had wanted to know. He’d finally gotten rid of one problem, but there was now another, much more pressing issue he had to deal with.

“You know what, Karein?”

“What, Hadjar?”

“That still doesn’t explain why we’re in the Fae Lands and not on the floor of your father’s temple.”

Karein smiled, not maliciously, but triumphantly and haughtily.

“I really am going to die soon, buddy. And I really love adventure. I even love my country and want the best for it, since it’s my homeland and all. But I’m the heir of the Tarez clan, so I’m not the kind of person who’d go through hell just to help Darnassus.”

“Karnak,” Hadjar guessed. “You went there for a reason.”

“Exactly,” Karein smiled. “Just like everyone else, Hadjar… Just like everyone else... I had to pull a lot of strings to trick my father into thinking that there was some clue in Karnak that would help him achieve his dream. When Salm took the bait, he spent so much money to send me with you.”

“Why?”

“Think about it, Hadjar. Think. You found something in that tomb, didn’t you? The beautiful Akena did, too. And so did Derek, may his forefathers accept him. So, if you three didn’t leave empty-handed, then-”

“Neither did the rest.”

“That’s right,” Karein smiled. A trickle of blood ran down from his mouth. “Everyone left the tomb with a souvenir, and mine-”

He reached for his belt. Hadjar immediately drew his Blue Blade. Karein’s movements became smoother and calmer. He pulled out a crumbling stone plate in the shape of a birch leaf.

“By enacting the ritual, my father has thinned the veil that separates the mortal world from the rest. Did you know that, in addition to our own world, the World River flows into three other worlds? The worlds of demons, gods, and Spirits?”

“I did,” Hadjar remembered the map that the Immortal novice of the God of War had shown him back in the Wastelands.

“For some reason, I thought you would,” Karein nodded. “This medallion is a pass to the Fae Lands. However, you can’t use it whenever, only on special occasions.”

“And your father’s ritual was a perfect one.”

“Yep. But there was one catch,” Karein looked at Hadjar. “I needed something connected to the Fae Lands, so I wouldn’t get lost between worlds. The fact that you’re interested in the Tarez clan isn’t a secret.”

“That was the other reason why you went to Karnak.”

“Making an accident happen to a single cultivator wasn’t a big problem on a trip like that.”

They fell silent again. The wind was blowing.

“Why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you just kill me? You could’ve done it at the time.”

“Kill you?” Karein drawled. “And why didn’t you kill Paris?”

“I-”

“The Fae Lands don’t tolerate lies, Hadjar,” Karein suddenly interrupted him. “Fae, by their very nature, are physically incapable of lying, and so... they are the best at spotting liars in the world. Lies are like a non-removable stain in their lands. They’ll see every lie as clearly as you can see dirt on someone’s face.”

“What makes you think I didn’t kill him?”

“That’s better,” Karein grinned. “I’ve seen you use the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique before, so I didn’t mistake it for normal lightning. Especially because it struck in that second before Anise put the crown on. Not to mention that it happened right in the tower where you were supposed to kill the heir of the Predatory Blades clan main family. So, why didn’t you just kill him, Hadjar?”

Hadjar remembered Paris shaking his hand at the beginning of the celebration. He remembered feeling a piece of parchment slipping into his palm, one that was now inside his spatial ring. There were only a few words written on it in a child’s handwriting: “Please, spare my mom.”

Paris wasn’t just strong, he was also smart.

“Did you ever have a brother or sister, Hadjar?”

Hadjar thought of Nero, Elaine, and Einen.

“I had them, too,” Karein whispered quietly. “There were so many of them, Hadjar, so many that we’d need more fingers than we have between us to count them. And they’re all dead. And so is my mother, Hadjar… I’m the last person in this world who’ll obey or help Salm in any way.”

The wind started blowing harder. A person couldn’t lie in the Fae Lands. And Karein wasn’t lying.

“So, how are you planning to save yourself and get us out of here?” Hadjar held out his hand to Karein.

“What makes you think I have a plan, Hadjar?” He asked as he grabbed it and struggled to get up.

“Because, aside from Einen, you’re the slipperiest person I’ve ever met. I don’t think you would come here just to die.”

Karein smiled again, “Let’s go, my friend,” he said, leaning on Hadjar’s shoulder as he limped toward the forest in the distance. “Adventure awaits.”

Chapter 969

T he forest seemed like it was thousands of miles away, but Hadjar and Karein reached it in just a few minutes. The Spirit World was hard to understand with one’s senses or energy, and even Lords found it difficult to be in this place.

Limping along, Karein leaned on Hadjar’s shoulder. Trickles of black, viscous blood ran down his side through his bandages. It didn’t burn his body, but when it hit the ground, it sizzled like acid.

“What is that?” Hadjar asked.

“I... have… no idea,” Karein struggled to speak. All movement caused him incredible pain. “Ask... my father.”

Hadjar said nothing.

Once they were at the edge of the forest, which emanated a strange magic, Hadjar dispelled his Call’s armor. He didn’t need to be an expert on the Spirit World and the Fae Lands to realize that he was currently in the Summer Court’s domain.

“Smart,” Karein croaked. “The Summer Court Fae wouldn’t be too happy with that outfit Mab made for you.”

“How did you know?”

Karein tightened his grip on Hadjar’s shoulder.

“I already... told you. My mother... had... some Fae blood…”

Hadjar sighed. Karein wasn’t just good with a sword, but also with words. It was impossible to get a straight answer out of him if he didn’t want to tell you the truth. He’d blabbed so much at the beginning of their conversation that Hadjar had almost missed the fact that he never got an answer to his most important question — what exactly had Salm Tarez been trying to accomplish with his ritual? Perhaps Karein didn’t know, but it was more likely that he was bound by some very elaborate oath and had given Hadjar all the hints and clues he could. The Tarez clan knew a lot about oaths.

“What’s our plan?”

“You’ll see.”

Karein was the first to boldly enter the Fae’s forest.

Hadjar had heard a lot of stories about them from his Nanny and mother — the people of the goddess Danu, who were even older than the current gods. Long ago, the Fae, also known as the Tuatha de Danann, famous not only for their beauty and elegance, but also their magic and martial arts, had fought against the gods. Using incredibly powerful artifacts, they’d almost won, but they’d been betrayed and had ultimately lost. The merciful gods hadn’t destroyed such an amazing people. They’d banished them from the Seventh Heaven, the world of the gods, instead, and had sent them to wander along the borders of the Spirit World. That was why the Fae were the closest to mortals, because they’d been sentenced to stay forever on the border — no longer mortals, but not quite Spirits, either.

When he’d first heard this story, Hadjar hadn’t thought of it as anything but another interesting fairytale. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about the goddess Danu.

The first false gods had actually been the oldest of the Spirits, ones who’d lost their way and decided to rule all four worlds. Their descendants had filled the Seventh Heaven, and so the Jasper Palace had been made, and the Jasper Emperor, the ruler of all the gods and all things visible and invisible, past, present, and future, had been born. Then the book of destinies, or the Book of Thousands, with all its other innumerable names, had appeared. Then came humans. That was how the first era began.

But if Danu, who’d created the Fae, had existed before the false gods, that meant… Hadjar wasn’t sure what that meant. Perhaps the answers to such questions could be found in the most famous libraries of the Land of the Immortals, or in the very Seventh Heaven itself, or in the libraries of the Prince of Demons.

The Fae’s forest looked exactly like Hadjar had imagined it would: there was magic in every stone, every tree, every gust of wind that rustled the leaves. Not the mere tricks that cultivators performed, but real magic. The sunlight passed through the oak leaves, suddenly turning into the laughter of the stars, even without the black velvet sky to accompany them, and then, pouring into the tree, let it sigh.

At the edge of his vision, in a flash of fleeting consciousness, a slender birch tree, having absorbed enough light from the laughing sun, spread its branches and, like a beautiful girl dressed in the most exquisite, shimmering clothes, bent down and drank water from a stream.

The stream winding through the hills suddenly spread its wings and flew like a bird into the sky, where it turned into a cloud from which raindrops that embodied someone’s broken dreams poured out. The drops, after landing on Hadjar’s shoulders, dripped down onto the moss, which spread through the forest like an emerald blanket. The forest stretched its arms out as far as the eye could see.

Hadjar turned around. It felt like they’d just entered the Fae’s domain, and that there should still be a meadow behind them, but he could only see trees.

“Don’t try to understand the Fae Lands... with your mind, Hadjar.” Karein seemed to be feeling a little better. He no longer leaned on Hadjar’s shoulder and was walking by himself. “Don’t try to sense it with energy or mysteries, either. Unless, of course, you want the Fae warriors to show up. I assure you, they aren’t the small, winged creatures from the fairytales you heard as a child.”

Hadjar remembered the fairies who’d served as messengers of the Seventh Heaven. Each of them had been incredibly strong, but Freya, Hadjar’s current ‘supervisor,’ was more powerful than all of them combined. Suddenly, it dawned on him:

“Karein, do you know anything about why some Fae serve the gods?”

The man was silent for a moment.

“All mothers tell their children stories, Hadjar,” he whispered. “In them, they pass on the wisdom that our ancestors acquired over the ages. That is how we become who we are. What makes us who we are isn’t the color of our blood or the shape of our ears, but the stories of our mothers and the teachings of our fathers.”

“I didn’t know you were prone to philosophical moments like Einen.”

Karein smiled.

“The answer to your question, Hadjar, is a part of the history of the goddess Danu’s people. I can’t tell you what you aren’t supposed to know.”

“That’s racist, Karein.”

He looked at Hadjar, who was still nearby and ready to support him.

“Did you hit your head, barbarian? Was that your attempt at a joke? If so, you should never try again. The gods gave you a generous amount of talent when it comes to mad endeavors, but they clearly forgot to give you a sense of humor.”

“Actually, I can crack some good jokes,” Hadjar frowned.

“Who told you that? Wait, no, don’t tell me. I know! Were they people who had your sword at their throats?”

Hadjar couldn’t help but laugh.

“See, that’s a proper sense of humor, barbarian,” Karein said, and then stopped abruptly. “We’ve arrived.”

Chapter 970

I n a wide clearing, near a stream, stood a round, stone building with a large chimney from which black smoke was billowing. A wooden two-story house was attached to the building, separated by a wooden wall. It was surrounded by a high fence that had a beautiful gate decorated with carvings. Hadjar didn’t dare look at it for too long. The longer he looked at the patterns, the more it became obvious that they were moving and changing. The most unsettling part about it was that he didn’t sense any magic coming from it at all.

“Considering that you have an outfit made by the Queen of the Winter Court, I probably don’t need to tell you how to behave in the Fae Lands?”

“You don’t, but I’d be happy if you told me where we are right now.”

“At a blacksmith’s.”

Hadjar looked at Karein. He wasn’t kidding. In fact, he no longer looked like the senior heir of the richest clan in the Empire. He was now just a weary, wounded warrior who’d finally reached his goal. Moving away from Hadjar and almost collapsing in the process, limping and barely moving his left leg, he reached the gate. Grabbing the steel knocker, he hung from it for a second, then slammed it against the plate. The sound echoed through the forest.

At first, nothing happened, and then the gate opened.

“We can both come in,” Karein sighed with relief.

Hadjar didn’t ask how he knew that. Karein was the one with the Fae blood, not Hadjar, so he probably knew better.

Once they were in the courtyard, Hadjar tried to shake off the memories of Queen Mab’s Palace. He knew that everything he saw was the most elaborate of illusions. It was unlikely that even Immortals were capable of using magic at this level and complexity. Or were they? Despite the year he’d spent with the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman, Hadjar was well aware of how little he truly knew about the homeland of one of his Masters. The Shadow hadn’t told him everything, as he wouldn’t have been able to understand it.

While he pondered this, Karein hobbled toward the forge. When he reached the archway, which was covered with a curtain, he pushed it aside and went in. Left outside, Hadjar had to fight the urge to draw his Blue Blade for a moment, and he only refrained because it was a terrible insult to enter the home of someone who’d welcomed you while you were armed. After pulling himself together, he went inside the forge as well.

The heat immediately struck him in the face. The interior of the forge was no different from what could be found in the mortal world. Numerous pieces of armor, bases for weapons, readymade and assembled artifacts, bars of metal, and chunks of wood all hung on one of the walls. Another wall held a variety of tools used in blacksmithing.

Near the forge, holding a blade with some tongs, stood an oddly regular-looking blacksmith. He was massive. His arms were wider than Hadjar’s legs, and his neck was as thick as a bull’s. He was wearing a white shirt, blue pants, and a leather apron. His red hair was tied back with a blue string, and sweat trickled down his short beard. The only unusual thing about him were the metal bracelets he wore, which had blue, glowing runes carved into them. The same runes also shone across the leather belt that cinched his apron and held his bags and tools.

The hammer with which he was hitting the heated metal looked more like a work of art than a tool. It also had glowing runes on it. The blade lay on a small anvil mounted on a block of wood held together by metal hoops, under which shone a magic circle covered in an array of symbols.

“Greetings, blacksmith Hafotis,” Karein bowed.

As required by the laws of hospitality, Hadjar, since he was just acting as an escort of the newcomer, simply bowed his head silently.

“Help me stoke the fire, boy,” Hafotis nodded toward the bellows attached to the forge without taking his eyes off the blade.

Hadjar took a step forward, but Karein shook his head and limped over to the bellows. He gripped the wooden plank suspended above them, and then placed both feet on the ‘handle’. Clenching his teeth, he began to pump it.

The fire in the forge flared up violently, like a forest fire. It turned from red to scarlet, then purple, and then blue. After it reached the desired color, the blacksmith picked up the blade with the tongs and began to heat it over the flame.

Karein kept pumping the entire time. He didn’t groan or scream, but with every movement he made, black blood spurted from his side, and he was rapidly turning pale. His fingers kept slipping off the plank, but each time, Karein somehow found the strength to hold on and continue pumping.

“That’s enough.” Hafotis pulled out the blade and returned to the anvil to continue his smithing.

Karein staggered back, barely able to stay on his feet. When Hadjar tried to help him, he shook his head again and stood on his own.

“Why have you come here, ingot?” Hafotis thundered bluntly and rudely.

“I need your help, Hafotis,” Karein swayed from side to side. Sweat covered his pale face. “I have a parasite inside me made from demon blood. It’s killing me. Please help me forge a knife that can cut it out.”

Hafotis cast a quick glance at Karein’s wound, and then hit the blade again.

“What makes you think I’ll help you, ingot? I live here, on the edge of Tír na Nóg, to work away from the endless fun of the Fae. What makes you think I’m going to help you, a creature with soiled blood?”

“Because my mother asked you to.”

“And who’s your mother, ingot?”

“Eba,” Karein said.

“You said asked… Did she go to the origins of eternity?”

“She did, Hafotis. My mother’s no longer under the light of the four worlds.”

Hafotis’ hammer trembled, and then came down on the edge of the blade much harder than before. Sparks flew as salamanders danced and phoenixes flew within them. The heat contained in each of them was greater than that of a fallen star. They disappeared before they could touch the floor.

“The parasite inside of you, Eba’s son, makes you who you are. If you cut it out, you’ll become weaker than a kitten. Are you prepared for that?”

“I am,” Karein responded firmly.

Hafotis struck the blade several more times, and then put it inside a horn. During all this time, he didn’t move from where he was standing. He looked at Karein’s side again.

“The parasite was made from ironwood. To cut it out, you will need to use the same material. I haven’t used ironwood for a long time — there’s too much smoke involved. Even if I send for it immediately, it won’t get here until the next moon.”

“Honorable Hafotis, where can I find ironwood?”

“The answer to your question, Eba’s son, is simple — in the forest. But I don’t think you can do it. You’re too weak right now.”

Karein turned to Hadjar and spread his arms out apologetically. Well, at least Hadjar now understood why everything had turned out the way it had.

“Couldn’t you have just told me this right away?” Hadjar asked wearily.

Hafotis suddenly laughed. His laughter was like the hiss of molten metal and the roar of a forge.

“But then it wouldn’t have been so funny, would it, winter-born North Wind?” He asked with a wide grin.

Karein just smiled.

Chapter 971

“Y ou know who I am, honorable Hafotis?” Hadjar asked, a bit startled.

“All the sidhe know who you are,” the blacksmith replied. Hadjar knew that the sidhe were, in a way, Fae nobility. The most powerful and prominent among them. “You killed Ana’Bree, who’d been cursed to die twice, with a splinter from the half-breed’s staff. Mab, the queen of Night and Darkness, the Cold and the Blizzard, had plans for her niece. But for some reason, she didn’t kill you, and instead, she made you a Winter Court knight robe. In the entire history of the four worlds, North Wind, only a few other mortals have been granted this honor.”

Hadjar said nothing. Suddenly, the story of Erhard, the Last King of the Hundred Kingdoms era, came to mind. The great warrior had been feared and respected by everyone. He’d been a disciple of the Black General himself, betrayed and doomed to eternal sleep according to some legends, and death according to others. Chained in his coffin of black marble, hidden beneath the icy mountains, he waited for the hour when he would rise again and start a new war. He was another symbol of the end of the world, which every religion had plenty of. Even in the beliefs of the Islands, there was something similar: they believed that when the turtle shell on which this nameless world resides splits open, the waves would rise all the way up to the Seventh Heaven and wash away everything that existed. Hadjar didn’t believe that the world rested on a huge turtle shell, but he knew Erhard was a real historical figure.

“Tell me, honorable Hafotis, did Queen Mab make a robe for Erhard?”

Hafotis laughed, “You’d better ask the Winter Court about their history, North Wind. Now, if you’re willing to take on this task for Eba’s son, you should hurry to the forest. Otherwise, Eba’s son will be dead before my fire goes out.”

Hadjar looked at Karein. The young man sat down on a chair near the wall and seemed to curl into himself. His entire side, including his leg, was already covered in the black blood. Once it dripped down to the floor, it was instantly covered in blue flames and burned away. Hadjar sighed.

“What do I need to do, honorable Hafotis?”

The blacksmith arched an eyebrow thoughtfully and, holding back a bit, answered.

***

Hadjar, his Blue Blade in hand, was heading into the dark thicket of the forest that stretched along the border of Tír na Nóg, the city where no one got old, where everyone was young and beautiful, where the pleasures of the body and the mind were endless, where wine and laughter were infinite, and where everyone found something to their liking. Hadjar had heard myths and stories about this city, but he’d never thought that he would one day get so close to it.

But the fairy people, the sidhe and the Fae, weren’t merely peaceful, beautiful creatures. Where there was light, there was always darkness. And that was exactly where Hadjar was at this moment.

He was going deeper into a thicket where the trees seemed dead, like dark parodies of actual trees. Clouds drifted across the sky as crows sang mournful songs for the fallen warriors and their weeping widows. The sun suddenly turned black and looked like an abyss of despair that would devour the moaning sky whole. Cobwebs hung like a shroud over the single path that crossed the forest. Following Hafotis’ instructions, Hadjar walked on it without turning or straying no matter what he saw, heard, or thought.

Hadjar, holding his shimmering Blue Blade in front of him, was soon standing in a deep ravine. It was the center of the darkwoods of Tír na Nóg. Here, according to the stories, even the most courageous of the Fae didn’t dare tread. Only the strongest sidhe would venture here.

But Hadjar’s honor told him that this was the right thing to do. He didn’t owe Karein anything, but he couldn’t just leave the man he’d fought alongside with to die, either. There’d be no honor in that.

He plunged his sword into the ground in front of him, saying the words that Hafotis had taught him:

“Forest Keeper, honorable Theant, I’ve come to you with a request and a gift, and I offer a fair exchange. Please listen to me, speak your words, and we’ll go our separate ways in peace.”

After delivering the prepared speech, Hadjar waited. The ground in front of him trembled. Two crooked trees suddenly became horns, a hill turned into a head, and dried-up streambeds turned into muscular arms. Tree roots became veins, and brushwood became muscle fibers. Leaves and grass became hair, and fluffy moss turned into a beard. A horned man loomed over Hadjar. Theant the Forest Keeper’s arms were thirty feet long, and their muscles were the size of boulders. Even Theant’s little finger was bigger than Hadjar, but he felt no fear.

“What is your request, North Wind?” The darkwood sidhe’s voice was like the creaking of dead trees, the screams of animals wounded by hunters, the crackle of an accidental forest fire. Theant was the keeper of all the things that might go wrong in the woods.

“I need the essence of metal made from ironwood.”

Theant’s brow arched.

“You can get it in stone at Tír na Nóg, mortal.”

“I don’t have time to go to Tír na Nóg and buy the metal.”

“Really?” The creature creaked thoughtfully. “So, it’s urgent... who’s dying, North Wind? Don’t try to lie to me, snow lady’s chosen. I’m closer to her than all the sidhe of the Summer Court, so I can easily detect the lies of those who wear her robes.”

Hadjar paused to give an order to his neural network. Mab’s armor had been mentioned too often lately.

“Karein Tarez,” Hadjar answered honestly.

“Karein... That’s a good name. It’s from the language of the goddess Danu, may eternity accept her. What did you bring me as a gift, North Wind?”

Hadjar slowly took out a potted black plant with an orange bud.

“The plant grown from the smoke and ashes of thousands and thousands of molten blades.” Theant sniffed. “The bud of flame, burning since the beginning of the ages in Hafotis’ forge... Such a flower, North Wind, can melt even the coldest of ice. And Hafotis is ready to give it to me in exchange for such a trifle…”

“Maybe it is.” Hadjar nodded.

“Are you giving it to me?” Theant’s eyes narrowed.

“I am.”

“Think carefully, North Wind,” the creature said, moving closer to him, and Hadjar could feel its swampy breath. “One day, something that’s dearer to you than even your honor will be bound by ice that only this flower can melt.”

Theant’s words etched themselves into Hadjar’s soul.

“Do you know my fate, Keeper?”

“You were and still are closely connected with the forest, North Wind. You treated it with respect. That’s why I can see the path you’re taking. You’ll come back for this flower one day. But it’ll be gone, as I’ll eat it before then. Then we’ll fight, and one of us will die. Fae blood will stain your hands, and you’ll bring war again. The last war. This is your and my fate, North Wind.”

Hadjar looked at the flower again. Did fate really have such a gloomy imagination? Or was it just fond of sad twists?

“I don’t believe in fate, Keeper,” Hadjar shook his head. “Please, accept this flower as a gift and do as I ask.”

Theant dug his hand into his torso and pulled out a shimmering green sphere.

“It’s a pity, North Wind, that you don’t believe in fate.” He handed the sphere to Hadjar. “As, alas, it believes in you.”

Hadjar, now holding the sphere, stood in the middle of an empty, dark ravine. He didn’t believe in fate…

***

“You made it in time,” Hafotis carefully took the essence and placed it in his forge.

“How long will the process take?” Hadjar asked. “I don’t think Karein will last much-”

“A few hours,” Hafotis interrupted him. “But it would be best if you didn’t linger here any longer. The robes of the Winter Court are attracting a lot of attention that might prove fatal to you, North Wind.”

“I need to…” Hadjar stopped. It suddenly dawned on him. He turned to Karein, who was smiling wearily.

“That’s the price of salvation, my friend.” He spread his arms out again. “Just like in the old fairytales…”

Hadjar slowly turned to Hafotis. He could now see that the blacksmith hadn’t moved from his spot because he couldn’t. His legs were in wooden splints, because he was disabled.

“For a year and a day,” Karein whispered, “I’ll help Hafotis with his craft, and then I’ll be free.”

“A year isn’t so long.”

“A year in these lands is equal to seven hundred and seventy-seven mortal years,” Hafotis explained.

Hadjar turned to Karein, “That’s what you wanted from the start, wasn’t it?” He sighed. “To get away from your father and from the war?”

“This isn’t my war,” Karein shook his head. “And I don’t consider Salm my father. It’s time to accept that I’m part Fae.”

Hadjar said nothing. Stepping forward, he held out his hand.

“Live free, Karein Tarez, Eba’s son.”

Karein stared at Hadjar for a long moment, then struggled to his feet and gripped his forearm tightly.

“Die with honor, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.”

They nodded, and then Karein suddenly pulled Hadjar close.

“The real war’s still ahead, my friend,” he said quickly. “Don’t trust anyone. Especially the half-breed. Everyone’s an enemy. When the time comes, I’ll repay my debt.”

“What are-”

Hadjar didn’t get to finish speaking. Even the Fae Lands couldn’t change that immutable truth of reality.

Karein shoved him and Hadjar took an awkward step back, tripping over the threshold of the forge, which made him fall backwards. But he landed on the floor of Salm’s temple. Steel armor was all around him. Hundreds of guards held their weapons at the throats of the members of the Tarez clan.

“Hello again, Hadjar.”

A petite, gray-haired woman loomed over him. Both of Rekka Geran’s blades were pressed against his chest.

“Fucking shit! Fucking Karein…” Hadjar swore for a long time…

Chapter 972

H adjar had never gotten to the Forbidden City so quickly before. It felt like no more than a couple of minutes had passed since Karein had pushed him out of the Spirit World and Rekka Geran had placed her parasite blades to his chest.

Hadjar was now sitting in the same room he’d visited less than a week ago. In front of him, on the golden throne, was his Imperial Majesty, Morgan the Fearless, his chin propped up on his hand.

“Hadjar Darkhan, disciple of the great swordsman Orune,” the ruler of Darnassus drawled thoughtfully.

Hadjar knew that it wasn’t General Schuver standing in the secret niche this time. It was the man Orune had told him about, one of the other great heroes of Darnassus, and the reason why the Marnil clan had never boasted about their archers. The strongest archer of Darnassus was from the peasant class of the eastern regions that also bordered the Sea of Sand to the south. He was hidden from view, his energies and mysteries also undetectable, but the neural network still found him. That was how Hadjar could tell that there was an arrow aimed at him.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Hadjar bowed without getting up. He wasn’t going to give the archer a reason to use his weapon.

“Lately, I’ve seen my son less than I’ve seen you, Hadjar Darkhan,” the Emperor sighed.

Any other ruler would’ve waved his hand, would’ve summoned his will by now, and… but one of the most powerful, most cunning, and most scheming (the man really had a gift for it) cultivators in all of Darnassus rose and, reaching toward the table, poured himself a glass of tart, bright red wine instead.

“Staying quiet?” He sat back on the throne and swirled his glass, watching the crimson liquid move around the thin, crystal sides. “I’m waiting for you to tell me something interesting, Hadjar Darkhan.”

“Whatever you wish, I will do, Your Imperial Majesty,” Hadjar bowed again.

“Whatever I wish?” Morgan took a sip and leaned forward, setting his glass aside. “I wish that I hadn’t lost two aristocratic clans at once in the first year of the bloody war, Hadjar Darkhan.”

“One.”

“What?”

“I apologize for being so rude, but I have to correct you, my Emperor. Only one clan was lost.”

Morgan leaned back in his throne, intertwining his fingers.

“Explain yourself, Darkhan,” Morgan said in a commanding tone that left no room for argument.

Before answering him, Hadjar thought about whether he was approaching this the right way. Only after he was certain that he’d at least figured out the outline of Morgan’s trap, he began formulating an answer. By the Evening Stars and the High Heavens, it was so much more difficult navigating conversations with him than it was dealing with even the most deadly trials and battles.

“If you’re referring to what happened to the Dinos clan, my Emperor, then I only fulfilled the oath I swore to the current Queen of the Sword to ensure her loyalty during our expedition to Karnak.”

“Are you saying that it’s my fault that you swore that oath in a pinch, Hadjar Darkhan?”

“Of course not, my Emperor,” Hadjar bowed again. “I’d never dare say that.”

Morgan picked up his glass again and began to swirl the wine. “You didn’t dare say that, but you thought it, didn’t you?”

“Everything has a cost, my Emperor. It’s my choice whether I accept it or not, no matter who sets the price.”

The Emperor grunted in response, “Go on.”

Hadjar only dared to keep speaking then because, unlike with the Head of the Green Hammer clan, he respected Morgan quite a lot. Despite Morgan’s many faults, Hadjar was well aware that if it hadn’t been for him, Darnassus wouldn’t have lasted this long. Morgan had rebuilt this huge Empire with his own two hands, bringing it back from the brink of ruin it had found itself on due to its previous weak rulers. Darnassus, like any other Empire, needed a strong, cunning ruler with foresight, and Morgan fit all of these criteria better than any other candidate. He was the necessary ‘evil’ that had created a bright and prosperous future for most. Hadjar had come to realize this because of Primus. He’d destroyed his family and turned a third of the people into slaves, but Lidus had become stronger than it had ever been during the eleven years of Primus’ rule.

“As for the Tarez clan… I don’t really understand what happened.”

“You don’t understand what happened?” Morgan drawled.

Hadjar shook his head.

“Some time ago, I came to the Tarez Palace at the invitation of my friend, the senior heir of the Tarez clan.” It was a blatant lie, and Morgan certainly knew it too, but in this case, Hadjar had a way out of this — Karein was so far away now that it would be impossible to ask him, and if he had to take an oath, Hadjar would be able to weasel out of it thanks to Karein’s request.

“Then something that I can’t explain happened over there,” Hadjar continued. “When I woke up, the entire Tarez clan was in the guard corps’ custody... And I was, too.”

Morgan looked into Hadjar’s eyes. Hadjar didn’t look away. Their little game had once again reached an impasse. Hadjar knew that Morgan knew most of the truth, if not all of it. And the Emperor also knew that Hadjar wasn’t an idiot and understood everything. Nevertheless, they couldn’t break the unspoken pact that they’d made with each other. According to it, Akena had come to the celebration at the Dinos clan’s Palace, which meant Hadjar could be backed up in his claims. Everything seemed above board: Brustor had challenged Hadjar to a duel, and he’d just taken advantage of the old laws. And since Hadjar hadn’t been devoured by the garden and hadn’t registered as an intruder, he must’ve come to the Tarez district as a guest.

However…

“According to my sources, Hadjar Darkhan,” Morgan said thoughtfully, “you aren’t supposed to be sitting in my office right now, but in the Secret Office’s facility.”

Morgan had really found a nice euphemism for the dungeon.

“Really?”

Morgan arched an eyebrow.

“Are you referring to my supposed arrest by the Secret Office? Because I allegedly killed Paris Dinos and his mother? I can swear an oath that I didn’t kill or in any way contribute to the taking of Paris’ life. And what’s more, I never saw the arrest papers, which means my arrest couldn’t have possibly happened.”

Morgan emptied his glass in one gulp. He placed it on the silver table near the throne and looked into Hadjar’s eyes.

“Are you saying, disciple of the great swordsman Orune, that you were never in the Secret Office?”

“Logically speaking, it would seem that I couldn’t have possibly been there.”

For a minute or so, the room remained silent.

“You can leave, Hadjar Darkhan,” the Emperor waved his hand.

Hadjar rose, bowed, and backed away toward the door, as required by etiquette. But before he turned around, Morgan suddenly said:

“Two clans were ruined. The Tarez and the Dinos. I can only make a single clan out of their fragments. So tell me, Hadjar Darkhan, who should survive and who should disappear?”

Hadjar really wanted to pick the Tarez, because choosing the Dinos would one day put Paris in the same position Tom and Anise used to be in. Even so, he answered:

“The Dinos, my Emperor. We’re at war and we need the power of their swords.”

Morgan just nodded. Hadjar turned around and froze when he touched the door handle. Without turning back, he asked:

“What would’ve happened if my answer had been the Tarez, my Emperor?”

“Go, Hadjar Darkhan. Deal with your obligations. In three days, I’ll send for you.”

Chapter 973

T en minutes after Darkhan left, the tall, slender, and incredibly powerful archer left the throne room as well. Dekoy Schuver went to the Emperor immediately after that. Morgan, as usual, was toying with a glass of scarlet liquid in his hand. Even his beloved wife didn’t know what he actually drank. It was one of the mysteries of the Empire, but Schuver wasn’t interested in it right now.

“Sit down,” Morgan pointed at a chair in the center of the room.

The office they were in right now was intended for serious conversations. Morgan only discussed less important topics in the office that was drowning in papers. And the truly grave matters… were discussed on the lower floors of the Secret Office.

“My Emperor,” Schuver bowed and sank into the chair.

Morgan swirled his drink around for a moment, deep in thought. Many in this Empire, who didn’t have even a pinch of self-preservation, would’ve liked to know what Morgan was thinking. Schuver didn’t. Such knowledge would lead not only him, but also his brother, sister, and mother, to places far more terrifying than the lower floors of the Secret Office. Schuver wasn’t a coward. He was a cold, calculating survivor who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He simply knew exactly what such knowledge would lead to and thus wanted to avoid it.

“It worked out pretty well, didn’t it?” Morgan took a sip and put down his glass.

Schuver said nothing. He had his own opinion about this. Thanks to Morgan’s schemes, his organization had taken the fall. Information had already been leaked to the inner circles that two talented commoners had tricked the Secret Office. By the gods, such rumors couldn’t have possibly come from Schuver’s own subordinates. So, it had to have been…

Morgan’s smile was wide and malicious.

“In times of war, the people must rally, General,” he said, “There shouldn’t be anything that the people are worried about that isn’t their enemy.”

“As you say, my Emperor,” Schuver bowed.

He’d spent centuries trying to cultivate an air of terror around the Secret Office that could kill the arrogance in anyone who wanted to defy them, but now it had been ruined in just a couple of days by the Emperor himself.

“Was the cadaver removed?” Morgan asked.

“It was, my Emperor,” Schuver answered, “as soon as they left my office.”

“I see your scars have healed.”

Decoy rubbed his cheek, which that brat Darkhan had cut with his blade several times.

“When I asked you to solve the Tarez problem, Schuver, I didn’t expect you to come up with such a drastic solution.”

Decoy leaned back in his chair.

“I acted according to the instructions I received from you, my Emperor,” he began his report. “All the information about the Tarez clan and their extremely secret experiments was compiled into a single document. We also put the most detailed map of their estate that we could acquire in there as well.”

“I’ve always wondered, General, how plain-looking girls could possibly get into the beds of the most prominent young men.”

Schuver remembered giving the order to his double or triple agent (who even knew at this point), Rekka Geran. In just a few days, she’d managed to become Karein’s mistress and had found the entrance to the Tarez secret temple. Rekka was an extremely capable girl… Others had looked for this entrance as well, but, after several centuries of searching, had failed. Rekka had spent less than a week on it.

“Psychology,” Schuver shrugged.

Morgan glanced at him, then looked through the stained-glass window, beyond which lay the beautiful garden of the Forbidden City.

“You’re from a small noble family, aren’t you, General?”

“I am, my Emperor. My family used to be in the fishing business until the rivers in the nearby foothills dried up.”

“I see,” Morgan said thoughtfully, as if he didn’t already know this. “You didn’t really live in prosperity, or even much comfort, Schuver… However, that doesn’t matter now. How about you tell me which scroll Hadjar chose from the ones we placed in the safe?”

“This one, my Emperor,” Schuver handed the Emperor a parchment scroll sealed with the crest of a soaring raven.

“The Raven sect?” Morgan seemed genuinely surprised. “Those religious fanatics? Are you sure about this, Schuver?”

“I am, my Emperor,” Dekoy gritted his teeth. “I had plenty of time to watch those two while I was pretending to be asleep.”

“Ha!” Morgan snorted. “I’m sure that little performance brightened up your busy weekday.”

“As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty,” Dekoy bowed.

The Emperor put the scroll aside and wondered.

“The Raven clan … Well, that’s quite interesting… But I can look into that later. Did you prepare a summary of the treasurers?”

“Of course.” Schuver handed the Emperor another scroll. On it, among other things, was the summary of the Tarez clan’s entire fortune, including mobile and immobile assets.

“Impressive!” The Emperor whistled. “First of all, we’ll direct this toward the production of new ships, weapons, and alchemy. The war needs funds, and we don’t need the Tarez clan.”

“Their trading networks will have to be taken over by someone.”

“The Sky Wind clan will handle it,” Morgan said. “I spoke to their Head. He pledged to master a third of the Tarez clan’s trade network in two years.”

Schuver didn’t see any other candidate being able to pull it off. The Sky Wind clan’s air routes would help them master the trade of the fallen Tarez. In a few years, a different clan would be the richest… And Morgan would break its piggy bank as well, without any pity or regret. That was the ruler of Darnassus for you.

“As for the Dinos-”

“All the surviving Tarez women will be taken to the Castle of the Sword,” the Emperor interrupted Schuver. “A war needs warriors as well as money. What Salm did to those women... I think it’d be interesting to see how it’ll affect the simple blood of the Dinos.”

Schuver swallowed, turned pale, and then bowed, “Yes, my Emperor.”

Morgan had planned all of this even before that accursed Darkhan had come to the city. The Emperor’s schemes were always long-term ones. How many decades or centuries had he been planning this? How many other schemes had he come up with in the meantime? Morgan might not have been the strongest ruler, but no one had ever been able to beat him at controlling the destinies of other people and even entire countries.

“Now, let’s go talk to Salm Tarez. I’m very interested in what kind of ritual he performed and where he kept the records of his research.”

Morgan got up and walked with Schuver to the door. On the real lowest floor of the Secret Office’s citadel, not in the set that had been prepared for the two boys, Salm Tarez, the Head of the former Tarez clan, was being held captive.

At the exit, Morgan stopped suddenly and stared at Schuver with a malicious look in his eyes.

“You aren’t married, are you, General?”

“I’m not.”

“Then don’t rush to change that just yet. Letitia is single again. I don’t think she could find a better match than you.”

Schuver swallowed. There were few schemers in the Empire who could outmaneuver the Head of the Secret Office. The Emperor, the Empress, and, without a doubt, that creature disguised as a woman that called itself Letitia. Schuver didn’t know what kind of entity hid beneath that mask of a simple woman, but fate had apparently decided to give him an answer by bringing them together.

Chapter 974

H adjar was standing in the dark alleyway between Eighth Avenue and the Forbidden City. For some reason, Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares, had chosen this place for their rendezvous. At this point, it was practically tradition. The full moon was high in the sky, which meant that the time limit of their deal was almost up. A deal that had bound the mortal and the demon together for so long.

The emissary of the Demon Prince walked out of an arch-shaped shadow that was being cast on the solid wall of a stone building. As usual, he was dressed in his mysterious cloak with slits that had sharp fangs and shiny, oily eyes all over it. Helmer’s face was obscured by the same wide-brimmed, gray hat he always wore, and only one of his scarlet eyes was visible. He held that same bleeding sphere in his hands, and a myriad of tiny, black lumps — nightmares — pranced around him.

“Your time is up, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind,” Helmer said in a very official tone. “Fulfill your end of our deal in words, deed, or soul-”

Hadjar blinked in disbelief, “Was that really an option?”

Helmer stammered, then swore, “Damn it, Hadji! I’d just gotten into character! It wouldn’t kill you to play along for once! I heard you just came back from the Fae Lands, and everyone talks in such a grandiose way over there. I’ve always wanted to try it.” Helmer waved and sat down cross-legged on a chair that had formed from the nightmare lumps.

Not daring to ask for a chair of his own, Hadjar squatted down — apparently, their conversation was going to be a long one.

“Who did you hear that from?” Hadjar asked.

The demon looked mockingly at him. Now he looked like the Helmer Hadjar was used to.

“So, Hadji, I’m all ears,” Helmer turned serious. “Don’t make me tell you what ‘by deed or soul’ means.”

Hadjar held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and told him everything he’d learned about the Tarez clan. During his tale, Helmer listened attentively, didn’t interrupt him, and only asked questions that helped the recounting flow more easily. Someone who’d been sending nightmares to people for untold centuries should be a good listener to be efficient at his job, Hadjar assumed. After he was done talking, Helmer pondered his words for a bit. The sight of the demon thinking about something made him just as apprehensive as facing Morgan had. Probably more so. Compared to Helmer, who’d lived in this world since the earliest eras, Morgan looked like a wasp. Its sting could hurt, it was even dangerous in some ways, but...

“Are you sure the boy mentioned the Demon Parade specifically?”

“I am.” Hadjar nodded. After weighing the pros and cons, he decided to throw a few cards on the table. “I’ve heard about this Parade before.”

“Where?”

“In ‘The Black Gates’ sect.”

“Never heard of it,” Helmer shrugged. He reached out and took a bottle of wine out of the nightmares. With a practiced move, the demon cut off its neck with the edge of his hand and began to sip the contents.

“It was created by a member of the Raven sect.”

Now Helmer looked interested. And that unnerved Hadjar. He knew that Helmer was aware of his connection to the Black General. For some reason, all truly powerful entities immediately knew about it…

“Grois, the Patriarch of that sect, was talking to some guy named Raven’s Wing about it, who told him that it would be happening in two thousand years.”

“He was right,” Helmer said, keeping his eyes fixed on Hadjar’s. “The Demon Parade hasn’t been rescheduled since the first one — it happens once every seventy thousand years, Hadji. That’s how it’s been since the beginning of the ages, since the false gods made us what we are now.”

“What is this Parade?”

Helmer gave him a dangerous smile, showing his sharp teeth and fangs.

“You’re the one paying me for our bargain, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, not the other way around.”

Hadjar said nothing, simply watching the demon that could destroy an entire horde of creatures in an instant scowl at him. Something was bothering Helmer…

“However, given our close relationship as friends, I’ll give you some advice — don’t get involved, Hadji. You’re too pathetic. Even Immortals don’t interfere with the Demon Parade.”

“And yet…”

Helmer frowned.

“In tribute to our friendship, I’ll add this much — it was moved. Don’t ask me why. The Prince doesn’t discuss such matters with me or even his inner circle.”

Hadjar mulled that over, and then blurted out, “Let me guess, it was moved by seven hundred and seventy-seven years by the standards of the mortal world?”

The shadows around Hadjar thickened, and he felt as if his life was suddenly on the line. They were still finalizing their deal, and the demon could therefore destroy him without needing to fear the laws of the Heavens and the Earth.

“You shouldn’t talk about this, Hadjar,” Helmer hissed sternly through clenched fangs. “If I was any other demon, you would’ve been on your way to my world by now.”

Hadjar knew he wasn’t lying.

“Thank you, Helmer.”

The demon just waved him off, “You interest me, mortal. I’ve only met a few people like you before. But do you know what all of you have in common?”

Hadjar shrugged.

“I left black flowers of rotten wormwood on all their graves.”

“You have strange tastes, Helmer,” Hadjar chuckled, though he felt a chill grip his body.

“It’s the only plant that survives in the demon world, Hadjar,” the demon replied a little sadly, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he got to his feet. “The deal is done, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind. You’ve paid in full and now I no longer have power over your fate and your life.”

Something, just like back in the Fae Lands, happened in Hadjar’s soul. But instead of having words carved into his soul, this time, they were erased from it. That was a weight off his shoulders. Helmer was once again just a demon from the depths of the abyss, and Hadjar was a mortal swordsman from the Darnassus Empire. They were now separated by a chasm formed by time and covered by the laws of the Heavens and the Earth.

“When we first met, Hadjar Darkhan,” Helmer said, gradually disappearing into the darkness, “I said we’d meet again. That feeling hasn’t gone away. Our paths will cross again. I’ll be waiting... I want to see what you become on the path of life, boy.”

Helmer was almost gone when a dagger was suddenly thrust into the wall right next to his head. The one that Salm Tarez had used during his ritual. After spending so many years with Einen, Hadjar had learned a few tricks, including the art of the sticky fingers. Playing dice with the islander was pointless otherwise.

“Where did you get this, mortal?”

Helmer was suddenly enveloped in energy that was beyond Hadjar’s comprehension. As soon as it crossed a certain threshold, it flashed gold. Helmer coughed and spat out black blood that burned through the cobblestones. The laws of the Heavens and the Earth had protected Hadjar.

“I don’t want to know what that dagger is, demon.” Hadjar stood up. Whatever happened, he would be ready. Queen Mab’s robes were protecting him. The Blue Blade appeared in his hand. “I don’t want to know what it’s for.”

Helmer’s scarlet eye flashed, the sphere in his hands flickered, his cloak moved like a beast, and the nightmares froze.

“You dare speak to me like that, you speck of dust? Answer me-”

“You answer me, demon!” Standing in front of Helmer in this cursed alleyway, Hadjar released his Kingdom for the second time. Except this time he was stronger. Much stronger. Well, he was still as insignificant as a flea compared to Helmer, but that didn’t mean he would bend. Not to Helmer, not to the Demon Prince, not to anyone. As long as he had a sword in his hand, his will couldn’t be broken. “I want to make a new deal. Take this dagger with you, but in return, tell me who supported me back on Earth? Who let me survive? Who helped me?”

Everything disappeared. The eerie energy was gone, the cloak calmed down, and the lumps of nightmares frolicked merrily around Helmer’s legs once again.

“That thing, Hadjar... Sell it... Exchange it... Get rid of it immediately. In these regions, no one will be able to pay you what it’s really worth. Only Immortals and their equals can truly appreciate this dagger. So, you shouldn’t sell it for a pittance. Instead, take as much as they’ll give you and-”

“The deal, Helmer,” Hadjar drew the Blue Wind Sword County back into his soul. “I know what you are. You can’t turn down a deal. Just like fairies can’t lie. It’s in your nature.”

Helmer looked away and sighed wearily.

“You’ve always been stubborn.” The demon yanked the dagger out of the wall and began to disappear into the darkness once again. “Whatever you may think, Boris, your mother loved you.”

He was gone. Hadjar was left standing alone in the dark, deserted alleyway. After standing there for a while, Hadjar turned around and headed toward the Dinos district. Helmer’s words still echoed in his head. They’d been spoken in Russian…

Chapter 975

N othing had really changed about the Predatory Blades clan district since Hadjar had last been here. The only difference was the heavy atmosphere of oppression and devastation. The tower that Hadjar had destroyed had already been restored. But there were almost no people to be found on the parade and training grounds.

Walking toward the Sword Tower — a huge structure that cut through the clouds — Hadjar felt eyes full of fierce, burning hatred and fear watching him.

He’d assumed that Morgan would ultimately decide to destroy the Tarez clan the moment Rekka Geran had joined them on their journey to Karnak. After all, she’d been the one who’d made sure that the Tulep’Kharus tribe treated them so aggressively. She hadn’t ‘managed’ to apply energy to the crystals of the storage shield, which had resulted in Derek being able to take Galkhad. And she’d been the one to look for something in the ancient Dragon Emperor’s tomb, putting her own interests above the others’ wellbeing. That was why Hadjar treated Rekka almost as poorly as Akena did. The woman might’ve had her own justifications for everything, but her willingness to step over anyone and anything to succeed... There was no honor in that.

Perhaps there was also no honor in the fact that Hadjar had sent half of the most capable and experienced female warriors of the Dinos clan to their forefathers in one evening. They’d been warriors that the next generation of the Predatory Blades clan had depended on… They’d been wives and, even worse, mothers. And now all these grieving people were watching the man responsible for their misery stroll through the playgrounds, past the weapon racks, the small buildings, and even the living quarters.

Maybe they knew Anise was also involved in the tragedy, but... it was quite difficult, even for a true cultivator, to keep their wits about them when the person who’d killed their mother walked past them. Hadjar felt all this hatred, fear, and powerless anger directed at him.

“Master,” Hadjar whispered as he approached the Sword Tower, “Is that why you left and chose to live on the Storm Mountain?”

The strongest warriors of Darnassus, the great heroes, with the exception of the Head of the guard corps and the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, didn’t live in the capital, and rarely visited it. Perhaps they’d felt the same thing Hadjar was now experiencing and had chosen to avoid it.

“Hadjar,” Anise said.

She had a golden crown with sword-shaped spikes on her head. Her black hair was tied back under a golden net decorated with a few emeralds. She was wearing the same skirt and top that revealed her stomach and shoulders. She probably wouldn’t change her style until later in her pregnancy. The fabric that the outfit had been made from had obviously come from Lady Brahmi’s atelier. She was wearing a lot of bracelets decorated with a smattering of magical precious stones fused into first-grade metals. Similar jewelry jingled around her ankles. Anise wore pumps as usual, but they, like her dress, were now very expensive.

“Honorable Head of the Predatory Blades clan,” Hadjar bowed, as was required by etiquette.

He waited for Anise to say something like, ‘there’s no need for that, my friend’, but... it didn’t happen. Accepting his bow as her due, Anise turned and strode toward the entrance to the Sword Tower. Dumbfounded by this change in her behavior, Hadjar followed.

He’d heard from Einen that even Hera couldn’t heal the wound Brustor had given her. Anise was doomed to only have one arm, unless she somehow cultivated past the Nameless level. The best artifactors had made a prosthesis for her. Anise wore long, black gloves on both arms. However, there was a strip of yellow metal peeking out from under the right glove. And her aura was significantly weaker.

The Anise Dinos who could’ve been the greatest swordsman of her generation was gone. She was now the Sword Queen Anise Dinos, a domineering woman who would do everything in her power to ensure her child had a good future.

Looking at her, Hadjar knew perfectly well that Anise’s rule would lead to a new coup in twenty to forty years. Morgan knew that, too. Maybe he thought that the best blades were forged in blood?

“Come in,” Anise opened a door in front of Hadjar.

Inside, in a dark room, a spiral staircase rose toward the ceiling. It led to a lake of light that spread out higher still. When Hadjar went inside, Anise followed him and, after closing the door and engaging a magical lock, she put her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her metal prosthesis grated unpleasantly against the handle of the divine artifact. Hadjar decided not to remind her that the Blue Wind Sword belonged to him by right of victory.

“We need to talk, Hadjar Darkhan,” Anise said formally. Her green eyes and crown glittered in the gloom.

“I’m listening, Head of the Predatory Blades clan.”

Over the years, Hadjar had felt a wide range of feelings for Anise: from desire, which he’d confused for love, to a burning hatred based on betrayal. Now, he was hurt by the realization that she was no longer that same Anise. That Anise hadn’t survived the duel with her uncle. She’d died that evening.

“You have two days, Hadjar Darkhan. After that, I don’t want to see you in my district or near it ever again.”

Hadjar stared at Anise and couldn’t figure out who he was talking to. No matter how they felt about each other right now, they’d still fought side by side to overcome many trials. Everything that Anise had now, she hadn’t earned on her own, but thanks to the fact that Hadjar, Einen, and the others had agreed to swear an oath to her. Although, in all honesty, they hadn’t needed to do so.

“I understand, Head of the Predatory Blades clan,” Hadjar bowed again, just low enough. “After I collect my payment from the Sword Tower, I won’t set foot in your district ever again.”

“And-”

“As for me not coming near it… Until you become the Empress, Anise, don’t think you can order me around or restrict my movements in the free territories.”

Anise’s eyes narrowed, and her metal fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Hadjar Darkhan.”

Instead of answering her, he turned around and went over to the stairs. As he walked, he whispered, “How could I forget... But I don’t really know who I’m talking to anymore.”

Chapter 976

A nise stayed at the ground floor. Hadjar didn’t think she could get farther than the first ten steps in her current state. Like everything else connected to the path of cultivation in this nameless world, things were actually much more complicated and serious than they appeared to be at first glance. Every step Hadjar took struck his soul with something akin to a sword strike. The higher he climbed, the stronger the strikes became.

The spiral staircase had nine flights of stairs, and each of them consisted of forty-three steps. After each flight, the power of the attacks increased several times over. It took Hadjar four hours to climb the stairs, and in the end, he had to draw his Blue Blade and release his Blue Wind Sword County. Only by using his Call’s armor, infused with the mysteries of the Spirits of the Sword and Wind, and his Divine level sword, did Hadjar overcome the last flight of stairs, where each strike was equal in strength to an attack from a swordsman who possessed the True Sword Kingdom. Whoever had built this tower and staircase had clearly had incredible knowledge and talent.

When Hadjar finally climbed up to the top of the tower, he understood why even the great swordsman Orune had wanted to come here. To Hadjar, the streams of the World River had once seemed like immovable constants that simply existed everywhere. In the Fae Lands, Hadjar had realized that the World River wasn’t steadfast at all and could be as changeable and as impermanent as everything else around him.

Here, in the Sword Tower, something incredible was happening to the World River’s streams again. In the Fae Lands, they’d swirled, slowed down, accelerated, curved, bent, and even broken off sometimes, rushing into the infinite void like huge waterfalls. The World River’s streams were being cut by this huge tower. They became thinner and smaller. Here, the Sword Spirit shone like a bright star, the mysteries of which passed through the River much faster and in a much larger volume. One hour of meditation immersed within the Sword’s mysteries in this place was equivalent to a decade in any other.

Unfortunately, Hadjar only had about forty hours, which he was going to spend meditating. As for the huge number of scrolls and books on the shelves nearby, which held a wide variety of sword styles, they were of no use to him individually, but he could find a use for them as a whole.

With his will, Hadjar took thousands of books off the shelves and spread them out in front of him.

“Analyze,” he ordered. “Use the information to enhance the ‘Database for creating a sword style’ registry.”

[Processing request...

Request processed...

Adding information to the specified registry: 12%... 43%... 69%... 78%...86%...100% completed]

The neural network took no longer than ten minutes to record 2536 scrolls and books filled with a variety of diagrams and instructions, as well as drawings and inscriptions. With his will, he returned all the scrolls and books back to their shelves, putting them exactly where they’d been before. He could’ve memorized all this data on his own, like any other cultivator who was at the Spirit Knight level or higher. However, it was one thing to have an absolute memory, and quite another to find the necessary information stored in it.

It was like standing in the middle of a vast library and having no idea where to go to find the right book, or even a specific sentence in them. Sorting and analysis were among the nigh-infinite capabilities of the neural network. As soon as Hadjar asked for a specific registry, he’d immediately receive the requested information. But the analysis part of it was much more important. Hadjar would’ve had to spend at least two years on each style in order to understand its basics, movements, stances, energy flows, muscle tension, and so on. Thus, the database of the Predatory Blades clan would’ve taken him more than five thousand years to process on his own!

When it came to the computational abilities of his neural network, it was clear how unfair of an advantage Hadjar had thanks to it. Even a genius among geniuses, like Paris Dinos, would’ve spent at least a year per scroll, but his neural network…

“Run the analysis. Create a registry titled, ‘The essence of every style’. Structure it by highlighting commonalities and differences. You have permission to use 65% of your total processing capacity for this task.”

[Processing request...

Request processed...

Beginning task…

Time remaining until task has been completed: 38 months, 2 weeks, 6 days]

Processing such a huge amount of information would only take his neural network about three years. It was like he was deceiving the Heavens and the Earth. Or stealing from them. Anise probably wouldn’t have given him access to the clan library had she known about his neural network. She couldn’t have even imagined that he would be able to learn more than a dozen styles, let alone all of them. It should’ve taken him twenty years of continuous training to master even a dozen styles in the best of circumstances. Being a former genius of the sword, she’d known that doing so wouldn’t benefit him all that much. If they didn’t train in a style while they were still mortal, a cultivator couldn’t really do much with them.

Even noble children were taught in such a way that they began to comprehend mysteries and Techniques along with their sword styles. The main thing was to create a good foundation for them to grow.

While his neural network was busy analyzing everything, Hadjar devoted himself to what he could make progress in, and what the neural network couldn’t help him with — the mysteries.

In the center of the oval room (the shelves spanned the entirety of its curved walls) was a circle full of various symbols and signs. Once he stepped inside of it, Hadjar almost suffocated from the intense flow of mysteries he found himself in.

“Fucking hell!” He recoiled and stepped back out.

All that he’d felt before, the various mysteries that permeated every brick of the Sword Tower, were no more than an echo of the concentration of mysteries contained within the magic circle in the middle of this room.

Releasing his Blue Wind Sword County and his Blue Blade, he reentered the circle. Endless streams of sword strikes rained down on his soul from all directions. Sitting down heavily, Hadjar assumed a lotus position and began to meditate in the flashes of mysteries coming from the very center of the Sword Spirit star, trying to find some clues about how he could progress further. No Mentor or Master could help him with that. When it came to weapon mastery at the Kingdom level, it was up to the individual cultivator to figure it out. That was why there were so few cultivators who reached even the Barony level.

With sweat and blood dripping off his forehead, he spent the remaining forty-odd hours in meditation. After that, he left the Predatory Blades clan district and didn’t even turn around when Anise Dinos, the Sword Queen, stared at him from the wall.

Chapter 977

N ear the very end of Eighth Avenue, until recently, there’d been an old house surrounded by a huge expanse of abandoned and unkempt land that had been overgrown with weeds and grass. No more than ten days had passed since Hadjar had last visited Orune’s house, but the changes were so dramatic that he thought he’d gotten lost at first.

Where the two pegs that marked the gate had previously been, there were now two pillars made of magic stone. Between them, similar to what Hadjar had seen in the Green Hammer clan, thick vines had been twisted into knots. In the center, they formed a coat of arms — an ape sitting on a shell, eating the fruit of a tree that Hadjar couldn’t recognize. That was what they’d agreed on for their coat of arms during the first council of the small Kesalia clan. Einen had suggested the shell and the ape, Dora had added the fruit, and Hadjar had just agreed to it.

Approaching the gate, Hadjar crossed some invisible line and sharp thorns stretched out toward him, coming straight from the vines. They were the same kind as the ones he’d seen in the garden of the former Tarez clan.

“Who’s there?” A familiar voice, which almost had no accent now, asked.

“It’s me.” Hadjar replied, and then added a little playfully, “But if you insist, I’ll go to a tavern-”

“Oh, Hadjar! Sorry. You weren’t there when we set this up, and the ritual I performed requires a person’s blood to grant them the right to enter.”

Gradually, the vines moved back, revealing their ‘district’. Where there’d once been weeds, flowers swayed in the wind, planted on little hills. Former potholes had become ponds in which fish merrily swam, their colorful scales glistening in the sun, or, instead, some had become streams that burbled, filling the area with life. Where there’d once been nothing at all, there were now a variety of trees rustling in the breeze, from simple firs and birches, all the way to some strange palm trees, which decorated their district with a living fence that also provided some nice shade.

“We’ve just started…” Annette dusted off her colorful dress. She was clearly busy with something. Magic was swirling all around her. “Dora and I will soon put everything in perfect order. It’ll be both beautiful and safe.”

Hadjar came closer and hugged Annette tightly. She’d been the only weak link in their plan. If Morgan hadn’t been so preoccupied with the war, he would’ve put two and two together, even with Hadjar distracting him, and realized that there was a necromancer right under his nose. And then he would’ve immediately sent her to the dungeon of the Secret Office. Annette would’ve most likely met a fate even more gruesome than Hadjar’s had been.

Annette responded to the embrace very warmly.

“If you want to,” she whispered in the Karnak language, and her lips were so close to him that they grazed his neck, “we could continue what Einen interrupted… There are some very nice bushes around here.”

Hadjar pulled back and laughed.

“I’m just really glad to see you.”

Annette pulled back, cocked her head to the side, and looked down, “I can see that, North Wind.”

Hadjar wrapped his Call’s robes a bit tighter around himself.

“Let’s enjoy the bushes, shall we?” She caressed his cheek. “White men, Darkhan, are so... lethargic. I took a walk around this city, but none of them seemed appealing to me at all.”

Hadjar took her hand and squeezed it lightly, “I’m also white, you know.”

“You?” Annette laughed, “You’re the same color as the metal they use.”

“Copper?” Hadjar suggested.

“You’re hot,” Annette touched Hadjar’s chest with her other hand. “You’re hot and cold. You’re like a hot summer with a northern breeze. I don’t want to let you go…” Without taking her hand out of his, Annette was already leading him to those bushes when they heard someone clear their throat.

“You’ll have time for that later,” Dora said, looking really tired, and her core was more than halfway depleted.

Hadjar apologized to Annette with a glance and, after pulling his hand away from hers, approached Dora.

“Did you and Annette do all of this by yourselves?” He looked around at the beautiful surroundings.

“Enora visited,” She quickly explained.

Regardless of how Dora acted toward Hadjar, he respected her. They’d met back when Dora had been just a girl, and now she was a young woman who had survived more than any high society ‘lady’ ever could. Even if one ignored all the adventures, battles, and wars they’d been through together, which were certainly important, there were a few other things she’d done that must’ve taken immeasurable strength. She’d stopped being the Princess of one of the strongest clans in the Empire. Then she’d gone against her father. And then she’d completely renounced her race, all in order to be with her beloved and support him, to travel alongside him down the path of cultivation.

“Einen and Tom are waiting for you inside the house,” she said, turning to let Hadjar walk past.

He nodded and headed toward the house. Well, at least something hadn’t changed. It was still that same old rickety building that was almost falling apart in some areas. Even though cultivators could wield magic, they weren’t wizards or Fae. They couldn’t build a real palace out of mud and sticks overnight. It took even the largest clans centuries to accomplish that feat. Hadjar hoped that the Kesalia clan would have more than a century to do so…

After experiencing the fresh air in the garden, Hadjar coughed because of how stale the air inside the abandoned house was. When he recovered, he went into the only spacious and bright room — the kitchen. Einen and Tom were sitting at the table on simple, sturdy stools. Tom, drunk and red in the face, was drinking something disgusting, while Einen watched him closely.

“I... can’t... drink... this... anymore,” Tom coughed. “It’s… shit!”

“You can,” Einen said calmly. “There’s no place for drunkards in the Kesalia clan.”

Tom swore and continued to drink the disgusting… liquid. He responded to Hadjar’s arrival by weakly raising his hand in greeting. Hadjar chuckled and nodded at the islander. He came up to him and they hugged each other tightly.

“We need to talk,” Hadjar said in an Island dialect.

Einen looked at him curiously, and then he pulled up another stool with his will.

“We have a problem, Einen.”

“I know.” He took out a letter from his spatial artifact.

“What’s that?”

“A message from the Treasury of the Forbidden City.”

“Are we already being taxed?”

“Taxed? On the contrary, barbarian, we’re getting paid.”

Hadjar raised both eyebrows.

“How much?”

Instead of answering, Einen just handed him the paper.

Hadjar read it. Then he reread it. He blinked, made a few sacred gestures, and reread it yet again. The number didn’t change. Putting the scroll aside, Hadjar cleared his throat.

“That’s... interesting… but I have other news. We’ll have to make several adjustments to our plan.”

“And when have your plans not needed adjustments?”

By the High Heavens, he wanted to kill this smartass sometimes… The plan that Hadjar had written down for him hadn’t even reached the end of its first half yet.

Chapter 978

O nce again, Hadjar was back at the Forbidden City. Out of all the current disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, he’d probably been here the most. Even Drunken Leaf, the strongest disciple of the School, had probably only been here once.

Frankly speaking, Hadjar would’ve been happier if he could reduce the number of these visits to a minimum, as all the visits had been almost the same: he kept trying to wiggle out of Morgan’s net, and he’d probably failed every time.

But this time was different. They were sitting at a T-shaped table in an oval office. The Emperor was at the head of the table, as was customary. To his left, wearing a turban and something that looked like pure moonlight, Hashim, the Patriarch of the Moonlight Sect, was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Hadjar, like many others in the capital, didn’t know just how powerful he truly was. But the fact that Orune had respected him was enough for Hadjar. The great swordsman hadn’t respected many people, far from it.

Hadjar was to the Emperor’s right and, surprisingly, Akena was sitting next to him. The red-haired Princess was a swordswoman at the mid-stage Lord level, who, by some strange coincidence, had suddenly made progress in her weapon mastery and gained her Sword Barony after visiting Karnak.

Hadjar didn’t even mind. Something else worried him instead.

Just a few months ago, Morgan had made it clear that if he saw Hadjar near his daughter again, he ‘wouldn’t be happy’. Now, every chance he got, he made sure Akena was close to him.

“We aren’t your subjects, Emperor Morgan,” Hashim repeated for the umpteenth time. The negotiations had only been going on for an hour. “And the fact that our lands are within the borders of Darnassus doesn’t mean anything.”

“There’s a war going on, Hashim.”

“There are always wars going on, Emperor Morgan,” Hashim’s silver beard, which was braided with steel threads, glinted in the midday sun. “I’ve lived for a long time, and I remember you personally starting several of them.”

“That’s different,” Morgan said. “Honorable Hashim, the seven Empires have never seen this kind of war before.”

“Perhaps.”

“This is an attempt to annihilate us completely!” Morgan raised his voice and lights full of eerie energy flared up around him. “When the smoke settles, only one Empire will survive.”

“Then we, the Moonlight Sect, won’t even need to make a choice — we’ll simply form an alliance with the victorious Empire.”

“There may not even be a single Empire left in the end, just ruin.”

Hashim looked at Morgan and his beard twitched.

“Then the Moonlight Sect still won’t need to make a choice — we’ll heal the ruined lands that you’ll probably destroy with your ambitions.”

Morgan swirled his drink, took a sip, and set it aside.

“If, of course, your sect survives at all.”

“If we survive…” Hashim repeated. “I don’t see the Patriarch of the Last Day Sect here.”

“He, along with all his disciples and followers, swore an oath to the crown of Darnassus before we sent them to Karnak.”

“Wow,” Hashim was actually surprised. “Did the old dog decide to give up his freedom and independence for a nice stake on his plate?”

“I’ll repeat, honorable Hashim, that this isn’t a question of giving up freedom and independence. The Moonlight Sect will remain the same untouchable territory it’s always been. You’ll still govern yourselves. But-”

“But,” Hashim interrupted. Morgan’s patience was clearly wearing thin from the conversation, and Hadjar admired the old man’s determination. Few people could interrupt the Emperor and live to tell the tale. “...in the event of a war, we’ll have to fight alongside your warriors, Emperor Morgan. To pursue your goals.”

“I only have one goal, honorable Hashim. And you know very well what it is. I only want prosperity for my country and my people,” Morgan’s every word was solemn. Hadjar somehow knew that the Emperor wasn’t lying and therefore, whatever else he was, he deserved a lot of respect for being a good Emperor. “I want our enemies to fear us and our allies to respect us.”

“Allies and enemies?” Hashim just smiled. “How many centuries have passed since you, Emperor Morgan, left the Moon Peak…”

Hadjar almost fell off his chair. Had Morgan really been a disciple of the Moonlight Sect? The Moon Peak was their main temple.

“...and you’re still a dreamer,” Hashim continued. “There are no allies on the path of cultivation, only vassals and lords.” The Patriarch of the Moonlight Sect turned to Hadjar and Akena. “And you know that we’re all vassals to the seigneur. If you’d gone to war against him, I would’ve joined you.”

“That’s impossible, honorable Hashim,” Morgan looked sad. “And you know it, same as I do.”

“I do,” the old man admitted. “For me, humility before the beast is impossible. Instead of uniting against the beast, humans shed the blood of other humans. This is unacceptable. That’s why I refuse to join your army. I won’t shed the blood of our brothers and sisters.”

“What if they come for your brothers and sisters?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“The Moon Peak has existed longer than the seven Empires, Emperor Morgan. The greatest of warriors have tried to capture it over the eons, but none of them ever succeeded. Even Erhard, the Last King, came to us, but left empty-handed.”

“Everything changes, Hashim. Nothing is permanent.”

“The Emperor is truly wise. But, while everything does change, the Moon Peak remains unchanged. The Moonlight Sect honors their ancestors. We walk along the path of cultivation in order to make ourselves and the world around us better, not to dominate and subjugate. Power gives us wisdom. Alas, you didn’t understand this, and so you left.”

“No, honorable Hashim, I learned that the world couldn’t be changed by just looking at the stars,” Morgan frowned, and the glass next to him cracked. “Unquestionable, unyielding, all-consuming power, that’s the only thing that can change this world. And when blood is being shed, you can’t just stand idly by. You need-”

“You need to take up a sword and spill even more of it?” Hashim interrupted him again. “That’s what makes sense to you?”

They stared at each other for a long while. It was the strangest scene Hadjar had ever seen in his life.

“This is a waste of time,” Morgan sighed wearily and leaned back in his chair.

“I agree with you on that, Emperor Morgan. Is this audience over? I still have some business in Dahanatan and I’d like to take care of it as soon as possible.”

“It’ll have to wait.”

“I won’t change my mind, no matter how much you try to persuade me.”

“I know,” Morgan nodded, then pointed at Akena. “That’s why I decided to turn to the ancient laws, honorable Hashim. Our laws.”

“The Moonlight Sect isn’t part of Darnassus, your laws aren’t our laws.”

“I know. But when I say ‘our’, I mean this.”

Akena took out a scroll from her spatial artifact. The same scroll she’d brought back from the jungles of Karnak. There was an old, magical seal depicting a white dragon on the scroll.

Damn it all…

Chapter 979

A kena unrolled the scroll and read it. It was a top-notch translation, since the scroll was written in a language that Hadjar didn’t know, and his neural network identified it as a dead language from the era of the Hundred Kingdoms.

“We, the people of the White Dragon, who united the humans under the High Heavens, give you our instructions: be fruitful and multiply, serve and obey, and sheltered by our wing, you will reach the Heavens.”

“Are you crazy, Morgan?” Hashim slammed his hands down on the table and got to his feet. “Have you forgotten all our rules and teachings? You want to influence me with the tyrant’s words? With the beast’s words?”

Morgan didn’t even flinch at the angry outburst.

“Go on, Akena,” he said.

“From now on, everything that lives beneath the White Dragon’s wing will follow his will and the will of his governors.”

Akena rolled up the scroll, sat back down, and handed it to her father. He, in turn, placed it in front of Hashim.

“Will you please verify the scroll’s authenticity, honorable Hashim?”

The room remained quiet for several minutes.

“You left the Moon Peak once, Morgan,” Hashim croaked. “We’ve accepted that. We understood and accepted it. You followed the call of your blood — the blood of kings. You brought Darnassus back from the ashes and made it a powerful Empire. It made us, your teachers, your brothers and sisters, proud.”

Looking at them, Hadjar slowly began to understand what was actually happening. Ever since he’d heard Orune’s first story about Morgan the Fearless, Hadjar had always wondered who’d made Morgan who he was — not just a powerful warrior, but also a schemer without equal in all the seven Empires. And now it seemed like he’d found the answer to his question.

Previously, he’d only ever seen one kind of relationship between a teacher and a student — mutual affection and respect. Now, he was seeing another kind, one where the paths of the teacher and the disciple had diverged. The Patriarch of the Moonlight Sect was Emperor Morgan’s teacher. He’d taught the ruler of all Darnassus. This seemingly inconspicuous, unthreatening, harmless old man who even Orune had respected…

It suddenly dawned on Hadjar just how strange Hashim was. Before, Hadjar hadn’t sensed or tried to evaluate the old man’s power. Now, he attempted to probe Hashim’s aura, but couldn’t. Not because he wasn’t strong enough, but because the man’s aura wouldn’t allow it. It was like a leaf in the wind, and at the slightest movement directed toward it, it swerved to the side. No matter how hard Hadjar tried, he couldn’t feel out the limits of the Patriarch’s power. Hadjar had never come across something like this before…

“We saw you as a necessary evil, Morgan. You shed blood. Rivers of your fellow man’s blood. You flooded these lands with it. But we believed in you. They all believed that, one day, you’d raise your sword against our real enemy. And no matter how that ended, we would’ve put up a statue of you in the Ancestral Temple. However… Now that you have the opportunity to unite the nations in the name of the greatest goal, you choose to shed blood yet again.”

“Unite the nations, Hashim?” Morgan clenched his fists so hard that white and scarlet spots appeared on the backs of his hands. “Only one ruler ever achieved this. He alone created the greatest human Empire.”

Hashim’s face turned pale, “So that’s whose glory you seek, Morgan? Whose honor haunts you? Do you really want to be the next Erhard? Do you want to conquer the human lands beneath the White Dragon’s wing?”

“These are our laws. You must obey them. I have the right to order you to abide by them. I can’t order you to participate in this war, but I can order you to let two of my trusted subordinates into your domain.”

Hashim’s eyes shone with the understanding of what was actually happening.

“You wouldn’t dare! No, you wouldn’t dare! This is your heritage, too! And your past! You wouldn’t offend your ancestors like this!”

Hadjar didn’t understand what they were talking about, but apparently, it was something very significant.

“I told you, honorable Hashim, that I would do anything to ensure that my people live to see the next era,” Morgan turned to Akena and Hadjar. “Both of you will go to the Moonlight Sect. You’ll go down to the Ancestral Temple, find a way into the Demon Cave, and get the Ever-Seeking Spear.”

Now Hadjar turned pale. His mother had told him stories about fairy folk who lived on the edge of vision, in the vague shadows and images you saw when you were too immersed in thought. And the artifacts they’d once forged to fight the gods. One of them was the Ever-Seeking Spear. Once thrown at a target, it wouldn’t stop until it hit said target. It was a spear that could neither be stopped nor blocked. You couldn’t hide from it and you couldn’t dodge it. The fairytale that featured it was called the ‘Running Lance’. A bard named Lance, who’d stolen music from Titania, the Queen of the Summer Court, ran from the spear all his life. He performed concerts in different cities, and didn’t stop anywhere for the night, because the spear was always flying toward him. But, one day, he met a girl named Belle. He fell in love with her and spent a night with her. In the morning, neither of them woke up — they’d both been impaled by the spear. The tavern guests found them in each other’s arms, with smiles on their faces. Titania, realizing that she’d acted rashly, took the lovers’ souls to Tír na Nóg. Using the fire of their passion and love, she gave them a new life in the form of Ifrits — the fire Fae.

“I can’t stop your people from coming to the Moonlight Sect as guests,” Hashim said, standing up and tightening the belt of his caftan as he headed for the exit. “But I can swear, Morgan, that as long as I live, the Ever-Seeking Spear won’t leave the Moonlight Sect.”

“In that case, honorable Hashim, this is the last time we’ll ever see each other.”

The Patriarch froze at the door. He stood there for a few moments, then stormed out of the room that had filled with deafening silence. Everyone was stumped. Hadjar was used to fairytales sometimes turning out to be true, at least partially. But the existence of such a powerful artifact was still hard to believe. He also wondered who exactly Morgan was planning to use such a potent weapon against.

“Akena, the ‘Kite’ is ready to go. It’s waiting for you at the Imperial Dock. Go there immediately. You can’t let Hashim place any more obstacles in your path.”

“Yes, father,” Akena rose, bowed, and headed for the door. She stopped and turned, “What about Hadjar?”

“Meet him at the Moon Gates,” Morgan said, making it clear that it was time for her to leave the room.

“But how-”

“Hadjar will get there faster than you will,” he raised his voice slightly.

Akena, a little confused, nodded and left the office. Morgan and Hadjar were the only ones left.

“They’ll try to kill her,” the Emperor said. “If she gets so much as a scratch on her, you, the Kesalia clan, and all the Northern Baronies and the Islands will burn.”

Hadjar had expected more tricks and schemes, but he hadn’t expected such a blatant threat. His fists clenched, and his robes turned into his blue Call armor.

“So, if someone tries to take Akena’s life, Hadjar Darkhan, count it as them trying to take everything you hold dear away from you. I want you to remember that.” Morgan leaned back and waved his hand. The stained-glass windows opened, letting in some fresh air. “Fly, Hadjar Darkhan. You need to arrive at the Moon Gates before my daughter and Hashim do.”

Before using the ‘Path Through the Clouds’, Hadjar stopped to look into the Emperor’s eyes.

“I won’t forget this, Your Imperial Majesty.”

He spread his wings and a huge, blue Quetzal bird disappeared into the sky, leaving behind a trail of blue mist. Morgan, still sitting in his chair, watched the blue dot quickly disappear in the distance.

“I hope so,” he whispered, and then turned to the papers and documents. There was still too much he had to do today.

Chapter 980

“D o you think he’ll be all right?”

Annette stopped using her magic and looked toward the Forbidden City, from where the blue Quetzal bird had flown out, announcing its arrival with a shrill cry. Unlike any other movement Technique, this ability allowed Hadjar to not only cross vast distances, but also let him fly there. Neither the ‘White Lightning Step’ nor Taniged’s ‘Step Through the Clouds’ could do such a thing. These Techniques also left cultivators nearly helpless, since they couldn’t attack or defend while using them. Hadjar could still attack and defend, use mysteries, energy, and shield himself when he turned into the Quetzal bird.

“Don’t worry,” Dora, who was busy cultivating another line of living defenses for her new home, said. “Wherever Hadjar Darkhan goes, he brings others misfortune.”

Annette sighed, “You don’t like North Wind.”

Dora watched the bird’s trail for a bit and then returned to her work, “You’re right, Annette. I have a complicated relationship with my beloved’s brother. I respect him. I respect his power, and the fact that he’s ready to give his life for those who are close to him. That’s why I say that wherever he goes, he brings misfortune to those in his way.” Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she whispered faintly, “And one day, that will lead to misery…”

***

Hadjar crossed half the Empire in less than a day. He’d never flown as fast as he had this time. It had cost him both physically and materially. The ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique required only a little less energy than the ‘White Lightning Step’ to use, which still meant that he’d had to take pills almost every fifteen minutes. As a result, his journey to the Moonlight Sect had cost Hadjar as much as a set of Imperial level armor.

As he thought about Morgan’s words, he tried to stifle the wild rage inside of him. He’d allowed Morgan to get under his skin once, and it had almost led to a disaster. When dealing with him, Hadjar always had to think twice before he said or did anything.

Morgan, no doubt, had threatened Hadjar for a vast number of reasons. And Hadjar had been taught from childhood to strike back hard, and, when the time came, he would. However, right now, he had to understand that Morgan had done this so that Hadjar would perceive the Moonlight Sect as his enemies and would be ready to give his life to protect Akena.

Fucking schemes! He once again thought.

***

The Moon Peak was a mountain range that stretched across the picturesque meadows and lakes of the northwestern region of Darnassus. There were plenty of hills covered in grass, wildflowers that girls gathered to sell in the villages, and towns under the rule of the Moonlight Sect. The villages were small and well-kept, and no traveler was considered a stranger there, just a guest. They were always given honey and bread. Doors were open to everyone and people were happy. There were no high walls or fences.

The forests, untouched by the pollution of mines or cities, were always full of life. The sun didn’t leave this region, and the water in the streams and lakes, crystal clear and as cold as ice, glistened in the sun. The people smiled. The men were handsome and strong, and the girls were slender and wise. People lived in peace and harmony here.

Those who wanted to devote themselves to the sublime, to the path of cultivation, came up here. As mortals, they had to climb a stone staircase which was carved into the mountain. It had ninety thousand steps, and only those who were truly steadfast in their intentions could overcome them.

Once every fifty years, the Sect’s Mentors descended from the mountain peak. They chose the most gifted babies and, with the permission of their parents, took them to the Sect. There’d never been any refusals in the entire history of the Moonlight Sect. It was considered a great honor and the family whose child was chosen was treated with respect that persisted through the years and even entire generations.

Right now, the people could sense something foreign approaching them, something that seemed to pose an undisguised threat to their quiet way of life. A storm was coming from the east.

The disciples on the other side of the Moon Gates were whispering to each other:

“Is someone seriously trying to disturb our privacy?”

“Impossible! The Darnassians aren’t actually stupid enough to send someone on such a quest. They want us to give them the Ever-Seeking Spear for the purpose of fighting against our fellow tribesmen? Who would even think of such a thing?”

“The Spear has been kept in our Sect since its foundation! It’s the key to the peaceful life in our lands!”

“Brothers and sisters! Whoever comes for our lives will lose theirs instead!”

“They say the Emperor’s daughter, the flame-haired Akena, is flying here.”

“This applies even to the Emperor! We won’t allow anyone to trample on our land and cause trouble, and-”

“Enough!” Dressed in black robes, Mentor Jao looked to the east. “Enough,” he repeated. “We’ll meet our fate, whatever it may be, and fight back as best we can. Thousands of Years of the Moon!”

“Thousands of Years of the Moon!” Hundreds of the Sect’s disciples repeated the motto in unison.

Mentor Jao sensed something he wasn’t prepared for. In the dark sky, amid the lightning bolts, he could see the silhouette of a bird flying toward them. Lightning bolts arced through its wings and thunder roared in its claws. At times, it seemed to Jao like he wasn’t seeing a bird, but a dragon flying toward them. Its scales were steel, its claws and fangs were death, its breaths were the storm incarnate, and its heart was battle itself. Something that had been born to fight and shed blood was going to shatter their peace.

When more lightning flashed and the north wind, foreign to these lands of eternal spring, blew past, a huge Quetzal bird landed on the border. It folded its wings and let out a long cry. Then it took a step forward and turned into a tall, young man who was about twenty years old. He wore blue robes with stars and clouds embroidered on them, feathers were woven into his hair, and the ornaments there jingled in the stormy wind. Scars covered his arms, one of which bore a scarlet, black, and blue Name tattoo, which continued on somewhere beneath his robes. His long, black hair had been tousled by the fierce wind. But his blue eyes were the most frightening part about him — there was so much steely willpower and primal rage contained in them.

The young man... no, the beast wearing the guise of a swordsman raised an unusual blade above him, and then drove it into the ground.

“I am Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind!” His roar mixed with the thunder of the storm. “I’ve come to escort Princess Akena on her quest to get the Ever-Seeking Spear! Anyone who stands in my way will be destroyed!”

Lightning struck the hilt of his unusual sword, and from that lightning, with a furious roar that tore apart the Heavens, a huge dragon appeared, covering the entire Moonlight Sect’s valley with its wings.

Chapter 981

T he storm roared above Hadjar. He didn’t know when it had started, but even standing in the middle of it, he felt completely calm. Lightning bolts flashed behind him so often that they merged into a single, white, glowing canvas that burned the sky and the eyes of those who looked at him.

The Moon Gates were a massive structure made of white stone. They consisted of two pillars that were so ancient that the masonry had collapsed in places, exposing the inner structure made of scarlet wood. Hadjar had no idea what it was. The pillars themselves were topped with ‘petticoat’ roofs, like in the Predatory Blades clan district. Each floor had one such ‘petticoat’, and the last one ended with a cone. The scarlet wood looked as if it had been soaked in blood due to the rain.

Behind the legendary Gates stood the disciples of the Moonlight Sect. They all wore the same clothes — a single sheet of fabric, which was wrapped from their left side to their right, and belted with a wide sash. The robes had wide sleeves that touched the ground. All the disciples, whether they were male or female, were shaved bald. The only difference between them was the number of red dots around the crowns of their heads. The more dots there were, the higher the rank of a disciple. That was what the Darnassians thought, anyway, since no specific information about the Sect was available, even to the Secret Office. The Sect was such an isolated place that they only interacted with the Empire when they absolutely had to. Like during the Tournament of the Twelve, for example.

Only a few people stood out in the crowd. Instead of white clothes, they wore colorful ones — purple, blue, black — and they had hair.

Einen would’ve loved it here.

As the echo of his words died down, the first chuckles rang out. Then more followed. Soon, several thousand Moonlight Sect disciples were laughing at him.

“Who are you to say such a thing?”

“Get off our mountain, you Darnassian mutt!”

“You dare disturb the peace of these sacred lands? You’re insulting your ancestors!”

“Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? Who comes to someone else’s doorstep with a sword in their hands?”

“Brothers and sisters, let’s show this brat what we’re made of-”

“ENOUGH!” A black-clad man in the front raised his hand.

The laughter and shouts immediately stopped. Hadjar looked at the person who had such unquestioning authority. The man folded his arms into his sleeves, forming a circle in front of him. Then he bowed deeply. Rain trickled down his thin, black, gray-streaked beard. Hadjar noticed about two dozen dots under his hair. The bald disciples had only eight of them at most …

“I, Mentor Jao, who walk the path of the Fiery Hand, greet you, disciple of Tarisfal, who walks the path of the Sword.”

The silence that had been calm before suddenly felt like a barrel of gunpowder waiting to go off. Another white lightning bolt struck the hilt of Hadjar’s sword. Having gone through the training necessary to master the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique, it was now like a raindrop to Hadjar. Even before the white flash dissipated, he pulled his sword out of the ground, twirled it, and, after placing it behind his back, bowed back.

“Greetings, Mentor Jao. I am Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind. I came here for only one purpose — to protect Princess Akena.”

Jao straightened up. His eyes glowed with the fire of righteous anger that he could barely contain. Hadjar noticed it and also sensed the Mentor’s aura. It was strong. So strong, in fact, that only a few people in the capital might’ve been his equals: the Heads of the seven aristocratic families, the Generals of the army, and the leading disciples of the three elite Schools. A few months ago (or maybe decades, he wasn’t sure how that worked, exactly), Hadjar wouldn’t have been able to withstand the pressure of this man’s will. It would be hard to call Jao anything other than one of Darnassus’ strongest warriors.

“As long as you stand outside the Gates, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, we won’t be able to receive you in our house as a guest,” Jao’s words were heavy. His desire to fight was tangible in each word, in each sound he made.

Hadjar was well aware of how gravely he’d just insulted the Sect... But he couldn’t have done anything else. Those who were dear to him were on the line. Even if there were a hundred children in front of him, crying and begging for mercy, Hadjar wouldn’t be able to put their lives above the lives of those he was bound to by fate. It was wrong. It was dishonorable and inglorious. But Hadjar wasn’t perfect. He had weaknesses, which Morgan knew about. Hadjar was now even more aware of why Orune had felt such deep hatred for the Emperor.

“Come inside, Hadjar Darkhan,” Jao continued. “Drink the wine from the gardens at the foot of the Moon Peak. Taste the peaches that grow on our mountain. Wait for Princess Akena and Patriarch Hashim in the eternal peace and quiet we have created here. They will arrive soon.”

The whispers started up once again. Hadjar had heard legends about the Moon Gates. Some said that they were the predecessors of the Gates of Rage, which protected the entrance to the Forbidden City… Others argued that the Gates of Rage were nothing more than a modified copy of them. In order to pass through the Moon Gates, a cultivator needed to be equal in power to the Sect’s Mentors or the Mentors of one of the three elite Schools of the capital. The Moonlight Sect’s disciples who wanted to come down from the mountain to test their skills and powers in the outside world had to pass a simple exam — getting past the Moon Gates themselves.

“We were brought together by fate, Mentor Jao,” Hadjar sighed. He closed his eyes and felt the rain fall on his face. He could hear the war drums behind him.

Boom-boom-boom! They roared somewhere in the thunder and lightning.

General! Command us! The soldiers cried out.

From the moment he’d regained the other half of his soul, he’d heard them every time during a storm. They were calling to him. They sang songs about freedom, honor, and glory. The three things a warrior needed. The three things Hadjar lived for. Morgan had taken those away from him. He’d taken away what made Hadjar who he was. One day, the Emperor would pay for that. But for now, for some reason, the Moonlight Sect was the one paying for it instead.

“By the High Heavens,” Hadjar whispered as the lighting struck yet again. “I really didn’t want this.”

And then he took a step forward.

Chapter 982

“P rincess! Princess!”

Akena, clad in glittering Divine level armor, turned to the captain. She was standing on the bow of the ship that bore the proud name ‘Kite’, one of the fastest skyships in all of Darnassus. It was a part of the fleet that only the Imperial family had partial command over.

“Yes, Captain Ophelia?”

The captain was a mid-stage Spirit Knight and a nine-century-old blonde beauty who’d never been married, even though she had often been proposed to by even the most prominent representatives of both the civilian and military nobility.

“An unidentified vessel is approaching from the southwest,” the captain reported. “It’s on the same course as us. And… and…”

“Out with it, Captain,” the Princess’ green eyes flashed. They were almost as bright as her armor. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s overtaking us,” Ophelia was clearly surprised, and so was Akena. The entire Empire was certain that no ship could ever be faster than the ‘Kite’ when it comes to long distance travel.

The Moonlight Sect was situated along the most remote borders of the Empire. It was almost a step away from the legendary Strange Lands that didn’t belong to any of the seven Empires, and were inhabited by unknown creatures and filled with anomalies that could destroy even a Nameless level cultivator.

Akena held out her hand and the captain handed her the telescope. The Princess looked closer. A little more than fifteen miles away, a massive boat was rapidly moving through the sky, leaving behind white streaks of displaced air. There was only one passenger on board, sitting in a lotus position and dressed in white robes — the white-haired Patriarch Hashim. He suddenly turned toward the Princess who was looking at him. The old man opened his eyes and they flashed golden. The ‘Kite’ lurched starboard.

“Prepare for battle!” Ophelia shouted. “Keep her steady!”

Cracks ran across the ship’s protective shield, through which the noise and roaring of a growing storm could be heard. The ship shuddered. Every plank began to vibrate, and the rivets from the stern flew through the air like projectiles. Whatever this storm was, it was clearly not an everyday occurrence.

Hashim, closing his eyes, turned away from the Princess and, in less than a heartbeat, his boat shot forward again. It was clearly overtaking the ‘Kite’, but it wasn’t so fast that Akena had to worry about it getting to their mutual destination more than a few hours ahead of her own ship.

“You old demon,” Akena hissed. “You better be in such a hurry to get to the dockside brothel.”

Ophelia was startled by the sudden change in Her Imperial Highness’ tone and the crude language she’d used. Like most people in the Empire, she expected a Princess to behave in a certain way. It was one thing to understand that this expectation was far from reality, and quite another to see it with your own eyes and hear it with your own ears.

“Hurry up, captain Ophelia.” Akena handed the captain her shattered, mangled telescope without looking. “We don’t have much time.”

“Princess,” the frightened captain whispered, “You... you…”

Akena quickly brushed a red drop off her cheek, then drew her saber from its scabbard.

“Did you see something, captain?”

Ophelia immediately snapped to attention and saluted, “I didn’t, Your Imperial Highness.”

“I want the ‘Kite’ to overtake his boat and…”

She trailed off. Above the Moon Peak, a huge pillar of blue wind energy shot up into the sky. It formed a scaly body that rose high into the air. As a dragon’s maw formed, the storm clouds shook with its powerful, deep roar.

The magic barrier of the ‘Kite’, which was a hundred miles away from the epicenter, warped as easily as paper. The sailors and soldiers grabbed the safety lines. The cannons rolled across the deck, and several of them broke the ropes that held them tied down and fell into the chasm below. Akena and Ophelia grabbed the railings. Their hair had been swept back by a gust of wind that had torn through the barrier. A bright flash of light blinded both of them for a split second. Shielding their eyes with their hands, they watched through the slits between their fingers as a blue dragon, which was dominating the black sky, spread its wings made of black and white lightning. They were so wide that they almost completely covered the Moon Peak.

“What is that?” Ophelia tried to shout over the dragon’s roar.

“The fury of North Wind,” Akena whispered with a wide smile.

***

As soon as Hadjar took a step forward, he felt a pressure similar to what he’d felt on the stairs of the Sword Tower, the holiest of holies of the Predatory Blades clan. In the Sword Tower, this pressure had been created by the Sword Spirit’s mysteries gathered from the World River, but in this case, something else was behind it. This pressure wasn’t being created by mysteries or energy at all, but rather will. However, even the strongest will that Hadjar had ever experienced — the great heroes’ will — was only able to reach its peak in the form of a single attack, and would then dissipate in less than a second.

The ancient, white stone gates pressed down on him with enviable consistency. They brought down countless strikes on Hadjar’s soul in a single, constant stream. Any mortal standing in his place would’ve instantly turned to dust. Even a weak Heaven Soldier would’ve been crippled by such pressure.

“If this is all there is to them…” Hadjar held his sword out in front of him and swung it quickly. A blue spark formed at the tip of the sword, which then turned into a raging hurricane that demolished the resistance, “Then the Moon Gates are nothing more than an overblown child’s tale.”

Hadjar took another step forward and almost fell to his knees. The pressure that he’d banished less than a second ago had returned trifold. The will concentrated between the two white pillars felt like the whole sky had fallen on Hadjar’s shoulders. It struck his soul and energy body. Hadjar spat out blood and heard the distant chuckles of the Sect disciples standing on the other side.

“Go away, Tarisfal’s disciple,” Mentor Jao’s voice was distorted and hazy, as if coming through a dense fog. “Only a true genius can go through the Moon Gates at will. For a random stranger to go through them… You don’t have enough power. And neither does the Princess. You have no place on our mountain.”

These were enticing words that he wanted to believe and be deceived by. But he couldn’t afford to be. Morgan had only told him what would happen if Akena got hurt. He hadn’t mentioned the possibility of failing the mission in any way. Still, he didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what would happen if he did fail.

“I can’t…” Hadjar clenched his fist, which was frozen an inch above the ground. With great difficulty, he straightened his bent back and looked into Jao’s eyes, “I... can’t...”

With trembling hands, Hadjar raised his sword above his head and unleashed the Blue Wind Sword Kingdom. Gusts of blue wind began to spread out from his sword and body, and each of them was like a swift and deadly sword strike. They kept spreading out until the storm covered a radius of a hundred and twenty paces.

“Such a huge County…” Jao took another look at the impudent man. “Not even Tarisfal or Morgan could’ve bragged about such an accomplishment…”

Hadjar took another step forward, and before he could achieve victory, the Moon Gates shone with an even, white light. Jao shook his head sadly. It was a pity that Darnassus would lose such a gifted swordsman. His fate was to die at the doorstep of the Moonlight Sect. Just like thousands of intruders before him, who also hadn’t been able to overcome the monstrous pressure that the will of the Gates had exerted on them. After all, the Founder himself had set these Gates up.

Jao turned his back to the man and had already taken a step when he froze. He felt true horror, the primal fear of an unarmed man looking into the eyes of a hungry beast. He slowly turned around. There was real terror in his eyes.

Chapter 983

O rune was sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of the precipice atop the Storm Mountain. He was looking into the distance while Hadjar was resting after a strenuous training session where he’d been practicing the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique.

“Do you really see the Mountain?” The great swordsman suddenly asked.

“I do,” Hadjar nodded.

He was lying on his back, chewing on a blade of grass and enjoying an hour of well-deserved rest. Those who only trained and didn’t rest or take care of the needs of their body and spirit ran the risk of disrupting their inner balance, ultimately harming themselves and their chances of advancing along the path of cultivation… Well, that was how Orune justified spending more in brothels than some noble families earned in months, anyway. It was also how he justified spending so much money on food.

“I’d forgotten what these training grounds looked like,” Orune sighed suddenly. “I spent my entire childhood in them, knew every grain of sand, every crack in the ground, every corner of them, but...I still forgot them.”

He paused for a moment. Powerful and fierce as he was, he still looked more tired than great, but that was the way of things. He was tired of his life, one in which he no longer saw any meaning. Only the unyielding will that had led him through countless hardships, privations, and battles prevented him from simply passing away because of his mental wounds or broken heart.

“What do you think, disciple?” He suddenly asked. “What does that mean?”

Hadjar shrugged.

“Master.” He assumed a lotus position. His break was coming to an end. “In my eyes, we’re just sitting on the Storm Mountain. To be honest, I don’t even know if this is real, a dream, or the effect of the Hundred Voices Pill, which was supposed to show me a level of mastery beyond the Kingdom.”

“Beyond the Kingdom?” Orune chuckled. “I’ve been searching for that knowledge almost my entire life, and I can say with great confidence, disciple, that I’ve gone further than most, if not all others, and… there’s nothing there.”

Hadjar drooped.

“That’s impossible, Master,” he said. “There’s always something. There’s always something beyond the current level. Something stronger. Something higher.”

Orune laughed, “I thought so too, disciple, back when I was as young and hotheaded as you are. But years passed, and then centuries, and then millennia, and... I still never found anything.”

Hadjar was almost fully immersed in deep meditation now, where there were no thoughts, no words, no aspirations, not even reality, only pure and unclouded consciousness.

“I’ll find it.”

Orune said nothing until Hadjar was completely absorbed in his meditation, and then whispered, “I hope so.”

He stood up, unsheathed his blades, crossed them in front of him, and then swung them with all his might. He didn’t know what happened to Tarisfal’s training grounds, but when Hadjar came to his senses, he saw that an X-shaped cut had appeared on a high rock dozens of miles away. There were no Sword mysteries or energy contained within it, only will. The same will that had allowed Orune to become the strongest warrior of the seven Empires era.

***

After he took a third step, the will of the Moon Gates, which had previously felt like the sky was pressing down on him, now felt like an entire universe was trying to crush him. There was no end to it. Hadjar turned out to be like a blade of grass sprouting in the middle of an infinity of burnt land; a spark in the ashes of a long-dead fire; a small dot on an otherwise snow-white canvas. All around him was an ocean of will. The lone warrior was standing on the border of the enemy’s lands.

Hadjar directed all the Sword and Wind energy and mysteries into his Call’s armor. His blue robes moved, looking like a wide canvas. Stars shone and white clouds floated across the silk. However, all of this only delayed the inevitable moment when the universe would crash down on the rebellious speck and drown it in its boundless darkness. The will had always been. The will was. The will would forever be here.

The Moon Gates, despite their shabby and rather sad appearance, were a part of the Moon Peak. Part of all the life that could be found at the foot of the mountain, all the determination, the combined aspirations of each disciple and Mentor. The Moon Gates represented the essence of the eons of the Moonlight Sect’s existence. It represented the will of the countless cultivators who’d lived here, and even the will of the mortals who’d found their peace in the scattered villages of the valley.

And Hadjar had to fight against this power all on his own. The ground gave way around his feet. The stone cracked, and so did Hadjar’s bones. His soul shook like an autumn leaf in a storm, and he didn’t have the strength to lift his sword and use the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique. Or the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique. Hadjar barely managed to keep his sense of self intact while enduring the pressure of the will’s tsunami. It took everything he had to resist dissolving into this universe. Still, he didn’t give up. His will was strong. No matter how strong his enemy was, Hadjar never retreated.

He took a step forward, coughing up blood, ignoring his skin and muscles tearing, and his clothes and armor turning scarlet. After that fourth step, the will suddenly condensed. It was thick enough to be seen. For the first time in his life, Hadjar could actually see will with his own eyes. It was ghostly, as if made of fog, and it formed a hand. A hand that could wipe the Forbidden City off the face of this nameless world. It flew straight toward Hadjar’s chest. If he’d had an ounce of concentration to spare, he would’ve heard the disciples whispering:

“The Moon Palm…”

“I’ve only ever heard legends about it, but I never believed them.”

“They say that when the great swordsman Orune came here two thousand years ago, he couldn’t withstand its attack and spent fifty years immersed in healing meditations afterward.”

“This insolent child is doomed.”

The palm could outpace even the fastest and most dexterous of sword slashes. It could overtake the swiftest of arrows. But for Hadjar, time seemed to have stopped. An image of the X-shaped cut in that distant rock appeared in his mind’s eye. The scar that Orune had left behind without using the Sword mysteries or energy. Without really using a sword at all. But still, it had been his blades that had left the cut. A seemingly simple riddle that Hadjar hadn’t been able to figure out in the forty years he’d spent on the Storm Mountain, or the few weeks he’d spent in the physical world after that. Until this very moment.

Chapter 984

B y advancing along the path of cultivation, a cultivator grew to understand the essence of themselves and the world around them, and how they reflected in each other. They understood how closely everything was connected and intertwined.

First, they wove their body into this path, then their mind, then their soul, then their very self, and then they merged it all together, regardless of the cultivator’s energy structure, or how many weapons or magic they’d mastered. But there was something that cultivators had forgotten about, that they couldn’t see. And no one could help them see it — they could only understand it through their own efforts.

Orune had taught his disciple everything he’d known, but it was akin to recording information with the neural network. Hadjar had to find the essence of this knowledge himself.

After the X-shaped cut turned into the faces of those who were dear to him, Hadjar understood everything. He saw Elaine, her fiancé, and their unborn son. He saw Einen and Dora hugging each other by a dim fire. He saw Annette, Tom, Galkhad, and Anise.

What was Hadjar fighting for? To make his life better? He could already live an amazing life as the Head of an aristocratic family, even if he refused to continue progressing on the path of cultivation. He could return to Lidus and work to make a powerful region out of it. But… What would happen next? Ten centuries from now? Hundreds of centuries from now...  What would be left of Hadjar Darkhan? What would he leave behind for those who came after him? For his children? For their children’s children? Nothing…

Why had Hadjar started his fight against the Seventh Heaven? For his own sake. But now… Hadjar once again saw the faces of the people dear to him and the calming scenery of his homeland. With just a few words, Morgan had been able to shake Hadjar’s soul and show him what true despair was.

But here, standing in front of the Moon Gates, Hadjar finally saw the answer to his question. He saw why Orune, the greatest warrior of this age, had given his life for him, a stupid boy. Because Orune had left behind something bigger than himself, something that would live on through the ages in the person to whom Hadjar would in turn pass it on to. Maybe it was already alive in the young warrior who’d lost his home, father, and relatives, but had protected his mother. Orune had left behind his will.

Hadjar looked up at the dark sky, “I see...” He whispered. “I see what’s there…”

His will. As strong as steel. Capable of ripping the heavens apart and splitting the earth in half, poured into his sword. It permeated Hadjar’s soul, connected with his mysteries and energy, and then, finally, with his true, core self.

Thunder hammered the Moon Peak. The lightning flashed like the arrows of angry gods. Hadjar was facing a new enemy, one that was weak and insignificant compared to those who were still waiting for him up ahead. Hadjar understood now that this wouldn’t be enough for him to win, as the enemy had no body. The enemy was will, which was boundless and eternal. A boundless thing could only be defeated by other boundless things.

One day, you’ll realize that all Techniques are unimportant, Traves’ words echoed in his mind. Gain true power, and only then will you reach the top of this path.

Hadjar still didn’t understand everything that was hidden in these words. But maybe, because of the Moon Gates, or the Hundred Voices Pill, or the Sword Tower’s library, or his own aspirations, he could finally see the shadow of the ghost of truth looming ahead of him.

Helmer’s words about the one who, on someone else’s orders, had protected him back on Earth, flashed through Hadjar’s mind. The terrible scar on his soul that had haunted him for years healed.

When he’d become a Spirit Knight, he’d remembered absolutely everything that had happened from the moment he’d been born, both in this nameless world and back on Earth. One day, he’d find out everything about his birth and the secrets behind it. In the meantime…

For the first time in almost half a century, he allowed himself to remember the face of his first mother, the one that had given birth to him on Earth. She’d had silky hair, a slightly tired smile, and different colored eyes — one had been green and the other blue.

The Demon Prince, the Fae, the Great Sages of the Spirit World, the Jasper Emperor… One day, their wills would all be destroyed. And the people whose destinies they played with like puppets would be set free. This was Hadjar Darkhan’s Inheritance. This was what his will truly was.

“I’ll name it,” he whispered, but his whisper was louder than any thunder, “The ‘Torn Sky’ Technique, the first stance of the ‘Dragon Storm’.”

***

Icy dread gripped Jao’s soul. He watched as something was born in the stranger who’d withstood the will of the Moonlight Sect to the point that it had formed the Moon Palm.

According to the legends, only nine cultivators had been able to hold out until the Moon Palm had appeared. And only two of them had survived. The first had been the Last King, Erhard. He’d also been the only one to deflect the attack of the Moon Palm. But, after realizing that he wouldn’t be able to withstand a second attack, Erhard had left the Moon Peak and ordered his warriors to leave the Sect and its territories alone. It had been a kind of tribute to them.

The second had been Orune. He’d come here back when he had still been a young man, and while he hadn’t been able to fend off the Moon Palm’s initial strike, he had been strong and resilient enough to survive it.

Now, before Jao’s very eyes, history was once again being made. The legend of the tenth person worthy of facing the Moon Palm. Jao had already seen the Moon Palm before. He’d only been nine when Tarisfal, Emperor Morgan’s dog, had come here. Back then, more than two thousand years ago, Jao hadn’t experienced what he was feeling right now. There had been no doubt that the Moon Gates would drive the stranger back and put him in his place. There had been no fear. Until now.

Now, he watched as streams of energy rose up around the stranger. Blue and black, they intertwined, forming a sword that became his self. Suddenly, the sword flew up and turned into a huge, blue dragon that sank its fangs into the clouds. The clouds answered with thunderous war drums and a thousand lightning bolts. The dragon tore the lightning out of the clouds, and they became his wings, which covered the entire Moon Peak.

“Impossible,” Jao whispered. Pale with horror, he took a step back.

Apart from Hashim, only he saw the two stars in the dragon’s eyes. He hoped this was just an illusion, a trick of the universe that was trying to scare him. It was impossible for a talented Lord, or a Nameless, or even a mythical Heaven Emperor, to suddenly gain the power required to use a mythical Star level Technique. It was simply impossible!

“I already told you!” It seemed like it wasn’t Hadjar who was speaking, but a true Lord of the Heavens. “I am Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, and anyone who stands in my way will be destroyed!”

The roar that rang out brought the weakest of the disciples to their knees. Blood flowed from their ears and noses. Others released their energy, and even their Kingdoms. It was the only way they could protect themselves from the mere echo of Hadjar’s single sword slash.

Chapter 985

“S top, Darkhan!” Hashim stepped off his boat, turned into a beam of white light, and landed on the other side of the Moon Gates.

“Hadjar!” Akena, ignoring Ophelia’s cry, jumped off the ‘Kite’ and landed behind Hadjar like a fiery meteor. The ground she landed on exploded into fiery shrapnel, and she was now standing in the middle of a crater.

Both the Patriarch of the Moonlight Sect and the Princess had arrived at the Moon Peak at almost the same time. But, despite how fast they’d been, they were both too late.

Hadjar had already swung his sword and the blue dragon descended on the ancient Moon Gates. The Moon Palm slammed into the dragon’s mighty body. The resulting explosion was so powerful that Akena, who used her best defensive Technique, which enveloped her in a halo that assumed the form of a gigantic fire helmet, wasn’t sure that she could withstand the pressure of this immense power. When the fire of the ‘Ifrit’s Helmet’, a Divine level Technique, died down, an odd cocoon suddenly appeared around her, consisting of Sword and Wind mysteries, along with something else that Akena couldn’t comprehend.

“Be careful, Princess,” she heard a whisper.

Through the riot of energies, through the wind that crushed stone, through the lightning bolts, and the cloud of steam made by the evaporating rain, she saw a mighty figure. The warrior had protected her with his body. His sword looked more formidable than an armada of warships. His clear, bright eyes were so piercing they could’ve defeated an army all on their own. Energy swirled around him and the surface of the World River trembled.

His will was everywhere. His energy, his sword, and his profound mysteries dominated reality itself. A sensation that Akena had only ever felt in the presence of Nameless level great heroes who possessed a True Kingdom, she suddenly felt in this Lord who possessed a County... no, a Duchy.

The misty Moon Palm, after holding back the dragon’s descent for a bit, disappeared. But then it was replaced by two others. The dragon dispersed them, too. Then the Moon Gates started bombarding Hadjar’s Technique with attacks of indescribable intensity.

Hadjar and his Technique were inextricably linked. He felt every attack of the Moon Gates on his sword, and he defeated them. Until the bruised, but still ready to fight, dragon landed atop the Moon Gates. Another explosion spread across the sky for miles in every direction. It blew away the clouds and revealed the bright full moon, around which were beautiful, cold stars.

When the dust settled, Hadjar took a few steps forward, and then climbed onto the pile of white stones and scarlet splinters.

“How is this possible…?”

“What... is this?”

“This is a nightmare, isn’t it? Please tell me that I’m only dreaming and that Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares, is tormenting me!”

There were cries, curses, weeping… The disciples, and even some Mentors, fell to their knees. They couldn’t believe their eyes. The Moon Gates, which had stood on the threshold of the Moon Peak for eons, were now nothing more than a pile of stones and scarlet splinters. And on them, without a hint of remorse or reverence, defiling these sacred remains, stood Hadjar Darkhan. Behind him, lightning flashed and thunder roared.

His sword looked like a dragon’s fang — deadly and merciless. His blue robes were fluttering in the wind that blew in from the north, which had never happened in this region before. It was suddenly so cold that people’s breaths became visible. Hadjar looked at them and his heart ached. But despite that, his hand didn’t tremble, and his resolve was still unbreakable. He had to do what he had to do, and when the time came, he’d pay for it in full… Maybe that was the cross that Orune had born all these centuries? Well, if his Master had managed it, he couldn’t fail him now.

“Stand still, Princess,” Hadjar whispered. He swung his sword and assumed a fighting stance.

“What are you doing, Hadjar?” Akena exclaimed, paling. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The Moon Gates, the same gates she’d heard so many stories and legends about from the Palace teachers as a child, had been destroyed.

“I’m still not as strong as my Master was,” Hadjar continued, “I can’t fight and protect you at the same time. By the High Heavens, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you!”

I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you!  The words made Akena’s heart skip a beat. Despite the freezing cold, she could feel the heat rising in her chest. Her wild, red locks danced as she shook her head and, after collecting her thoughts, she said:

“Hadjar Darkhan, I, the Emperor’s daughter, am demanding to know what you’re doing.”

Around Hadjar, another pillar of energy exploded, and it covered the entire mountain peak in a web of deep cracks.

“They won’t let us cross to the next peak, Princess,” Hadjar replied in a calm voice. He looked absolutely determined. “In order to carry out your father’s orders, I have only one option — to fight.”

“Fight whom, exactly?” Akena couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The entire Sect?”

At the start of the Tournament of the Twelve, she’d seen a talented, handsome, courageous, but almost unremarkable swordsman, someone who would’ve barely been able to withstand a few of her or her brother’s attacks. Now, less than two years later, that same swordsman was about to fight the entire Moonlight Sect. Alone. He was planning to go up against thousands of sectarians who were considered to be elite cultivators even in Dahanatan. Akena was a Princess, not a heroine from one of the minstrels’ ballads or bards’ songs!

“I order you, Hadjar Darkhan, to turn around and go back to the ‘Kite’ with me!” She shouted. “We must return to my father at once, and-”

“It’s too late, Princess,” Hadjar interrupted her. “We’ll either leave this place with the Ever-Seeking Spear, or the key to our forefathers’ houses.”

Akena looked back. Instead of staying near them as she had ordered, the ‘Kite’ was several miles away. The Moon Peak was surrounded by a shimmering energy barrier, the source of which, judging by the rays of energy powering it, was hidden somewhere underneath the main temple. Hadjar had been able to break the Moon Gates, but their essence had been offense, not the absolute defense that this shield provided. Given enough time and concentration, a warrior like Hadjar would’ve needed only four attacks to make a hole in such a shield. Of course, the members of the Sect wouldn’t sit idly by and let him do that…

“We’re doomed,” Akena whispered. “Father... sometimes your damned schemes do fail after all…”

“Calm down, Princess,” Akena couldn’t understand how Hadjar had the strength to remain calm in such a situation. “I’ve already destroyed a sect once... This won’t even be my first time doing it.”

Chapter 986

“W ho do you think you are, Hadjar Darkhan?” Patriarch Hashim no longer looked like a good-natured old man, but rather, like a furious warrior. “Who are you to come to our home and destroy the monuments of our ancestors? To take up arms against my disciples? Who gave you the right to violate the laws of hospitality?”

Hadjar wanted to leave. By the High Heavens, he wanted to turn around, pick up Akena, use the wooden dagger given to him by the Shuk’Arka tribe to cut through the protective dome, and then fly back to Dahanatan more than anything. It was the easy option, at the end of which Morgan, who had shown his true colors, would condemn him to a fate far worse than death — watching all the people who were dear to him burning in a funeral pyre.

“There’s only one law in this world, you old fool!” Hadjar swung his sword and a blue streak of energy flew out from the blade. A gale of blue wind burst forth from the streak, destroying several temples that stood on different mountain peaks, connected only by wooden bridges. “And that law is power!”

Hadjar didn’t believe what he was saying at all. But if he had to be the ‘villain’ tonight and dishonor himself for ages to come, then so be it. If he had to spill the blood of the innocent, he’d drown in it. He was too weak to defy the Emperor of Darnassus, who couldn’t be disobeyed even by the one person who’d been able to destroy the Forbidden City with a single attack. Hadjar finally understood what Orune had known all along…

“You bastard!” Someone in the crowd shouted. “I don’t know what sort of artifact you used, but I’ll kill you!”

A pillar of energy struck the sky. A wave of force moved the disciples to the side. One of the sectarians rushed toward Hadjar, shrouded in light that took the form of a tiger. The Fist Barony spread out around him as multiple steel spheres connected together jangled on his chest. Blue tattoos shone across his torso, and a blue light flooded his eyes. The four dots he had on the top of his head marked his rather high position. He also wielded Imperial level artifacts — two gauntlets that were so massive they turned his fists into hammers. With a single blow that created a wave of flames in the process, he incinerated the remnants of the Moon Gates, as they’d been in his way.

“No!”

The white light emanating from Hashim was pushed away by Hadjar’s Duchy. He wasn’t a saint. He wasn’t even a hero, regardless of what Paris thought about him. Hadjar was a monster. He was a monster who hadn’t yet met another monster that could defeat him. Or the real hero who was destined to destroy him... If such heroes even existed in this cruel world. As the Mad General, for the sake of Lidus, Hadjar had spilled the blood of the innocent. He’d done dishonorable things. He had sacrificed everything that he considered important and valuable in life. All because no one else had been able to do what needed to be done.

Boom-boom-boom! The war drums rumbled.

General! The soldiers cried.

Today, he’d be as vicious as only a cornered animal could be. He’d been pitted against these people. If he didn’t destroy them, Lidus and all those who were dear to him would be destroyed instead. He also swore that, one day, the one who’d started all of this would pay.

Hadjar swung his sword as if he were waving away an annoying fly. From the Blue Blade’s tip, a blue spark flew out. And from that spark, a whirlwind of wind and swords burst forth.

“Tiger Seal!” The Moonlight Sect disciple formed a shield in front of him with his fists. The scarlet energy of the Imperial level Technique assumed the shape of a tiger’s maw several feet wide. It closed its fiery fangs around the swirling wind.

A moment later, a few scarlet drops landed on the white stones, followed by a shower of blood. His limbs flew every which way, and in the center, where the young, powerful disciple had been a second ago, was a mangled pile of bones, entrails, and bits of flesh. Behind all of this, continuing its trajectory, the whirlwind destroyed the roof of another temple.

The disciples shouted in outrage and the Mentors started to release their Kingdoms, but a flash of white light made them all freeze. Turning into a white beam, Hashim rushed at Hadjar. The old man, whose robes now looked like armor, and whose turban was now like a helmet, stood in front of him. He held a staff topped with six iron rings, and each of them was covered in magical symbols and runes. Hadjar had heard about this before — it was called combat magic, a mix of martial arts and magic. However, he hadn’t been able to find any real information about it even in ‘The Holy Sky’ School, except for a few vague references.

“Fight me, Hadjar Darkhan!” Hashim’s voice was filled with pain and rage. “Don’t touch my Sect or disciples. Fight me and only me!”

There was honor and glory in these words. The old man was a warrior, and he was ready to give his life for his family. But so was Hadjar.

“If I defeat you, will your subordinates give the Ever-Seeking Spear to the Princess?”

Hashim stayed silent.

“If you defeat me, will you let the Princess go back home in peace?”

Once again, there was only silence.

Even though Hashim was a warrior, he couldn’t betray himself for the sake of others. He couldn’t betray his ancestors for the sake of those who were dear to him. Hadjar could. That was why he was still alive, and the ones who’d stood in his way weren’t.

“Then you’ll all die today!”

Hadjar pushed off the ground. Behind him, a sea of white lightning and blue wind exploded. They formed a dragon’s maw, which destroyed half the mountain peak. Only the stone pillar that the Princess was standing on had survived.

Hashim struck the ground with the base of his staff and a six-armed warrior appeared in front of him. Each of his arms represented an element, or a combination of them: lava, fire, earth, glass, iron, and lightning. With incredible speed, the giant moved in to intercept Hadjar.

“Too slow,” Hadjar whispered.

White lightning bolts came down from the sky, coming directly at him, and the clouds on his clothes shone. However, instead of the Quetzal bird, a dragon whose body was made up of blue clouds and whose wings were white lightning bolts soared into the sky, skirting the warrior created by Hashim. It landed right in the middle of the nearest group of disciples and descended upon them as fog radiated from Hadjar’s shoulders and sword.

“Today is the last day of the Moonlight Sect,” Hadjar declared and attacked his opponents.

Chapter 987

E nduring the downpour, a little girl stood and watched as colorful lights flashed at the top of the Moon Peak, leaving colorful spots across the dark sky. They were like the fireworks that the young men and women who came down from the mountains set off in the villages on the holidays. These people were always honored and respected, and also given the best seats at the common tables.

“What a strange rain,” the girl said, holding out her hand.

The first scarlet drop landed on her tiny palm, then another, and another, and suddenly, the rain turned red. The smell of copper filled her nostrils, and the raindrops became heavy and evil.

The girl was being held in her father’s strong arms before she even knew what was happening. Pale and wide-eyed, he ran with her into the house.

“Daddy, what’s going on?” The little girl screamed.

***

Hadjar lifted his face toward the refreshing, cold raindrops. He stood in the center of a sea of white — hundreds of the Sect’s disciples were clustered around him. Somewhere out there were the Mentors and Patriarch Hashim as well.

“You have no honor!” Mentor Jao shouted. “Hiding from us amongst our own disciples!”

Hadjar knew that perfectly well. He’d realized that he’d avoided Hashim’s attack by pure luck. The Patriarch had still been in shock over the fact that someone had destroyed the Moon Gates, and therefore hadn’t been able to think clearly. Now that the initial shock had passed, Hashim was once again back to being the powerful cultivator who was respected by both Orune and Morgan. Hadjar didn’t fear for his life in a one-on-one battle against him, but if the entire Sect supported their leader…

In war, just like in street brawls, fools tried to eliminate the strongest opponent first, forgetting that, during a battle, those who were weaker would then have enough time to attack them and actually hurt and weaken them. That was why it was necessary to destroy the weakest opponents first. There really was no honor in it. But that was war.

“Don’t worry, honorable Jao,” Hadjar crouched slightly and spun his sword, holding it in a reverse grip, “Your disciples will soon be gone.”

“Moonlight Sect!” Hashim struck the ground with his staff. “Use the Formation of the Piercing Beam!”

Dozens of disciples began to move up one after another, forming a wide triangle. They grabbed the shoulders of those in front of them with their right hands, and put their left hands up to their noses. They were whispering, and the murmur of hundreds of voices turned into a hum. The flashes of silver energy turned into a single stream of light.

“How interesting,” Hadjar muttered.

Forty disciples were standing around him, weapons drawn. No more could fit. So, he wasn’t technically fighting against the entire Sect, just forty disciples at a time.

If not for the protective dome surrounding the Moon Peak, everyone who was weaker than a Nameless would’ve already disappeared beneath the pressure of the Blue Wind Sword Duchy. The magic dome took all the power of Hadjar’s Kingdom unto itself, absorbing it like a sponge and becoming denser in the process.

“Well.”

He pushed off the ground. Another crack pierced the stone peak and, moving downward, made a web of deep crevices. Somewhere in the distance, the cattle made panicked sounds and people shouted as they, unfortunately, came to see what was happening on the Moon Peak. They were falling into the cracks, breaking their bones and getting cut up by the sharp stones, most of them dying as they fell in.

Hadjar slammed his shoulder into the disciple in front of him, who’d crossed his gauntlets in front of himself defensively. The gauntlets were certainly Heaven level artifacts. The Moonlight Sect mainly specialized in hand-to-hand combat and combat magic, but the latter was extremely difficult to master.

A scarlet flash of energy that didn’t even manage to form a proper defensive Technique was the last thing the young man saw. His own artifacts, turned into shrapnel by Hadjar’s charge, rammed through his chest and flew out of his back, injuring several other sectarians in the process. Turning around, Hadjar dodged a fist shrouded in a veil of fire that had been aimed at his head. The flames rippled behind him, then slammed into the rocks created by three other disciples’ synchronized strikes aimed at the ground.

The surface of the rock seemed to come to life and another ripple launched itself toward Hadjar’s feet. Jagged stones tore through the surface, and the disciples who were in their way stepped on the sharpest peaks and leapt up, making way for the Formation of the Piercing Beam. The Sect had clearly trained for this and was working well together, like a well-oiled machine.

Hadjar abruptly straightened up. His left shoulder slammed into the fire user’s elbow. The latter’s arm snapped and he screamed in pain, but the scream soon stopped. Hadjar’s sword had swiftly cut the man in half.

A stream of moonlight rushed at Hadjar’s back. It seemed to be directed by a stork that had a beak like a spear. Turning on his heel, Hadjar spun his sword again and intercepted it with a sharp swing of his sword.

“The Third Strike: Vacuum Sword!”

The blue spark that came out of the tip of his sword turned black, and a slightly vibrating cut appeared in the air. It seemed as if some sort of monster was trapped inside of it.

Watching the battle, but unable to join in, Hashim looked both surprised and horrified. In the records of the Moonlight Sect, there were references to the Techniques of one of the most powerful outsiders who’d ever come here. The Last King, the swordsman Erhard, had used that exact same Technique, but... Where had a young man who’d only recently come out of ‘The Holy Sky’ School and trained with Tarisfal acquired it?

“Jao, Chido, Hushie!” Hashim swung his staff above him. The magic rings clanged and the six-armed warrior disappeared, turning into a huge python. “Use the Wall of Moonfire!”

“Yes, Master!”

Two white-haired men and an elderly woman stood at the corners of the plateau, their gauntlets held at the ready. Forming a square with Hashim, they drove their iron-clad fists into the ground. The energy of the silver flames bubbled up around them and flowed into the ground.

The huge python, which was now glowing with the silver light, slithered across the stones and, after absorbing the fire that came from the three Mentors, grew larger until its coils rose a hundred feet into the air and turned into silver fire as well.

At that very moment, a tornado resembling both a sword and a dragon fang burst out from within the vibrating cut left behind by Hadjar’s sword.

Chapter 988

T he stork created from moonlight didn’t even have time to let out one final cry, as it was instantly torn apart by the tornado. Ropes of silvery energy were drawn into the black tornado, turning it into a shimmering pillar. It was as if the night sky had been rolled up into a tube, compressed, and then spread out again.

Dozens of the disciples, unable to anchor themselves, disappeared into the raging elements, screaming in terror. Their defensive Techniques, despite being full of energy, were nothing in the face of this threat that surpassed their understanding. As they got sucked into the tornado, even their souls were cut to pieces by the sheer concentration of the Sword that was at the center of the raging Technique.

Turning around and looking into the eyes of the furious Mentors and Hashim, who’d protected most of the disciples with a wall of fire, Hadjar swung his sword. The tornado disappeared, and about a hundred disciples, who’d managed to stay on the ground and protect themselves from the suction force of the ‘Vacuum Sword,’ were now face-to-face with Hadjar.

The flickering, pale wall of fire that had protected them at first now became a kind of cage. The downside of Hashim’s Technique was that it couldn’t be dismissed all that quickly.

“Well, if Morgan wants to strike terror into the hearts of the Lascanians and the rest of the Empires…” Hadjar plunged his sword into the ground in front of him and pulled his long hair back into a ponytail with a piece of string.

He stood to his full height. Through the flickering flames, he saw Hashim.

“Watch, you worthless geezer,” Hadjar roared at the top of his lungs, “As your stubbornness ends up costing your disciples their lives!”

“NO!” Hashim yelled, his cry drowned out by the wall of fire, but it was already too late.

This time, Hadjar’s advance didn’t crack the ground beneath him. On the contrary, he moved as if he wasn’t even touching the surface of the Moon Peak at all, as if he had wings and was instead flying toward his opponents. The Blue Blade, exuding black and blue energy, was still buried in the ground behind him. He didn’t need his sword to break the formation of a hundred Moonlight Sect disciples… He’d tried to convince himself that he was the villain of this story, but in his heart, he knew that he didn’t want all their achievements and aspirations to be devoured by the Blue Blade. No, his sword would feast on far less tonight…

Moving toward a group of ten disciples, Hadjar dispatched most of them with a series of quick attacks. A girl brought her staff down toward his head, which turned into a torrent of raging water. She didn’t manage to see what exactly had sent her to her forefathers before she died. Hadjar had cut her legs off. He’d knocked the girl to the ground, and his attack had severed her legs at the knees. The bloody stumps revealed broken, rapidly reddening white bones protruding from scarlet flesh and muscle. After letting the stream of raging water, which had been hiding her staff inside of it, pass by him, Hadjar had plunged his fist into the girl’s chest.

A blow of unearthly strength, even by the standards of a Nameless, had slammed into her body. The girl’s stomach and chest had swelled, and then her body, unable to endure it, had exploded like a balloon. Blood and gore flew in all directions, but Hadjar moved so quickly that not a single drop stained his blue robes.

He also caught her staff, which was still shrouded in the torrents of water. Her Technique, which could’ve damaged the Moon Peak itself, albeit only slightly, couldn’t even scratch his hand.

Twirling the staff, he swung it at the disciples in front of him like he was wielding a whip. The torrent of water that exploded out of the staff swept over the bodies of several disciples. It tore the flesh off their bodies, exposing their bones. There were screams and groans as people fell, either gravely wounded or dead.

Hadjar spun the staff and, moving it under his right arm, swung it behind him. A disciple, who was armed with an axe and had already jumped to attack him, was struck by the weapon. It went straight through his skull.

With a quick gesture, Hadjar threw both the staff and the disciple stuck on it. Turning on his heel, he kicked the base of the weapon. The staff shot out, dislodged from the boy’s head.

Flying at such a high speed and with such immense force that the ground beneath it furrowed, it punched through four members of the Sect, then crashed into the ground, which exploded into a shower of rubble. The sharp rocks went through dozens of disciples who’d been standing too close to the epicenter of the explosion.

“Brothers and sisters!” The disciple standing at the tip of the formation shouted. He had seven red dots on his shaven head. “Now!”

Twenty disciples simultaneously punched the air in front of them, their fists tightly clenched. Their gauntlets glowed with purple energy. A flood of energy rushed toward Hadjar. A tiger’s maw with white flame fangs opened wide. The heat was so intense that the rocks began to turn into lava. The scorching wind ruffled Hadjar’s clothes and hair.

He was standing sideways, his right side facing the attack. Not so long ago, he would’ve had to use his sword to defend against the collective Technique of twenty other cultivators, despite the fact that each of them was only a Spirit Knight. Without it, he only had access to half his offensive and defensive abilities.

Now, he simply held out his right hand. He could feel the steely will within him taking the energy flowing out of his crystallized Core (which was unique to a Lord) as it was also imbued with the mysteries of the Sword and Wind.

The huge maw struck Hadjar head on.

“It’s over!” The disciples shouted, and the sectarian at the head of the formation breathed a sigh of relief. They’d been able to defeat the enemy after all…

The Mentors, who’d been observing the fight, tried to remove the protective wall as quickly as possible as they did their best to call out to their disciples, but they couldn’t. Their own Technique was stopping them from warning the poor souls. Only Hashim quietly watched what was happening. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“W-what’s going on?” One of the disciples that had used the group Technique asked.

“There’s something wrong here,” another said.

They saw the stream of roaring fire and the tiger’s maw simply freeze in place a hundred feet away. They couldn’t discern how Hadjar had stopped the roaring stream of fire with just one hand. His will, coupled with his mysteries and energy, had stopped a Technique created by twenty Spirit Knights working together. Not a single drop of sweat fell from Hadjar’s forehead. His hand didn’t even tremble. He held all this power back as easily as he would hold back a leaf.

“So that’s why even the Nameless level cultivators were afraid of you…” Hadjar whispered. “I’ve known for a long time that everything in the world is part of me, and therefore part of my weapon as well, but I only recently realized that this weapon is actually inside of me, inside my own heart. And my will is even deeper…”

Hadjar studied the fiery tiger’s maw, which was unable to break through the barely visible blue-black veil. All these years, he’d been learning about the world around him, but now it seemed that the time had come for him to learn more about himself. Hadjar clenched his hand and the roaring stream of fire, which was taller than a castle wall, exploded in a shower of bright sparks.

Chapter 989

H adjar charged forward again. There were eighty more Heaven Soldiers and Spirit Knights standing around him. He needed to get rid of them before the wall of fire collapsed.

Having lived through several wars, Hadjar knew that nothing made the enemy more chaotic and confused than brutally destroying their comrades. Hadjar turned into a beast that was more than ready to tear apart its prey.

His first victim was a young man who, together with his brothers and sisters, had used the collective fire tiger Technique. Like most of the other Sect disciples, he was armed with artifact gauntlets. Upon seeing the enemy moving toward him, covering a hundred feet in a split second, he unleashed all the mysteries and energy he could muster. His comrades were already rushing to aid him, but he didn’t know whether they’d make it in time or not.

“The Pa-” He assumed a fighting stance and was just about to use his best offensive Technique, when he suddenly realized that he couldn’t feel his arms and he couldn’t say the name of the Technique properly.

Hadjar’s fist went through his gauntlets, and then shattered the bones and tore apart the muscles in the young man’s arms. He grabbed the man’s face and then squeezed it. Bone fragments flew everywhere, and Hadjar threw the twitching corpse at the feet of the disciples running toward him.

He didn’t stop there. He ran deeper into the disciples’ formation, attacking ferociously. He crouched, letting someone’s staff pass over his head, then slammed his fist into someone else’s thigh. His punch tore the leg right out of the hip, and the screaming disciple fell, only to get stomped on by Hadjar.

As he straightened back up, his head slammed into a foe’s chin. The warrior’s head was ripped off his body and flew up. Turning on his heel to keep running, Hadjar elbowed two disciples in the gut. Their bodies were torn to shreds from the power of the impact and bloody fragments rained down on the nearby disciples.

Moving deeper, Hadjar broke the wrist of a gauntleted fist that had been aimed at his stomach, shrouded in energies and mysteries. Following through, he punched the disciple’s throat. The woman’s head rolled down Hadjar’s arm, and he grabbed it, using it like an improvised mace.

Dodging his next opponent’s fist, he slammed the woman’s severed head into the man’s shoulder. The young man, unable to withstand the hit, slammed into the ground with such force that he left a crater behind, and his blood and fragments of stone flew everywhere. Hadjar struck each of the fragments, charging them with energy, and sent them flying toward the disciples. The stones punched through their defensive Techniques like they were soap bubbles, and mutilated the young men and women horrifically.

Hadjar didn’t slow down or stop for even a single moment. All of his attacks seemed like they were part of one smooth, continuous movement. He tore through the formation, leaving behind a trail of unrecognizable corpses, scraps of flesh and bones, and severed limbs. He was a hurricane of punches and kicks, but none of the Sect disciples’ attacks could so much as touch his robes. His only goal was to disable the enemy as quickly as possible. There was no elegance or grace in his movements. He was like a savage beast tearing its prey apart with no mercy. Even his punches and kicks felt more like the wild, primal onslaught of a frenzied animal than the attacks of an actual human being.

Grabbing a fist that had been flying toward his face and ignoring the strong Technique behind it, Hadjar kicked his opponent in the gut and ripped the man’s arm out of its socket. Hadjar then parried the attack of another disciple while slamming the severed arm into a third man’s throat. None of the disciples stood a chance…

After the roaring cage of flames and moonlight finally disappeared, Hashim, the Mentors, and the rest of the disciples saw the intruder standing in the middle of a lake of blood. The crimson liquid trickled down his fingers, and all around him, submerged in the red, viscous blood, lay the remains of their brothers and sisters. Some cried out in anguish. Some screamed in rage. Hadjar, walking over bone and flesh, ankle-deep in blood, went over to his sword and pulled it out of the ground.

“This is the end of your madness, demon,” Hashim whispered.

The power balance had changed. Hashim, dressed in white, and the white-haired, black-clad Mentors Jao, Chido, and Hushie surrounded Hadjar in a square formation. The remaining disciples, a little more than fifteen hundred of them, stood behind them. Most of their temples and other buildings had also survived. Only a few had been destroyed by Hadjar’s attacks.

“After I send you to your forefathers, the Moonlight Sect will forever be closed to Darnassian madness,” Hashim declared. “And I hope that your soul will suffer for thousands of years due to the dishonor you’ve brought to my home.”

Hadjar said nothing. He recalled how, by leaving Derek alive, he’d made the meaning of his life revenge. That had almost led to people he valued more than his own heart and soul losing their lives. He couldn’t let history repeat itself. There was an exception — Paris — but he didn’t see anyone like him amongst the Sect’s disciples. They were all filled with hatred and a righteous thirst for revenge.

Hadjar raised his sword in front of him. He wasn’t so sure that he’d be able to use the Technique he’d destroyed the gates with again. He wouldn’t have been confident even if he’d devoted all forty years he’d spent training on the Storm Mountain to mastering it. This was the Technique that had become the embodiment of his entire path of cultivation up to this point. The ‘Torn Sky’ Technique, or rather, its first stance, had been created in a rush and used in a rush. To put it simply, Hadjar didn’t really understand what he’d created, just like he hadn’t understood his Kingdom at first. He had to thoroughly comprehend and accept it in order to use it without harming himself.

But the fact that Hadjar couldn’t properly use his ‘Torn Sky’ Technique yet didn’t mean that he couldn’t include his newfound understanding of will in a Technique he’d already mastered. Thanks to the Black General’s Inheritance, it was as if Hadjar had spent several centuries only practicing the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique.

Hadjar held out his sword in front of him. Like before, a storm of blue wind unfolded behind him. This time, however, there was something different about it…

Chapter 990

A kena, who was both trapped and shielded by the mysteries, could hardly believe her eyes — a single cultivator, a man who’d just recently been an average disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, was singlehandedly fighting against an entire Sect. The strongest Sect in all the seven Empires, at that.

The Moonlight Sect had existed since before the Hundred Kingdoms era. Most claimed that it was so ancient it had even witnessed the stories of the legendary rulers from the distant past firsthand: the fabulous Gazrangana, and Elassia, whose daughter had been saved from a deadly disease with a flower that contained the essence of one of the sun’s own rays. Few people believed these stories, but no one doubted that the Moonlight Sect was strong, and that its power had been a constant of this world since ancient times.

Now that the wall of fire was gone, Akena stared at the warrior standing in the middle of a pool of blood, his face calm even after he’d just killed a hundred people. The most disturbing part was that he didn’t show any fear as he looked at the faces of Hashim and his disciples. Hashim alone could match the power of even the best Nameless level cultivators of Dahanatan, which meant that he was almost the equal of the great heroes.

His three disciples — the Fire Trinity, as they were called in the capital — Jao, Chido, and Hushie, two brothers and a sister, connected not only by the ties of the Sect, but also by blood, were a great threat as well. Individually, they were powerful cultivators, but together, they were able to fight like a single whole and were just as powerful as their Master.

There were also one and a half thousand disciples standing behind them, ready to help. Was Hadjar planning to fight all of them? Impossible! Unthinkable!

Akena’s train of thought was derailed by the appearance of a storm of blue wind behind Hadjar. An ocean of energy and mysteries spread out over the Moon Peak, mixing with the dark sky and the natural thunderstorm.

Hashim and the Fire Trinity instantly, without any hesitation, assumed a defensive formation. The Patriarch struck the ground with his staff, and the six-armed giant once again appeared in front of him, each arm representing a pure element or its fusion with another.

The Fire Trinity joined hands and a mighty Fire Tiger appeared around them. Jao became its maw, Chido formed its front legs, and Hushie was its hind legs. Their combined Technique, which was the same type of Technique as Einen’s Shadow Ape, had incredible offensive and defensive capabilities. When using it, they gained a combined power equal to that of Hashim himself.

The huge Fire Tiger, which was almost sixty feet tall at the withers and six times as long, stood sideways in front of the disciples. Its fur, comprised of sparks of blue and scarlet energy, stood on end, and it let out a roar that conjured a whirlwind of fire that set the air ablaze and melted the ground.

Hashim’s giant clapped its hands and spread them out, creating a sort of magical seal. Expanding, it rose as high as the Fire Tiger and covered the disciples with a radiant glow.

Akena couldn’t believe her eyes. The four strongest members of the Moonlight Sect were clearly using their best defensive Techniques. However, they weren’t trying to protect the disciples from an army or a great hero. They were trying to protect them from one young warrior who hadn’t even used his Technique yet, and had only really assumed a stance so far.

Then Akena lost the ability to think straight.

Hadjar, who’d been holding his sword with one hand this whole time, suddenly put his other hand on its hilt and the entire Moon Peak seemed to come to life. Cracks spread out from beneath Hadjar’s feet. Incredibly wide, they spiraled outward and rubble fell into those newly-formed abysses. The mountain trembled. Pillars of dust shot up into the dark sky, breaking the roofs of the ancient temples and buildings, which had been built before Darnassus or Lascan had existed. Now destroyed by this earthquake, they rolled down the crumbling Moon Peak.

Suddenly, white lightning bolts swirled around Hadjar. They turned into roaring dragon maws, then merged with his sword, and then appeared again only to be absorbed over and over again. These lightning bolts burned the high temples, broke through their walls, and turned the ancient masonry into lava. All of this wasn’t even the result of Hadjar’s Technique, but simply his intent to use it.

If not for the two defensive Techniques that were holding back the currents of this unbridled rage, none of the disciples would’ve survived. Akena understood that she had only survived thanks to the cocoon of Sword and Wind mysteries that was protecting her.

A gust of wind, ripping rocks straight out of the mountain, struck the Moon Peak. It blew over it, flattening everything that protruded above the plateau, turning the mountain into an even, almost sculpted surface. The ancient temples and gardens atop the peak were completely gone.

Hadjar whispered quietly:

“The Sword.”

The fierce storm of blue wind that had been raging behind him passed through him and exited through his sword. At first, Akena thought that everything was over and his Technique hadn’t worked, that Hadjar didn’t have the power or skill necessary to make it a reality, that his mysteries weren’t deep enough or strong enough to withstand such power.

A moment later, she suddenly realized that the sky had turned pitch black. It had been the dead of night before, so the sky had obviously been dark, but now the Moon Peak was shrouded in pure, primordial darkness, within which Akena could see countless pairs of animal eyes glowing with blue light. Her heart skipped a beat. What she’d thought was darkness at first was actually thousands upon thousands of writhing, black dragons. Their bodies, created from sword strikes, were ten paces long, and their blue fangs and eyes glowed with overwhelming energy and mysteries.

When Hadjar swung his sword and brought it down in front of him, the innumerable dragons rained down on the Sect’s disciples. The ancient stone buildings and the mountains didn’t survive. The jagged stones that the Moon Peak consisted of simply broke and the rope bridges that connected them collapsed, falling into the abyss. The pressure of the energy scattered black clouds across the sky. The echo, which spread out all around them, only subsided once it was many miles away.

The distant ‘Kite’, despite being protected by the best charms, was still pushed dozens of miles away. The ship now looked as if it had spent a week in the center of a storm, or a few hours in the midst of a furious battle.

When all was quiet once more, Akena fell to her knees and pressed her hand over her mouth, realizing what had happened. She was a warrior. She’d been raised to be one. Since her childhood, she knew that she’d have to wear a General’s medallion and lead the troops one day. This was the fate that her father had chosen for her. She’d seen warriors before. Weak and mighty. Fierce and quiet. Cruel and noble. But even in her wildest dreams, in her worst nightmares, she couldn’t have imagined what she was seeing right now. It wasn’t a battle, or even a massacre. It was an extermination. It was merciless. It was the complete destruction of the peace and tranquility this region had known for eons.

She finally understood why the songs of the bards that mentioned the Mad General didn’t just praise his unyielding courage and ingenuity, but always struck terror into the hearts of the listeners as well.

The bloody rain drenched Akena. Blood was raining down from the sky. As if the gods themselves were crying…

Chapter 991

H adjar stood with his sword held in front of him. His steely will was like a base upon which the energy and mysteries could build on. It was one thing to grasp Techniques through an Inheritance, but quite another to be aware of them. The Black General had chosen Erhard as his disciple for a reason. It wasn’t simply because the Last King had been born from a dead woman, like the first Darkhan had. All his life, Erhard had fought alone against a hundred kingdoms, against a hundred armies, against a hundred Kings. He hadn’t stumbled, hadn’t given up. And he’d defeated them all. He’d then been betrayed and forgotten. Just like the Black General himself.

Had the first Darkhan known what fate awaited his disciple? Maybe. Maybe that was why he’d given him the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique, which could defeat an army of enemies, overthrow Kings, and take their lands, combining them into a single country. And all of this had been accomplished with the help of one thing — the sword that Erhard had held in his hands. His sword had been able to cut down one opponent, two, or even a thousand. No matter how many enemies had stood in the way of the Last King, he’d defeated them all. This had been his true power. And the true power of his Technique.

The last stance of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique didn’t, in fact, have any clear form. It was the embodiment of the Sword, its very core. If Hadjar fought only one enemy, like Derek of the Steppe, for example, it would bring down all its might on him alone. And if he fought a thousand enemies, they would become its target instead.

Now that Hadjar could add his will to the mysteries and energy he wielded, he no longer saw the difference between one or a thousand enemies. He needed to not only physically destroy them, but also destroy their will, what they’d left behind, everything they’d created in their lifetime. This knowledge and understanding overwhelmed Hadjar and flowed into his core self. The energy merged with his will, giving birth to the true ‘Sword’ stance of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique. Thus, Hadjar finally understood the Black General’s Technique in its entirety. Every bit of it. He’d absorbed every little detail. He’d made it a part of his essence. Were there a thousand enemies in front of him? He didn’t care. They would all fall to his sword regardless.

“The Sword,” he whispered.

Hadjar’s words became the truth. His sword knew no barrier. It slammed into Hashim’s magical protection and, after destroying it, because it had lost no more than half of its power in the process, easily got past the Patriarch and the Fire Trinity.

The disciples died one by one. Countless attacks, which manifested in the form of black dragons, hacked, cut, and pierced them. The black dragons destroyed everything that Hadjar could see, everything that his sword could reach. The temples fell, mountains crumbled, and the air itself groaned with the old, now fading glory of the Moonlight Sect.

When all was quiet once more and the bloody mist had settled down, only a few people were left standing on the lonely mountain peak that pierced the sky like a spear. The ridge, which had dozens of such peaks, had turned into a huge field of craters. Now it could rightfully be called the Moon Peak.

Surrounded by the mysteries and protected by the impenetrable dome, Akena sat on her knees, pale with horror. There were only four people standing in front of Hadjar now.

Hashim was one of them, his white robes flapping in the wind like tattered rags as the scarlet drops of bloody rain left stains on them. The three Mentors who were panting and supporting each other looked far worse. Two of them, a man and a woman, had broken arms. Their artifact gauntlets were now a pile of broken iron at their feet. Only Jao was close to being alright after weathering the Sword stance. His artifacts were cracked and blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth, but unlike his brother and sister, he could still stand. Behind them was a precipice. All the disciples, the entirety of the Moonlight Sect, had disappeared over it.

The sky turned dark again. The storm was still in full swing.

Hadjar staggered and collapsed to one knee. Shaking his head, he popped a few pills that were so expensive they practically cost as much as everything he’d earned on the Storm Mountain and as a reward for his expedition to Karnak. His ‘modest’ inheritance from Orune hadn’t exactly been bad, but it hadn’t been game-changing, either. There were only a few pills, a couple of potions and ointments, a couple hundred imperial coins, and the wooden dagger he held in his spatial ring.

“The Moonlight Sect stood here for thousands upon thousands of years.” Hashim’s hands were trembling from barely contained rage. “And you, you fucking madman, destroyed it all… For what? Answer me!” The old man roared those last words like an injured Lord of the Heavens. He thrust his staff in front of him and a huge pillar of bright moonlight struck the sky. It reached toward the moon, turning into a huge stork. The bird — the symbol of the sect — spread its wings, covering a huge territory with them. Its massive beak was aimed directly at Hadjar’s chest.

“Master,” someone behind Hashim called out.

“Calm down, young Jao. This battle isn’t over yet and-”

“It’s over for us, Master.”

“What are you talking about?” Hashim protested. “The followers of the Moonlight Sect don’t give up until-”

“We... aren’t giving up... Master,” Chido whispered with great difficulty.

“We just... want... to...” Hushie could barely speak. Her voice was almost inaudible over the raging storm, “To fight... one last time... by your… side.”

Hashim realized what his three disciples were about to do, “No, I forbid-”

Jao stepped forward. For the first and last time in his life, he interrupted his Master, the Patriarch of the Sect.

“As long as you’re alive, Master, the Sect will also survive.”

With that, the trio placed their hands on Hashim’s shoulder, smiling at him one last time, and then disappeared in a flash of bright flames. A ball of fire, so bright that it lit up the entire valley of the Moon Peak like a second sun for a moment, turning night into day, poured into Hashim. The stork hovering in the sky above Hadjar turned into streams of silver fire. Its high-pitched cry swept across the sky in fiery waves. It even burned through the storm — the thunder died and the lightning disappeared. For a moment, there was only silence in the valley.

Hadjar removed the sash of his robe with a deft swing of his blade, creating a scabbard from it. Queen Mab had apparently known that he, a swordsman whose sword lived inside his soul, might need it one day. He straightened up, sheathing his Blue Blade in his Call armor. He stood perfectly still, as if the combined might of a Technique created by the four strongest cultivators of the Moonlight Sect wasn’t waiting above him, ready to annihilate him.

“DIE!” Hashim roared, practically insane with grief.

Hadjar watched him furiously bring his staff down in front of him, which made the monstrous, fiery stork fold its wings and plummet toward his head.

“You asked me why I destroyed everything you held dear.” Hadjar crouched slightly and put his hand over the hilt of his sword. “I did it to save what is dear to me…” And he ran forward.

Chapter 992

I t was raining. The north wind was blowing. The rain and the north wind had never come to the valley of the Moon Peak before. But everything changed... The mountain that had stood in the middle of the valley for several eons had disappeared. Its proud peaks had turned into a pile of rocks scattered across the surrounding area. The Sect’s majestic temples, in which its followers had traversed the path of cultivation and found peace and quiet, had become history, and were now doomed to become just a legend with time.

In the middle of these ruins, in a crater the size of a city square, in a lake of rain and mud, lay an old man. He was pressing his right hand to the wound on his chest. Blood spurted out from beneath his bony, old palm. His magic staff, broken in half, lay beside him.

A young warrior towered over the old man. He was pressing his hand to the wound on his side as well, but he still stood, even though he was leaning on his sword that was stuck in the ground. His hair fluttered in the wind. Underneath his torn clothes and armor, burns and bruises were visible. He’d leave this place today as the one who’d survived, who wouldn’t turn into just a memory with the passing centuries.

“Why didn’t you give up the Spear, Hashim?” Hadjar whispered. “Why didn’t you agree to join the army?”

Hashim coughed. A smile appeared on his bloody face. His eyes stared up into the dark sky of the storm.

“For what, young warrior? To fight against my brothers and sisters?”

“So that all of this could’ve been avoided!” Hadjar cried out in anguish. He staggered and almost fell, leaning back against the side of the crater. He still held on to his sword, which was buried in the mud. Scarlet stains had already started appearing in the mud.

“Life is a strange thing…” Hashim could barely speak. “You... destroyed everything... that was dear to me... You killed everyone... that I loved... I’m dying in mud and blood... but it seems like… you... feel worse than me…”

Not so long ago, Hadjar would’ve finished off the old man so that he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, and would’ve then gone to search for the Ever-Seeking Spear. But now... He was standing over the dying Patriarch, and he felt like he’d swallowed broken glass. It was cutting him from the inside. The pain was like nothing Hadjar had ever experienced before. He put his hand to his chest, trying to breathe, but couldn’t, as if he, and not Hashim, had been fatally wounded. Wounds appeared deep in his soul… By recovering the other half of his soul, he’d received power, but this power was also dangerous. His feelings had become sharper. He could now feel things he’d never felt before.

“It hurts,” Hadjar whispered. “It hurts so bad…”

Hashim was lying on his back, his gaze fixed on the sky, “Why do people fight... young Hadjar? For land? There’s so much of it that everyone... can build... a home. For food? If... we worked together... no one would ever go hungry again. To protect themselves? If we... united… who would we need to defend ourselves from?”

“There will always be those who want to take what others have,” Hadjar argued.

“There will be... there were... there are,” Hashim agreed, red foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “But ... if we are united… what can they do... to us?”

A lightning bolt split the sky. Silence ensued, like the quiet of a battlefield after everything was over, when healers were busy collecting the dead and helping the wounded…

“Morgan... will never... understand,” Hashim whispered, one last tear sliding down his cheek. “But... maybe… you’ll understand... one day.”

Hadjar said nothing. He only gripped his chest tighter, until it was bloodstained. He felt as if something had broken inside of him.

“I can’t see…” Hashim whispered. “Help me... Help me up, Hadjar. Help me meet my forefathers while standing proudly on my feet…”

Hadjar looked at the old man lying in the mud, the man who’d gone against the Emperor of Darnassus and paid for it with everything he’d had.

“Please…”

Hadjar staggered toward him. Leaning on his sword and clenching his teeth in pain, he helped Hashim to his feet. The old man put all his weight on Hadjar’s shoulders. Pushing off the runny mud, Hadjar jumped out of the crater and landed on one of the rocks.

“The moon…” Hashim’s body was weakening. “I want… to see it... one… last... time.”

“Wait, Hashim,” Hadjar said and raised his sword, barely able to stand. “Wait a little.” He swung it and a stream of blue wind shot out from the blue spark that left its tip. It reached the sky and, splitting it apart, revealed the full moon for a couple of seconds. The stars were dancing around it. The moon never scorched anything like the sun did, it only gave serene light and peace.

“Amazing,” Hadjar whispered.

He expected to hear a reply from the old man, but didn’t. Hadjar turned to see Hashim’s eyes were closed and his chest was still. The Patriarch had gone to his forefathers. Hadjar didn’t know whether he’d seen the moon before he’d died or not. The realization only made his chest ache more.

Carefully setting Hashim’s body down on the stones and wood, Hadjar took out some flint from his spatial ring. Before lighting the funeral pyre, he noticed something in the Patriarch’s clenched fist. After prying his stiff fingers open, Hadjar smiled a little sadly.

***

“Everything’s going to be okay, sweetie,” the mother whispered, cradling the little girl in her arms. “It’s over... Everything’s okay...”

“Mom,” the girl whispered, “I saw the red rain.”

“They must have spilled a lot of paint up on the mountain.” The pale father tried to smile, but he failed. “Everything-”

He didn’t get to finish speaking before the door to their house opened. The cold wind blew in, and icy raindrops landed on their doorstep. Lightning flashed, showing the silhouette of a tall man. His hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and he was dressed in blue, torn robes. A scarlet streak ran down his side. He limped into the house. The father picked up a sickle and stood in his way.

“Who are you?” He growled. “Get out of our house!”

Both the daughter and the mother looked at the father in horror. No one in the valley, except for the monks, had ever had weapons. No one knew how to use one. Moreover, no one could even imagine that they’d ever need to pick up something that could harm another person.

“There will never be peace, Hashim.” The man coughed up blood, “As long as there are those whose lives are more precious to us than the whole world.” The man walked past the father, who couldn’t move.

“Please don’t harm my d-” The mother was unable to move, too. An invisible force had bound her and she could only breathe and watch as the terrifying man crouched in front of her daughter.

“Hey,” he smiled at her. “I think you should have this.”

He placed a small bundle on the floor, then got up and left the house. The door slammed shut behind him and the parents could move again.

“Don’t touch that!” The father shouted as the girl reached for the bundle. But he was too late. The girl unwrapped it and found an ancient medallion. On it, a stork, its wings spread, was flying in front of the shimmering moon. Many years would pass before the girl learned that this was a spatial artifact, one that had all the knowledge and records of the Moonlight Sect stored inside of it.

***

“Are you ready?” Akena asked once Hadjar finished treating his wounds. “The Demon Cave is hidden somewhere deep in the valley, but father gave me a map.”

Instead of answering her, Hadjar got up from the wet ground and walked northward. The wind brought with it the cries of the desperate inhabitants of the valley.

“The ancient walls have fallen!”

Chapter 993

A kena watched Hadjar. He was wrapped up in a ragged blanket and staring at the dancing flames. He was sitting an arm’s length away from her. She wondered what he saw in them. The Princess looked at his sharp, handsome features and his clear, bright blue eyes, in which she could see the reflection of the flames. The light of the fire caressed his powerful shoulders and dark hair, which was so long that, when Hadjar sat, it coiled in his lap. Akena was surprised to realize that Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, was not only a mysterious, powerful warrior, but also a handsome man. Although, like most women, she believed that beauty wasn’t the most important feature of a man. More important was how firmly he could hold his weapon and how true to his word he was.

“My father has manipulated a lot of people,” Akena finally said. “Even your Master, the great swordsman Orune, never managed to untangle himself from my father’s web.”

Hadjar smiled wryly, “You know, Princess-”

“I’ve already told you!” The red-haired girl laughed, interrupting him. “To you, it’s just Akena.”

“You know, Akena,” he corrected himself, “I’ve traveled with a Princess once before.”

“Are you talking about your sister?”

Hadjar turned to her and she raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“My father didn’t mind me reading your file, and I didn’t mind knowing who I was going to the jungles of Karnak with.”

Hadjar nodded. He’d always suspected that Akena knew about his past. By the High Heavens, in all of Dahanatan, only a blind, deaf, and mute dog didn’t know that Hadjar wasn’t as young as he’d claimed to be when he’d first entered ‘The Holy Sky’ School. Maybe Rector Cassius had distanced himself so much from him because of that? Maybe that was also why Hadjar still hadn’t received his personal disciple’s wooden medallion… But, compared to everything that was happening in his life right now, his problems with ‘The Holy Sky’ School seemed unimportant.

“Yes, I’m talking about my sister,” Hadjar nodded. “Although, at the time, she didn’t know I was her brother. The Darnassian Governor…” Hadjar stopped, swallowed, and managed to correct himself with a lot of effort, “Our Governor, at the request of the then King of Lidus, my uncle, brainwashed her.”

Akena sighed, “I’m sorry to hear that, Hadjar. The Governors in the provinces always seem to think they are equal in importance to my father or something just as silly. No organization could ever truly control all of them and deal with everyone’s affairs as well. There are simply too many vassal territories…”

Hadjar knew this all too well. He understood everything Akena had told him. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t destroyed the Ninth Legion, which the Governor, who’d abused his homeland and sister for so many years, had belonged to. This nameless world was truly enormous. Even the seven Empires were surrounded by countless provinces. Compared to the Empires, they were tiny, but by Earth standards… Hadjar shook his head. While his life on this nameless world was already far longer than the one he’d had on Earth, he still sometimes tried to measure everything by the same standards he’d used in his previous life.

“That particular journey didn’t end well.” Hadjar stood up. He trampled and scattered the flames. Out of habit, he threw dirt and water over it, so that possible pursuers couldn’t determine how long ago he’d left camp. Even after becoming a cultivator, it was still very difficult for him to get rid of some old habits.

“That doesn’t mean our journey will end the same way,” Akena said softly.

Hadjar looked at her. She was a Princess, the daughter of Emperor Morgan the Fearless. He shouldn’t forget whom he was talking to. South Wind had taught him to never trust beautiful women, except for the one he’d commit his life to. Even if he ignored Akena’s beauty, she was Morgan’s daughter — who knew how well she could spin her webs. Or maybe Einen’s paranoia had rubbed off on Hadjar.

“Let’s go, Princess,” Hadjar held out his hand as gallantly as he could. Akena took it and Hadjar felt how soft, warm, and tender it was. No craftsman could ever make a material as delicate and gentle as this.

“How many times do I need to say this?” The laughing girl shouted jokingly. “Just call me Akena!”

***

“Are you sure that this is what we’re looking for?”

“Are you doubting me, Hadjar?”

“A bit.”

“These are the two Moonlight pillars,” Akena pointed at the two granite structures that rose high into the sky, higher than any skyscraper back on Earth. Their bases were so massive that they could easily get mistaken for mountains. But the absence of vegetation, their manmade shape, and the numerous patterns on them indicated that they’d been constructed by people. Or some ancient race.

“That’s a waterfall of liquid fire,” Akena pointed to a spot across from the pillars.

Actual liquid fire poured out from the mountain, coming from somewhere even higher than the tops of the pillars. By some miracle, this didn’t turn the mountain into a volcano, didn’t harm the vegetation at its foot, and didn’t even scare away the birds and some other flying creatures that glided through the sky above it.

“Here it is.” Akena pointed at the tall mountain that stood between the pillars. Its unusual peak resembled a helmet, and it looked like a face with heavy brows, a nose, lips, and long fangs had been carved into it as well.

A stone staircase wound up to the mountain, leading into the toothy, black mouth. From the outside, it really did look as if some sort of demon was devouring you.

“If this isn’t the Demon Cave, I don’t know what else it could be. Besides, my father’s map clearly says that this is the place.”

“Didn’t he tell us that we should go to the Ancestral Temple first and find the Demon Cave there?”

“No, it’s the other way around. We need to go into the Demon Cave and find the Ancestral Temple there.”

“But I remember exactly what your father…”

Akena arched an eyebrow. Hadjar stopped mid-sentence, immediately understanding everything, and muttered:

“Oaths…”

“Holding my father back with the wording of a blood oath is harder than catching wind with a fishing net,” Akena rolled up the map and put it back in her spatial ring. “We’ll have to work without any guidance from now on.”

She boldly walked down the hill and toward the stone steps. Hadjar followed after her, making a mental note: if he ever needed Morgan to swear an oath to him, he’d use all of his neural network’s processing power to formulate it. Otherwise, it’d be like trusting his life to an unbound demon. Which was sort of what he was doing right now, as he entered one’s mouth...

Chapter 994

H adjar froze at the entrance to the cave. He’d dealt with demons more than once before. He’d made several deals with Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares, who was the Emissary of the Demon Prince himself. And he had survived the ordeal. But now, standing just in front of the demon cave, he felt like he was in danger. There was something in here that made him, the warrior who’d singlehandedly destroyed the ancient Moonlight Sect, grip his sword tighter. The Princess, who was much weaker than him, calmly walked into the cave, not seeming the least bit bothered.

“Akena,” Hadjar called out to the girl who was boldly walking into the darkness of the cave.

“Yes?” She turned and her red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. She was incredibly gorgeous.

Hadjar must’ve spent too much time with Orune, because his way of thinking had apparently rubbed off on him. Also, the last time he’d been with a woman was in the jungles of Karnak. To him, almost half a century had passed since then. But to even consider trying his luck with the Princess of Darnassus… It would probably be wiser to call Helmer and immediately sell his soul to him.

“I don’t think you’ve told me everything,” he said.

He pointed his sword at the threshold. There was a clear line there that the light wouldn’t cross, even though the sunlight was shining directly toward the cave. It was supposed to be bright. But it wasn’t. It looked as if the darkness was keeping the light out. However, Hadjar didn’t sense any disturbances in the streams of the World River.

“I thought you’d be able to get past it,” Akena frowned slightly, not because she was upset or angry, but because she felt guilty. “My father wants the Ever-Seeking Spear, but… he still loves me.”

“Our journey to the jungles of Karnak,” Hadjar guessed. “He couldn’t send anyone but you to get the scroll due to the White Dragon region’s laws.”

“Me or my brother, yes,” she nodded, and then smiled a little sadly, like a person who was already used to living with the despair. “But my father isn’t… an ordinary person… He needs to prioritize and-”

“He can’t lose his heir,” Hadjar finished for her, sparing her the anguish. “What now?”

“Hadjar, how do you think the Moonlight Sect survived for so long?”

Standing out in the light, Hadjar saw the Princess’ green eyes shining in the darkness. He’d never been self-centered. He had been able to break the Moon Gates only because he’d made a substantial step forward along the path of cultivation. He’d been able to comprehend will and weave it into his Techniques and attacks, making the quality of his path much higher. He now understood that at least eight more people in Darnassus would’ve been able to break the Gates. But they hadn’t… Did that mean the Ever-Seeking Spear had been worthless to them before now?

Nonsense. Even without using such an artifact for its intended purpose, its mere presence made a cultivator a dangerous enough opponent to make even Emperors wary of them. And if they sold it, they could probably buy a Dukedom. Not all cultivators, even among the great heroes, had honor and dignity. There was another secret here, just below the surface.

“Only a member of the Moonlight Sect can take the Spear.”

“Not just any member,” Akena shook her head. “Only those who reach the rank of Mentor, those who gain the wisdom of at least seventeen commandments of the Moon people can do so.”

“Those dots on their heads,” Hadjar recalled, “showed more than just the disciples’ power.”

“Yes, they also showed their understanding of the essence of the commandments that the ancient people from whom the Sect descended left behind.”

Hadjar realized that he’d been wrong in his assumptions about how old the Moonlight Sect was. It had been much older than he could’ve imagined. Now he felt extremely tempted: before giving the spatial artifact to the little girl, Hadjar had decided to check what exactly was in it. He hadn’t wanted to leave anything inside that might endanger his family and friends in the future. He’d ordered his neural network to make a memory registry, one that was inaccessible to him, and then scan its contents. And now all the knowledge of the Moonlight Sect and the Moon people was stored inside his memory, hidden even from him. Even so, everything that he’d sealed away of his own free will, he could just as easily access if he so chose. The temptation was great, but Hadjar buried it as deep as possible. He would need an incredibly good reason to dishonor himself even more than he already had.

“But what’s that got to do with you?” He asked.

“I’m my father’s heir,” Akena explained. “I fit the requirements, too. Only three people in all of Darnassus can take the Ever-Seeking Spear out of the Ancestral Temple.”

“You, your brother, and your father,” Hadjar guessed.

They both fell silent, looking into each other’s eyes. A tear rolled down Akena’s cheek. The deep-seated pain that had haunted her for a very long time was a heavy burden to bear. But it had become a part of her. And moments like these were the rare ones where she allowed herself to actually feel it, to let herself cry. The tear fell and disappeared in the dust and dirt.

“I don’t feel bad.” Akena tried to smile, but there was still pain in her eyes. “If I fail here and die, everything will be better — there will only be one rightful heir to the throne. An Emperor can never have two children, Hadjar… So, this is a win-win for my father.”

Hadjar remembered what Morgan had said about Akena.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to go with me, Hadjar. Few people can get through these defenses.”

The Emperor had killed not just two, but numerous birds with one stone. With just a few words, even though he knew that Hadjar wouldn’t just take his threat lying down, he’d achieved more than others would’ve accomplished through schemes that had spanned many years. He needed to replace Orune by making someone as strong as he had been. He needed the Spear to tip the war in his favor. He needed leverage over Hadjar. In case they failed, he needed to get rid of both Akena and Hadjar. He needed a lot more things. Morgan had achieved all of this by just saying a few words. He was truly the Emperor of schemes.

Clenching his teeth and fists, Hadjar allowed bestial rage to awaken in his chest and dragons to stir in the depths of his eyes. He took a step forward, growling. The darkness was like an impenetrable wall, but thanks to Hadjar’s steely will, it was as solid as a piece of paper before him. For a moment, he felt as if he’d walked through a solid metal wall, but now he was better. He approached Akena, looked into her eyes, and then held out his hand.

“We came here together, Princess. We’ll leave here together.”

She hesitated for a second, and then responded with a firm handshake.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chapter 995

H adjar had been prepared for just about anything, but the two of them calmly descending into a wide corridor did surprise him. Its sloping walls radiated a soft, measured, silvery light, which caressed his skin, healing his physical wounds from his battle with the Moonlight Sect.

As for his energy... Hadjar tried not to show it, but the fight with Hashim had left him in bad shape, and he’d really stood on the precipice between life and death a couple of times. He’d be healing for weeks. So, even with his newfound awareness of will, because he didn’t possess a True Kingdom or enough experience with such battles, Hadjar still couldn’t defeat even the weakest of the great heroes. He was certain that he could easily escape from them, or hold them off for a while, and then escape. Maybe he would even be able to beat them in a fair spar, but he definitely wouldn’t be able to kill them. To accomplish that particular feat, he would need even more power than he already had. After all, the great heroes, their quality and quantity, were the true measure of an Empire’s power.

“Amazing,” Akena walked over to one of the dilapidated murals. “I didn’t think it was real.”

Hadjar, who was meditating as they walked, trying to heal his torn energy structures, wasn’t paying much attention to the decor around him. However, something unseen, akin to fate, made him approach one particular mural. Several people were depicted on the mural: a beautiful woman was lovingly looking at a bed. A stately man with a crown on his head was bending over it. His crown was obviously very old, because such magnificent pieces of art hadn’t been forged for a long time. On the bed was a baby girl, over whom death was looming. Death held a sword in its hands, upon which rested the thread of the little girl’s life.

A little farther along, in the next mural, the scene changed: the girl turned into a beautiful young woman with the sun shining in her heart. A little farther still, she fell in love with a young swordsman with a moon on his forehead. He was holding twin swords. The next mural had crumbled, the image lost to time.

The last mural depicted the young woman with a cut across her face, the sun no longer shining in her heart. She was obviously dead, but she still held a crying child tightly. The moon could be seen in the child’s heart.

“The Moon people,” Akena whispered, running her fingers over the image. “The legend says it all started when the Princess, after being rescued by a wandering wizard, fell in love with a young hero who, in order to save his friends, made an alliance with the moon itself.”

“Very interesting,” Hadjar looked at the mural. It seemed vaguely familiar to him. “But how will it help us find the Ever-Seeking Spear?”

“It depicts how the Moon people got the Spear, and why they became its guardians and protectors.”

“Protectors?”

Akena nodded, “The whole point of the Moonlight Sect was to prevent anyone from taking the Ever-Seeking Spear again.”

“Poetic.”

Akena shook her head. Moving away from the murals, she continued down the wide corridor.

“The legends I read in my father’s notes say that the Ever-Seeking Spear was brought to the Moon people by that very wizard.”

“Why?” Hadjar couldn’t imagine any wizard willingly parting with an artifact of the Fae people. Any magic user would give their right hand just to be able to study such an artifact.

“The wizard was the one who’d saved the girl and thanks to whom the young hero made a deal with the moon,” Akena explained. “The Spear, which he’d found in his travels, brought the wizard nothing but grief. The legend says that with its help, he tried to rebel against the god who took the soul of a young priestess who’d been the young hero and wizard’s friend. In the end, the god was defeated, but he managed to curse the Spear. Anyone who uses it will pay.”

“Something tells me that I already know what the price is,” Hadjar gritted his teeth.

“The price is the life of one’s true companion on the path of cultivation,” Akena touched her pendant, then hid it under her breastplate. “The Spear took the life of the wizard’s beloved — the most famous pirate captain of that time. She was known as the living thunderstorm of the seas and oceans.”

Hadjar tried not to chuckle. Back in those days, the world had been a mystery to most. Many had even thought that Lascan was a continent all on its own, and the river that separated the two Empires had been considered an ocean that couldn’t be crossed. With the context of modern knowledge, her title made it seem like she’d been robbing rowboats on lakes.

“To protect everyone from the curse, the wizard brought the Ever-Seeking Spear to the Moon people. He created a temple using his magic, in which the spear has been kept to this day.”

Listening to the Princess’ story, Hadjar nodded and then froze in place.

“You mean we’re going to a temple created by the ancient wizard?”

“Yes. Why?”

Hadjar waved his hand, “Every time I encounter magic or wizards, something unpleasant happens. So, I don’t really like them.”

“Well,” Akena laughed, “you’re gonna have to deal with it because we’re already there.”

With that, she stepped through some vines. Making sacred gestures and tightening his grip on his sword, Hadjar followed the Princess.

Once inside, they saw an interior similar to the tomb in Karnak — a majestic temple lined with stone and filled with sculptures and smaller buildings. Majestic figures of stone lions guarded a wide platform that a set of beautiful, massive stairs led to. There were aqueducts, columns extending high into the air, frescoes, and ornaments of unprecedented craftsmanship.

And all of it had crumbled, gnawed away by time, now overgrown with grass, ivy, and moss. Birds had built nests on the ruins. The columns had collapsed, becoming a shelter for moles and other underground dwellers. The platform in the center of the temple now hovered above an abyss. All but one of the staircases leading up to it had long ago vanished into the depths. Right in the center of the platform was a single item, untouched by the vegetation and the passage of time — something that looked like a sarcophagus.

“The Spear is there,” Akena took a step forward.

Hadjar, sensing something amiss, shouted, “Wait!” He tried to grab her arm, but it was already too late. The lights came on. Liquid fire flowed down the aqueduct, lighting up the ruins. A short man came out of the light. His hood slid back and his different-colored eyes flashed. One of them was blue, and the other was brown.

“What are you doing here, seekers of the forbidden?” The phantom asked.

Hadjar cursed his luck as he recognized the wizard.

Chapter 996

“G reetings, Sage who knows the names of the stars and the clouds, the Heavens and the Earth.” Akena bowed low with genuine reverence.

“Young lady.” The wizard, whom Hadjar had seen in the dream given to him by the Tree of Life, turned to her, “I’m only a phantom left here by my creator to test those who come for the cursed Spear.”

Despite the fact that it was just a phantom, Hadjar was aware that it could destroy him with just a word. This was an ancient spell, so ancient that it should’ve disappeared into the streams of the World River long ago, as it wasn’t a Shadow or a restless Spirit. It was just a spell, a manipulation of reality. Nevertheless, it had existed for eons, without losing any power. How strong had the wizard been if he’d been able to create something like this? Hadjar was now convinced that Ash had been one of the ten strongest Immortals.

“I came to get the Ever-Seeking Spear, honored Sage,” Akena continued without straightening back up.

The creature stared at her for a moment and then nodded, “You have the right to do so. But first, before you attempt to pass the test left behind by my creator, you must convince me that you are indeed who you say you are.”

“Anything you wish, Sage.”

“Well... then...” The illusion drifted closer to Akena, leaving a trail of ghostly mist behind it, “Use your right leg to hop for me!”

There was silence in the ancient temple. Hadjar was stunned.

“I’m sorry, great Sage, could you... repeat that?” Akena straightened up, also looking taken aback.

“Hop around on your right leg for me.” A silly smile appeared on the phantom’s face. “I always wanted to ask a Princess to hop on one leg.”

Akena and Hadjar looked at each other. The latter shrugged and took a step back, just in case. The Princess hesitated, then, muttering something, she bent her left knee and started jumping around on her right leg. In her heavy armor, with her sword in hand, visor raised, Princess Akena… Hopped around on her right leg in this ancient temple, in front of the powerful phantom left behind by the greatest wizard who’d ever lived in this nameless world. It was a completely absurd sight.

“Cool!” The phantom clapped his hands like a child and, mimicking the Princess, jumped around on his right leg, too. This went on long enough for Hadjar to think he’d gone crazy. He even ordered his neural network to check his psychological state and was surprised to find that he was only 82% stable.

“Is… this... enough... Sage?” Akena asked, saying each word between the loud clanks of her armor.

“Yep,” the phantom said cheerfully.

Akena froze, slowly lowered her left foot to the ground, and turned to Hadjar.

“This never happened, Hadjar Darkhan. This. Never. Happened,” she repeated slowly.

Hadjar raised his hands in surrender. He was about to respond when the phantom flew over to the Princess. He stood so close to her that it became obvious that she was half a head taller than him. He might’ve been a big deal, but he had been about five and a half feet tall.

“Are you ready to pay the price of admission, young lady?”

Just a moment ago, his voice had sounded silly and even childish, but now it contained power that made the ancient temple shake. Silence fell. They both froze in terror, finally seeing the true depths of this phantom of the ancient wizard who’d been able to light or extinguish a star with a single word, create a great Empire out of a cloud, and make even the gods obey him. With a single swing of his staff, he’d been able to raise a volcano from the depths of an ocean, make it spew lava with a wave of his hand, and then turn it into a beautiful garden of fire trees with his breath. And all of that power was now concentrated around them.

“Yes, great Sage,” Akena bowed again. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” He repeated. “Don’t carelessly toss around such words, young lady. Words have too much power to be so casually misused. Words created this world. You were also created by words. When your father said certain words to your mother, you happened. Words will also be our undoing when they are uttered by the one who is destined to end our lives.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, great Sage.” She bowed even deeper. “I won’t forget it.”

“You won’t forget it,” the wizard said, sounding confident. “And now…”

He came even closer to her, reached out his misty hand, and touched her cheek. He extended his thumb and ran it across Akena’s eyes. She didn’t cry out, didn’t flinch… She didn’t even seem to understand what was happening. Hadjar caught the suddenly lightheaded girl. She went limp in his arms, and Hadjar gently lowered her onto the grass.

“What... what happened? What was that?” She asked.

“How are you feeling, Princess?”

Akena smiled slightly, “I already told you... to call me Akena. Why... are you so worried about me?”

He looked at her pale face. He saw her funny freckles, scattered across her nose and cheeks, her cute dimples, her thick eyebrows, her luxurious, bright, fire-colored red hair. But he didn’t see her green eyes. Where the emeralds had once glittered, there were now only white irises, barely visible against the white backdrop of her eyeballs, which were contrasted by her black pupils.

“What did you do to her, wizard?” Hadjar growled.

“Eyes are the mirror of the soul, young warrior,” the phantom murmured. “Or so the ancients claimed. I took her mirror.”

Hadjar straightened up and pointed his sword at the phantom’s chest.

“Give it back,” he demanded.

“The price was paid, young warrior,” the phantom said, his voice filled with sadness and compassion. “I can’t disrupt the balance. In order to take the Ever-Seeking Spear, a person needs to pay with something of equal value. The mirror of the soul is valuable enough.”

Hadjar took a step forward. He didn’t know what he was going to do, and he’d never find out. Akena grabbed the hem of his robes. She got to her feet with a bit of difficulty and walked over to the wizard, swaying slightly.

“Great Sage,” she bowed, “I paid the price. May I enter the Temple of the Ancestors?”

“The Temple of the Ancestors?” Hadjar asked. “Aren’t we there already?”

“You may.” Ignoring Hadjar, the phantom waved his hand, and lights shone around him.

The ancient sarcophagus began to move. The lid lifted and blue flames leapt out from it. They stretched out in a wide tendril, wrapping around Akena, and then the lid of the sarcophagus slammed shut. Hadjar was left alone with the phantom. Akena was gone.

Chapter 997

H adjar’s heart skipped a beat. Morgan’s words echoed in his head. Without realizing what he was doing or whom he was defying, Hadjar thrust his sword into the phantom’s chest. The wind stirred and the creature was blown off the blade.

“Where is she?” Hadjar shouted.

“In the Ancestral Temple,” the phantom answered him calmly.

“Bring her back! Right now!”

“Snatch the moon from the sky, young warrior. Give youth back to an old man. Bring a dead man back to life. You’re asking for the impossible.”

Panting, Hadjar slowly lowered his sword. Whatever was going on here, Akena had known what she was getting into, and so had Morgan.

“Although… I should say that,” the wizard suddenly grimaced, “it’s possible to give her virginity back to a whore.”

Hadjar didn’t understand what was happening. Either he’d gone crazy, or the phantom had.

“You’re looking at me all weird.” The phantom frowned, and then pulled his mist creating, patched cloak tighter around him. “I’m not like that at all, young man! Well, if I’m drunk, I... No, no! All girls are beautiful. Alcohol just makes everything easier on the eyes, young man!”

“I think I’ve gone insane,” Hadjar sighed.

“Maybe.” The phantom flew over to Hadjar. He didn’t even reach Hadjar’s chest when he stood in front of him. “Or maybe you’ve just met me before.”

Hadjar recoiled.

“So, we have met before.” The phantom turned serious again. “Do you know how I learned the name of the first star, young warrior?”

“I don’t.”

The phantom waved his hand. Light penetrated through the cracks in the rock walls, which suddenly shook. It swirled, turning into the wings of a huge butterfly. The butterfly flew over Hadjar’s head, and in the flapping of its wings, he felt simple, childish happiness. The light made him sleepy, but Hadjar withstood it. He didn’t take his eyes off the butterfly, which suddenly curled into a cocoon, then turned into a river flowing beneath an arch, and within this river, black velvet unfurled. Embroidered with delicate needlework, it stitched together patches of darkness with threads of light, and stars lit up inside of them. Soon, Hadjar was standing under a ghostly starry sky that held countless twinkling galaxies. Twisting in spiraling, elegant patterns, they circled over Hadjar’s head in their endless dance. They collided, spraying Hadjar’s shoulders with precious stones. The stones bounced off his armor and fell to the floor, then flew up again into the dark sky and bloomed like flowers, and inside one of these flowers, a star slept. When it awoke, it looked around the world and froze. It looked like the most beautiful woman to ever exist. A wisp of light in the middle of a dark ocean. Hadjar had never seen anything like it. The only time he’d witnessed something even remotely similar to this was when Queen Mab had sewn his armor. This was real magic.

The phantom approached one of the stars and held out his hand. It shook off the silver dust covering it, turned into a small girl in a beautiful dress, jumped down on his finger, and then lay on it, turning back into a flower bud.

“The world is constantly changing, young warrior,” the phantom whispered. “What has one name today may have another tomorrow.”

He leaned over the bud and whispered something to it. He placed it on the rocks, and the most beautiful peach tree that Hadjar had ever seen grew out of it. Each of its fruits was sweet and ripe. Each of its leaves was full of life and color. Each of its branches was strong and graceful. In less than a second, the tree withered, and in its ashes, a small, blue-winged, familiar bird awoke, which then flew up to the starry sky to become a new star there.

“Do you know what can’t be changed, young warrior?”

Hadjar shook his head.

The wizard looked up at the starry sky. Hadjar did the same and saw a faint, female visage with slightly sharp features, bold eyes, and high cheekbones.

“The past,” the phantom whispered. “When I was created, they gave me only two goals: to pass on the Ever-Seeking Spear that will be destined to fly for the last time. And to tell someone I’ve already met once, but will still meet in the future, about the past.”

Hadjar frowned. The way the wizard talked reminded him of the Tree of Life.

“Tell me, young warrior, which meeting of ours is this?”

“The second,” Hadjar replied. “Or the third. It depends on what you mean.”

“Did you bring me some tobacco from the Dragon Emperor’s treasury?”

“I didn’t.”

“So, it’s the second... or the first... or we’ve never met before,” he nodded. “When we meet for the third time, we’ll smoke our pipes and tell each other stories. And then, one of us will die. That is inevitable, young warrior. Thus the words of our lives were spoken.”

Hadjar had already heard these words before, in the ruins of the ancient temple, where the wizard had been standing by the funeral pyres.

“I don’t believe in fate, wizard,” Hadjar declared sharply. “One day, I’ll go to the Seventh Heaven to destroy the Book of Thousands and return freedom to the people.”

“Freedom…” The wizard drawled. He touched the starry sky and it curled up, disappearing with the cry of a mother whose child had never returned from war. “We’re all free, young warrior. But not everyone sees it.”

Hadjar muttered something.

“But that isn’t the point right now,” the phantom said, abruptly turning and walking over to Hadjar. He waved his hand and two stools appeared next to them. By the High Heavens! What kind of power had Ash possessed to be able to create an illusion that was capable of influencing reality itself?

“Sit down, young warrior. It’s time for me to fulfill my destiny and tell you an old legend.”

“And what if I don’t want to hear it?”

“Then I’ll fight your ears!” The phantom laughed, then turned serious again. “You’ll want to hear it, trust me. Of course you’ll want to hear it… This story is about a man who made the best pots, ones you could hide the moonlight in, mixing it with the radiance of the sun. The man who broke his soul into thousands of pieces, and then sold what was left to the Demon Prince. This is the story of the Potter, young warrior.”

Chapter 998

“E tch this story into your very soul, young warrior, as it is so old that, even in the Land of the Immortals, there isn’t a single person who knows about it,” the phantom whispered, as if afraid that someone might overhear them.

Hadjar listened carefully. He somehow felt like his life, the mystery of his birth, and his second chance in this nameless world were connected to the Potter’s life in some strange way.

“It happened after the Potter went on a journey to search for power,” the phantom began. “The Potter visited many countries and Kingdoms. He was the first traveler in this world. Before people crossed the ‘ocean’ for the first time, before the Heavens opened to them, and before they realized that no one could ever reach the edge of this world, the Potter had already been traveling.”

“How long ago was this?”

“The world was still young back then, lad, and the gods walked amongst the people. The Potter met one of these gods. He wandered, not knowing his purpose, and not seeing a meaning to his existence. Mighty as the universe itself, and as sad as its last dawn. And the name of this god was-”

“Darkhan,” Hadjar whispered.

The wizard nodded, “The Potter recognized this god, who had escaped from the God of War, Derger. And it was that same Derger who’d taken the Potter’s beloved. No one had believed the young man who made pots. Even when the young man became an adult, and then an old man. Even when the old man turned back into a young man, and went through it all over and over again… No one believed him. A god had abducted an ordinary mortal? Nonsense! The god had a whole harem of divine partners, why would he want a mere mortal?”

Hadjar remembered this part of the legend. According to the legends that had been preserved in one form or another, Derger had stolen the Potter’s beloved. He had taken her to the Seventh Heaven and had tried to make her fall in love with him. But the young woman never had, and had stayed as cold as the night sky. She’d only pined and grieved for her Potter. Because of this, Derger had turned her into stone and kept her as a statue in his garden for all eternity, so that he could forever enjoy looking at her.

“But Darkhan believed the Potter. He remembered how his master had gone to the mortal world once and returned with a girl so beautiful that even the divine damsels had looked dull compared to her.”

Hadjar had seen ‘women’ that weren’t from the mortal world: the Spirit of the Kurkhadan oasis, Queen Mab… Both were unlike any of the mortal women he’d ever met. Hadjar couldn’t imagine anyone being more beautiful than them.

“They sat down together, just like you and I are sitting now, young warrior,” his eyes flashed with excitement and playfulness. “They talked. Darkhan told the Potter how Derger had made him guard the beautiful girl. She’d dreaded every clank of his armor and the look in his dark eyes. But she’d also been the only person who hadn’t treated him like a thing.”

“A thing?” Hadjar was surprised. “But wasn’t Darkhan a god? Or something similar to a god, at least?”

“You can’t be similar to a god, young warrior,” the phantom shook his head. “You are either a god, or you aren’t. Darkhan gained the glory of a god by fighting the enemies of the Seventh Heaven, but was still only a weapon created by the gods. Their toy. Their servant. Their slave. However, the beautiful girl hadn’t treated him like a servant, but like a friend.”

Hadjar remembered his interactions with the first Darkhan. He couldn’t even imagine how someone could become friends with the Black General. Admittedly, it was probably difficult for him to do so because Darkhan was planning to devour his soul and take over his body.

“It was from her that he learned what warmth was,” the phantom continued. “The warmth of a soul. She told him stories. People often underestimate the power of stories. Stories make us who we are. In our childhoods, we hear stories from those who place their past into our future. Words, young warrior, are the only thing that truly has power in this world.”

Hadjar looked down at the sword in his lap. Maybe there was wisdom in what the wizard had just said, but real power… Then the echo of Morgan’s words rang in his ears.

“Darkhan listened to these stories. The people’s stories. The gods had never told him anything, young warrior. The first person who taught him anything about the past was a human mortal. So, who did the Potter meet? A god who was a slave to other gods, or a human who was given the power of the gods and then made their slave?”

“Does it really matter?” Hadjar asked.

“It’s more important than anything you’ve known before, young warrior. The Black General fought for the gods, and then he fought against them. But when he started a war against the whole world... Why did he do that, young warrior?”

“Because he was, and still is, a crazy bastard who wants to destroy this world?”

“Destroy the world? Didn’t Darkhan bring the people knowledge about the path of cultivation? Didn’t he teach them how to fight and become stronger? Didn’t he share with them the wisdom that was hidden in the Seventh Heaven? Didn’t he show them that true power and freedom had been inside of them all along? Didn’t he give them freedom of choice, instead of blind obedience to the gods? Would he really destroy what he created with his own sweat and blood?”

“I don’t care,” Hadjar shrugged. “You promised me a story about the Potter, but you’re telling me about the Black General, who’s going to devour my soul and destroy everything I hold dear. To be honest, I don’t care what his motives are. As long as my heart still beats, he’ll remain a sealed fragment of my soul. Now, let’s get back to the story of the Potter.”

The wizard gave him a sincere smile.

“I’ve already told you everything I should, young warrior.” A gust of wind turned the phantom into the light of a star, which disappeared into the cracks of the ancient rock. “You’ll only find the answers to your questions in stories, young warrior. But in them, you’ll also find your end ― you’ll find someone who wasn’t born.”

The phantom disappeared, and Hadjar knew he was gone for good. The illusion had fulfilled its purpose.

The stone sarcophagus shattered and the white-eyed Akena emerged, clutching the Ever-Seeking Spear.

Chapter 999

H adjar looked at Akena, who was sitting at a table and drinking what was probably her fifth glass of strong booze mixed with a hundred-year-old root of the Drunken Fern. Hadjar wasn’t sure that even he would’ve managed to drink three glasses of this. But Akena kept going.

Hadjar understood her, and certainly didn’t blame her. The price for the Ever-Seeking Spear had been truly high: not just the color of her eyes, or the mirror of the soul, as Ash had called them. No, the phantom had taken Akena’s ability to see. Well, even if she couldn’t see the physical world, blindness wasn’t too much of an obstacle for a cultivator, since they could see the world through the World River. Ash had actually taken that very same ability from her — her ability to see the World River, the stars of the Spirits, the flow of the many streams of energy and mysteries. He’d taken away Akena’s ability to progress further along the path of cultivation. Ash had crippled her.

“I can’t...” She whispered. She’d sat there, concentrating on something for a few minutes, and then abruptly slumped back in her chair. “I can’t summon my Kingdom.”

Hadjar said nothing. To summon a Kingdom, one had to feel and see the mysteries, direct them, merge them with the energy currents... And all of that was just the tip of the iceberg. Akena had been deprived of all of it.

“Perhaps there’s some kind of cure,” Hadjar tried to comfort her.

She just shook her head.

Next to their table was an unremarkable stick, a long staff made of some kind of wood that Hadjar didn’t recognize. One end of the stick was slightly thicker, and the other had been sharpened and burned. It had a string of mysterious symbols on it. That was all. Nothing else marked it as a formidable weapon, nor showed its interference in the flows of energy or mysteries. It seemed like just an ordinary spear, one that anyone could’ve made from any old branch. Such crude weapons weren’t even used in Karnak, whose tribes weren’t far removed from the ancient peoples.

“Do you think my father knew what I’d have to give up for this Spear?” Akena asked suddenly.

Hadjar wanted to say no. He wanted to lie in order to cheer up the morose Princess. But he couldn’t. Had Morgan known? Perhaps he hadn’t known the exact price, but he’d clearly been hoping for something like this. The schemer knew how to work multiple angles. Achieving a single thing with one action? That’s for amateurs! Morgan never moved just one piece at a time. Each of his decisions changed several things on the board at once.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Akena whispered nasty curses and drank another glass.

“Please,” she waved at a passing waitress, “Bring me one more... no, four more jugs.”

“Right away.” The plump, pretty girl curtsied.

All the mercenaries in the ‘Wild Swan’ tavern were looking at her. Hadjar also looked at her with an amused smile. He wondered if she knew that, for the past two hours, she’d been serving the Princess of Darnassus and the man who’d defeated the Lascanian great hero Derek of the Steppe… Probably not. Neither did the others present in the tavern this evening.

After Ash had disappeared and Akena had come out of the sarcophagus, she’d been in such bad shape that it would’ve been fatal for her to fly several hours to Dahanatan in the ‘Kite’. So, picking up the unconscious Akena, who hadn’t let go of the Spear, Hadjar had quickly flown to a province near the capital. Using the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique, they could now reach Dahanatan in just half an hour. But that wasn’t what Akena needed right now…

Sitting on the ground floor of the cheap tavern, Akena drank tirelessly. Maybe she wanted to forget everything, or maybe she was trying to convince herself that she could handle it. After all, there were blind mortals who still lived decently well in this world... However, cultivators didn’t just want to live a safe and dull life. They wanted to live life to the fullest, to make big, strong, confident strides forward on their path of cultivation. Ash had taken all of that from Akena.

The waitress brought the requested jugs.

“You... can play... the Ron’Jah… right?” After her ninth glass of booze on an empty stomach, the alcohol finally managed to get to her. Her colorless eyes glistened, her cheeks turned scarlet, and she was having trouble talking coherently.

“I can,” Hadjar nodded.

He’d pretended to drink as hard as she had the whole time. A person who wanted to get drunk because of grief always needed someone who was ready to accompany them on their wild ride. But right now, Hadjar couldn’t afford to lose his clarity of mind. A man wearing a gray raincoat and a pointed hat, who was sitting at a table in the back of the tavern, was staring at him.

“Play... something for… me... Hadjar,” the Princess begged. “Something... to make me... forget.”

Akena had no idea what she was asking for. Ever since he’d accepted the Sword Spirit’s mark, he’d rarely touched the Ron’Jah. Now that his soul was whole again, Hadjar knew he could play. However, the very thought of playing the instrument he’d once lived by made him as nervous as a person would be during their first time with a beloved partner.

“As you wish, my Princess.”

“I’ve... told you… many times...” Akena couldn’t even finish her sentence. She just didn’t have the strength for it. With a wave of her hand, she stared at Hadjar expectantly.

He took out his old, shabby instrument from his spatial artifact. Taking it carefully, he adjusted the tension, ran his fingers along the strings, and closed his eyes in enjoyment. He could feel just how much he’d missed music.

He began to play, and the people around him slowly grew quieter until the two-story tavern was silent. The smugglers stopped talking, the mercenaries were no longer laughing at jokes, the travelers fell silent, the young army men weren’t chattering anymore, and even the regulars calmed down. The waitresses froze while still carrying trays on their shoulders.

Hadjar played an old song that he’d heard a long time ago: it was about a man who’d sold his soul to the Demon Prince to get his beloved back from the dead. The Demon Prince simply told him to go, and the man went where he’d been told to go. But when he returned, he was a demon. The Demon Prince asked him, “Where is your beloved?” The demon answered, “Demons can’t love, my Prince. I don’t need her anymore.” The Prince laughed and accepted the new demon as his servant. The old, sad song was about how love eventually faded and how a person shouldn’t make deals if they didn’t know what price they would have to pay in the end.

Akena fell asleep. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Hadjar looked at them and his heart ached. They weren’t tears, but emerald-green beads instead.

“What a good song that was, my brother,” a heavy medallion landed on the table. A raven spreading its wings in front of the moon was depicted on it. “Long time no see.”

Raven’s Wing sat down in front of Hadjar. He looked the same as he had back when they’d first met.

Chapter 1000

I n front of Hadjar sat a man whom he’d previously almost considered a god. Once upon a time, in ‘The Black Gates’ sect, where Hadjar’s journey through this vast, nameless world had begun, he’d met this warrior. It had seemed like he’d be able to destroy the Black Mountains of Balium, turning them into a lifeless plain with a mere swing of his sword. He’d been thousands of years old, and to him, mortals had been nothing but toys to be used to satisfy his momentary desires.

He was dressed in the same gray raincoat and wide-brimmed hat. His face was hidden behind a mask, but this time, it was slightly different, covering only the right side of his face and revealing his left eye, which was glowing blue in a decidedly unnatural way. With an echoing boom, he tossed his heavy, two-handed sword down on the table.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard the rumor that our new brother was the same mortal I’d met less than fifteen years ago in Balium, that accursed place forgotten by the gods and demons alike.”

Raven’s Wing was a Lord now. The way he spoke was different, too. Perhaps he was the type of person who was haughty only toward those below him socially, or in terms of cultivation.

“How did you find me?” Hadjar growled.

Raven’s Wing, like Eon Mrax before him, shamelessly grabbed a jug of booze from the nearby table. Taking Akena’s glass, he refilled it and drank it in one gulp. He grunted, put his hand to his nose, and took a deep breath.

“Strong stuff. I never really liked alcohol,” he said, looking for the waitress and waving for her to come over. When the girl approached, he ordered a pot of herbal tea.

Hadjar recalled Mrax’s words. He’d said that the Raven Sect was divided into seven circles. Raven’s Wing, having reached the Lord level, was now in the third circle. But that meant absolutely nothing to Hadjar. Like him, Akena, and most of the other cultivators in the tavern, Raven’s Wing was hiding his aura and power, so it was impossible to determine how strong he was without getting found out. Raven’s Wing was currently pretending to be an average Heaven Soldier.

“How did you find me?”

Raven’s Wing, after casting a quick glance at the Spear, turned back to Hadjar.

“You didn’t touch it, did you?” He asked.

“Pardon?”

“Did you touch the Ever-Seeking Spear?”

“I didn’t,” Hadjar blurted out, slightly taken aback.

Raven’s Wing let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s good... That’s very good...” The sectarian sipped his tea, leaned back, and blew on the steam coming from the cup. “Only the one who rightfully claimed the Spear can touch it... or the person that rightful owner gives it to. I can assume whom the Princess will be giving the Spear to.”

Hadjar stared silently at Raven’s Wing, who was calmly sipping his tea. Either Hadjar didn’t understand what was going on, or Morgan’s secrets were only secrets to him.

“How did you-”

“Word travels fast, my brother,” Raven’s Wing interrupted him. “Faster than a forest fire. The fact that the Moonlight Sect was destroyed is already known in all the seven Empires and, most likely, even beyond their borders… The rest is easy to figure out: according to the rumors, the Sect was destroyed by the swordsman who defeated Derek of the Steppe. Our Sect and the entire capital knew that was you. And now I see you here with a girl who fits the description of the Princess, carrying something that fits the description of the Spear.”

Raven’s Wing had a point, and the logic made sense. It was useless to argue with it. However, if Raven’s Wing could guess this much, so could others… The ‘even beyond their borders’ part was clearly a hint. He didn’t need to be a genius to guess who he was talking about. Well, if the Dragon Lands had always known that there were weapons in their subordinate Empires that could possibly harm even their ruler, then why… Oh… Ash’s spell... The ancient wizard had probably been strong enough to consider the dragons nothing more than flying snakes. So, Morgan planned to get the Spear in order to not only fight the Lascanians, but to have a trump card against the dragons as well? Fucking schemes!

“How did you find me?”

Raven’s Wing smiled. Given that a part of his face was hidden by his shiny, steel mask, it looked creepy.

“Whatever you may think, Hadjar, I’m not your enemy. Nor is anyone else from our Sect.”

“Really?” Hadjar raised an eyebrow, faking surprise. “Is that why two of your members have tried to kill me so far?”

“That was just competition,” Raven’s Wing shrugged. “You fought in fair duels, Hadjar. You won both of them. The Sect accepts and respects power.”

“And we still aren’t enemies, you say?”

Raven’s Wing sighed, poured a second cup, and handed it to Hadjar. He refused the tea.

“If things were different, my brother, I wouldn’t have been the one you met here. A battle group comprised of the first circle Sect members would be here in my place.” Hadjar was about to say something when Raven’s Wing raised his hand. “I haven’t finished yet, Hadjar. We can go out into the courtyard, so that you can witness my power firsthand. But I’m afraid that neither this tavern, nor the Princess, perhaps not even you, would survive that.”

“Two members of the Raven Sect threatened my people in the past. Do you know what happened to them?”

“I do,” Raven’s Wing responded calmly. “Hadjar, you know I can easily enter and leave the Forbidden City. No great hero, other than that strange archer, can really slow me down, despite the fact that I’m only in the third circle. Anyone who is in the second circle can destroy a dozen people like me. The power of those in the first circle is something even I can’t truly comprehend. And after seeing my Master’s true power once, I assume that, if he wanted to, he could destroy the seven Empires.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

Raven’s Wing sipped some more tea, then set his cup down on the table and turned to Hadjar:

“What do you know about the Immortals, Hadjar Darkhan?”

Chapter 1001

D espite spending a whole year training with the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman, Hadjar didn’t know much: he knew a bit about the Land of the Immortals, a bit about their customs and rules, and a bit about the trials of the Heavens and the Earth, which a cultivator had to overcome to escape their influence. Paradoxically, after a cultivator was released from their influence and time no longer had power over their body and soul, they fell under... the laws of the Heavens and the Earth and could no longer interfere with the fate of the mortal world. However, thanks to Helmer, Hadjar knew that this wasn’t exactly the case.

“Not much, I see,” Raven’s Wing nodded. “Today, believe it or not, we met by chance. I came to Darnassus on my Master’s orders, and I never thought I’d meet you here, my brother. Maybe it’s destiny, or maybe it’s my Master’s wisdom, but we did meet here. And I owe you a debt.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I remember it.” His gaze became heavy. “I let that worm fight you, my brother.” His hand moved to his mask. “However, I’ve already paid half the price of my offense... but that’s beside the point now.”

Hadjar looked at Raven’s Wing. He felt two things at once. On one hand, he believed this man. While his logic was almost as twisted as that of the steppe orcs, he had his own code of honor, and he followed it. That alone inspired respect. On the other hand, Raven’s Wing was one of the fanatics who sought to free the first Darkhan from the Mountain of Skulls.

“Once upon a time, Hadjar, the Nameless level had a different name.” Raven’s Wing poured himself some more tea. Every move he made looked smooth and precise. It was obvious that he knew the rules of the tea ceremony — a rare tradition in modern times. How old was he? “It was called the Heaven King level. And the one after it was the Heaven Emperor level. But that was a long, long time ago, in the days before even my Master was born, and he is the oldest of us all.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Hadjar accepted a cup of tea. Surprisingly, the tavern served good tea.

“Because, back then, people didn’t know how to become Immortals and get to the Seventh Heaven.”

Hadjar frowned.

“Beyond the so-called Nameless level is the Heaven Emperor level. That’s the level at which one can summon the trial of the Heavens and the Earth at any time, and, after becoming an Immortal, begin their ascent through the nine stages of the Divine Warrior level.”

“Nine stages?” Hadjar silently ordered his neural network to record this conversation, and made the order a high priority. “But each level only has four-”

“Upon becoming a Lord, you must’ve already started sensing how much bigger these levels are, and how many more aspects of power they have. An Immortal or a Divine Warrior can’t be divided into just four measly stages: initial, mid, advanced, and peak. No, they’re divided into nine stages, which don’t have names, just numbers. A cultivator who reaches the ninth stage becomes a god. This is the true purpose of our existence, Hadjar. The end goal of the path of cultivation. Even a cricket can become a god. This is the true essence of the path of cultivation and the core philosophy of our world.”

Raven’s Wing’s words were thrilling. Could any being truly become a god? But if that was really the case, what would be the point of worshipping those whose place you could take?

“Do you think the gods want more warriors and mages to keep joining them, Hadjar? Do you think they want new Sages to appear, Sages who’d bring more knowledge and more power with them than the old gods have?”

They both knew the answer to that question

“In seven hundred and seventy-seven years, Hadjar, the Demon Parade will take place. It is a time when the border between the four worlds thins. When Fae and Spirits, demons and gods, will once again be able to roam the mortal world.”

“So what?”

Raven’s Wing put his cup down and lifted his heavy sword by its straps, placing it on his back, “The Raven Sect will be a part of this Parade, Hadjar Darkhan… The ancient walls have fallen and the Last King has awoken. The words spoken by the first person have come true. You’ll have to choose a banner to fight under in the upcoming final war of this world. Just to give you some context — your Master, the great swordsman Orune, using all of his power, lost against the weakest of the first circle. As for my Master — forty centuries ago, when he was only a Heaven King, he managed to defeat Immortals. He’s now a Heaven Emperor.”

“That’s impossible.”

“As impossible as a Lord managing to destroy an ancient Sect all by himself,” Raven’s Wing tossed a few coins onto the table, turned around, and before disappearing, added: “We’ll meet again, North Wind. Remember where your brothers and sisters stand, and where those who want to destroy us stand. The Master will be happy to tell you and show you more than you could possibly imagine.”

Hadjar was left sitting next to the drunk Princess, who was muttering something in her sleep. Next to him was the Spear that could hit any target if you paid for it with the most valuable thing in your life. He’d just talked to a member of a Sect that was older than the Dragon Lands, and he’d heard things that had completely turned his world upside down. Raven’s Wing had also mentioned something that matched what Karein had said before pushing Hadjar out of the Fae Lands.

“Fucking Karein!” Hadjar growled. “Fucking sectarians! Fucking Morgan! Fucking Dragon Emperor, Helmer, and Jasper Emperor! Fuck them all!”

He grabbed a jug of booze and drank it in a few gulps. It felt like his head had been hit with a battering ram, but that was exactly what Hadjar needed at the moment.

***

“Nothing happened between us,” Akena said.

“Of course, my Princess,” Hadjar bowed.

They were currently riding on horses toward the main gates of Dahanatan. However, that particular morning, they’d found themselves sleeping in each other’s arms somewhere in the forest near the capital. The most embarrassing thing was that they’d both been naked. Thinking about their upcoming conversation with Morgan, Hadjar didn’t pay any attention to the fact that she didn’t correct him this time.

Chapter 1002

H adjar was in the Emperor’s office yet again, surrounded by precious metals and carpets. He stood away from the secret alcove (which was empty at the moment), across from the throne where Morgan the Fearless was seated. The Emperor was a mighty cultivator and warrior, the most cunning and skilful of all schemers, and a manipulator whose every word held entire oceans of hidden meaning.

To Morgan’s right was Baligor the Tenacious, the Head of the guard corps, a great hero who possessed the True Kingdom of the Hammer, and also the elder brother of Morgan’s wife, who was a former member of the Eternal Mountain clan just like she was. He wasn’t an outcast like Galkhad had been, and had left the clan due to an ancient custom instead. The ceremony held to banish Baligor and his sister had been one of the most lavish events of the past millennium. This was because the Imperial family couldn’t have any clan blood in it, and only the purest blood could become a part of it. And so both of them had given up the Inheritance of their ancestors to enter the house of different forefathers. There was no enmity between Baligor and the Eternal Mountain clan.

On the Emperor’s left was Cassius, a thin, old man leaning on a cane. Except Hadjar knew that the cane was actually a magic staff and the old man was the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, possessing the True Kingdom of the Autumn Leaf and the Barony of Magic. He was also a great hero.

As there were two great heroes present, not to mention Morgan, whose level of power remained a mystery to him, he knew that there would be no getting away from here.

They could easily send him to his forefathers if they wanted to.

“Hadjar Darkhan…” Morgan drawled. “North Wind... A disgraced Prince, a traitor, a rebel, now my daughter’s companion in battle, and the man who singlehandedly destroyed the Moonlight Sect. My first Master’s killer…”

Still, Hadjar hadn’t come here unprepared. In the wide sleeve of his armor, he held the wooden dagger, a gift from the Shuk’Arka tribe, which was capable of destroying even an Immortal.

“The Ever-Seeking Spear…” Morgan glanced at the relic of the distant past that stood beside his table. The reminder of the war between the Fae people and the false gods. Or, as the children’s stories put it: a faerie rebellion against the gods. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it.”

After Akena and Hadjar had returned to the Palace, the Princess had been immediately taken to the healers by the guard corps. Hadjar had then been escorted to the Emperor’s office by the two great heroes. Morgan had entered the room holding the Spear in his hand.

“The legends say, Hadjar,” the Emperor continued, “that after the god cursed this Spear, anyone who throws it will have to pay with the most precious thing they have. Ash took such a thing from my daughter. And I told you…”

Hadjar clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. Baligor put his hand on the hilt of his massive warhammer. Cassius struck the floor with his cane and it turned into a branch surrounded by rustling autumn leaves.

“But I don’t blame you,” Morgan added. However, the Emperor’s ‘dogs’ didn’t put away their weapons or still the energy raging around them. “I knew that the wizard who created the Moonlight Sect would want something from the one who sought the weapon that had killed his beloved. But I didn’t think it’d be so costly…”

Hadjar remained silent. It didn’t matter whether Morgan had known or not that Akena would come home in this state. The result still suited the Emperor either way. He now had the Spear that could tip the scales in his favor in this war. The armies of Lascan and Darnassus were currently fighting sluggishly on the border, pushing each other back and forth along the steppes. Morgan had also eliminated the problem of succession with very little bloodshed. Akena could no longer claim the throne of Darnassus, which made her brother the sole heir, not only in the eyes of the people, but also by right. And lastly, Hadjar hadn’t been able to fulfill Morgan’s order and had allowed the Princess to be harmed.

“I believe you owe me now, Hadjar Darkhan,” Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Intertwining his fingers, he rested his chin on them. “I can send troops to Lidus and make the Kesalia clan pay for your crime, and-”

Before Morgan could finish speaking, the Blue Blade appeared in Hadjar’s hand. He got to his feet so abruptly that his chair shot back and shattered against the wall. Blue and black flashes of energy danced around him. Wind struck the stained-glass window and made it bend inward slightly. The glass almost burst under the pressure of Hadjar’s old friend rushing in to help him.

Suddenly, all was still. The wind calmed down. The window straightened. The flashes of power were gone. Hadjar felt like a kitten that had decided to bite a tiger. That ‘tiger’ wasn’t Cassius and Baligor’s powers combined — the two great heroes hadn’t moved. It was Morgan. He’d just squinted at him, and Hadjar now felt like a huge mountain was pressing down on his shoulders. The mountain of will was so strong that if not for Hadjar’s strong core self, he would’ve turned to dust.

“I see,” Morgan drawled, and the pressure disappeared. “You’re definitely Tarisfal’s disciple, young North Wind. I don’t think there are more than five people from your generation in all of Darnassus who’ve already realized their will.”

“Realized their will?” Cassius and Baligor looked at each other and tightened their grip on their weapons. The energy around them flashed with vivid color.

“Maybe you’d like to take the great hero test again?” Morgan got up and went over to the pitcher of scarlet liquid. “Who knows, maybe you have enough power to earn the title now. I think it would be pretty useful for Lidus and the Kesalia clan to have a great hero of the Darnassus Empire among their ranks.”

“No… thanks…” Hadjar whispered slowly. The assault had been so strong that he could barely breathe. Surprisingly, Morgan’s will hadn’t touched Hadjar’s physical or energy body. No, its target had been Hadjar’s soul.

“Fair enough.” the Emperor nodded. He poured a glass for himself and returned to the throne. “You have much to learn, young North Wind. You aren’t worthy of it yet.”

The Emperor moved his hand over the table and an old, broken blade appeared on the gray velvet. Hadjar saw several ancient symbols for ‘Honor, Freedom, and Power’ on it. The sword wasn’t a powerful artifact. It had no special properties. But to Hadjar, this sword meant a lot, more than he’d originally thought it would. It was Tarisfal’s first sword. Hadjar wanted to light the sword on fire, so that, on the path of rebirth, Orune would have something to protect himself and his beloved with from the demons of the void, who would try to separate their souls in the next life.

“What do you want from me?” With a wave of his hand, Hadjar gathered up the splinters that had once been his chair. He put the chair back together, held it there with his will, and sat down. It was foolish to oppose Morgan. Hadjar had been defeated. Elegantly. Morgan the Fearless was in a completely different league, the kind which Hadjar couldn’t break into even with all the power of the neural network to aid him. The Emperor had beaten both him and his neural network.

Chapter 1003

“Y ou’ll go to Fort Sukhashim,” Morgan casually threw a small leather bag and a parchment sealed with the Imperial seal into Hadjar’s lap. “Until the end of this war, you, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, personal disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, will have the title of General. Honorable rector, do you have any objections?”

“None, my Emperor,” Cassius bowed slightly.

“The Borderlands Generals are part of the guard corps’ area of responsibility. Honorable General Baligor, Head of the guard corps, do you have any objections?”

“None, my General,” the great hero saluted.

“Hadjar Darkhan, you’ve received your assignment. It comes into effect immediately. You must head to Sukhashim no later than tomorrow morning. You may go now.”

Hadjar stood up. His chair collapsed into a pile of splinters. He saluted and left the room. As he walked through the corridor where courtiers and nobles were waiting for their audience, he saw Baligor’s men standing just a few steps away.

Hadjar slowed down near the stairs leading to the healers’ quarters. Somewhere up there, Akena was lying in a hospital bed. The girl who’d given everything to fulfill her father’s orders, to gain his approval and respect…

He turned and went into the garden. Without stopping to admire the flowers and fruit trees, he went through the Gates of Rage and left the Forbidden City. As he passed by the alleyway where he kept meeting up with Helmer, Hadjar slowed down, but the shadows didn’t stir.

Taking the local form of public transport ― a huge, furry creature with sixteen legs ― Hadjar caught people glancing at him. The men were full of admiration, respect, and even envy, while the ladies were eating him up with their eyes. One man even tried to strike up a conversation with him, but was rebuffed by a wall of mysteries and will. The stranger turned pale, straightened up, and gripped his saddle more tightly.

When he reached Eighth Avenue, Hadjar tossed a coin to the driver and headed down the lavish street filled with Palaces, as well as the best shops and restaurants. He walked along the formerly busy street, which had now become desolate. Surprisingly, during a war, the poor districts were the busiest, and the rich districts were the emptiest. But not because the rich had gone to war. On the contrary, they’d fled from it like animals from a wildfire.

Soon, Hadjar found himself near the end of Eighth Avenue. Where the abandoned house of the great swordsman Orune had once stood, there was now a park fenced off by a hedge. The ivy, which formed a gate, opened for Hadjar on its own. It let him into the garden that was both beautiful and deadly: all the gorgeous flowers, stone paths, meadows, fruit trees, and ponds full of colorful fish were a sight for sore eyes to those who had an invitation, but to an intruder, they were a deadly obstacle.

In the center of the garden that had been created in just a few days stood the same dilapidated house. There were several carpentry tables scattered about, a lot of tools, and a pile of various building materials next to them. It would seem that Einen and the rest had taken the renovation seriously. Anise probably wouldn’t be the only one with an heir in the future.

As he entered the hall, Hadjar heard a heated argument.

“We have to put cannons around the perimeter!” Tom slammed his hand down on the table. “What kind of a base doesn’t have cannons?”

“No, you idiot!” Dora snapped back. “We aren’t building a fort, we’re creating the Kesalia clan’s district! Why do we need cannons? Did you see any cannons in the other aristocratic districts?”

“If they were to put them up, they’d all be morons.”

“So you’re the only smart person?”

“Yes, I am! I’ve been studying defenses since I was a baby!”

“That’s strange. I don’t remember you originally being from the Geran clan!”

Hadjar sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Einen stepped out of the darkness as nimbly as Helmer did, and stood next to him.

“She isn’t acting like her usual self,” Hadjar whispered, remembering how meek and reserved Dora usually was.

“In my homeland, barbarian, they say that a turtle can eat a shark before laying eggs.”

Hadjar looked at him and smiled slightly, “Even in this situation, you’re still compelled to be philosophical, aren’t you?”

“We can’t help our true nature,” Einen shrugged.

At least something was always the same… Einen barely showed any emotion. To those who didn’t know him, he probably came off as cold as ice, but Hadjar had known him for so long and stood by his side during so many situations and battles that he could recognize even the subtlest of hints which showed his true feelings.

“Where did the Emperor send you?” Einen had also learned how to spot when Hadjar was hiding something…

Instead of answering, Hadjar handed him the scroll. The magic seal was still crumbling slightly, and glittering shards of magical wax were dripping down on the rotten floorboards.

“Sukhashim,” Einen drawled. “It’s not far from the Sea of Sand. On the southwestern border of Darnassus. Not far from Karnak, either.”

“I hate deserts,” Hadjar said. “I had enough of them while we looked for the Mage City and fought Sankesh.”

“Are you complaining, my friend?”

“Why not send me north? I’ve always wanted to see Ice Spears and Snow Doors.”

They fell silent, watching Tom and Dora argue. They were still shouting at each other and arguing about whether cannons were needed around the perimeter of their future district or not.

“Where’s Annette?” Hadjar asked.

Einen nodded toward the stairs leading to the second floor, “She asked not to be disturbed for a week. She’s performing some sort of ritual with the Words of death magic.”

In other words, necromancy.

“Are you sure the district is properly hidden?”

“As hidden as possible, barbarian.”

So, it wasn’t hidden from Morgan. But Hadjar didn’t say that out loud. If Morgan knew that there was a Karnak necromancer under his nose, he didn’t show it. And if he didn’t show it, that meant he had his own plans for her. Hadjar didn’t know which was worse: Morgan not knowing, or his potential plans. But he wasn’t the one who’d have to deal with it.

“When are you leaving?” Einen asked.

“Right now,” Hadjar responded.

“For how long?”

Hadjar took the parchment, rolled it up, and put it back in his spatial ring.

“This is an exile. So… Until Morgan comes up with a new assignment for me, decides to get rid of me, or the war ends.”

They fell silent again.

Hadjar was certain that Einen would’ve offered to go with him. Einen was certain that Hadjar would’ve refused immediately. They didn’t need to say anything.

“We aren’t saying goodbye, brother,” the islander whispered. “I’ll have a son in eight moons. He’ll need to have someone give him his first sail.”

Hadjar shuddered. On the Islands, there was a tradition, according to which a newborn child should be wrapped up in a blanket made of the same material sails were made from, one that was supposed to ‘give them their sail’ ― the sail that would take them through the waves of life. The one who gave it to them became something like the child’s godfather. It was a great honor.

“Eight moons, my bald friend,” Hadjar nodded. “Even if all the Legions of Darnassus stand in my way, I’ll be back in eight moons.”

“I know.”

Einen stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. He was wise enough not to get involved in an argument that Dora had started. Hadjar turned around, left the house, and headed toward the stables.

***

“Accursed animal,” Hadjar swore. “Stand still!”

A Blood Mustang, an animal at the King Stage, kept snapping at its reins. It was the fastest breed of horse in Dahanatan. They’d gotten their name due to their crimson color…

Hadjar stopped on a hill and turned to look back at the capital. The huge city spread out in the center of a vast valley. It was quite the sight. The golden domes of the Palaces. The spires of the Treasure Tower of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. The Skyport. And many other buildings and places that Hadjar was surprised to find had grown on him. He didn’t spend much time in the city, but he still loved it.

“How far are you going, barbarian?”

Another Blood Mustang moved up the hill. A young swordsman was riding it. He wore a scabbard with an Imperial level blade and held a bottle with something hot in it. He also had the sad eyes of a man who’d recently lost something that had been dearer to him than his own life. It was Tom the Rootless.

“I’ll keep you company.” Tom snatched a map from Hadjar’s hands and nodded. “Sukhashim is a mess. They clearly need someone to fix their defenses.”

“Dora won the argument, huh?”

Tom swore and spurred his horse. Hadjar laughed and rode after him. Who would’ve thought that one day he’d be glad to have Tom’s company?

Chapter 1004

“W hat are we doing here?” Tom hissed at him, adjusting the piece of cloth that covered his face.

They were currently in a caravan which went around the Sea of Sand, following a southern road. A dry wind had brought a sandstorm with it. For cultivators like Hadjar and Tom, the weather wasn’t an issue. But for mortals and weak Heaven Soldiers, such a sandstorm could be quite hazardous. So, everyone wore masks, including Hadjar and Tom, who were pretending to be Heaven Soldiers, disguising their auras of a Lord and a Spirit Knight respectively. The caravan they’d passed on the second day of their journey was heading to Sukhashim, so Hadjar had decided that joining it would be the best choice for now.

“We’re gathering information.” Sitting on his disguised Blood Mustang, which cost more than the entire caravan, Hadjar watched the people around him.

“By all the demons, what information can we even gather here?” Tom swore. He was still trying to wipe the clay paint off his hands with a damp cloth. “Damn it! Where did you learn how to do this?”

Hadjar wanted to tell him, but couldn’t. The memories of his trip to the steppes still hurt. Steppe Fang and his family had died because of Hadjar’s mistake. The clay paint the orc had taught him how to make had disguised their Blood Mustangs as simple bay horses.

“There are only mortals and weak practitioners here,” Tom grumbled.

“Exactly!” Hadjar raised his hand and motioned at the caravan consisting of dozens of stagecoaches, hundreds of mules and horses, and nearly two thousand people, including a hundred guards. “Why did Morgan,” Tom spluttered at how casually Hadjar spoke about the Emperor, “send me to Sukhashim, which is considered a fort of mortals? It’s unlikely that the Lascanians will attack this region.”

“Because it’s near the capital,” Tom suggested. “Sukhashim is about three weeks of marching away from Dahanatan. That distance is miniscule even by the standards of mortal armies. The Imperial Legions can cross much greater distances with ease.”

“Well, those who capture the fort would indeed be as close to the capital as possible, but…” Hadjar shook his head.

“They would be as close to the capital as possible…” Tom repeated. “But the fleet, led by the ‘Fury of the Mortal Skies’, would turn a Lascanian legion into ash...”

“So, the unimportant border fort of Sukhashim isn’t exactly a prime target,” Hadjar confirmed. “And yet, Morgan sent me there. He’s up to something…”

“He’s up to something? Aren’t you a bit too self-centered, barbarian? Didn’t it ever occur to you that you were actually just exiled? And not even to the worst possible spot.”

Hadjar had considered the option, but... He wasn’t too modest, nor was he too self-centered. He was well aware of the fact that, of all the swordsmen living in Darnassus, he was one of the strongest. Morgan wouldn’t waste such a valuable resource. It simply wasn’t his style. So, Hadjar had once again been thrown into some sort of scheme or plan that he didn’t understand. What was he doing in this land of sand and sparse vegetation? Almost nothing grew here. There were only a few occasional low trees and shrubs amongst the sandstones. Even birds flew over this region as quickly as possible because they couldn’t find food here.

Over the course of the three days that Hadjar and Tom had spent with the caravan, the guards had had to fight various monsters. One of them had only been as long as a worm, with eyes that hung on bits of flesh, armored legs with three long claws, and a scorpion-like tail. The creature had been at the King Stage and had managed to kill a dozen guards. It might’ve even killed the rest of them if it hadn’t been for Tom’s imperceptible assistance, which had stopped its heartbeat for a second. That had allowed the guards to take advantage of its shock and finish off the monster.

Brown rocks, dry land, hot winds, and lots of sand were all that the far edge of the Sea of Sand had to offer. Riding a Blood Mustang from here to the Kurkhadan oasis or Underworld City would’ve taken at least ten months.

When Hadjar and Einen had crossed the Sea of Sand, they’d taken the shortest route. The Sea of Sand itself was shaped like a needle. And now Hadjar was somewhere near the eye of this needle, while the city and oasis were at the point of it. Everything around him brought back memories. It had only been about ten years, but it felt like several lifetimes ago…

“Look,” Tom said, pointing at another rocky hill a couple of miles away from the caravan’s route. “It looks like the guards are going to have to work for their coin again soon enough.”

“Would you like to join them?”

“Are you kidding?” Tom snapped. His horse whinnied and snorted as haughtily as its rider. “Am I supposed to fight for mortals now?”

“Why not?”

“It’s pointless. There are so many of them, like ants… More than there are stars in the sky. Their business is none of my business.”

Hadjar didn’t comment. That was Tom for you. Even though he now had a scar instead of a clan crest, he was still a relatively pampered aristocrat, spoiled not by his family, but by his position in society. No matter what position he and Anise had held, the title of the junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan had always been important in society. Hadjar spurred his horse slightly and caught up with the head of the guards, an advanced-stage Heaven Soldier…

“Excuse me,” Hadjar didn’t know his name. He pointed toward the rocky hill. “I saw some movement over there.”

“Movement?” The head guard took out his monocular and peered in the indicated direction. “Are you sure? I can’t see anything.”

“I am,” Hadjar nodded.

Of course the Heaven Soldier couldn’t see anything. Unlike Hadjar and Tom, he couldn’t sense the subtle disturbances in the streams of the World River that were plainly visible to the two swordsmen. A group of no less than sixty cultivators were up on that hill.

“Maybe it’s a pack of Rotten-tooth Coyotes,” the guard drawled, and beckoned to his assistant. “Surabachie, go to Calmen’s stagecoach and ask if he has any ward charms.”

The boy saluted and was already spurring his six-legged horse when an arrow almost pierced his back. It missed the boy’s shoulder by an inch and sank into the stony ground instead.

“We’re under attack!” The head guard exclaimed. “Northeast! Shields! Caravan, form a circle!”

Shouts filled the air. Sitting quietly in his saddle, Hadjar looked at the arrow. He began to understand the point of the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, and why the Immortals and their equals didn’t interfere with the rest of the world.

His thoughts were interrupted when, amidst the flickering auras of Heaven Soldiers, a pillar of grayish energy suddenly appeared. It was above Tom’s level.

“What is this, barbarian?” Tom rode up to Hadjar and drew his blade. “What’s a Lord doing here?”

Hadjar stared at the hill.

“Impossible…” He whispered.

The people around them only saw flashes of white lightning, followed by a purple blast of energy. Two people now stood in the middle of the road, between the bandits and the caravan. One of them was dressed in the most beautiful clothes that anyone there had ever seen, the color of an azure sky, with embroidered white clouds and stars. He held a blue and black sword. The other person was the leader of the bandits. They were short and wore black trousers, along with a black jacket made of Giant Scorpion hide. Their face was hidden by a scarlet mask, and their hair was covered by a turban.

“You...” Hadjar whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question, barbarian,” the leader of the bandits took off her mask and people gasped. It was a breathtakingly beautiful girl, with ivory skin, perfect cheekbones, elegant eyebrows, a finely chiseled nose, pink lips, and star-bright, green eyes. “Long time no see, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.”

Everyone in the caravan started whispering excitedly. The person they’d thought was just another passenger turned out to be a legendary swordsman, the disciple of Orune himself, the man who’d defeated the army of the dead, destroyed the Moonlight Sect and... Slept with the Princess, which he’d been exiled for!

“A long time indeed,” Hadjar nodded. “I must confess, Arkemeya… that outfit suits you.”

The halfbreed smiled. Her sabers came close to Hadjar’s face. Sparks rained down on their hands as their three blades collided.

Chapter 1005

P eople watched the fight with their mouths agape. The gorgeous woman moved more sharply and quickly than a whip. She zigzagged around the swordsman. The saber in her right hand moved up toward her opponent’s temple.

Unlike her, the swordsman moved smoothly. They were complete opposites. He easily deflected her saber thrust with the flat of his unusual blade. Its black tip, fading into the blue of the blade itself, was decorated with the black pattern of a Quetzal bird soaring through the clouds and reaching out with its beak toward a shining star — a bright blue hieroglyph, the meaning of which no one knew.

The woman’s left saber didn’t strike. She was waiting for an opportune moment, intending to gut her opponent with it. Clutched in her left hand, it waited like a venomous snake for the man’s sword to be held above his chest and open his stomach up to an attack. Turning on her heel with such speed that golden sparks spread across the sand, the girl attacked with her left, shorter saber, aiming at the swordsman’s torso. Such a quick attack would’ve been deadly for even the most experienced of fighters.

This was the undeniable advantage of the ambidextrous swordsmen — they didn’t care how skilled of a warrior their opponent was. They fought like four warriors condensed into one, and only a true genius could fight on equal terms against them…

The swordsman, smiling, turned his foot slightly and moved his knee up. The hem of his armor flew up and grazed her wrist with a pop. The saber changed its trajectory by just an inch, but that was enough for the swordsman to close the distance. Taking a step to the side, he seemed to change suddenly. He stopped being impossibly calm. Now the girl was facing a wild beast, one that was bursting with power. The mighty and proud beast had spotted its prey and wanted to tear it to bits as quickly as possible.

Disregarding all the rules of sword fighting, he rushed at his victim. Moving low, his knees almost touching the sand, he charged at her. She spun a protective cocoon around herself with her sabers. Dense and impenetrable, it surrounded her like a silver sphere from all sides. The sabers flew at such a high speed that they created the illusion of a ball of silvery light.

But the strangest thing, as far as the spectators were concerned, was the fact that they weren’t using any energy or mysteries. They were fighting like mortals, and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“Stupid barbarian,” Tom grumbled, uncorking a bottle with his teeth, and then taking a sip. His mind got a little foggy and his heart felt better… Regardless of what Dora’s aunt kept saying, booze was the best medicine for him. “What are you staring at? If you take even one step toward the barbarian, I’ll send you all to your forefathers! I swear it by the gods!”

The dark-skinned, tattooed, and scarred warriors, who were sitting on their Desert Horses, looked at Tom with clear disdain. He responded with a rude gesture.

Seeing Arkemeya moving her sabers around herself, Hadjar decided to follow his instincts. By some unspoken agreement, they weren’t using energy or mysteries.

Arkemeya had been a Princess of the Dah’Khasses and had been trained at their Palace since birth. She had a unique fighting style that Hadjar had never seen before. He’d fought plenty of people who followed the Way of the Saber. He’d also fought those who wielded two swords. But he’d never seen anyone who did it as artfully as Arkemeya. Compared to her, even Anise looked clumsy.

“Analysis,” Hadjar ordered.

His neural network instantly started working on it and gave him exactly what he needed.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

The level of potential utilization by the subject ‘Arkemeya’ is at 31.7%]

If Hadjar had been less experienced, he would’ve stumbled during his bestial rush. Anise, the most brilliant swordswoman of her generation, the monster that the Sword Spirit had chosen as its representative, could only boast a score of 17%. And Arkemeya’s score was almost double hers.

Before crashing into the sphere, he halted suddenly. His foot plowed through the dry ground, and the sand rose up, completely hiding him from view.

“Using barbaric methods, Hadjar?” She laughed.

Hadjar raised his sword above his head and brought it down in a powerful slash, aiming to cut through the curtain of sand.

Arkemeya saw where the attack was coming from and, crossing her sabers, blocked it. Hadjar took advantage of the fact that he was in a classic attack stance, and shifted all his weight onto his left leg. His sword, which was supposed to turn all the momentum of his body into a slash, suddenly struck far more weakly than it should have. Arkemeya’s crossed sabers didn’t block it, they pushed it up instead.

Utilizing the momentum of her deflection, even before the sand came down in shimmering, golden waves, Hadjar allowed it to move him to the side. Using his strength to push his sword forward, he turned his downward strike into a quick sideways swing, moving his whole body with it.

The sword, moving in a circle, struck Arkemeya from a completely different angle. Cutting through the falling sand on the right, he should’ve hit her in the thigh and cut her leg off, but…

As if she’d been waiting for just this move, she suddenly jumped up. She barely touched the Blue Blade with the very tip of her foot, and then, spinning like a top, she kicked Hadjar’s collarbone with her other foot, then landed behind him, crossing her sabers at his neck. The cold steel settled on his shoulders and the blades touched his tanned skin.

“You seem to have lost your head, Hadjar,” Arkemeya laughed. “Are you that glad to see me?”

“Can’t you tell?”

Arkemeya looked down and saw that the Blue Blade was pressed against her stomach. She hadn’t noticed that Hadjar had managed to switch his sword to a reverse grip and trap her with it.

“A draw.”

She stepped back and, moving her sabers in a figure eight, slammed them back into their scabbards. Then she held out her hand to Hadjar.

“Greetings, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.”

Hadjar, dismissing his Blue Blade, shook her hand.

“Greetings, Arkemeya of the Kurkhadan oasis.”

Chapter 1006

T hey were sitting by the fire. Hadjar was smoking his pipe and looking at the colorful stars in the dark sky. Thousands of shimmering colors created the most majestic of all paintings. And the coldest one as well. He didn’t like being in the desert, but Hadjar had nevertheless missed this vast expanse. He’d missed the explosion of colors that only the Sea of Sand could boast of — the only sea in this world above which the sky was cloudless and cleaner than a baby’s tear.

The caravan they’d been travelling with had continued on. Hadjar and Tom were spending the night with Arkemeya and her people.

A few years ago, Hadjar had had no doubt that Arkemeya would go to the Sea of Sand to visit her mother’s homeland — the Kurkhadan oasis. But he couldn’t have possibly imagined that, in such a short amount of time, she’d become a well-known bandit in the region. She was fervently hunting for the remnants of the Mage civilization still scattered across the desert. He wondered if she’d found Underworld City yet. Hadjar, who had once sworn an oath, couldn’t mention it.

“What were you doing in a caravan of mortals, Hadjar?” The girl asked, handing Hadjar a wineskin.

He refused. A clouded mind could prove to be a problem for him at the moment. Tom, on the contrary, was drinking and even bothering some warrior from Arkemeya’s mob.

“The Emperor sent me to Sukhashim.”

“Sukhashim?” Arkemeya asked in surprise. She lifted the wineskin and took a couple of large gulps from it. Then she wiped her lips with her wrist and breathed a sigh of relief. Her already red cheeks flushed even more. Her black hair flowed like a waterfall over her chiseled shoulders and fell to the sand. Hadjar closed his eyes and turned away, sighing several times. He’d tried to be stealthy, but Arkemeya noticed his actions anyway.

“Do you like me?” She asked, striking a seductive pose. She let her robe slip slightly, giving Hadjar a glimpse of her cleavage, and then moved so that her long legs were more clearly visible.

“I do,” Hadjar said honestly and then, with a bit of effort, took control of his body. He was no longer that same youngster who’d left the village in the Valley of the Streams to become a recruit of the Moon Army.

Seeing that he’d clearly lost interest, Arkemeya just smiled. She wasn’t a teenager who thought that the world revolved around her beauty. She knew her worth and she knew exactly when to mess around and tease, and, more importantly, when not to.

“What would the person who destroyed the army of the dead, who defeated Derek of the Steppe by himself, who annihilated the Moonlight Sect, and made love to Princess Akena even do in a dump like Sukhashim?”

“How did you-”

“Rumors, Hadjar,” she interrupted. “Someone saw you and Akena in the tavern. You drank together and left together, heading toward the forest.”

“Nothing happened,” Hadjar said immediately. He personally didn’t remember what had happened — they’d drunk alcohol that could even affect the absolute memory that a cultivator gained when they reached the Spirit Knight level.

But it couldn’t affect his neural network. It had recorded everything that had happened in the forest. Akena had complained that she was cold. Hadjar had remembered the time when he’d been an army ranger. The easiest and most effective way to warm up was with another person’s body heat. So, they had undressed and, holding each other, fallen asleep.

“You don’t have to make any excuses, I don’t care,” Arkemeya shrugged. Her green eyes glittered in the firelight.

“I’ll ask again, what would you even do in Sukhashim?”

“Is it that bad?”

“Bad?” She laughed. “I haven’t been there myself, but I’ve heard enough stories: the walls have collapsed and the garrison has scattered to the surrounding villages. They are trying to survive, mostly by hunting, and few were even lucky enough to settle on land that was at least slightly suitable for growing food.”

“You mean there’s no personnel left in the fort?”

Arkemeya shrugged again, “Sukhashim is an ancient dump. Only the old and the crippled still live within its walls. The young left long ago. Lascan’s troops, even if they do capture Darnassus, won’t ever care about Sukhashim.”

“But it was built for a reason.”

“Probably… Back during the age of the Hundred Kingdoms, if not before then.”

Hadjar had lived long enough within the high society of Dahanatan to learn how to control his emotions. He still had no idea what the Emperor of Darnassus had been after, but he felt like he was on the right track.

“Hadjar, I’m beginning to wonder why I know about this and you don’t.”

“I was busy,” Hadjar responded evasively.

“Yep. You fought against Derek... I’m sorry about that kid, by the way. Out of your whole crew, I liked him the best: young, in love, naïve, and stupid... Those are the easiest people to kill.”

Hadjar looked at Arkemeya. Despite her harsh words, he could see a glint of genuine sadness in her eyes.

“And, of course,” She jumped up and her thick, black hair danced in the wind. “Your battle with an ancient Sect, and then fucking Princesses... You didn’t waste any time, Hadjar!”

“I haven’t been with a Princess yet,” Hadjar sighed.

“I like that ‘yet,’ I really do,” Arkemeya smiled. South Wind had been right when he’d said that only a beautiful woman carrying a poisoned knife could be more dangerous than the knife itself. “You are hoping to bag yourself a Princess, then?”

“And half a Kingdom,” Hadjar nodded.

Arkemeya looked at him oddly.

“Never mind,” he waved her off. “That’s a saying in my country.”

“In Lidus? Don’t act so surprised. In Darnassus, only lazy bards don’t sing songs about you and the islander. By the way, some have even learned songs from Lidus, the ones about the Mad General and his brave officer Nero.”

Hadjar’s heart ached slightly. So many years had passed since then, but the memories still came flooding back. The Palace. His brother. Serra. Death.

“Sorry…” Arkemeya whispered.

“You don’t-“

She interrupted him, “I know how long those scars take to heal.” Then her smile turned bright and wide again. “So, Hadjar, I’m asking you once again: what’s such a handsome soldier like you doing in such a shithole like Sukhashim?”

Hadjar sighed and emptied his pipe into the fire.

“I got exiled, Arkemeya. For everything you’ve just listed. But, what interests me more is: why are you interested in this?”

The atmosphere in the camp instantly became tense. The bandits wanted to stand up. Some reached for their weapons. But they were all quickly pinned down by Tom’s aura. Compared to him, they were like insignificant bugs.

“So, that’s how you really are with women, Hadjar,” Arkemeya’s eyes narrowed.

“Only the ones who’ve tried to kill me. I’ll ask you again: why are you so interested in this, Arkemeya?”

Chapter 1007

A rkemeya and Hadjar stared at each other.

“Do you recall that you still owe me, North Wind?” Arkemeya asked sharply.

Hadjar did remember. If it hadn’t been for her, they wouldn’t have destroyed the demons and survived.

“I do,” Hadjar replied in the same tone. “Do you want me to repay you right now?”

Arkemeya paused. The fire was crackling. Sparks and tiny embers were flying up toward the dark sky, mixing with the shining stars. The flames reflected off the warriors’ weapons. They were slowly released from Tom’s aura. The nobleman was sitting quietly on the sand and drinking wine.

“Not now,” Arkemeya sighed. “If there’s one thing I learned from my father, it’s that this kind of payment shouldn’t be claimed so carelessly.”

“So, what do you want with Sukhashim?”

“What makes you think I’m even going there?”

Hadjar didn’t want to admit it, but he paid attention to whispers, too. Along with carpets, trade caravans brought rumors from the Sea of Sand. Arkemeya of Kurkhadan had become the leader of a bandit gang, had managed to profit nicely off raiding merchant caravans, and had participated in the siege of the Pearl of the Sands, the capital of the desert. After the death of Sunshine Sankesh, the throne of the desert had become vacant and many had tried to claim it. Currently, the Pearl of the Sands was constantly being seized by powerful sheikhs, only to then be captured by a stronger one. Arkemeya had taken part in one such siege. And compared to something like besieging the capital, anything to do with Sukhashim looked absolutely unprofitable.

“Okay, that was a stupid question.” Reacting to Hadjar’s expression, she raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I am interested in it, but... I can’t tell you why.”

“Well, that’s so unexpected…”

Arkemeya laughed.

“You’ve grown much stronger since we last saw each other, but you still suck at making jokes.”

Hadjar laughed.

“I’d show you the oath scar, but you can’t really see it…”

He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t lying. However, Hadjar tended to believe South Wind’s words: only men can tell if another man is lying, and the same is true for women.

“We’re mercenaries, Hadjar,” Arkemeya continued. “We’re going to where the coins clink.”

“I don’t think you need money that desperately.”

Hadjar remembered that, before escaping, Arkemeya had managed to grab an inconspicuous ring off her stepmother’s hand, and he doubted that there’d been any worthless trinkets in the Queen of the Dah’Khasses’ ring.

“I don’t need it. But I lived with demons and the dead for most of my life. Under an ashen sky. I didn’t enjoy wandering through the desert aimlessly. This is more exciting and interesting.”

Hadjar was silent for a moment, and then raised both eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you really doing this out of boredom?”

“Well, not everyone’s lucky enough to travel around the country, doing tasks for Morgan the Fearless himself! A girl has to entertain herself somehow. And when you’re a demon-raised Lord, it’s hard to find entertainment, you know!”

“You could go north,” Hadjar retorted, “Where the frontline is. Fighting the Lascanians would be fun for you.”

“I said I was looking for entertainment, barbarian, not to fight for other people’s interests. You can have that sort of fun all to yourself.”

“Fighting for my country isn’t something I do for fun. It’s my duty and honor.”

“Hmm, it’s a pity that my homeland was destroyed by an orc and a human, the same human who’s sitting in front of me right now.”

“Was your homeland the land of the Dah’Khasses? I thought it was the Kurkhadan oasis, which, if I remember correctly, was saved by the same human sitting in front of you.”

“Saved?” Arkemeya stood up. Hadjar did so as well. “Aren’t you tooting your own horn a bit too much, Darnassian? The oasis was saved by the sheikh you robbed. And the Spirit you insulted!”

“Oh, I see you’ve had a nice chat with both of them!”

“I did! So, don’t you dare tell me where my honor and duty are. I, Arkemeya, have no tribe, clan, or last name. I’m like a dune in the desert — moving freely.”

“I don’t want to upset you, my dear, but a dune follows the wind. Where the wind blows, the dune goes.”

“My dear?” Arkemeya growled. “You’ll call your wife ‘my dear’ in bed, if she ever agrees to sleep with you.”

“Are you insulting my future wife, halfbreed?”

Hadjar didn’t really know why he was so offended.

“No, I’d only feel sorry for that poor woman,” Arkemeya said with a grimace. “I’m insulting you, barbarian. If you like obeying your master’s every whim so much, then stick to that. I have no masters and I like it that way. Being as free as a bird is much better than being someone’s pet. ”

Hadjar crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head, “And that’s why you accepted an oath and rushed to Sukhashim. So, which one of us is the pet, again?”

Arkemeya took out her sabers. The Blue Blade appeared in Hadjar’s hands.

“We can go to Sukhashim as allies and old friends, Hadjar. Or, we can go there as enemies.”

“You don’t want to be my enemy, girl.”

“Girl?” A lake of purple, raging energy, coupled with mysteries, appeared behind Arkemeya. Hadjar felt the full power of the True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers. The Blue Wind Sword Duchy blocked Arkemeya’s attack. The sabers struck, making sparks fly off their swords. They fell to the sand and instantly melted it into glass.

“I see,” Hadjar growled. “Sukhashim is now my responsibility. If I see you within a mile of it, you’ll be meeting your forefathers.”

“You’ve gotten stronger, barbarian! But you shouldn’t act like such a fool!”

Arkemeya’s hair suddenly twisted itself into a scorpion stinger and was about to stab Hadjar’s chest when two white lightning bolts struck and the Darnassian swordsmen disappeared, leaving Arkemeya and her band of mercenaries sitting alone near the extinguished fire.

Chapter 1008

“W ho was she?” Tom brought the bottle up to his lips, but there wasn’t a single drop of wine left. He cursed, slammed the cork back in, and hung the bottle on his belt. At this rate, he’d soon become like Drunken Leaf, who’d mastered the Drunken Sword style.

Hadjar admired everyone who knew a style. Even the easiest ones to master. He didn’t know any and, without the Technique Orune had taught him, he never would’ve been able to master even a single one. To learn a style, Hadjar would have to become a mortal again and risk his life... On the other hand, if he didn’t learn it, he’d be stuck on his 8.5% utilization of potential forever. Arkemeya had reached a whopping 31% utilization thanks to her style!

“I’m talking to you, barbarian,” Tom nudged Hadjar’s shoulder, but that only made him stumble instead of properly getting his attention.

They’d been walking for the past three hours. The ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique had already cost Hadjar a considerable amount of energy, and if he’d tried to take the Blood Mustangs along, too…

“Just an old acquaintance,” Hadjar tried to dodge the question. “Arkemeya of Kurkhadan.”

“Arkemeya of Kurkhadan.” Tom murmured. He was obviously trying to remember if he had heard of her before, but he couldn’t. He’d never been interested in the rumors coming from the Sea of Sand. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“Not surprising.”

Tom stumbled again, but this time, he had stumbled into a road of sorts. Apparently, Sukhashim was nearby.

“No, barbarian, it is amazing!” Tom shook his fist. “Maybe it’s common for you to meet an unprecedented beauty who possesses the True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers! Is that a common occurrence for you? For us lowly aristocrats, even a Barony is a great achievement! Damn it, Hadjar, she possesses the True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers! And she’s beautiful, like... like... like… I can’t even compare her to anything! And I’ve met so many women and seen how much money they’ve spent on beauty products and magic! And no one has even heard of her! Of a cultivator who can match a great hero in battle!”

“No, she can’t.”

“She beat you up.”

“I don’t remember it going down like that.”

“But I do. We were the ones who ran from her, not the other way around. Anyway, a Lord who is proficient with twin sabers traveling through the Sea of Sand… I’ve heard rumors that there was only one Lord in the entire desert. Something about him living in a pit, and that he’ll probably wither away soon.”

Hadjar looked up. The sun was high in the sky. The fluffy clouds were occasionally disturbed by birds, and even by some sort of winged monster once.

When Hadjar had last seen Arkemeya, she’d only possessed the Weapon’s Heart. And now she stood at the undisputed pinnacle of martial arts in the seven Empires. Well, several years had passed since they’d fought in the Dah’Khasses’ mountains, and Hadjar had also made a significant leap in power over those same few years, but his growth had been influenced by numerous factors.

Recently, Hadjar had started to think that there was a certain force behind all his adventures and misadventures. This force would deliberately lead him into the depths of hell, and then, as if by accident, give him just a sliver of a chance to get out of even the worst of situations… Despite his admittedly dangerous life, he didn’t think he was being paranoid or looking for boogeymen where there were none. He also felt like this force wasn’t simply fate or Morgan.

The power that the Emperor wielded would’ve been enough for him to destroy Hadjar on the spot. Morgan, cursed be the day when Hadjar had met him, could’ve entered the Moonlight Sect, simply immobilized everyone with his will, and picked up the Ever-Seeking Spear on his own. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t have known what price he’d have to pay. So, he’d sent Akena there instead. But he could’ve gone in there with her. He’d sent Hadjar along instead. Why? While he wasn’t the force that regularly got Hadjar into worse and worse situations, he’d definitely helped this force more than once… He’d sent Hadjar to the Moonlight Sect, giving him the ultimate motivation to grow stronger.

Or maybe Hadjar really was being too paranoid. But he doubted it, especially now that Arkemeya had suddenly shown up. Hadjar knew very well that him going to the Dah’Khasses’ mountains had been due to Helmer’s desire to free Arkemeya from the influence of her father and the laws of the Heavens and the Earth. She was something the demon had needed so badly that he’d been ready to make concessions. Who’d ever heard of a demon who made concessions? Ever?

His supposed exile to Sukhashim was also far too suspicious. Morgan had sent him there, and Arkemeya was going there, too. A halfbreed who was being guided by an oath. Who had somehow miraculously gained incredible power… Well, this had already happened in Hadjar’s life once before, with Derek of the Steppe. The offended priest of the God of War had found him. Derek had received a simple slave mark, but it had come with a few perks. A True Kingdom, of course, was a serious thing to grant someone, but not the peak of martial arts. And then there was the Seventh Heaven and the Land of the Immortals…

“Fucking shit!” Hadjar sighed and turned away from the sky. “Do you want the truth, Tom?”

“Of course I do,” he quipped.

“The truth is that I have no idea why I was sent to Sukhashim, and where Arkemeya attained such power, or why she is going there.”

“You have no idea... Why did I even come with you? Also, there’s no more wine. Where can I find wine in the bloody desert?”

“The desert?” Hadjar grinned. “You haven’t even seen a real desert yet.”

Chatting, they came around a bend in the road, hidden from view by tall sandstones. The first thing Hadjar saw was a man with white hair.

Chapter 1009

T hey were similar, not in every way, but in the ways that mattered the most. If Nero had lived to see middle age, lived through a few more wars, had his heart broken several times, and had received many emotional wounds that had left terrible scars on his soul, they would’ve looked eerily alike. But even this slight similarity was enough to make Hadjar’s heart skip a beat.

At the bend stood a simple cart drawn by an old mare at the Awakening of Power Stage. An old, lean man was trying to fix the wheel that had fallen off. Hadjar didn’t need his neural network to identify him as a seventh-stage Bodily Rivers level practitioner. A young woman was moving around beside him, giving him tools and making sure the springs didn’t fall on the man’s head. The wrinkles and the occasional gray in her hair might have thrown some people off, but she was only about thirty. A hard life had left its mark on her, leaving only the reflection of a kind soul in her warm eyes.

A little girl was playing with a paper bird — a skillfully made toy created from a sheet of parchment. She had black hair, brown eyes, and a nasty scar that started at her left temple and ran all the way down to her left hand, branching out like a lightning bolt. The girl threw the toy, making it fly, laughed, and ran after it. Her small shoes loudly hit the cobblestones, and the hem of her colorful, patched dress fluttered in the wind.

Suddenly, she noticed Hadjar and Tom and froze. Genuine, deep fear appeared in her eyes. Hadjar looked at her scar. It had been caused by a curved knife used by the Bedouins of the Sea of Sand. A weapon similar to a khopesh from Earth.

A shadow landed in front of the girl. Wrapped in a gray coat and dressed in old, worn clothes, stood a middle-aged man who had the same eyes as the most terrifying of beasts. His white hair fell to his shoulders. His gray eyes were bright and clear, without a single shred of fear or doubt in them, but they were also somehow... empty. He was clutching a simple sword. It surprised Hadjar. The warrior was strong. So strong that Hadjar wasn’t sure if he could escape from him. His neural network couldn’t scan the man’s characteristics, which wasn’t surprising — powerful cultivators often hid their auras and mysteries. If Hadjar didn’t know exactly how they’d hidden them, he couldn’t break through their concealment. Therefore, the neural network couldn’t scan them. The fact that a warrior of such incredible power used a basic sword instead of an artifact was surprising.

“Wh-who… is… he…?” Tom stammered, touching the hilt of his sword and moving his hand away several times.

If Hadjar felt that the warrior was a deadly threat, then what did Tom feel? It was a testament to his fortitude that he was even able to breathe in the presence of the white-haired swordsman.

“Honorable sir,” Hadjar bowed slightly and saluted, “We aren’t a threat.”

“Who are you?”

Hadjar shuddered. The man’s voice was low and deep, but it was also dry, as if there was a pile of firewood inside his larynx that a demon was burning in odd ways. What a strange voice. What a strange sword. What a strange swordsman. Sukhashim was apparently a very strange place!

“We’re just travelers. My name is Hadjar, and this is Tom. We’re going to Sukhashim. We’re simple soldiers, nothing more.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it was definitely a case of the truth being bent.

“Strange. You aren’t mages, but swordsmen.”

“Mages?” Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the man. “What is your name, honorable swordsman?”

“His name is White Fang,” the girl said, jumping forward. She’d put a thick shawl over her shoulders, hiding the left half of her face and arm. Her scar clearly bothered her.

“Lita!” The young woman shouted. “Come back here immediately!”

The girl stuck out her tongue at Hadjar and Tom, shook her fist at them, and then ran back to her mother. He suddenly realized that the girl had developed far more than she should have at her age. It became clear how she’d gotten that scar. Hadjar hoped that those who’d made it had met a fate worse than they could’ve ever possibly imagined. Those who harmed children deserved the worst deaths. Hadjar wished he could’ve sent them to their forefathers personally.

“Honor,” White Fang croaked. “You have honor.”

“Sometimes I doubt that, honorable White Fang,” Hadjar bowed again. “We dare not disturb you any longer, and we’ll get off the road so as not to cause you any trouble.”

Hadjar had already turned around and was heading toward a sandstone when the strange voice called out to him:

“Wh-where... are... you g-g-going, Hadjar?”

“Sukhashim, honorable White Fang.”

The white-haired swordsman jerked slightly, like a puppet, and turned to Lita, not the old man or her mother.

“Let’s give them a ride,” the girl suddenly suggested. “Sukhashim is on the way to our village.”

“Lita,” the woman whispered. “We don’t know them at all, and-”

“White Fang is with us, mom! As long as he’s with us, we shouldn’t be afraid of anyone!”

The girl ran from her mother and, scurrying past the white-haired man, approached Hadjar. She looked at him, at his clothes, and then at the ornaments and feathers in his hair. She leaned closer and waved at him. Hadjar knelt down. By the High Heavens, her scar couldn’t be more than a month old, which meant that the girl had been about eleven years old when it had happened. Eleven…

“I know who you really are,” she whispered, “But I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You won’t hurt us, right, North Wind?”

“Of course I won’t,” Hadjar nodded. “I’ll even help fix your cart.”

Lita clapped her hands and, straightening up, ran back to her mother.

“If you try to hurt us, White Fang will kill you!”

For some reason, Lita had no doubt that he could kill Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, the man who’d defeated the army of the dead and had destroyed the Moonlight Sect. For some reason, Hadjar didn’t doubt it, either. Moreover, he was certain that Morgan and even Orune would’ve lost to this warrior. He looked at the simple sword in White Fang’s hands. What was going on here?

Chapter 1010

“H adjar, we have to report this to Dahanatan!” Tom hissed, “Immediately!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tom.”

“Shut up! Do you have any idea who he is?”

He pointed at the white-haired man. Wrapped in a gray cloak, White Fang sat on a box beside the old man. He was staring straight ahead and wasn’t paying attention to anything. Lita was trying to braid his hair, but her fingers weren’t cooperating. They hadn’t fully recovered yet…

“No, I don’t.”

“Neither do I. But I do know that he’s powerful enough to enter the Forbidden City and kill everyone there, including Baligor, the Emperor, and the Empress. Do you not see what kind of monster he is?”

Hadjar tilted his head to the side. He’d met many monsters in his life. If he looked into a mirror, he’d see another one. The most resilient of all the monsters. The man who was sitting on the box wasn’t a monster. Hadjar had seen a lot of monsters in his life, but he’d never met a hero who’d be able to defeat them all. Until today. Was White Fang the kind of hero described in the ancient epics and legends? Someone who would save and help everyone he could, who would kill even the scariest of all monsters? Hadjar didn’t know.

“Sukhashim is a strange place to get stationed in, honorable travelers,” Lita’s mother, Eria, poured them each a cup of hot tea. Tom, after tasting it, had grimaced and wanted to pour it over the side of the cart (which Hadjar had repaired). Tom finished his tea only after Hadjar gave him a meaningful glance, and then even extended his cup to ask for more.

“We wronged the Senior Officer a little,” Hadjar sighed as sadly as his acting skills would allow. “So it’s more of an exile than a proper posting.”

“What did you do to get sent to the middle of nowhere?”

Before Hadjar could figure out how to say it with half-truths, Tom pointed a finger at him and calmly declared:

“He slept with the Senior Officer’s daughter.”

Eria, still holding the teapot, batted her eyelashes at them a few times, and then laughed.

“I didn’t sleep with her!” Hadjar snapped. “By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars, I didn’t sleep with her!”

Eria only laughed louder and louder, and Tom soon joined her. He drank the rest of his tea with a flourish, and then asked for more. She poured him another cup and put the kettle back on a special hot stone — a stone with an eternal flame burning inside of it. It was a trinket to a cultivator, but for mortals and practitioners, it was of great value. Apparently, Eria and Lita hadn’t always been as poor as they appeared to be now…

“What did you just say?”

Hadjar turned to White Fang, who was looking at them.

“By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars,” Hadjar repeated.

He watched his reaction carefully. As he spoke the first words, a spark flickered inside the white-haired swordsman’s empty, gray eyes.

“By the… High… Heavens…” White Fang said with great difficulty.

Then he turned and stared back at the road. Lita, who had moved to sit in his lap, was dozing there peacefully. The old man gripped the reins in silence, until his knuckles turned white. A tear ran down his left cheek.

“I beg your pardon, honorable Eria,” Hadjar bowed his head. Tom looked at him as if he’d decided to bow to a dunghill. “If I’m sticking my nose where it isn’t supposed to be, please stop me, but I’ve been curious about what brought you and this great warrior together in this wilderness.”

Eria looked like she’d just woken up from a deep slumber. Sniffing, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Hadjar noticed marks on her wrists — rope marks. She hadn’t been able to help…

“My daughter and I were traveling with our family,” Eria whispered. It was almost harder for her to speak than it was for White Fang. “We were crossing the Sea of Sand, coming from Urnadat.”

Hadjar still remembered South Wind’s geography lessons. Urnadat was the Kingdom bordering Balium from the west. Since the beginning of time, it had been ruled exclusively by women, something that Haver and Primus had constantly made jokes about.

“At the edge of the Sea of Sand, we were attacked by bandits. Only Lita, Verx, and I survived. My dear, old Verx.”

Hadjar looked at the old man. Since he’d spent so much time around nobles, he could recognize that the old man was a servant. A servant who did his job for the sake of honor rather than money. So, he’d rushed into battle for his employers. This honor had cost Verx his right ear and his left arm, which had been replaced by a wooden prosthesis, and he also had terrible scars all over his body now. How he’d even survived was a mystery.

“If it hadn’t been for Er-” Hadjar jerked as if struck by a whip. “If it hadn’t been for White Fang, we would’ve all died. And Lita... Lita…” Eria paused.

Hadjar heard a crunch. Tom had clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth had cracked.

“Bastards,” He growled. “Dishonorable scum.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. The cart’s wheels rattled on the cobblestones. The old springs creaked, and the wind played with White Fang’s hair and newly twisted braids.

Soon, as they came around another bend, a border fort came into view. Well, something that used to be one did, at any rate. The moat, which was supposed to serve as a barrier for sieges, had long ago completely succumbed to low, withered, yellow grass. The drawbridge had sunk into the ground, and several birds had built their nests on the links of the mechanism. The walls of the fort were askew, and had also sunk and collapsed in places. Many of the stones comprising them had clearly been stolen. Hadjar wouldn’t be surprised to find stone buildings made of old fort parts in some of the villages.

“By the gods and demons,” Tom said, “This is the worst dump I’ve ever seen.”

Hadjar just nodded. Sukhashim had been considered a large fort once. During its heyday, it had been capable of accommodating seventy thousand soldiers, and three times that in a pinch. But now…

“Thank you,” Hadjar said, and surreptitiously left a big coin purse in the cart.

Leaping off, he went around the cart and started heading for the gates (if a dilapidated arch could even be called that), when a heavy hand touched his shoulder. Hadjar turned and met the powerful swordsman’s gaze.

“Friendly… duel…” White Fang croaked.

Hadjar nodded and asked:

“When?”

The white-haired swordsman, still twitching, pointed at the moon, which hadn’t yet disappeared.

“In two… full.”

Hadjar nodded again. In two full moons, he’d be sparring with the person capable of destroying Orune. What else could he have expected from his trip to the sticks?

Verx pulled on the reins and the cart resumed rolling down the road.

“Bye, North Wind!” Lita yelled as she woke up. Leaning on White Fang’s shoulder, she waved to them. “Make sure to visit our village sometime! It’s called Small Stream!”

Soon, the cart disappeared behind a hill. The small parchment bird fell at Hadjar’s feet. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket.

“We seem to have a lot of work ahead of us, Tom.” Hadjar turned and headed toward the ruins.

“What do you mean?”

“We were sent here to serve in a fort. And all I see is a mess. So, we should make some repairs.”

“Repairs? Are you nuts? This is impossible to fix! Besides, they sent you here, not me!”

“Well, you wanted to prove that you’re brilliant at building defenses, right? Or is Sukhashim too much of a challenge for you?”

“A challenge? Just give me a month, barbarian! In just a month, we’ll be standing atop the walls of the Empire’s most secure fort!”

Tom, pushing past Hadjar, hurried to enter the ancient fort. Hadjar wondered which had affected him more adversely — talking to Einen or… Morgan?

Chapter 1011

I f anything was beautiful in this region, it was the sunsets and sunrises. Hadjar was looking at one now, while sitting in a lotus position atop a tower that had fallen long ago. The sun was like the fiery eye of the past, piercing the present with light that rushed into the unknown future. It painted the ground, tired of feet trampling it, with blood and gold. Hadjar watched this majestically beautiful event that made the sky redden and the rocks and sandstones glow. It was as beautiful as the fluttering of a bird’s wing as it proudly flies through the endless expanses of the sky. As mesmerizing as a star falling from the night sky. Light and dark. Physical and ephemeral. All of this was happening before his very eyes, and he watched it carefully, absorbing and comprehending something that he couldn’t yet find the right words to describe, as if his mind was still refusing to accept what his soul had already begun to understand and feel.

Surprisingly, during his many years of wandering, he’d realized that the poets and sages were wrong. Trapped between four walls, unable to see the world, they ended up believing that the mind was wiser than the soul. Hadjar was slowly realizing something else. The mind was like a hammer or a chisel — a tool for processing materials, like the body and... soul. Sages and poets placed the soul in the spotlight, and scholars did the same with the mind. They argued over which came first: the chicken or the egg. However, as soon as the material appears, so, too, does the tool needed to process it.

Hadjar sensed a deep truth in this. He yearned for it as much as a bird yearned for the skies, and the sun’s golden rays yearned for the earth. They were in each other’s way, yet they never fought. They were like a mind and a soul…

“Damn it! Damn it!”

Hadjar reluctantly turned away from the dawn. Next to him, covered in mud and dust, wearing work clothes with the sleeves rolled up, his hair tied back and his hands calloused, stood a man who vaguely resembled an aristocrat. Tom had really taken on the responsibility of working to improve Sukhashim. He was doing it so diligently, in fact, that he’d surprised Hadjar.

“It’s a gods-damned vicious cycle,” Tom spat angrily from the old tower. “To strengthen the wall, I need stones. To get the stones, I need a quarry. I need people to work in that quarry. And people refuse to work in Sukhashim… because there’s no construction material! Where can I find some? Damn it all!”

Tools and materials…

“I remember someone telling me that we’d be standing atop the walls of the Empire’s most secure fort in just a month,” Hadjar couldn’t help himself, he had to tease him a little. It wasn’t in his nature, but Tom had done his fair share of ribbing when it came to him and Einen. “It seems to me like a full week has already passed, and Sukhashim still looks like a dump.”

“It does!” Tom kicked a stone, and it flew off somewhere in the direction of the overgrown moat. “A week, barbarian? It’s been twelve days!”

“Twelve days?” Hadjar frowned. “But I-”

“Twelve!” Tom interrupted him. “You’ve been sitting on that fucking tower for the last five days, casually meditating, while I was working! You didn’t even ask if I might need to meditate! You’re not the only cultivator concerned with advancing along the path of cultivation!”

“Five days?” Hadjar whispered in surprise, and then gave a mental command to his neural network.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

116 hours, 42 minutes, 13... 14... 15 seconds ago, the host fell into a state that defies system analysis.

Similarity with a coma: 43.632%

Similarity with a vegetative state: 14.171%

Similarity with a state of reduced consciousness: 6%

Similarity with a state of complete incapacitation of all systems: 86.513%]

Hadjar looked at the message that had popped up in front of his eyes and couldn’t understand what exactly had happened. That last line of text made him nervous. A state of complete incapacitation of all systems? For some reason, his neural network had recently stopped giving him warnings about his possible death and, instead, it was using this odd wording. Which meant that, for the last five days, Hadjar had been more dead than alive.

Hadjar looked to the east. It wasn’t dawn anymore. The sun was at its zenith. It was a bright, hot, and dry afternoon. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, nor even a single bird. What had happened five days ago had been an exception: a swallow had glided through a sparse cloud, racing after a flying beetle and heading toward the dawn. These three additional entities — a swallow, a cloud, and a beetle — had plunged Hadjar into a deep meditation that had ended before he could digest what his soul or mind had tried to discover.…

“Fuck!” Hadjar whispered. “Not now…”

Tom, who’d been about to say something, suddenly froze. He stared at Hadjar.

“Damn,” he said. “You aren’t twenty... you’re probably almost double that age... and yet you’ve gone through more than most people do in a few centuries.”

Hadjar closed his eyes and breathed calmly. Once upon a time, he’d laughed at the legends claiming that some cultivators could spend months, years, and even centuries in meditation. The Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman had told him that, in his country, it was common for most cultivators to regularly spend tens of thousands of years immersed in deep meditation.

When a cultivator accumulated too many scattered fragments of mysteries, inspiration, insights, and knowledge, their mind and soul would be unable to digest all of it and then they would fall into meditation, in order to comprehend absolutely all of these fragments of a single whole. Their very essence. A small, even tiny, truth. This was called the meditation of the Caterpillar and the Butterfly, because, just like a caterpillar, the cultivator would weave a cocoon of all these things around themselves, and then emerge from it as a different being.

However, this wasn’t the right time for that sort of thing… Who knew how long his meditation would last. A month? Two months? A year? A decade? Hadjar didn’t have that much time to devote to being on the edge between life and death.

“Fucking Mountain of Elements,” he swore.

“What mountain?”

Hadjar ignored the question. He was sure that if it hadn’t been for the Mountain of Elements and the forty years he’d spent there, it would’ve been a long time before he’d managed to collect so many scattered fragments that they’d end up overloading his soul.

“Still, even at your age, the meditation of the Caterpillar and the Butterfly is a very rare thing. Few people plunge into it before their second century.”

“I know,” Hadjar retorted.

Tom wasn’t aware of just how old Hadjar truly was. If he took into account his life on Earth, in this nameless world, and the time he’d spent on the Mountain of Elements, then he’d be exactly one century old next year. One hundred years…

“No!” Hadjar clenched his fists hard and shook his head. The blood dripping from his palms sobered him up. “Not now… I don’t have time for this.”

“Are you insane, barbarian? You can’t put off such a crucial meditation! No one has ever done that before!”

Hadjar stood up and, out of habit, brushed off his armor, even though Queen Mab’s magic had made his robes in such a way that they never got dirty.

“Come on, we have a lot to do.”

Tom followed him and, while staring at Hadjar’s back, he murmured:

“No one has ever done it because it’s impossible…”

A caterpillar couldn’t postpone the moment when it needed to become a butterfly…

Chapter 1012

[Request completed...

Condition analyzed at 12/100 possible points.

Probability of detecting the state is 94.52%

The host will be notified if the commencement of the state is detected.

Moving on to completing the current task with the previously specified capacity allocation.]

H is travels and many adventures, visiting the Spirit World, his encounters with various entities, his rapid growth, the Hundred Voices Pill (whether it had had an effect on him or not was still a mystery), the Mountain of Elements, and finally, poring through two huge libraries: the library of the Predatory Blades clan, and the library of the Moonlight Sect.

It was all like water, and he was a filter. Everything he’d been through had left traces, both visible ones and those that were impossible to notice. And all of this had led to him potentially ‘switching off’ at any time, and for probably a very long period as well. The first bell had already rung.

After what Hadjar had experienced atop the tower, most other cultivators would find the most distant and isolated cave, seal it up, and spend all the money they had on defensive artifacts. After securing the entrance, they would then plunge into a long meditation, which could sometimes cost them their life.

It was in those kinds of places that, at times, one could find an Inheritance. If a cultivator who was immersed in the Caterpillar and the Butterfly meditation wasn’t doing it for the first time and had significant power, at the moment of death, with their last dregs of energy, they formed all their knowledge and skill into an Inheritance that remained there.

It was thanks to such events that many fairy tales about heroes who found great Inheritances, as well as treasure hunters and adventurers of various sorts, had become so common.

“Current status,” Hadjar ordered.

[Processing request...

Request processed…

Probability of repeating the scenario that led to the ‘Cocoon’ event in the next 24 astronomical hours is 17.67%]

Almost eighteen percent... He’d have to use all his internal resources to push back the moment when he’d have to withdraw into himself.

“Probability of this chance increasing?”

[Processing request...

Request processed…

The probability of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario is 100% likely to grow over time.]

The neural network rarely estimated anything to be at one hundred percent.

“Fucking shit!” Hadjar swore aloud.

“Exactly, honorable cultivator.” An old man bowed.

His name was Tunude. As far as Hadjar could understand, his family were the descendants of the first General-Governor of the Sukhashim Fort. Subsequently, the General-Governor title had turned into the title of Governor, then the title of Keeper, and finally, the title of Guard.

Tunude was a lean, strong man with a receding hairline, and sparse, gray hair. He was of average height, with narrow shoulders, and he walked with a staff that seemed to tap the ground on its own. He was only at the Bodily Rivers level, which meant that Hadjar and Tom had to suppress their auras. If they unleashed their true power, the mortal would be instantly reduced to dust.

Out here, so far from civilization, in a region that made Lidus look like the hotbed of cultivation, mortals lived a short, human life. Not having the support of alchemy or medicine based on magical herbs and roots, they lived up to a century, and gradually became senile from the age of fifty onwards. Those who didn’t even reach the Bodily Rivers level didn’t live much longer than those who led a healthy life back on Еarth.

“This is everything I have on the fort.” Tunude’s hands, although covered in liver spots, didn’t tremble. He placed a wooden box full of various scrolls in front of Hadjar.

Tom leaned against the wall of the only relatively intact house in Sukhashim and stared at Hadjar.

“If we don’t reopen the old mine, Sukhashim will have to be rebuilt with air… or sheep shit. But the local shepherds probably won’t even let us have that.”

“Sheep manure, honorable adepts, makes for good kindling,” Tunude bowed. “It freezes over, and in winter, they heat furnaces with it. Without it, the surrounding villagers wouldn’t be able to survive the first cold days. Please, don’t take it-”

“Oh, shut up, you mortal scarecrow,” Tom interrupted him. “The only thing I can think of doing is going around the neighborhood and finding a couple of cute mortal girls. By the gods and demons, I don’t know what else we can do here. Or you could just go into your Caterpillar and the Butterfly meditation, and I could keep watch over you.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” Hadjar drawled. Unfolding scroll after scroll, he ordered his neural network to scan all the information. Its main power was still directed toward analyzing the library of the Predatory Blades clan, but there were enough available resources to complete such a simple task. “But White Fang and Arkemeya aren’t far from here.”

“Fair enough,” Tom grumbled.

“White Fang?” Tunude asked. “You met that poor guy?”

Hadjar looked up from the scrolls, staring intently at the old Guard.

“What do you know about him, honorable Guard?” Hadjar asked politely.

Tom grimaced at his respectful treatment of the man. The nobleman wasn’t used to dealing with mortals as equals, but as mere cattle or dirt beneath his feet. However, such snobbery was typical for almost all cultivators. Tunude had at first pleaded with Hadjar to stop doing it, but then he’d realized that it was useless to argue, and had even gotten used to the idea that one of the Emperor’s own men would be addressing him with respect.

“He simply appeared not that long ago. With two girls and an old man.”

“An old man?” Tom snorted. “And you’re as fresh as a daisy?”

“Excuse me, hono-”

“Stop that!” Hadjar waved his hand and glanced at Tom reproachfully. He shrugged and went out onto the porch. “Go on, honorable Guard.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Little Lita has a terrible scar now. Her mother, Eria, claimed that she got it as a child, when a bull rammed her with his horns. I may be old and unable to lift a sword, but I can tell the mark of a sword and a horn apart.”

Hadjar nodded. He remembered Lita’s arm and face, and every time he did, his hands itched to rip someone apart.

“We villagers are naturally withdrawn. It’s understandable, since we live at the very border with Lascan. We don’t really welcome strangers.”

Despite all his flaws, Tunude’s way of speaking was relatively cultured. Apparently, there were still at least some fragments of education being passed on in his family.

“They came, and they didn’t speak our language at all, honorable cultivator,” Tunude bowed again. “The villagers wanted to drive them away, but this white-haired man took care of that.”

“How are they getting along here?”

“Well enough. They’ve taken root, I think. They’ve only been living here for a month, and they’ve already been so useful to us. Lita looks after the little kids with delight. At first, they were afraid of her scars, but then they got used to them. Eria helps the mothers, tells people about all sorts of herbs, and teaches them how to sew. At first, they dismissed her, but then… Well, just look at my shirt!”

Tunude pulled the edge of his linen shirt back, took out a knife, and pressed it to the shirt. The sharp blade couldn’t cut the material, to Hadjar’s surprise.

“May I take a look?”

“Of course, honorable cultivator.”

Hadjar leaned over and ran his hand over the shirt. If he hadn’t been a Lord, he probably wouldn’t have felt it. Sure, this nameless world was huge, and there were plenty of wonders and secrets to be found here... but the strange consistency with which Hadjar stumbled upon them was beginning to unnerve him.

There was magic in the shirt, but not the kind cultivators used. It was a different kind altogether — the magic of the Fae and the Spirits.

“Tell me, honorable Tunude, is the old, abandoned mine in the Small Stream village?”

“How did you know?” The Guard asked in surprise.

Chapter 1013

“B e honest, Tom, what have you been doing all week?” Hadjar asked him as Tunude got on his old mare.

Tom and Hadjar didn’t need horses. They didn’t have any reason to hide their true abilities anymore. After they’d provided an official paper to the Guard, the entire neighborhood had learned that the Emperor’s men had come to Sukhashim. To the locals, Morgan was akin to the Jasper Emperor himself — an unattainable, divine figure. His people were almost seen as celestial beings due to that. That’s why Tom and Hadjar openly moved at the same speed as Tunude’s horse. It looked as if they were floating above the ground, their feet barely touching it.

“What have I been doing?” In the absence of alcohol capable of intoxicating a Spirit Knight, Tom had gradually fallen into complete despair, which had manifested itself in the form of aggression. “I’ve been dragging my feet through these dung beetles’ huts! I even offered them huge amounts of money, Hadjar! In the capital, they would’ve killed for that kind of money! One Imperial coin for two days of mining! I could’ve gotten an army of poor people in the capital to work here for that kind of coin!”

Hadjar could barely stop himself from laughing out loud. A smile was creeping up on his face, though.

“Why are you grinning, barbarian?”

“It’s so un-aristocratic!” Hadjar couldn’t stop himself any longer and started laughing.

“I’ll show you…”

Tom, forgetting himself for a moment, reached for his sword, but then gave up.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Hadjar apologized sincerely, “but it’s just really funny... Weren’t you surprised by how people were reacting to the coins?”

“I was at first, but then I figured they’d simply never seen such large amounts of money before and-”

“They’ve never seen that kind of money at all!” Hadjar smiled again. He took out a coin from his spatial ring and called the Guard over. “Honorable Tunude! Have you ever seen something like this before?”

The man turned, moved his hand to shield his eyes, and squinted. He stared at the green, round, square-cut coin in Hadjar’s hands, and then shook his head.

“They found a small chest full of those in the mine about ten winters ago, and made jewelry from them. Pretty useless otherwise, honorable cultivator.”

“Useless?” Tom facepalmed. “By the gods and demons, where has life led me...” Tom suddenly came to his senses and looked at Hadjar. “Wait, how is that possible? Trade caravans from the Sea of Sand come here as well! They use Imperial coins.”

“They do,” Hadjar nodded. “But the real goal of any merchant is to make a profit. That’s why they set a price in Imperial coins, but the people around here pay in different ways… Honorable Tunude, we have to hire people from the area. How should we pay them?”

The old man was clearly surprised by this question, “Like everyone else does: in gold, silver, and copper.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to laugh, “Those are only used for fun!” He looked at Hadjar. “Right?”

“You do realize that I was born and raised in Lidus?”

“I wouldn’t call you a barbarian if I didn’t know that.”

“Well, if you’d come and offered me a job twenty years ago, one where I’d work in a mine for twenty gold coins a day, I would’ve accepted right away, even though I didn’t have legs back then.”

Tom listened intently, then gave Hadjar an appraising look, and finally asked in a slightly hoarse voice:

“What do you mean, you didn’t have legs?”

Leaving Tom’s question unanswered, he turned back to the Guard. He took out an old, bulging purse that had about fifty gold coins in it from his spatial ring and showed it to the old man.

“Would this be enough to motivate the people around here?”

The sun glinted in the Guard’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were bright, and he licked his parched lips. As Hadjar had suspected, he’d just shown Tunude the approximate annual income of an entire village. Gods-damned merchants… The capital was so close to the area, and they were still ripping off the locals to the point of practically skinning them alive…

“Can you make money out of thin air?”

“What? Speak clearly, mortal!” Tom growled.

“I don’t know,” Tunude murmured, taking off his hat. He was sweating even though it was a chilly, autumn day. “I don’t know, honorable cultivator, how something like that is possible… It must be sorcery or something… But with that kind of money…”

“Is this enough?” Hadjar repeated.

He felt like he already knew what the answer would be. He began to realize why Morgan had sent him here, why White Fang and his very unusual companions were here, why the Bedouins had taken the little girl by force, and how Sukhashim had drawn Arkemeya into its web. By the Evening Stars and the High Heavens, he wished with all his heart for Tunude to say something else.

“No, honorable cultivator,” he shook his head. “It isn’t. You could offer ten times as much, and they still wouldn’t go. Even if it were a hundred times more, only those with a death wish would go. The rest still wouldn’t. It’s better to eat sheep manure than to go down into the mine looking for gold. There is nothing for us there. We live from our labor. Anyone who’s able to helps their neighbor. We trade, we bargain, we ensure our children get married, we raise our grandchildren. We don’t need gold.”

“Don’t need gold?” Tom spat. “Why won’t anyone go into the mine? Damn it all! I’ll-”

“You’ll face White Fang if you do that,” Hadjar interrupted Tom. “If you don’t need gold, I’ll offer something else. I’ll help you hunt. I’ll build you houses that will make even people from the capital envy you. I’ll make walls, so that wandering monsters don’t kill you. I’ll teach your men and women how to stand up for themselves in battle. I’ll give you weapons, armor. However I can, I’ll help you. Just help us. I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, help us.”

Hadjar spoke just as Robin from that village in the Valley of Streams had once taught him. At the end, Hadjar touched his hand to his chest and bowed deeply.

“No, honorable cultivator!” Tunude stopped his mare and reached out to Hadjar to keep him from bowing. “You can’t do this! A true adept mustn’t bow to a mere mortal! You can’t do that, honorable cultivator! It’s insulting to the gods!”

“How can it be insulting for two people to talk to each other?” Hadjar straightened up and squeezed Tunude’s forearm. “You are a man, Tunude. And so am I. There is no difference between us except the one we create ourselves.”

The Guard paused. He looked into Hadjar’s eyes and saw nothing but honesty there.

As a child, Tunude had heard legends of knights who embodied honor standing up to protect the weak in their time of need. Once, back when he’d still been young and naive, he’d wanted to become a knight like that himself, but had long ago realized that real honor didn’t exist. Now, at the end of his life, he was glad to find out that he’d been wrong. He’d simply been too weak to carry such a burden.

“I’ll tell you, honorable cultivator. Believe it or not, a great evil settled in the mine many years ago.”

“What kind of evil, mortal? Can you just speak plainly for once and not like we’re in a fucking story?” Tom frowned.

“That’s exactly the problem, you won’t believe me when-”

“Are they small, strange people?” Hadjar interrupted him. “The ones who live under hills?”

Tunude’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. Tom stared at Hadjar, absolutely baffled.

“What people, barbarian?”

Looking in the direction of the village, Hadjar mentally unleashed the foulest curses he could remember.

“It’s the people of the goddess Danu.”

“What? The Fae?”

“That’s right,” Hadjar nodded. “By the gods, Morgan sent us here to acquire another Fae artifact.”

Tom swore.

Hadjar stretched out his hand and caught a snowflake. Winter was coming — the Winter Palace season. The season of Queen Mab.

“Damn it all…”

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the laughter of iron harpies that had once pretended to be wildflowers.

Chapter 1014

T he Small Stream village wasn’t much different from the hundreds of thousands of others scattered across the vast territory of Darnassus. It had about a hundred and twenty houses, and one main street that was just wide enough for two carts and a few people to walk along, side by side. The houses had a sensible arrangement only in the very center of the village, and the rest had been built chaotically along some narrow streets.

The houses themselves were well-made overall. Some were big, others small. Some had their gardens and stockyards, and others didn’t. As always, every place had its rich and poor. Hadjar had no doubt that even the equivalent of Eighth Avenue could be found here.

“We got here earlier than planned,” Tom drawled.

With his hands behind his back, he calmly strode toward the high palisade that served as the village’s protective wall.

“Stop!” A bow creaked as it was drawn. “Who are you?”

The lookout wasn’t a fool. He saw Tunude, then noticed the clothes of the two strangers, and instantly understood everything.

“I’m sorry!” The young man disappeared from the makeshift parapet, which was just a ladder set against the palisade.

“I’m getting tired of this,” Tom grumbled, and entered the village.

Rumors spread faster than a forest fire in a small village. As soon as Tom crossed the threshold, all activity in Small Stream instantly subsided. The people hid in their homes. They closed their gates and slammed their shutters. The men pulled their wives and daughters inside.

Their great and genuine respect for cultivators was based primarily on fear. This wasn’t surprising. Hadjar remembered a time when, to him, even a Heaven Soldier seemed like they possessed an unprecedented amount of strength and power. The rumors in Lidus had claimed that a Heaven Soldier could fly, live for hundreds of thousands of years, summon fire, water, and any other element freely…

Accompanied by Tunude, Hadjar and Tom, attracting the curious glances of the bravest young men and women, almost reached the chief’s home. It was the closest house to the village square, in the center of which stood a wooden idol. The house was larger and more beautiful than the others, and although it had no garden or a barn, it had a few outbuildings, one of which was a bathhouse.

The three were just short of reaching their goal when their path was blocked by a miniature hurricane in a multicolored dress.

“Stop, awful invaders!” Lita held out her hand, and then put both hands on her hips. “You shall not pass!”

“Beautiful shield-maiden!” Hadjar bowed low. “Please let us enter this most beautiful of cities.”

Lita’s eyes narrowed. She could barely contain her laughter, and her eyes shone with joy.

“Anyone who wishes to enter our city must make a gift for the great shield-maiden, the protector of Small Stream!”

“Of course, my lady.”

Hadjar straightened up. He closed his eyes and extended his consciousness. The world around him was like an open book. The senses of a Lord were difficult to describe to a mortal, but the earth, the air, the drops of morning dew, the beating of other people’s hearts, their emotions, the rustling of the grass, the rays of the sun, the wind — all of this was almost painfully clear to Hadjar.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 20%... 23%…]

Hadjar raised his hands and spread them out. He reached for what was always there — playing with the ornaments in his hair, and accompanied by a melodious trill and the rustling of two white feathers. The Wind…

Previously, their relationship had been one-sided. The wind had whispered its stories to Hadjar: legends of lands so amazing that even the mind of a Lord couldn’t comprehend all their wonders. The wind played with the grass. It moved the clouds. It allowed the birds to fly, full of freedom and courage. The wind cooled the hot backs of hardworking peasants, who had straightened up to rest for a bit. The wind carried…

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 41%... 46%…]

...pollen and seeds to spread life everywhere. It turned mills, helping to make flour. It froze water, giving ice. It warmed a forge, giving it flame.

It turned into a storm, subsiding into a breeze, rolling through the cities and villages, then it ruffled the hair of a redheaded beauty to let the sunlight slide over her fiery hair and make a young man feel a prick in his soul. Through the mind... into the soul…

The wind blew…

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 58%... 63%…]

Hadjar felt like he’d heard something. Not a story, not a promise of freedom, not a description of another miracle. He was hearing something else. Like the whisper of the red-haired beauty meant for the young man. Like a son’s greeting, as he met his father on the threshold of their home after a war. Like the soft singing of a mother taking her baby in her arms for the first time.

He seemed to hear a name. But not his own… It was someone else’s name, one that bypassed his mind and penetrated his very soul.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 79%... 92%…]

No… No… Sorry, it isn’t time yet, old friend. Hadjar couldn’t allow himself to become immersed in this quiet singing, to forget himself in the center of the storm, where lightning bolts intertwined into a cradle for his exhausted soul and mind. Hadjar had a duty that only he could fulfill. A duty to his honor.

The sounds of the wind died away.

Hadjar opened his eyes and waved his hand. The flow of the wind behind him became the color of the dawn — scarlet and gold. They spun in unison. His long hair was whipped around him, and the hem of his blue robes glittered, the clouds drifting amongst the twinkling stars.

The wind currents thickened in front of him. They danced in his palm until they overlapped tightly. When all was quiet once more, a flower remained in Hadjar’s hand. Its golden stem shone steadily, and from its blood-red bud came the wonderful fragrance of spring. Now, at the end of fall, when winter was already knocking on the door, this little fragment of spring seemed like a real treasure.

[The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are decreasing 49%... 38%…]

Finally paying attention to the messages, Hadjar realized that the number stopped at 26% instead of 18%...

“Thank you, Hadjar!” Lita, forgetting about her game, snatched the flower from his hand. When her fingers touched the stem, there was a light, melodious tinkling, like the chime of the ornaments in his hair.

Crouching down, Hadjar asked, “Will you take us to the chief? We really need to... talk to him.”

He suddenly felt weak, and was surprised to find that there was almost no energy left inside his crystallized Core.

“Of course, Hadjar!” Lita couldn’t take her eyes off the flower. “Let’s go.”

She turned and ran down the sandy street. Hadjar, despite stumbling a little, refused Tom’s help and followed after her.

“What was that, barbarian? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Hadjar would’ve liked to know the answer as well, but he didn’t. He noticed White Fang staring at him. But he was more concerned about something else — the way Eria was looking at him…

Chapter 1015

“A re you insane, honorable cultivators?”

As expected, the chief had all the qualities that were necessary for running a village that was on the outskirts of the Empire. He was bossy and stately. His gray-streaked hair was tied back with leather straps, and a thick braid fell over his powerful shoulders. His arms, which had grown muscular thanks to a plow and probably a woodcutter’s axe as well, were also covered with leather straps. He was also short and had a massive lower jaw.

His wife, clearly not his first one, was about twenty springs old. She held her four-year-old son in her arms. Behind the chief stood his eldest son — handsome, fit, broad-shouldered, and with a clear, hawk-like gaze. Dozens of girls must’ve fallen for him by this point in his life.

“Are you insane, Goben?” Tunude banged his cane on the floor. “Your words will bring misfortune upon all of us! I apologize for the rudeness of this stubborn geezer, honorable cultivators. Watch your mouth, you-”

“Shut up, you old bag of bones!” Goben shouted. “They could be cultivators, or even celestials for all I care, but no matter how much gold they offer us, I won’t let a single person go into that mine.”

“Your village isn’t the only one around here, geezer,” Tom said. “We’ll find someone else.”

“Maybe you will,” the chief agreed, “but only those who don’t want to live anymore. No one else would agree to go down there.”

“Because of the evil that lives there?” Hadjar asked.

The chief nodded. He picked up a pipe from the solid oak table and lit it. Knowing how to easily relate to people, Hadjar took out his own pipe and also lit it. As soon as the old man smelled the smoke from the cultivator’s pipe, he immediately blinked. Hadjar silently took out a bundle that contained a special tobacco from the distant plantations of the Chaverie Empire. It came out of his ring, but he pretended to take it out of his robes. That particular Empire produced the best tea and tobacco in all the seven Empires, even though it was three times smaller than Darnassus.

“I’ll happily accept this gift,” Goben took the small bundle from the table, shook out the old tobacco out of his pipe, and filled it with the new one, “But this won’t change what I’ve already said, honorable cultivator.”

“You can call me Hadjar.”

“You can call me Goben.”

They shook hands, both ignoring Tom’s chuckle. He still could not believe how much respect Hadjar kept showing the mortals.

“I’m merely a guest in your home,” Hadjar watched the chief take a drag. It cost more than all the surrounding buildings. “Sukhashim once owned the surrounding villages, but that time is long gone now.”

“It is,” the chief agreed. “But don’t think that we don’t remember our roots. My grandparents served in Sukhashim. You won’t find a single village where there are no people like me — the descendants of the warriors and defenders of the fort.”

Hadjar slammed his fist against his chest:

“I respect your roots, Goben. As well as your people’s roots.”

“It’s nice to hear that from a resident of the capital.” The chief squinted at Hadjar. It wasn’t unusual for him to receive threats from a cultivator he’d just met. Although they rarely appeared here, he’d already met some before. “You can stay in our village as long as you like, but that’s all.”

Tom leaned forward, but Hadjar stopped him with his will. It was unnoticeable to the others, but tangible to the swordsman. The latter looked at him in complete bewilderment. Why did they, two mighty cultivators, have to endure such treatment? The wretched mortals were supposed to fall to their knees before them and swear on their parents’ graves to fulfill any wish of the cultivators who had come to talk to them.

That would be an easy way of dealing with this. A way that Hadjar could choose at any time. But there was no honor in it, and absolutely no respect for the laws of hospitality. In addition, if the villagers refused to use the only source of stable income they had — the mine — there must’ve been a good reason for this. If Hadjar and Tom, using their might, forcibly sent all these people into the mine, they could all die in there. As a result, there wouldn’t be any stone, or any people left to get it for them.

“Can I offer you a deal, Goben?”

Realizing that a serious discussion had just begun, the chief put his pipe down and, after bringing his hands together, looked into Hadjar’s eyes. He’d seen many people in his life. Some of them had been desperate adventurers, others had been trembling cowards. Some had been as calm as a lake, while others had been fussy. However, never before had he seen a gaze quite like Hadjar’s. It was as if he was looking into something... intangible, like the clouds, or trying to see the wind.

“You can, Hadjar.”

“If we get rid of the evil in your mine, will you assist us in the production of the material needed to repair Sukhashim?”

The chief paused before answering:

“Why would we do that?”

Tom was about to say something in response, but Hadjar once again gave him a little nudge with his will.

“You see, Hadjar, we’re ordinary peasants and hard workers. We plow the fields, we cut down the trees, and we take our flocks out to graze. We live a quiet life. Even weapons are hard to find in our lands.”

“Yes, but times are changing. We’re fighting Lascan now.”

“When the war is over, no one will care about Sukhashim, as always.” The chief might have been a simple man, but he wasn’t stupid. “If you want to waste your gold, Hadjar, bury it somewhere and draw a map. It’ll be fun for our children to search for some treasure. We don’t need your gold.”

Hadjar glanced at the heavy purse lying on the center of the table, and then at Goben’s wife. The girl was holding the baby a little tighter than she should have. He also glanced at the chief’s son, who was gripping the back of his father’s chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. They were afraid. Terrified. The chief was simply a little better at hiding his emotions than they were.

“You aren’t stupid, Goben, and you know very well that if that were really the case, neither I nor my friend would’ve been sent here.”

For a while, they just stared at each other.

“I know who you are, North Wind,” the old man whispered. “The one who defeated the army of the dead and Derek of the Steppe. The former General of the northern Baronies, who was glorified as a madman, who made his way to the top on a path paved with blood. You destroyed the Moonlight Sect, which only sought peace and tranquility. Why should I believe you, warrior? I heard honor in your words, but your actions say otherwise. You’re just another blood-drenched maniac. I’ve seen a lot of your kind in my life.”

Tom had drawn his sword, and his mysteries left long, thin slashes across the table and the walls of the house.

“You’re talking to the great swordsman Orune’s disciple, mortal. He is the man who fights for your freedom and your life. Show some respect!”

“Get out of here, boy!” Goben was the bravest man Hadjar had ever met. Only a man bursting with courage, or a fool, would dare to treat a cultivator like this. “You’re younger than my son. You’re a guest in my house. How dare you draw your sword in here?”

Tom stepped forward. Hadjar softly whispered:

“That’s enough.”

But his words sounded like a storm. Thunder rumbled outside. An enraged dragon roared in the sky above them.

Suddenly, White Fang appeared. His sword was in his hands.

“Is everything all right, chief?” The white-haired swordsman asked in a cracking voice.

Lita stood behind him, holding her cloak with one hand and clutching the scarlet-gold flower in the other.

“You should ask Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, if everything is okay.” Goben growled.

There was only a heavy silence in the house.

Chapter 1016

“I ’m glad you know who I am, Goben.” Hadjar turned his back to White Fang and crossed his arms over his chest. “That means you also know my story. You know that my sword, if I do use it, won’t be stopped by the white-haired swordsman behind me, nor by what dwells in your mines, nor by what the people will say about me if I spill blood all around Sukhashim.”

Lightning struck outside. Coming from somewhere in the depths of the clear, blue sky, a black flash suddenly broke out, stretching out into a long dragon.

“Brave words, Hadjar Darkhan, especially when you’re speaking to a mere mortal!”

“What a-” This time, Hadjar didn’t have to stop Tom, who realized that with White Fang in the room, it would be suicide to attack Goben.

“You called this swordsman a ‘boy,’ Goben, and he is one,” Hadjar nodded. “But when you were twenty and I was six, I was already fighting for my country. When you were thirty and chasing women, I was sixteen and fighting for my country. When you turned fifty, I was still fighting for my country. Every year you spent in peace, working hard on your land, I fought for my country. For the country where you and your children live. Where your grandchildren will one day live.”

“Mad General, are you saying your duty is more important than mine?” Goben rose from his seat. The resentment he had nurtured inside him erupted like a volcano. “When you spilled other people’s blood with your sword, I spilled blood on my homeland. While you trampled other people’s lands, I cultivated my homeland. When you fought the enemy, I fought wolves and boars. I have been growing food for the people of our country since before you were born.”

“And that’s why I respect you, Goben,” Hadjar nodded. “But isn’t the true history of you and your people buried in this cellar?” He kicked the floor hard. The boards bulged and exploded like soap bubbles. Splinters flew everywhere, but didn’t hit a single person. “As well as the history of all the villages around the ruins of Sukhashim.”

The gleam of steel stung their eyes.

“Father, what is this?”

“Stand back, Guram!” Goben snapped. “These are just remnants of the past. A past that Darnassus ruined! They forgot our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, leaving them here to rot!”

“They were left to guard the border,” Hadjar objected. “I once met a man who plundered and sold a frontier fort for his own benefit. When you refuse my offer, you do the same — you betray the blood of your forefathers.”

Goben grabbed a knife from the table and pointed it at Hadjar. He was really brave. He was so brave, in fact, that Hadjar had no doubt that the bear that had left those scars on his left shoulder hadn’t lived past that.

“You’ll answer for those words, adept! This might be the last thing I’ll ever do, but you’ll answer for them!”

“Father! No!” Guram shouted, but it was already too late.

Goben leapt forward. Hadjar could’ve stopped him without even moving, just by using his will. He could’ve even killed the old man with a thought, but he allowed the mortal steel to cut through his flesh, just like he sometimes allowed his carving knife to do so when he swore an oath. His flesh was so strong that no artifact below the Heaven level could even scratch it otherwise.

Goben moved back. He stared at his bloody hands and the knife sticking out of Hadjar’s stomach. He yanked it out. Hadjar swayed, holding his hand to the wound. He could’ve healed it in a second. Without even using any energy or mysteries. Doing so wouldn’t even leave a trace. But he didn’t.

“This blood, chief, I’ll shed for my country, for the people close to me. Your forefathers also shed blood in these lands.”

Hadjar turned and headed for the exit. He pushed White Fang aside with his shoulder, and then, just before he left, he looked back into Guram’s eyes:

“Your family... You need to protect them. A storm is coming to our lands. A peasant won’t be able to stop it, but a warrior will. I’ve said all I needed to say.”

Leaving a trail of blood behind him, Hadjar left the mortals’ home and headed toward the mine.

***

“What a show, barbarian!” Tom, walking beside him, was chewing on a blade of grass and twirling a bottle.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Hadjar. Don’t take me for a fool. Everything that happened in there went exactly according to your plan.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, despite the fact that you look like a bumpkin, you’re actually as devious and cunning as your bald friend. I’m sure the two of you would give the Emperor a run for his money.”

Hadjar grinned. Tom didn’t know a tenth of what Morgan was capable of, how massive and strong the webs of his schemes were. No matter how powerful the one who got entangled in them was, no one could break them.

“I’ve seen enough wars, Tom.”

“I know, Mad General. It was about time I learned your tale.”

“So,” Hadjar continued, “Maybe it’s just paranoia, but I feel like a war is coming to Sukhashim.”

Tom slowed down.

“What? But why would the Lascanians come here? They’re well aware of the power of ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. The fleet would get here faster than they could move inland.”

“Exactly,” Hadjar nodded. “That means that either my intuition is wrong, or those who don’t know about ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’ are coming.”

“Then your intuition is definitely failing you, Hadjar. All seven Empires know about the power of Darnassus, thanks to the efforts of His Imperial Majesty.”

Hadjar came to a halt. He looked to the northeast, toward the steppes of Lascan. Suddenly, he thought of them. The wind in his hair played with the feathers the orcs had given him — a sign that Hadjar was their brother. The orcs didn’t know about the concept of friendship, only family…

“Come on,” Hadjar sped up.

A lone mountain loomed before them. Breaking up the monotony of the dry, flat land of Sukhashim, it reached toward the sky. The old, abandoned buildings dotting it were overgrown with dry, yellow grass. Some of them had collapsed and were just piles of iron and wooden fragments. But most of the wreckage was concentrated at the rock-strewn entrance.

“By the gods,” Tom said, and made several holy signs. “The mortal wasn’t lying. There really is something in there.”

Hadjar felt it, too. Something dark, ancient, and extremely powerful. Something that, just like he’d assumed, was connected to the Winter Court of the Fae.

“Da-a-a-r-kha-a-an.” A howl came from the depths of the mine. “I’m waiting for y-o-o-o-u-u-u. Come he-e-e-e-r-e-e-e.”

Chapter 1017

H adjar looked at Tom. He obviously hadn’t heard the voice howling from the dark hole. Typical…

“Stay here,” Hadjar told him firmly.

“Have you gone truly mad, barbarian?” Tom was offended. “I’m not your dog that will wait outside for you while you’re having fun.”

“I-”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me you’re protecting me,” Tom interrupted him. “I can think for myself, and I don’t need you to coddle me.”

Tom was a good kid, but he could still be a pain sometimes.

“I was going to ask you to watch my back in case Arkemeya and her gang show up.”

Hadjar wasn’t even lying, not really. He had considered that possibility. But it was unlikely that Tom, even with how good he was, would be able to hold back Arkemeya if she was set on entering the mine.

“Well, then…” Tom’s chest puffed up with pride, but then a spark of intelligence flashed in his half-drunk eyes (since he’d left the Predatory Blades clan, Tom had rarely been sober). “By the demons, Hadjar, the best I can do is run away from her. She possesses the True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers.”

Hadjar tilted his head to the side and smiled slightly. Until recently, even though he would’ve understood the situation, Tom would’ve still declared that he’d be able to defeat Arkemeya. Apparently, the past few years had done him some good.

“As they say, Tom, the most successful battle is the one that didn’t happen.”

Tom stared at him in bewilderment.

“How can a battle that didn’t happen be successful, barbarian? You’re spewing nonsense again!”

“Well, in your case, if it doesn’t happen, you’ll definitely survive.”

After saying that, he turned around and cleared the passage with a wave of his hand. Stepping over the threshold, he left behind a veil of Sword and Wind mysteries. Even Arkemeya would need at least five attacks to break through it.

“Hey, Hadjar!” Tom called out from outside. “What are you-”

He didn’t hear the rest.

In the past, the shaft leading to the first level of the quarry had had a wooden elevator, which had operated via a complex mechanism of counterweights, ropes, gears, and even small shafts. But the structure had decayed over the thousands of years that the mine hadn’t been used. These days, all that remained of one of the greatest engineering wonders of its time were small fragments of rusted shafts and a few iron clamps. The wood had long since turned to dust and crumbled away. The chute led into the darkness of the abyss.

“Hadja-a-ar.” A voice came from it.

The chute went down four levels. It descended all the way to the deepest part of the mine, where a special material had once been excavated. At a depth at which a mortal couldn’t survive without the aid of special alchemy, there was a vein of one very special rock named Sponge Stone. The porous blocks that could be made from it had the ability to absorb energy, thereby weakening attacks. Also, this material was so hard that a cannonball fired at it from a distance of no more than three hundred paces would bounce off it without leaving so much as a scratch.

Sukhashim had once been considered impenetrable because of it. But, alas, time had proven that it was still one of the most invincible forces in the universe. The Sponge Stone was almost impossible to transport, so the fort had practically been a one-off. Maybe it had been left alone because it had been considered impenetrable back in its heyday. Then, after its decline, no one had cared about it anymore. Still, the fort did have the honor of being one of the few forts that had never been taken by an enemy.

“Hadja-a-a-ar,” the voice repeated.

“I’m here!” Hadjar proclaimed loudly.

Scratching the chute with its claws, the Quetzal bird flew down. Spreading its huge wings, it landed.

Straightening up, Hadjar boldly stepped into the seemingly abandoned corridor of the second level. The ceiling was so low that he had to hunch a bit. It was a wide corridor, in the center of which stood numerous rows of stone support columns. The walls were reinforced with a mix of clay and limestone — a form of medieval cement.

Hadjar walked through the corridor, looking at the pickaxes and shovels that the workers had left behind in a hurry. The handles had long since crumbled to dust, and the rusty steel had merged with the rock.

Hadjar’s robes, despite the completely still air in the underground chambers, fluttered behind him. With a wave of his hand, he created glowing balls of white light around him.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 26%... 31%…]

It froze at 35%, after a dozen white lights started spinning around Hadjar. He had no idea what he was doing, but he felt like he could do more. The flower he’d created for Lita wasn’t the pinnacle of his abilities, although now, after he’d pulled off that simple trick, his Core was only a quarter full. He’d have to think about why such manipulations demanded more power than an intense fight.

He was looking at a large cave… or a hall. It hadn’t been created by the miners. It was about 70 feet high and three times as wide, supported by dozens of pillars, and a variety of symbols, runes, and sigils were carved into the walls. There were chains on the floor, and each link was as thick as Hadjar’s fist. He had seen similar chains once before — they’d been used to bind Traves, Hadjar’s distant ancestor.

The huge steel chains, inscribed with magic sigils and glowing with power, met in the center of the hall. They were wrapped around a giant’s arms, legs, and torso. Three colorful chains were also wrapped around his neck.

“Hello...” The giant growled.

It was difficult for him to speak. Every movement of his mouth took as much of his power as it would take Hadjar to move a mountain.

“Hello,” Hadjar bowed, “Honorable descendant of the Goddess Danu.”

The giant before him was one of the Fae people. Hadjar had seen them only a few times, but that was enough for him to distinguish them from humans and other creatures. Moreover, it was unlikely that a 16ft giant, whose fists were like a wall-breaking hammer, could be human. Stripped to the waist, he wore a white metal skirt under a wide belt. Straining with effort, the chains creaking and his dark mass of hair shaking all the while, he managed to look up. He had clear blue eyes. Hadjar recoiled.

“You... look like... us,” The giant whispered. “Brother...”

Chapter 1018

H adjar looked at the giant more closely and his heart skipped a beat. The features of the giant’s face — the cheekbones, lips, thick eyebrows, dark hair, and his wide forehead — were eerily similar to his own. And he had the same eyes that had driven the ladies of the court of Lidus and the commoner girls alike crazy, even back when he’d been a helpless freak. Thanks to those eyes, Hadjar had managed to pass himself off as a beast trapped in the body of a freak at fairs. He had to pull himself together. The Fae people always spoke the truth, which meant all of them were unsurpassed liars.

“I beg your pardon, honorable descendant of the Goddess Danu.” Hadjar bowed his head, “But lately, I’ve been called ‘brother’ so often, by people I’ve never even met, no less, that I’m a little skeptical about your claim and-”

Hadjar was interrupted by booming laughter, which shook the walls of the cave. The chains that bound the giant rattled. The metal cacophony mixed with the giant’s laughter, sounding like war drums.

“My dear son, a raven caws

Over the stone house’s walls,” the creature whispered suddenly,

“A south wind blows at the eternal springs,

And a very cold winter it inevitably brings.”

Hadjar recoiled. He broke out into a cold sweat. His hands were shaking, and he felt like he was drowning.

Those first two lines had often been recited by his mother, Queen Elizabeth, when they’d visited the grave of his grandparents. She would put wildflowers on the tombstones and whisper the words. The other two, the ones about the south wind, were from his first teacher, South Wind. The man who’d been invited to the Palace of Lidus by his mother. The man who had sacrificed everything he’d had to find the young Prince. The man who’d given his life for Hadjar. Hadjar had loved the old man who had taught him the art of sword fighting, but the old man had remained in the service of Primus... as any servant would have.

“How... Who…”

“There’s more, North Wind.” The giant’s blue eyes met Hadjar’s:

“When feathers of wind open the door,

Claws will take the child away forevermore.

With half a soul and a look as old as Haven,

They will bring him straight to the raven.”

Hadjar remembered Helmer’s words. The words of the demon who, as he’d just recently learned, had protected Hadjar during the long years he’d spent in the world of Earth.

“As the twice-born and the unborn contend,

The old song will finally end.”

Two tears suddenly ran down the giant’s cheeks.

“If you are here, twice-born North Wind, the Last King has already awoken, and the ancient walls have collapsed.”

Hadjar suddenly saw a girl standing next to a white lion. The beast was motionless in the darkness of an infinite universe. It was made of light, and its claws were like the rays of distant stars. Hadjar remembered the Guardian of the Spirit World. The girl’s words rang out in Hadjar’s mind:

“Why did you come here, North Wind? The time to collapse the Mountain of Skulls hasn’t come yet. The Potter’s time hasn’t come yet. The flame is still hidden within the coals. The bugle hasn’t sung its song. The ancient walls haven’t collapsed. The chains haven’t been broken. The Last King hasn’t awoken. So, why are you here?”

He remembered the words of the Tree of Life. The one who hadn’t been born would be his undoing.

“We were strong once,” the giant continued. “Our songs rang out through the four worlds. We, the guardians of the Mountain of Skulls, did our duty and-”

“The Mountain of Skulls? The place where the first Darkhan is locked up?”

“Exactly.” The giant wanted to nod, but the chains prevented it. “How did you think a fragment of his black soul got in your mother’s bloodline? We’re the ones chosen by all four worlds: humans, spirits, demons, and gods. The greatest warriors put their weapons in our hands. Our hearts were lit by the wisest sages. Our bodies were created from all the elements that could be found under the light of Irmaril and Miristal.”

Irmaril and Miristal… Hadjar had heard these names before in his mother’s songs. Once upon a time, the sun had been called ‘Irmaril’, and its beloved, the brightest star in the sky, had been called ‘Miristal’. They even appeared in a song about the war against the Black General. Miristal had descended in the form of a great warrior and been defeated by the first Darkhan. And for four centuries afterwards, an endless night had reigned.

“Who are you, honorable giant?” Hadjar asked. “Why are you chained up down here?”

The giant laughed, and the walls shook again.

“North Wind, listen carefully. If you are here, my price has been paid and nothing else is holding me back from meeting my forefathers.” The giant sighed and his vision blurred slightly. “I was the last guardian of the passageway to the Mountain of Skulls. My family, once great and powerful, without equal in all four worlds, is gone. Dwindling due to diseases of the body and soul, the ailments of the mind… We disappeared. Slowly, quietly, little by little. When I was the last one left, I couldn’t think of any better solution than to make a deal with a demon-”

“Was his name-”

“It was the Demon Prince himself,” the giant continued, ignoring Hadjar’s interruption. “He came to me. He gave me what I wanted — for my family to continue existing. He named his price — I had to give him the most important thing I had. I agreed. And the demon left. But… he tricked me. My family line did continue, but it continued through a mortal woman, and a half-blood chose the path that led to my lineage becoming human. The price I paid was my freedom, and so I was trapped underground, in this cave.”

“A few thousand years ago, the miners dug their way to you,” Hadjar assumed. “But they were too weak to withstand your presence.”

Hadjar had no idea what level of cultivation the giant had reached. But even with the chains suppressing him, Hadjar could barely withstand the pressure of the giant’s power.

“They did, young North Wind,” a few more tears trailed down the giant’s cheeks. When they fell, they turned into bright crystals on the cave floor. “I shouted at them to stay, but they didn’t understand the language of the Goddess Danu. All they heard was a roar. They ran away in fear. Some of them died. I didn’t want them to die…”

“The language of the Goddess Danu?” Suddenly, it became clear why Hadjar had been able to understand Spirits, but his companions hadn’t. The only exception had been Karein…

“That day, I realized that my imprisonment would last forever. That’s when the first tears came. A messenger of the Seventh Heaven came to me. He said that my punishment for leaving the Mountain of Skulls unprotected would only end when my descendant came here.”

“Your descendant?”

“That song, young North Wind, was sung in the days before the Black General and the four worlds had even appeared. It claimed that one day the North Wind would tear the chains off the prisoners from two prisons, recognizing his heart in theirs. The ravens would caw over the stone house. And south winds…”

Hadjar choked. No... It was impossible… One creature had already given rise to his family line, mixing the blood of a dragon and a human. Its life had ended in chains underground. And now another one? One that had mixed the blood of a Fae and a human? And was also in chains? This couldn’t be a coincidence!

“You’re my descendant, Hadjar Darkhan. You have a dragon heart and the Black General’s sword. Your life comes from demons, and your death lies behind the Fae people. All four worlds are united in you, Hadjar Darkhan, joined together to finish the song.”

“Finish it? How?”

The giant said nothing. Hadjar now understood why he was chained up. If he wasn’t, Hadjar would’ve already been dead by now.

“If it hadn’t been for the demon, young North Wind, I would’ve been able to kill you...” Another tear fell to the ground. “Tell me, have you met a dead man in chains already?”

Chapter 1019

H adjar remembered what he’d seen in the dungeons of the Secret Office.

“I see you have,” Hope shone in the giant’s eyes, which were full of tears. “Well, all is not lost then...” An unpleasant crunch was heard, sounding like steel cutting through bones. “Gather my tears and blood, North Wind. If Danu is merciful, you’ll find the dead man before the unfortunate lover destroys the star of worlds.”

Find me, North Wind, before the unfortunate lover destroys the star of worlds. Hadjar remembered the dead man’s words. Memories swirled in Hadjar’s mind. When he managed to snap out of his sudden trance, he spotted the source of the unpleasant sound: before, only the giant’s tears had been turning into crystals, but now his entire body was transforming into a huge crystal. The two bright blue eyes disappeared last. His words echoed in the ancient cave:

“I curse the day I continued my family line.”

The huge crystal figure collapsed in a heap of shimmering dust, inside which the steel shards of the broken chains danced like a whirlwind.

The chains haven’t been broken yet… Well, they certainly were now. Hadjar stood in the underground cave, looking at what remained of his ancestor. It was an amazing twist of fate. Traves and this giant had shared very similar fates: both of them had been the last of their kind, and both of them had mixed their blood with humans. But Traves had been proud of that. He’d cared for and loved his descendants as much as he could, but the giant... If it hadn’t been for those chains, Hadjar wouldn’t have survived meeting him.

He walked over to the creature’s ‘grave’. On the left side, scarlet crystals had sprouted — the giant’s blood, and on the right were blue crystals — the giant’s tears.

“Analysis,” Hadjar ordered.

[Processing request…

Request processed…

Material: unknown.

Cross-referencing the database…

Similarity with the object designated as ‘Fairy’s Tear’ is 65.34%.

Chance to create the object designated as ‘Power Stone’ from the unknown object is 99.9%.]

Hadjar squatted and waved his hand over the crystals. They vibrated slightly with energy, bending and changing the currents of the World River around them. The crystals were indeed similar to fairy tears, which Helmer had once killed for. Frankly, Hadjar had been convinced that the Lord of Nightmares had been the one to imprison the giant. However, he was apparently also just a pawn in the hands of an unknown person who was interfering with Hadjar’s life.

He still didn’t believe in predictions and that other fate nonsense.

Hadjar felt a certain kinship with the crystals that lay at his feet. That of blood and soul. Being just a few steps away from immortality, he could really feel the connection. It spanned throughout time, space, and something that he didn’t quite understand yet.

“A Power Stone,” he murmured.

Due to his Call armor and Blue Blade, he’d already forgotten the deadly thirst that cultivators felt for powerful artifacts. Imperial level and higher artifacts couldn’t be created without Power Stones.

Hadjar could make his blades and armor stronger without them. The Call’s armor became stronger as his cultivation progressed. The Blue Blade fed on Spirits.

Hadjar had drawn his sword from its scabbard and had almost touched one of the crystals with it when he received a ‘message’ from it. The sword couldn’t communicate with words, only through impressions, images, and some fragmented sensations. The Blue Blade was refusing to eat the crystal. Not because it didn’t want to, but because it was afraid that it wouldn’t be able to digest the concentration of Spirit contained within it.

“Analysis.”

Fortunately, he didn’t need to specify what he wanted since his neural network generally understood its tasks perfectly.

[Processing request…

Request processed…

Object’s approximate age: incalculable]

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

Hadjar straightened up. With a wave of his hand, he put twenty-two pounds of the two kinds of crystals into his spatial ring.

As a result, the remains of his distant ancestor took up three-quarters of his ring’s storage space and he had to move some things into his travel bag. It was a pity that the grander artifacts were either stored in the Imperial Treasury or produced exclusively in the Dragon Lands. Human craftsmen simply weren’t capable of creating such artifacts…

Hadjar shook his head, cracked his neck, and closed his eyes. He began to feel the world around him. He sensed that even though there was no wind inside the cave, it was still there somehow. Not the kind of wind that a person enjoyed on a hot day, or was afraid to encounter in a storm… It was... different…

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 38%... 44%…]

Waving the message away, Hadjar held out his hand. He felt that he could do this. He knew it shouldn’t work. He knew that this was beyond the limits of his abilities, but he also sensed that he could pull it off. Knowledge and understanding came from the mind. Feelings came from the heart. He clenched his fist…

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 78%... 81%…]

The cave lit up with a bright, golden glow. A beautiful fairy was standing on Hadjar’s palm.

“Wisest... Freya,” Hadjar greeted her wearily. His Core had dried up, so he popped two pills. “I’m glad to see you.”

Freya looked a little surprised, not by where she was, but by the fact that Hadjar had been able to force her to show herself. It was just as he’d suspected: fairies weren’t invisible. They were just... in a different reality. Or maybe in another layer of this reality. Or maybe in another world. Or they were straddling the border between the four worlds. Who knew if fairies divided them the same as-

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 84%... 92%…]

With a great deal of effort, Hadjar stopped that particular train of thought. This wasn’t the time to immerse himself in the Caterpillar and the Butterfly meditation, even though the place was suitable for such a thing.

“I’ve never met a Lord who could use…” Freya said something, but, just like with Annette’s magic, Hadjar couldn’t make out what that was. Freya noticed this, and her surprise only increased. “You haven’t completed the Caterpillar and the Butterfly meditation yet? How were you able to force me to come here then?”

Perhaps, in different circumstances, Hadjar would’ve been glad to see that he’d been able to surprise such an ancient being, but not right now. He looked into the creature’s golden eyes and asked:

“Did you help the giant?”

Chapter 1020

F reya glanced at something over Hadjar’s shoulder. She looked around the cave, reached out with her tiny hand, and the remnants of the ancient chains clanged and came together, twisting into a bracelet around her wrist. She touched it tenderly, showing great care.

“His name was Adadjir,” Freya said. “He was a great warrior, and an even better musician. His songs could pass through the borders of the four worlds and we all enjoyed them. Maybe that was what killed him in the end.”

“His songs?”

Freya nodded.

“If Adadjir had been just a simple warrior, his soul, heart, and mind would’ve been as direct as a weapon. But he was a musician. His soul raced from a funeral pyre all the way to a spring meadow. I tried to talk him out of it, but-”

“Did you know my ancestor?”

“I used to visit him a lot back then, and keep him company out of sympathy. Once upon a time, the Jara clan had many members. They were guardians, created by the four worlds to keep watch over the Mountain of Skulls. There were so many of them that they built an entire city at the foot of the mountain. But all of us, including the one who helped create them, were naive. We underestimated the power of the first Darkhan’s fragment.”

“He told me about it.”

“He didn’t tell you, Hadjar, what it was like to stand guard in a dead city at the foot of a dead mountain. The last of his kind. As lonely as a blooming flower in the desert. He found solace only in his training and music. He challenged one of the inhabitants of the border with the Seventh Heaven to a duel every lunar month to test his skills.”

Hadjar had led a similar life back on Earth.

“It lasted for eons,” Freya seemed alive for the first time since he’d met her, and not at all like the god-appointed bloodhound and jailer he’d known her as. “The loneliness. The knowledge that one day he wouldn’t be able to survive the corrupting influence of the Mountain of Skulls and would simply disappear. Along with his family. They would be erased. The universe wouldn’t care about the proud, honorable Jaras who’d served as the guardians of the four worlds.”

“You still haven’t answered my question, Freya. Did you get his sentence reduced? Is that why you owed Helmer a favor?”

Freya smiled sadly.

“When the Prince of Demons found out about what Adadjir wanted to do, he sent one of his Emissaries to the messenger of the Seventh Heaven. Through them, he had a conversation with the Jasper Emperor. They both decided that they didn’t dare interfere with the free will of the last of the Jara clan. They allowed him to make a deal with the demons, and his punishment — being imprisoned underground — was decided by the Jasper Emperor himself.”

“Wasn’t he afraid to leave the Mountain of Skulls unsupervised?”

“The Jasper Emperor isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. He’s the first and most powerful of the gods, the Sage who created the Seventh Heaven and divided the worlds, the progenitor of all gods and all things, the one who knows the secrets of the Book of Thousands. Not even the Demon Prince, or the first of the ten strongest Immortals, or the Fae Queens, or the great Spirits, can so much as damage the hem of his robe. Who could he possibly be afraid of?”

“The Black General?”

Freya frowned.

“You’d immediately be lynched in any civilized society for saying that.”

“Then I’m glad that the White Dragon region apparently isn’t one of those societies,” Hadjar retorted.

The fairy was silent for a while. She was quietly examining the bracelet she’d made. They seemed to have been close friends. Very close. Hadjar couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if Morgan doomed Einen to Adadjir’s fate.

“Darkhan is powerful, Hadjar,” Freya said at last. “There’s no doubt about it. However, you and I are both here. I serve the Seventh Heaven, which is ruled by the Jasper Emperor, and you have the Black General’s fragment in your soul. So, I’ll ask you again, who could the god of all the gods possibly be afraid of?”

Hadjar couldn’t think of a decent answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Freya sighed and then looked up at Hadjar. “Yes, descendant of the Jaras, heir to their name, I was the one who reduced Adadjir’s sentence, who replaced his eternal imprisonment with death. The Jasper Emperor, in his infinite wisdom, decreed that Adadjir, having betrayed his duty, should suffer the same torment as his former prisoner.”

No matter how hard this was on Freya, she was prideful, and she didn’t allow herself to shed even a single tear.

“So, you knew... you knew that I’d come here one day,” Hadjar drawled.

Freya was silent, not because she didn’t want to say anything, but because she couldn’t.

“Someone told you about me…” Hadjar’s thoughts raced. One guess followed another, and the theories they gave rise to were so terrifying and so overwhelming that he didn’t even want to think about them. “Who told you, Freya? Who said that I’d come here after so many eons? How is that even possible to predict? The amount of time that has passed since then is simply unthinkable, even by the standards of the Immortals!”

Freya remained silent. But she didn’t disappear yet, which clearly meant that she wanted to answer him! She was just waiting for Hadjar to ask the right question. He went over their conversation several times in his head, until he noticed that she’d had a slip of the tongue.

“Who helped the four worlds create the Jaras?” He finally asked. “What was their name?”

Freya ran her fingers over the bracelet again and whispered:

“A third omen in such a short time… Whether you believe in the predictions or not doesn’t matter. Everything will be over soon… You’ll find the answer to your question in the Land of the Immortals. Remember my gifts. You haven’t used any of them yet.”

With these parting words, Freya disappeared. Hadjar was left standing alone in the ancient cave.

“But I already found the rainbow…” He whispered.

Then he stopped to think about it. What was the first Dragon Emperor to Freya? Maybe an interesting, unique insect, but nothing more. It was unlikely that she would’ve spent her time on him. Was it just a coincidence? Perhaps Freya had decided to put as much information as possible in her three hints.

“The Land of the Immortals,” he whispered. “Why there?”

With a final glance at the tomb of the last scion of the Jara clan, Hadjar turned and started heading back toward the chute.

This was all somehow leading to Sukhashim, he was sure of it. Previously, Hadjar had thought that Morgan was the sole person pulling his strings, but now he knew that there was someone else doing it as well. Someone who acted much more subtly, and was so powerful they made Morgan look like a child in comparison.

“Damn all schemes and schemers both…”

Chapter 1021

H eading back to the surface, Hadjar got the feeling that he’d soon run into his old friend again.

He’d spent no more than an hour in the cave, but the situation at the entrance of the mine had changed drastically. The deserted road now looked like a busy trade route: there were lots of horses, carts, and people wearing caftans and turbans.

In front of the forty or so people and several carts stood a tall woman. Arkemeya, wearing the same black pants and red scarf over her face, was holding a sword to Tom’s throat. He was on his knees, his back to her, facing Hadjar.

“I did as you suggested, barbarian.” Tom’s sword was lying on the ground a few feet away from him. “I tried to talk to her. But your friend is really...” Arkemeya lightly pressed the blade against his throat and Tom gave him a forced grin. “She’s really smart. She immediately saw through my plan.”

Hadjar just shook his head, then bowed as gallantly as he could, “Arkemeya of Kurkhadan,” he greeted her warmly. “Only two weeks have passed since we last met. Is this fate, or mere coincidence?”

“Our interests coincided, barbarian,” she huffed. Her beautiful hair swayed in the wind. “And stop playing the ladies’ man. I know perfectly well what a brute you actually are.”

“I completely agree with you on that, my lady,” Tom commented.

“Shut up!” Arkemeya held her blade even closer to his throat and a scarlet line ran down it.

“I’ll kindly ask you to let him live,” Hadjar stepped forward.

He held his hands up, palms out. Arkemeya had spent some time with him, but she didn’t know he could summon his sword at any time. He was hoping to lower her defenses a little.

“Why? I remember you mentioning a certain Tom whom you would’ve gladly gutted at the time.”

“Really? Barbarian, is that true?” Tom looked deeply offended. “I didn’t expect this from you.”

“You almost sent Einen and me to our forefathers.” Hadjar shrugged. “You treated us like trash back then.”

“I had good reason to! He stole my fiancée, and you wanted to sleep with my sister. And you were both commoners! My hair almost turned gray from the stress you put me through!”

“Well, I’m sorry we bothered you so much that you dreamed of sending us to our forefathers.”

“I didn’t. I only dreamed about Dora. I didn’t dream of you two at all.”

“Hmm, Einen once dreamed that he’d slit your throat.”

“Einen? Seriously? I thought you were the psycho in your duo. The islander somehow doesn’t give off that impression-”

“AAAARRRRGH!” Arkemeya roared in frustration and smacked Tom, forcing him to shut up. “That’s enough! If you haven’t noticed, Hadjar, I’m holding your friend captive right now!”

Still keeping his hands raised, Hadjar shrugged:

“We aren’t quite friends. We’re allies-”

“Temporary ones,” Tom added, “And-”

“If you don’t shut up,” Arkemeya hissed, “By the Evening Stars, your alliance will end right now.”

The wind blew. It ruffled the bandits’ clothes and Arkemeya’s thick, silky, pitch black hair. It fell over her chiseled shoulders, caressing her perky- Hadjar clearly wasn’t as uninterested in pleasures of the flesh as he’d hoped he was.

“What do you want, Arkemeya?”

“Thank the gods! The barbarian finally remembered to get to the point.”

“So?”

Arkemeya shook her head and drew her second saber. She pointed it at Hadjar.

“Give me what you found in the mine.”

“Why would I do that?”

Arkemeya squinted at him.

“I think I’ve clearly demonstrated why you should do so by now.”

Another trickle of blood ran down to Tom’s collarbone.

“Intimidation, Arkemeya? I expected better from you.”

“Your w-”

“My wife will expect better from me in bed, yes, I know,” Hadjar nodded. “You need more insults, they don’t really sting if they’re all the same.”

“By the demons, barbarian!” Arkemeya put her second saber to Tom’s head. “If you don’t hand over what you found there, I’ll send this aristocratic bastard to his forefathers, and then I’ll fight you.”

“What if you don’t manage to take it from me?”

“What if you don’t survive our fight?” Arkemeya hissed. “In any case, it’s better for you to just give me what I need, and I promise that we’ll part ways and never meet again.”

Hadjar smiled, “My first teacher, South Wind, said that you can’t trust the promises of women. Especially the ones made by beautiful women.”

“You brute!”

“Maybe I am,” Hadjar shrugged. “But if what you just said were true, you’d simply ask me to repay my debt to you. Since you’re not asking for that and stooping to intimidation instead, you know that we’ll meet again.”

Arkemeya paused, and then shrugged, “A girl needs to take care of herself somehow. By the way, when the sages claim that women love with their ears, and men love with their eyes, they’re clearly talking out of their asses.”

“I don’t want more philosophy in my life!” Hadjar exclaimed. “I already have one bald friend who can’t spend an evening without engaging in it!”

They fell silent again. Hadjar didn’t pay attention to her gang, who were encircling him. If a fight did break out, he’d kill them faster than Arkemeya could unleash her True Kingdom.

“Well, barbarian, how badly do you need this aristocrat?”

“Arkemeya of Kurkhadan, tell me what and in what volume you need, and I’ll give it to you. You have my word.”

“Your word? You know, North Wind, the male sages teach you not to believe beautiful women, but the female sages teach us not to believe anyone. But when I hear your words, I do believe you… I need eleven pounds of crystals created from the blood of the giant you met in the cave.”

Hadjar waved his hand, and the substance appeared on the road. Sparkling and reflecting the rays of the midday sun, it drew the eyes of everyone present to it. Those who could sense its power recoiled in surprise.

“Tell me whom you swore an oath to and whom you’ll give these crystals to.”

Arkemeya put the crystals in her spatial artifact with a wave of her hand, then pushed Tom forward. He sprawled out on the ground, and stayed down. Smart guy… With a single motion, more graceful than a cat, she grabbed the mane of the Bloody Mustang standing next to her (the fucking thief!) and mounted it.

“Next time we meet, barbarian,” she said in the language of the Dah’Khasses, “let’s drink to those who didn’t return from the mountains.”

With that, she turned her horse around and, with a click of her tongue, took off. Kicking up clouds of sandy dust, she and the bandits disappeared somewhere around the bend.

“Did you just give away such an amazing treasure for me, barbarian?” Tom stood up, rubbing his neck.

“What a stupid question, considering you’re still alive.”

“By the gods and demons!” Tom dusted himself off and returned his sword to its scabbard. “You’re even dumber than I thought. I wouldn’t have given away such wealth for you. You’re an idiot.”

Hadjar didn’t respond. He only hoped that Arkemeya thought the same thing Tom did…

Chapter 1022

A t exactly three in the morning, when, according to ancient legends, the borders between the worlds were the thinnest, Arkemeya drew magical symbols at the crossroads of four different paths — a symbol of the four worlds. She drew the symbols in her blood. Patterns of varying complexities appeared beneath the light of the stars, and if anyone had passed by just then, they’d have felt a shift in reality. The shadows grew denser. The darkness grew thicker. The wind grew drier. The starlight took on the shape of attacks coming from some terrible weapon, vaguely similar to the swings of a sickle, or perhaps a scythe.

When she was finished drawing the symbols, Arkemeya stood up and crossed her arms, rocking in a trance as she chanted in an ancient language. A language that no mortal should ever know. But she did, as she was neither mortal nor human, forever stuck on the border between the human and demon worlds.

In a melodic tone, she repeated the words of a summoning spell, and then cut her palm with a dagger. With a wave of her hand, Arkemeya formed a scarlet arch in the air, outlined with drops of blood. She’d chosen an area where there were almost no stars — the edge of the horizon and the universe. Disobeying the laws of reality, the drops of blood didn’t fall, but hung in the air instead. They formed the same symbols she had drawn on the ground. With a shimmer, they merged together and formed a true arch, from which someone stepped out.

He was tall. Black blobs swirled around his feet — lumps that personified people’s fears and nightmares. He was wearing a long, gray cloak, in the slits of which were fangs and terrifying eyes. His face was hidden by a wide-brimmed, gray hat, and only a single scarlet eye could be seen beneath it. There was a bleeding sphere in his hands.

“Daughter of a lower form… I would expect a bow from scum like you.”

“Keep expecting it,” Arkemeya spat at the feet of the demon who could destroy her in an instant. “Know this, Helmer, Lord of Nightmares: I don’t fear you. I only harbor contempt for you.”

A paw with long, ragged claws, covered in awful scabs and scars, which had been a well-groomed, pale hand just a moment ago, reached for Arkemeya’s throat, and then stopped just short of grasping it. A wide grin revealed his fangs.

“My dear beauty, let’s not quarrel,” Helmer sat down on a chair, which instantly formed under him out of his nightmares. “So, honey, did you bring what I sent you to get for me?”

Arkemeya waved her hand and the red crystals appeared on the ground.

“Is this the end of our deal?” She hissed.

The horde of nightmares engulfed the crystals like a wave. When it disappeared, there was nothing left on the ground.

“Of course,” Helmer got up from his chair. He came closer to Arkemeya, gently held her chin, turned her head first to the left, and then to the right. “You’ve grown up to be a real beauty, my dear girl.”

Arkemeya moved her head away and staggered back. Fifteen years… Fifteen years had passed since she’d made this deal with him. She had been a young girl who’d just found out that she wasn’t a true Dah’Khass, but a halfbreed. She’d learned that her mother had been killed and that her father had never liked her and was only using her as a lab rat for his experiments. She’d found the old scrolls of their lineage in the Palace library. She’d learned how to summon a higher demon and how to make a deal with them. Helmer himself, the emissary of the Demon Prince, had come to her. He’d promised her power and freedom, and in return, he’d asked for very little. Arkemeya had to bring him eleven pounds of crystals created from the giant’s blood. She’d been twelve years old… It had seemed like lifetimes to her back then, but the years had passed quickly, and it was time to pay her dues. Besides, Helmer had kept his end of the bargain. If it hadn’t been for him, Arkemeya would’ve never become a Lord so quickly, or acquired the True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers.

“You…”

“He grew up, too,” Helmer said suddenly.

The demon held out his hand. The blobs of fear formed a tall tower, and a crystal appeared atop it. It lay on the demon’s palm. Helmer sniffed and moved his other hand over it. The crystal hissed, shivered, and then, turning into a blue feather, flew off across the sky.

“By the demons, Emissary, I didn’t know-”

Helmer raised his hand and bared his teeth.

“You couldn’t have known, honey, that my protégé already knows how to use...” The demon said something, but Arkemeya couldn’t hear the words. “He’s not even close to mastering it, though. Our deal has been completed, Arkemeya of Kurkhadan. You’re now free to decide your own fate.”

Helmer bowed. A heap of nightmares enveloped him and he disappeared. The symbols written in her blood in both the air and on the ground disappeared along with him. The night was once again normal and safe.

Arkemeya fell to her knees, exhausted. She was looking at the moon above her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Freedom...” She whispered.

She’d been yearning for it for so long, fighting for it for so long… She’d lied, betrayed, killed for it… And now that she had finally earned it, she didn’t know what to do with it. Arkemeya turned eastward, where Fort Sukhashim was. She saddled the Bloody Mustang, and, without even saying goodbye to the bandits, urged the horse into a gallop.

***

“On the count of three!”

Hadjar, stripped to the waist, was pulling on a strong rope that he’d secured over the shaft. It seemed improbable that a cultivator could lift so much on his own, but… On the other side of the magic rope, in the chute, atop a magic-enhanced platform, there were about four tons of rock. And Hadjar was lifting all of that on his own. His veins looked like cords. His muscles bulged like boulders. His numerous scars were clearly visible across his tanned skin. He was sweating.

Suddenly, someone took hold of the rope behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was…

“North Wind, we’ll be the heroes of Darnassus,” Guram shouted. “We’ll fulfill the duty of our forefathers and protect the Empire!”

“One!” Hadjar pulled on the rope. “Two!”

Ten more people started pulling on the rope with him. He was sure there would be more soon…

Chapter 1023

H adjar was standing on the new parade ground — a simple, sandy square. It was good enough… There were about fifty youths in front of him. In the first row was Guram. Three days had passed since their first meeting, and the bruise on Guram’s cheekbone hadn’t healed yet. Apparently, the chief’s hand was quite heavy.

“So… What now?” Tom, who was standing next to Hadjar, kept drinking. A bottle had always been in his hands even when he’d been working in the mine.

Tunude tried to open a barrel that Hadjar had placed on the ground.

“I have déjà vu,” Hadjar drawled. Images from the past flashed in his mind. He remembered standing in front of the Bear Squad, and then the entire Moon army, the same as he was standing right now.

“Deja... what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hadjar answered. Clearing his throat, he addressed the young men and women standing in front of him. “As you all know, I was once a general-”

“Yes, my General!” They shouted in response.

Hadjar blinked in surprise and turned to Tom. He just spread his arms out. Hadjar hadn’t taken part in the stone excavation for the past twenty-four hours. Leaving Tom in charge, he’d plunged into himself, while also trying not to plunge into the Caterpillar and the Butterfly meditation. He had to solve a different problem right now.

He had to reassemble the forces of Sukhashim. The biggest problem there was that, around here, practitioners at the Formation of the Seed stage were considered the strongest of the strong. There were about twenty such people per every ten million inhabitants.

Some would’ve refused to work with that, but... not Hadjar. The war was just beginning. He was wearing a General’s medallion again. However, that trinket meant nothing without an army behind him. It was just pointless regalia or costume jewelry, for all intents and purposes.

So, Hadjar didn’t just have to restore the once-majestic fort, he also needed to gather an army. Anyone who was in the military and also from the capital would’ve laughed in his face. The Darnassus Legions had been built up over the centuries, and even the armies of Lidus had trained for decades, despite their recruits already being strong practitioners.

Forty-six mortals stood before Hadjar, of whom Guram was the strongest, though he hadn’t even reached the Formation level yet. And he had to make an army worthy of the seven Empires out of these recruits.

Hadjar had only a few weeks to accomplish this, too. He could sense that something was about to happen. The truly frightening thing was that he also sensed it had nothing to do with his friendly sparring match against White Fang that was scheduled to take place in four weeks. No, something completely different would happen before then. Which meant he had about three weeks left. Three weeks to turn these mortals into at least Transformation level practitioners.

For most people, it was an impossible task.

To create an army, he would need a lot. For starters, he needed weapons and armor. The recruits had brought old, three-thousand-year-old gear with them. An army also needed a library as incentive for the soldiers to engage in self-cultivation. A reward system. Healers. Alchemy. Provisions. Housing. A clear hierarchy.

But, just like any other army, it needed knowledge most of all. And Hadjar had the entire library of the Predatory Blades clan stored in his memory. He chose one of the styles from it. The wildest one. The most merciless and ruthless. Not toward the enemy, but toward those learning it. The style promised great power in a short amount of time, but at an incredible price. It was exactly what Hadjar needed.

He’d sent a message to the only person he could rely on. Within four hours, the fastest air couriers had delivered ten barrels filled to the brim with the required potion. They’d also promised to deliver the same amount again every three days. Hadjar didn’t know how much money this had cost the Kesalia clan, but he assumed it was a lot.

After that, he’d compiled all the Techniques that he’d been able to copy while he’d served in the Moon army, during his training at ‘The Holy Sky’ School, and while traveling. Reluctantly, disgracing himself further, he had included a tenth of the Moonlight Sect’s knowledge in that as well. To his shame, a tenth of the Inheritance of that ancient sect was a hundred times more than what he had. And another joke at fate’s expense — his army was called the Moon Stream.

After he’d arranged all of this, while everyone had been fast asleep, Hadjar had made this parade ground. Now, at dawn, he was looking at the soldiers’ faces and seeing only one thing — longing. Longing to follow the path of honor, to fulfill the duty that their ancestors had once refused. It was a desire worthy of respect.

Hadjar approached Guram. He grabbed the back of his head, and then pulled him in so close his forehead touched the boy’s own forehead.

“Do you believe me, Guram, son of Goben?”

“I believe you, my General!” He spoke from the bottom of his heart.

“Then forgive me.”

“What-”

The question was drowned out by the gurgling of blood. The training sword in Hadjar’s hands had pierced the boy’s stomach. It had gone right through him and, after shattering his ribs and spine, exited though his back. Guram, choking on the blood pouring into his torn lungs, fell to the sand. He began to convulse. His eyes were filled with confusion and fear, and the rest of the recruits were terrified.

“Endure,” Hadjar whispered.

He bent down and pulled the sword out. Then, with a wave of his hand, he got a ladle from the barrel. It was filled with green, foul-smelling slime. Hadjar poured it into Guram’s mouth.

He stopped twitching, wheezing, and gurgling. A moment later, his wound, leaving a thin scar behind, healed up. Without any help, the boy got to his feet.

“You were brave, Guram.” Hadjar patted him on the shoulder. “And you’re stronger than the others. That’s why you’ll be my senior lieutenant. If, of course, you still want to stay.”

Hadjar looked around at everyone present.

“You all saw that! What will take place here will hurt you. It will make you suffer. Your worst nightmares will come true. The burden you will experience will be terrible. Many scars will cover your bodies. But if you can withstand it, if you stay with me, I swear on my name and honor that you will do your duty and become the most powerful army Darnassus has ever known.”

Using his will, Hadjar threw medallions at the feet of the recruits. There was a silver moon with a scarlet stream running across it depicted on them. Training swords appeared nearby as well.

“Anyone who agrees, who hasn’t changed their mind, pick up the medallions and swords. From now on, you are the soldiers of the Moon Stream army. The strongest army of the seven Empires.”

A hand reached for a medallion and a blade. After less than two heartbeats, not a single medallion or sword was left lying on the sand.

“All right,” Hadjar nodded. “May the High Heavens help us.”

Chapter 1024

“C ouldn’t you have found a better time to do this?”

“Oh, come on, Ognesh! What’s wrong now?”

“It’s raining so hard!” Ognesh wrapped his leaky cloak tighter around himself and pointed at the sky, “It’s sleeting, by the gods!”

“Shut up, Ognesh!” Normed shouted, and his companion fell silent. “Follow me. Since you decided to prove to everyone that you aren’t a coward, don’t just stand there like a log.”

Ognesh looked at his friend. Normed was the only guy in Gray Hill village who didn’t laugh at him, didn’t mock him, or constantly show him that he was stronger, smarter, or more handsome than him. They’d been friends since childhood... Normed behaved indifferently in front of other people. Sometimes, he even made sarcastic remarks about Ognesh, but stopped the other guys if they went too far. Big, muscular, and broad-shouldered, he was the son of a blacksmith, and an authority figure among the other youngsters.

“Come on, Ognesh! I always have to wait for you!”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

On the night of their outing, the gods seemed to be quarreling. How else could you explain the sleet? The road they were walking on became sticky and squelched under their wool-wrapped bast shoes.

“Where are you?” Normed said into the darkness. “By the gods and demons, why are you so slow? I’ll leave you out here. Go home.”

The thought that he might end up being left alone in the middle of the road, a few hours away from the village, made Ognesh shiver. As a shepherd, he’d had to fight off a pack of wolves many times. Even now, he had his staff with him. Every time he’d fought the wolves, he had felt a pang of fear grip his heart.

By the gods, he would’ve given a lot to be like Normed and the other guys from the village: strong, tall, and handsome. Like the people who weren’t afraid of anything or anyone. He often dreamed about Anushka, the girl from the Soft Leaf village, whom he had seen at one of the celebrations, one day returning his feelings. The problem was that... Normed had liked her, too. A simple shepherd couldn’t compete with the blacksmith’s son. Everyone considered Ognesh to be Normed’s yes-man, his errand boy.

But Ognesh wasn’t like that. He just wanted to have a friend, to not be so alone. His parents had died when he’d been six years old. From an early age, he had gone with the shepherds into the hills to tend to the sheep there. When the village had entrusted him with a herd of his own, he’d started working alone. He didn’t have enough money to buy a dog, so he had to do everything by himself. It was hard work. And there were wolves... From dawn to dusk, Ognesh spent his time alone with the sheep and the wolves that were trying to eat them. The staff was his only faithful companion. Sometimes, the boys from the village came to laugh at him. It was the most painful when they were accompanied by the girls.

“Hurry up, Ognesh! Or can you only move at the speed of a sheep?”

“I’m sorry, Normed.”

When his friend had offered him a chance to accompany him on a trip to Sukhashim, Ognesh had immediately agreed.

It had only been two weeks since two cultivators from the capital had come to their gods-forsaken region. And every day during these two weeks, boys and girls, accompanied by their relatives, had left their houses and gone to Sukhashim.

The rumors varied. Some said that the cultivators worked them to death in the mines. Everyone was supposedly forced to carry huge boulders on their backs to then place them on the walls of the ancient fort. Those who refused were killed.

In just two weeks, Sukhashim had gone from being the old ruin where folks went to fool around to being a demonic castle. However, Ognesh was a shepherd, and he knew that a flock didn’t follow someone who constantly beat them, deprived them of food, and killed them in front of others. The flock would’ve run away if that were actually the case.

Sukhashim’s walls grew every day, and more and more young men and women went there, never to return.

“Look, Ognesh!” Normed suddenly exclaimed. “By the gods! I don’t remember the dump being this tall!”

Ognesh didn’t remember it being like this, either. He didn’t remember the walls of Sukhashim being surrounded by a moat filled with stakes and shallow water. He didn’t remember a drawbridge with massive chains attached to it. He didn’t remember towers and embrasures from which the dark muzzles of cannons peered out. He didn’t remember the flag that now flew over Sukhashim. He didn’t remember the neighing of horses and people’s screams coming from inside the walls. He didn’t remember the various construction machinery that stood on the parapets of the walls. He didn’t remember fires burning in there even at night.

“Let’s take a look,” Normed pulled Ognesh toward the fort.

“Normed, let’s not, hmm?”

“What?” Normed’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a coward? Maybe I’ll tell everyone about the cowardly shepherd?”

“But then Anushka...” Ognesh shook his head wearily. No, he wasn’t a coward. “Let’s go.”

Together, they went through the gate. As soon as they saw what was going on inside, Normed whispered:

“It isn’t just a rumor.”

They saw dozens of people, drenched in their own sweat and blood, carrying heavy blocks of stone on their shoulders. Atop sandy platforms, enduring streams of rain and snow, young men and women attacked each other with swords. Without armor. They were actually stabbing each other with their swords and inflicting deep wounds, even gutting their opponents at times.

There was so much blood that the entire base of the fort was painted scarlet. Ognesh realized that what he’d at first mistaken for water in the darkness, reflecting the light of the torches, had actually been blood. The moat of the fort was filled with blood.

“Who are you?”

A tall young man appeared in front of them. Ognesh barely recognized him. He was Guram, the son of the chief of Small Stream village. He looked like he’d grown taller and much broader in the shoulders. His veins looked like ropes, and his muscles were like boulders. He was also covered in a myriad of scars, as if he’d lived through a hundred battles and had earned the immortal glory of a brave warrior.

“We’re recruits!” Normed moved forward. “We want to join you!”

He gave Ognesh a sign that they’d been using since childhood. He’d signaled that they should escape as soon as possible.

“Recruits?” Guram turned to Normed. He walked over to him and looked into his eyes. Then he did the same with Ognesh.

“You can come with me. You, go home. We don’t take cowards and those who don’t know what honor is.”

Ognesh didn’t understand what was happening. Guram had chosen him?

“Are you kidding, Guram?” Normed exclaimed. “Do you even know who Ognesh is? He’s the weakest and most cowardly person in all the surrounding villages! Just look at him…”

Ognesh was looking back at Guram. The people who were carrying the stones to the wall would sometimes stumble, but they would always be supported by those walking with them. Those who were fighting often fell, pierced by swords, but those who’d wounded them would then immediately run up to them. They would uncork a strange bottle, pour something into the mouths of the fallen, and then give them a hand. The fallen, seemingly almost dead a moment ago, would suddenly get to their feet, right as rain. The two would hug each other tightly, and then continue their battle.

Ognesh suddenly realized that he was no longer trembling. He gripped his staff tightly. Something inside him, something buried deep in his soul, made his heart beat faster and his blood boil with impatience. It was as if something was calling out to him. Ognesh answered the call. He followed Guram and didn’t so much as turn around when Normed ran out of the fort…

Chapter 1025

H adjar currently felt the same as he had back when he’d first heard the bugle announcing the Bear Squad’s training sessions. How many years had passed since then?

Hadjar, who was shirtless and only wearing simple canvas pants and bast shoes, was carrying a heavy load. He was sweating and bleeding. Ten stone blocks, each weighing at least a quarter of a ton, pressed down on his body. He gritted his teeth and carried them to the top of the wall.

Tom, who was busy in the tower, was probably looking out of an embrasure and laughing at him. But Hadjar had always believed that a general or an officer who was demanding something from their soldiers had to set an example. If a soldier had to carry a hundred kilograms up to the wall, Hadjar would carry two and a half tons. If a soldier fought against one opponent, then Hadjar, without using any mysteries or energy, would fight against twenty at once.

“My General!”

Hadjar set the load down on the parapet. Dozens of soldiers ran up and, using wooden cranes and winches, began to distribute the stone blocks that were going to be used in construction.

Who said that Sukhashim’s walls couldn’t be restored? Hadjar and Tom had managed to do just that in less than five weeks.

Hadjar, wiping blood and sweat off his shoulders with a cloth tied around his waist, turned to the man who had called out to him.

“Junior lieutenant Ognesh.”

This shepherd had only come here two weeks ago, but he’d shown such eagerness and zeal that even Tom was paying attention to him.

The Moon Stream army lived in three shifts. The soldiers had to work in the mine for the first seven hours. Then they’d spend the next seven hours building new walls for Sukhashim. Finally, they’d spend the last seven hours on the parade ground, engaging in bloody sword fighting, mastering a style that had a very inappropriate name: ‘Silent Sword’.

The ‘Silent Sword’ style soon started to bore the recruits. To study it, they had to cover their bodies and the bodies of their comrades in numerous wounds and scars.

The remaining three hours were devoted to meditation and visiting the library. Fortunately, in order to transfer his knowledge to paper, Hadjar only needed his will. He gave his soldiers only low level Techniques for now, up to the Spirit level, because he couldn’t do that with the more powerful Techniques.

In less than five weeks, his army had acquired about two thousand soldiers at the Formation level. According to Tom’s latest report, one thousand and two hundred of them were at different stages of the Formation level, and fourteen men were already at the Transformation level.

Ognesh trained harder than others: in the mine and on the wall, he did three times more work than the average soldier, and on the parade ground, he fought with the ferocity of ten people.

He was drinking a lot of the ‘Rustle in the Grass’ potion, which Dora had brewed for them in the capital. It could pull mortals and practitioners out of the clutches of death, and it cost very little to make, at least by the standards of the capital.

“A report just came in from the intelligence unit,” Ognesh handed Hadjar a scroll and ran back to continue his work.

Hadjar, already knowing what he would read inside, nevertheless unrolled the report. Then, turning his face toward the sky, he exhaled slowly. He didn’t believe in fate, but... he couldn’t run away from it.

***

On the southwestern border between Lascan and Darnassus, where the sun-scorched land turned into flood meadows along the narrow strip of land bordering the sea, a cloud of mist moved in from the west. Gliding over the sea, it moved from water to land like some terrifying monster. Clawing the meadows, tearing out chunks of the sky with its fangs, the misty cloud stalked forward like a wolf, all the while heading toward the border.

A small, gray cloud was moving in from the east to meet it. War drums broke the silence of the sky.

Boom-boom-boom! The unrelenting beat resounded.

Aroo! Aroo! They were echoed by the low wail of bone horns.

The two sounds, as they merged, got lost amidst the low clouds and, becoming snow, landed on the shoulders of those headed for the plain.

Hadjar led three thousand warriors who weren’t even true cultivators yet. Who had never fought before. Who, due to fate’s whims, had to defend the border of their homeland. They were former shepherds, farmers, blacksmiths, and potters. But they showed no fear. They were led by their roused blood, which boiled at the very thought that the honor and glory of their ancestors might get trampled. That an invading enemy could ever set foot on the lands that generations of their forefathers had died defending.

So, there was no fear in them, even when terrible monsters set foot on the border between Lascan and Darnassus, streaming out of boats that resembled various animals. Thousands of them…

They were giants with green, brown, and black skin. They had feathers in their hair. Their fangs were decorated with steel rings. Their meager armor covered their powerful torsos, the muscles of which were harder than the stone comprising the walls of Sukhashim.

“Orcs…” Tom lowered his visor. He was standing next to Hadjar. “They’ve obviously come to avenge their steppe brothers and sisters... but why here?”

“Because Lascan and Darnassus are as arrogant as any member of the aristocracy,” Hadjar said. “Because the orcs don’t have a sky fleet, but they can cross seas. Because they could do this unnoticed... Because Sukhashim is the most convenient place to land. Because the capital of Darnassus is just around the corner. And because it’s easier to fight one Empire than two.”

“They want to march on Dahanatan? ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’ will-”

“That ship is only a threat to people,” Hadjar interrupted him. “Believe me, one orc Heaven Soldier is worth a hundred human Heaven Soldiers.”

“A hundred?” Tom looked at the sea of orcs coming at them like an avalanche.

Their roar drowned out the bugles. They smashed their weapons against their bone and wood shields. Despite their simple armor and weapons, Hadjar knew what the orcs were capable of. This was a real army. In the war of the two Empires, each side would have to fight it as well.

“What do we do?”

“We’ll try to talk to them first,” Hadjar answered. “Whatever happens, don’t follow me. If I don’t succeed, take our army back to Dahanatan. Einen knows what to do with them. The Kesalia clan needs more forces anyway…”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering him, Hadjar disappeared into white lightning.

***

Ognesh was looking at the man whom he admired. At the moment, six miles away, the General stood alone in front of a boundless sea of terrifying creatures. He spread his arms out wide and tilted his head back so that his face was exposed to the falling snow.

“What is the General doing?”

“Is he going to fight them on his own?”

“Shut up!” Ognesh interrupted the murmuring. “Hold the line! Raise your shields! Archers, get ready!”

In his mind, memories of his battles with the wolves flew by… But this time, he wasn’t alone. His brothers and sisters were with him. As long as they were there, he could defeat any enemy. Most importantly, they were being led by…

Ognesh’s thoughts were interrupted by deafening thunder. The winter sky was suddenly lit up by the flash of a bright, blue lightning bolt. A wind started blowing from the north, and it was so strong that it blew away layers of earth. It lifted huge boulders more easily than a child could pick up bugs. The lightning flashed more and more often. The thunder roared loudly.

And at the center of all this mayhem was their Mad General. As befitting his nickname, he spread his arms out, as if he were enjoying the storm and wanted to embrace it. Looking as if he’d suddenly woken up from a trance, he swung his legendary blade down in front of him. Thousands of lightning bolts intertwined together, forming wings. The wings of a huge dragon, whose body was like a sword. The sword, which was several miles long, ripped the ground open in front of the monsters. A crack, twenty feet deep and dozens of miles long, was now a permanent scar on the earth.

While everyone else was looking at the riot of colors and energies, Ognesh saw the Mad General swaying. He gripped his sword, which he’d stabbed into the ground, and was leaning on it as if it were a crutch. With a trembling hand, he swallowed five pills and then straightened back up.

The creatures froze. A giant orc stepped out from the front row of their army. Wrapped in a cloak, he leapt over the crack and came up to the Mad General.

“Get ready!” Ognesh shouted and lowered his visor.

***

Hadjar looked at the orc who had come forward. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was still shorter than most of his kind. Steel legs peeked out from beneath his cloak as it was whipped about by the wind. They were covered in glowing black and scarlet runes and symbols.

“My name is Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind. I am the General of the Moon Stream army. I-”

“I know who you are, little warrior,” a familiar voice told him. “But I guess you don’t recognize me.”

A steel hand pulled back the hood of the orc’s cloak.

“Steppe Fang,” Hadjar whispered, dumbfounded. Or rather, this orc was what remained of him…

Chapter 1026

“M ay your ancestors keep you safe, brother North Wind. I’m glad we got to see each other again.” The orc’s eyes darkened, “but I’m sad that it’s under such poor circumstances. Still, let me embrace you, brother.”

They embraced tightly, and Hadjar felt the grip of the orc’s steel arms. After their adventure in the Dah’Khasses’ mountains, Steppe Fang had returned to his tribe severely injured, but now the orc was missing all his limbs.

“What happened to you?”

“Let’s go,” Steppe Fang said. “This conversation isn’t one that can be had under a blue sky. Like our ancestors before us, we’ll sit by a fire, we’ll smoke pipes, and we’ll tell each other our stories.”

Hadjar looked into the orc’s eyes. Although Steppe Fang’s gaze had become heavier and there was now a deadly longing in it, it still wasn’t similar to an animal’s in the slightest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, brother.” Hadjar shook his head. “Today, we meet on the hunting fields. And we aren’t on the same side…”

Steppe Fang smiled. Seeing his broken, yellowed fangs and the way his wounded tongue rubbed against them, Hadjar’s heart sank.

“You still remember how the free steppe orcs speak, brother.” Steppe Fang slapped his shoulder. Hadjar’s shoulder ached. “I see the white feathers in your hair. You’ve proven that you are indeed a brother to us with your deeds. Can’t brothers, even if they meet on opposite sides, talk? Tell your men to go back to the stone house. There will be no hunting today, just a conversation.”

Hadjar didn’t move a muscle. Steppe Fang frowned slightly.

“My ancestors have heard my words,” he declared.

“I’m sorry,” Hadjar apologized from the bottom of his heart. “I shouldn’t have-”

The orc raised a steel hand, interrupting him.

“No need for words, brother. I understand. Today, you’re the chief. Chiefs think differently from ordinary hunters. We think about prey, and they think about the hunters themselves.”

Only after Hadjar was convinced that Steppe Fang wouldn’t break his word did he touch his General’s medallion. Magic symbols flashed on the surface of the artifact. Hadjar heard Tom’s worried voice in his mind.

“What’s... going... on… out… there… barbarian?” The sound faded out sometimes. These kinds of medallions, which could transmit sounds as well, not just symbols, were new in the Empire. The first batch had been created last year and had been sold very quickly. It was rumored that the Emperor himself had barely managed to grab a dozen pieces from the thousandth batch for himself. War really was the best catalyst for progress.

“Get the soldiers to Sukhashim,” Hadjar said. “There won’t be a battle today.”

“What?”

Hadjar wanted to curse the medallion. It would’ve been easier to just use signs.

“Get the soldiers to Sukhashim,” he repeated slowly.

“Okay,” Tom replied after a few seconds.

Turning to the ranks of the Moon Stream army, he watched as they left the field, which hadn’t turned into a battlefield, like a single organism. Three thousand warriors... Three thousand of them against almost a million orcs. Hadjar wasn’t sure if there was a single Legion in the two Empires that, even if they outnumbered the orcs, would be able to defeat such an army. Fortunately, the humans also had cannons, sky fleets…

The orc army had been disembarking as they spoke. Only mobile battle groups had come out so far, which was still a hundred thousand orcs. While Hadjar was thinking about various things, the orcs were unloading their wall-battering weapons from their boats, which were something like a mixture between canoes and the Viking ships of old from Earth. The weapons themselves were huge crossbows that fired bone arrows. Although they looked simple at first glance, as a Lord, Hadjar knew that even one of these arrow could scratch the walls of Sukhashim, which was a feat most cannons made by humans could never hope to achieve.

“Let’s go, brother. I don’t want to offend the Spirits of my ancestors by not inviting you to sit by a fire.”

Steppe Fang easily leapt over the moat that Hadjar had dug with his ‘Dragon Storm’ Technique.

Hadjar sensed that, without replenishing his energy reserves with alchemy, he wouldn’t be able to use the Technique again. The ‘Dragon Storm’ had actually emptied his Core completely. This was considered unacceptable for any Technique to do, even the most powerful ones. The fact that Hadjar had drained his reserves completely showed just how poorly he understood what he’d just begun to create. The Technique was crude and dangerous, and a greater threat to Hadjar than it was to his enemies.

Steppe Fang had casually leapt over the moat, where the mysteries of the Blue Wind Sword Duchy were concentrated. Its power, in some ways, was even greater than the might of a True Kingdom of the Twin Swords. In addition, the moat was filled with Hadjar’s power — the energy was constantly being unleashed in the form of electric discharges, preventing the World River from overpowering the damage. And Steppe Fang, who’d been equal to a Spirit Knight when they’d last met, had easily jumped over it. The mysteries hadn’t wounded him in the slightest…

Hadjar sighed and looked up at the sky. Large, cold, white snowflakes were swirling in the air and then falling on his face. They burned it a little. Hadjar looked at them. Frozen water floating down from the sky. Ice falling from the clouds. There was something both poetic and mystical about it. A simple phenomenon that followed the laws of nature and physics. No magic was involved... but if gravity was even one percent lower, not only would this snowfall not exist, but life itself wouldn’t either. This was the magic that Hadjar…

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 49%... 56%…]

Hadjar stopped himself. After visiting Adadjir’s cave and using the ‘Torn Sky’ Technique once more, the danger level had gotten to and been stuck at 32%. This meditation was inevitable, and Hadjar knew it. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t choose the place and, more importantly, the time when it would happen.

With these final thoughts, he took a step forward, and, turning into a white lightning bolt, crossed the moat to land next to Steppe Fang.

“You’ve grown stronger, North Wind,” the orc murmured. “You are mighty now. This pleases my heart and soul.”

“Thank you, Steppe Fang.”

“There’s only one thing about you that remains as ugly as ever,” he sighed. “Your inability to hear the call of your ancestors. Until you do that, you won’t truly be strong.”

Chapter 1027

H adjar and Steppe Fang were walking through the orcs’ gradually growing camp.

“These are orcs from the Soaring Hawk Mountains,” Steppe Fang pointed to the short, gray-skinned orcs.

They were stocky, with long arms, and carried huge bows made of metal that had several bowstrings. The orcs of the Soaring Hawk Mountains carried arrows in quivers that they’d fastened to their belts. The arrows were made of stone, and each one was as long as Hadjar’s leg. They were pitching the same cone-shaped tents as the others. The only difference between them was the color and patterns embroidered on the canvas.

“These are the orcs of the Ocean Grass.”

A group of green-skinned and impossibly tall but lean orcs walked past Hadjar. Despite being about seven feet tall, Hadjar didn’t even come up to their waist. Their long arms hung below their knees.

At first, they looked at him with hostility and even grabbed their long spears and throwing axes, but then they saw the feathers in his hair. They touched their fingers first to their chests, then to their foreheads, and then gestured as if they were sending something to the sky. Hadjar returned their ritualistic greeting.

“The orcs of the Ocean Grass can run for days at the speed of a King Stage wolf. They can hit five opponents at once with a single throwing axe. With their spears, they can stab ten mules at once,” Steppe Fang, who looked like a runt compared to his lanky comrades, watched them go. “But they’re also as filthy as pigs.”

The orcs of the Ocean Grass joined others like them and began to help in making dugouts. Apparently, not all of the orcs were going to pitch tents.

While they were walking deeper into the orc camp, Steppe Fang managed to introduce Hadjar to an incredible number of orc tribes. Tall and short (the shortest were still about Hadjar’s height), with skin in all the colors of the rainbow. This included the orcs of the Death Gorge. They were black-skinned, red-eyed, and wielded broadswords; they were the most muscular and the most ferocious, with six pairs of fangs and with skulls woven into their hair. Human skulls.

When they saw Hadjar, they almost choked on their saliva. After seeing the feathers in his hair, they didn’t greet him, but pressed their fingers to their right nostrils and blew their noses at his feet instead, which was a sign of absolute contempt. Hadjar didn’t react to their rude behavior. He just made a note in his neural network’s memory that it would be better to avoid the Death Gorge.

“You’ve gathered a huge army here, Steppe Fang,” Hadjar made a specific gesture, which expressed both respect and recognition of one’s efforts.

“I only helped. The First Chief gathered the army. For the first time since the war against the servants of the false gods, the orcs have gathered for a true Great Hunt. The bugle made of the First Orc’s fang was used and each tribe sent a thousand of their best hunters to participate in the Hunt. A thousand tribes, North Wind, gathered at the shore of the Great Water and went over the Wild Rocks to calm the souls of my tribe’s hunters. The souls of the last tribe of the steppe orcs, who were direct descendants of the First Orc. When I die, the steppe will also die with me, Hadjar. There will be a great lament, for the only link that connects the orcs to their ancestors will be just a memory then. The living blood will disappear.” There was genuine sadness and bitterness in Steppe Fang’s voice.

Hadjar vaguely understood what the orc had just told him, as it was connected to the orcs’ beliefs. Without understanding the entirety of their culture, it was impossible to comprehend the full depths of what had just been said. But Hadjar could feel how these words were hurting Steppe Fang, so they were hurting him, too.

“Brother, I wanted to-”

“At the fire, North Wind,” Steppe Fang interrupted him. “Such words should be spoken over a fire, so that all their bitterness burns up in the flames and goes away with the smoke. The ancestors will accept the smoke and judge us. We’re the living, so we must stick together. All our feuds will go to our ancestors instead…”

The orc pulled back the canopy of a cone-shaped tent, the only one that was decorated with pictures of the steppe: running horses and wolves full of strength, life, and freedom, and falcons soaring through the blue sky, piercing the snow-white clouds.

Hadjar sat down in front of the fire, the smoke of which was exiting the tent through the hole in the ceiling. Steppe Fang sat down across from him. Animal skins that served as pillows were stacked nearby.

“Steel from the dwarves of the Heshardie Mountains,” Steppe Fang patted his legs and arms. “I can’t feel the ground, North Wind. Even if I return to the sunny steppes, I won’t be able to feel like I’m at home… That’s the price of my hunt.”

The orc took out a long pipe decorated with carvings and feathers. He filled it with tobacco, lit it, and handed it to Hadjar.

He took a drag, then coughed because of how sharp and strong the tobacco was. Then he took another drag, exhaling the smoke directly into the fire, as tradition dictated, and then, going through the fire with his hand, handed the pipe to Steppe Fang. The orc accepted it and took a drag as well.

“How did this happen, brother?” Hadjar whispered. “Tell me…”

Steppe Fang closed his eyes and blew smoke into the flames. They smoked the pipe together. All the grievances they had against each other, which were as dark as the tobacco smoke, were to be burned in the fire and go to their ancestors, who would then judge who was right and who was wrong.

“It happened two years after our hunt, North Wind,” Steppe Fang began. “My son... he was playing with the cubs that day. One of them was suddenly attacked by a steppe viper. He caught it in a way I couldn’t have managed when I was his age. He strangled it as easily as if he’d had the strength of ten... Derek killed him first.” Steppe Fang’s eyes weren’t brimming with tears, but Hadjar could feel that he was crying on the inside. “Derek came to our tribe. With power that poisoned the lands of our ancestors. He killed anyone who caught his eye. Anyone who happened to be around. Death was everywhere. Screams, groans… Our best hunters tried to stop him, but…”

Steppe Fang took another drag from his pipe and held it out through the flames. The fire licked at his metal hand. Hadjar accepted it and took a drag, not because he wanted to, but to ease the lump in his throat.

“When all was fire and blood, I was left alone. He took my arms and legs, and then, when I begged him to take my life as well, he laughed and spat in my face. He said that you and I hadn’t taken his life, but something far more important than that, so he’d do the same to us.”

“How-”

“It was difficult,” Steppe Fang admitted. “Rage became my arms and legs. My heart and soul. I won’t lie as I breathe in the smoke of my ancestral lands’ remains: I wished you dead, brother. I wanted it so fiercely that I thought you’d die from my wish alone... but then weeks and months passed. I realized that my desire for you to die offended my ancestors.”

“I’m to blame-”

“No more than I am,” he interrupted again. “I witnessed your mistake that night, North Wind. I could’ve fixed it. But I didn’t. I myself brought darkness upon the tribe, my son, and my wife. This realization came to me on the night when the dwarves of the Heshardie Mountains melted my flesh and soul. They pulled my nerves, connecting them with the steel, and the steel with my flesh. Sulfur became my blood, and lava became my flesh. The rage allowed me to survive, but it also burned me out, leaving only a void behind.”

They fell silent. For a while, they simply smoked in silence and exhaled all the resentment and bitterness that they’d accumulated over the years along with the smoke.

“Will you tell me how you managed to get to them and how they created... this?”

The orc smiled: “Our old people are already singing songs about it. If you ever find yourself on the other side of the Big Water, you’ll get to hear them.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you bring an army, Steppe Fang?”

“At first, North Wind, I came here for revenge, but then…” Steppe Fang sighed and put down his pipe. “The human feuds caused the death of the steppe orcs. Your feuds locked the dwarves in the bowels of the mountains, and banished the trolls to distant islands. You drove the elves into the Nameless Lands and took their royal family hostage, which you then allowed to grow, as if to taunt them. Your humans, North Wind, are poisoning this world. We came to honor the memory of the departed, and to remind you that you aren’t yet the masters of the world. We, the first peoples, don’t forgive, nor do we forget. That’s what I came for, my brother.”

Hadjar looked into Steppe Fang’s eyes:

“You came for the blood of the Seven Empires?”

The orc didn’t answer him, but then again, he didn’t have to. A war was inevitable. And yet... Hadjar wanted to avoid at least one battle in his life. He’d do his best to stop it.

Chapter 1028

“I won’t let you go any deeper into the Empire, Steppe Fang,” Hadjar put his hands on his knees and straightened his back. “That’s not going to happen.”

The orc stared into his eyes. Right now, his own were like the eyes of the Death Gorge orcs. They held a ravenous thirst for blood.

“You have two white feathers in your hair, North Wind,” he growled. “We became brothers when we fought against the Dah’Khasses. They show that you’re a human, but also an orc. You’re more of an orc than many of those who crossed the Great Water with me. And I’m giving you a chance to join us. Join the Hunt.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Hadjar clenched his fists.

“You know why, Steppe Fang.” It was Hadjar’s turn to growl. “Where you’re headed is my home. My family is there. My loved ones. My brother and his wife are about to have a baby. I can’t allow you or anyone else to set foot on these lands.”

“Then take them with you,” Steppe Fang touched his fingers to his chest, to his forehead, and then pointed at Hadjar. “My brother’s family is family to all orcs. They’ll receive the feathers of a white bird and become equals with us. They’ll live freely and hunt freely.”

Hadjar trusted Steppe Fang. He had no doubt that if he agreed to these terms, everyone he pointed at would truly become equals with the orcs. But… what about the rest?

“Once upon a time, Steppe Fang,” Hadjar stared into the flames, but what he saw in them was the fire that had burned Balium and Lidus, “I spilled blood because I wanted to. Now I’m going to spill blood because it’s the right thing to do. Maybe someday, in the future, there will come a time when people won’t fight. But that is clearly not going to happen right now. As long as there are those who come with fire and swords at those who can’t defend themselves, I must fight.”

“What about my family and friends, North Wind?” Steppe Fang snarled. His metal fingers turned red from the magic heat trapped within them. “Who came to their defense? Who protected them when a crazed maniac wanted to quench his thirst for blood?”

Hadjar looked up at the orc:

“I grieve with you, brother,” he whispered. “By the ancestors… By the High Heavens, by the Evening Stars, and whatever else is out there… I grieve with you. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t feel guilty, but…”

“But you refuse to help me send the spirits of my kinsmen to their ancestors with honor?” Steppe Fang’s eyes narrowed, “To wash away their suffering?”

“With blood, brother? What you see as hunting enemies, I see as spilling the blood of my people. Those who, like your beloved, are innocent in all of this. When you kill a simple peasant who spent his life plowing the fields, will it be worthy of your fallen? If you skin a shepherd who’s been watching over sheep and saving them from wolves, will it be a good hunt?”

“What do you want from me, North Wind?” Steppe Fang struck the ground, and Hadjar felt the powerful vibrations deep in the rock. “Should I ignore my ancestors’ call and turn the other cheek toward the person who’s already hit me?”

Hadjar shuddered and smiled. He ran his fingers over the flame. At first, it was just warm, and then hot a moment later, and finally, scorching. But on the surface, it was warm, giving life, not taking it. The fire had many sides to it. Just like everything else in this world.

[Emergency message!

The odds…]

Hadjar just waved away his neural network’s message.

“Once, my brother, in a distant land called Earth, where people have shed blood for centuries, a man said that you should turn your left cheek when you get struck on the right.”

“That man was an idiot.”

“I used to think so as well... and I still do... but... there’s something to it, isn’t there? If you could turn the other cheek... If I could turn the other cheek... If everyone could, then maybe there would be no more wars one day. And then the people like me and you…”

They fell silent. If there were no more wars, then why would anyone need people like Hadjar? Or like Morgan. Taniged. Primus. Haver. Traves. Orune. The Black General … What would bring them honor? What would be the point of living for a person who saw meaning in life only when they knew what they could give that very life for? It sounded paradoxical, but it was true. Only by knowing what to give their life for could a man go through life with their head held high. Therefore, no one would ever be able to turn the other cheek.

“We never finished our duel, brother,” Steppe Fang whispered softly.

“I know, brother... I know…”

They fell silent again. Then they rose, went around the flames, and hugged each other tightly.

“Tomorrow,” said the orc... his brother... his friend, “When the sun rises above the surface of the Great Water, I’ll be waiting for you in the ancestral circle. If you win, the Great Hunt will turn toward Lascan. If I win, I swear none of your relatives and friends will suffer.”

Hadjar looked into Steppe Fang’s eyes. There was only bitterness in them.

“I wish things could be different, brother Steppe Fang.”

“So do I, brother North Wind, but…”

This was simply how Hadjar and Steppe Fang were. That was their honor. To abandon it would mean a fate worse than death: betraying themselves and their ancestors. Just like how a scorpion crossing a river on a frog would kill it and drown itself in the process. Because that was what the scorpion was.

Hadjar called down a white lightning bolt and left the orc camp.

***

Ognesh and the soldiers of the Moon Stream army were standing on the walls of Sukhashim, watching the sun gradually rise above the eastern horizon.

In front of the fort stood a single mighty warrior. He took off his magical clothes, about which many songs had already been written. Wearing only canvas pants, he folded the clothes neatly and put them away. Everyone gasped when they saw the insane number of terrible scars that covered the warrior’s body. The Mad General knelt down and, thrusting his sword into the ground in front of him, placed his hands on it.

Minutes passed.

From behind a hill, a multicolored sea of monsters appeared. Painted with white ash and holding weapons in their hands, the orcs stopped when they reached the top of the hill. There was only silence. Then the thunderous roar of their animalistic voices sounded. A dark-cloaked figure emerged from their ranks. It went over to Hadjar and, taking off its own cloak, placed an axe down on the floor in front of it, and sat down in the same position. The humans gasped again when they saw the figure’s bulging muscles and even more terrible scars. Most incredibly, the orc had steel arms and legs that were covered in magic runes and symbols.

The cry of a soaring falcon echoed through the sky. The rising sun turned the sky gold and the earth scarlet. The sword struck the axe and the battle began.

Chapter 1029

T he humans and orcs watched the two warriors sitting across from each other in silence, peering into each other’s eyes. The orcs knew their story. For the first time in many eons, a human had been awarded two white feathers. For the first time in the orcs’ history, a human had fought on their behalf. Many tribes, when the rumors had first reached them, had refused to believe that the Steppenwolf tribe — the descendants of the First Orc and the direct heirs of their ancestors — had awarded a human with such a great honor.

All the descendants of the Firsts — trolls, dwarves, elves, orcs, giants, fairies, the dying ogres, the nagas that had gone extinct eons ago... and dozens of other races that had died at the hands of the growing human tribe — knew that humans had no honor.

All the orcs that lived in the White Dragon region had heard of Steppe Fang, the last of the Steppenwolf tribe. The last direct descendant of the First Orc, the sole bearer of the ancient way of life of their ancestors. If Steppe Fang died here today, history would die with him. He was an orc who’d lost his arms and legs, who’d replaced them with steel and magic, who’d lost his loved ones, but not the fury of a hunter…

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!” An orc shouted.

During the night, all the orcs had managed to disembark. Now all of them were watching what was happening in the circle outlined in the clearing, which was forty paces in diameter and had torches set along its border. The Circle of the Ancestors, where hunters fought to find out which of them was stronger and more agile.

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!” A few more orcs joined in.

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!” Soon, all the free hunters, all one million of them, were shouting the words.

***

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!”

The roar, which was more like thunder, reached Hadjar’s ears.

“What are they shouting? I don’t know the language-”

“It’s an ancient dialect, brother,” Steppe Fang said, running his metal fingers over the ground. The sadness was visible in his eyes, but he pushed it away and replaced it with rage and bloodlust. He dug his fingers into the soil, then smeared it on his cheeks and forehead. “That’s what they used to say back when humans didn’t exist and the false gods hadn’t yet taken over the sacred lands.”

Hadjar shuddered and immediately gave his neural network the command to make a note of this.

“What does it mean?”

Steppe Fang looked up at the sun’s rays, which were gradually driving the night out of Sukhashim. There were only a few moments left before the sunlight touched the edge of their circle.

“It’s hard to translate into the modern language, North Wind,” Steppe Fang gripped the handles of his axes. They weren’t artifacts, but Hadjar remembered what they were capable of in battle. Also, Steppe Fang had become almost like a cyborg, so who knew what the dwarves had done to him… There were only vague rumors about the dwarves. “It roughly translates to: ‘Honor and remember Steppe Fang.’”

“Senh’ad,” Hadjar repeated. The light had almost touched the edge of their circle by now. “Is that your real name?”

Steppe Fang nodded. His dark eyes gradually lit up with red sparks — a sign that an orc was ready for battle, not just physically, but also mentally. Hadjar would’ve liked to say the same thing about himself…

“What would you call me in your language?”

“My language?” The orc’s lips curved into a ghastly smile that now looked more like a snarl. “You insult your ancestors, brother. It’s the language of all who lived under the Irmaril! ‘Hadjar’ is a name which already exists in the ancestral language!”

The light touched the circle.

Steppe Fang pushed off from the ground, and chunks of rock shot out from under his steel feet. His axe cut through the air. The pressure of the movement was so strong that the ground around Hadjar was pressed downward. The swift, powerful slash, which produced a sound similar to the howl of a wolf, was aimed directly at his opponent’s head.

Hadjar’s movements were so fast that it seemed like one moment his sword was stuck in the ground next to him, and then it was already firmly in his hand, stopping Steppe Fang’s axe the next.

However, Steppe Fang had not one, but two axes. The second axe came down from the right, cracking the ground and making the air howl again. Steppe Fang’s eyes burned with rage. Hadjar’s were brimming with longing and sadness. With his will, he created a vacuum behind him, which instantly pulled him out of the way of the second axe. The first one, which had been stuck against his sword, simply sank into the ground. The attack was only at half power after that, but the impact still created a shockwave of such force that stone needles shot out of the split earth and rose several feet into the air. Hadjar maneuvered between them, not allowing even a single speck of dust to touch him.

“AAAARRRRGH!” Steppe Fang snarled.

He crossed his axes, then spread them out. Crisscrossing silver waves of energy took on the shape of wolf maws gnawing at each other. Destroying the stone needles in their path, they rushed at Hadjar. Their pressure was so great that hundreds of paces away, the grass turned into a green mist.

Swinging his sword and standing sideways, Hadjar held out his left hand in front of the wave of energy. Just before impact, he channeled energy and mysteries into his hand, binding and imbuing them with his will.

A great sword, so dense and powerful that it seemed like it was real, sliced through the waves of wolf maws, and then came down on Steppe Fang. The orc had to cross his axes over his head to defend himself from the amalgamation of will and mysteries. The copy of the Blue Blade, which was over twenty feet long, slashed at the crossed axes. Steppe Fang snarled with the effort he was exerting. The magic runes and symbols on his legs flashed. The metal creaked. Splinters of steel shot out from them, piercing the remains of the stone spikes, and flew everywhere. Suddenly, the orc disappeared into the crater that formed beneath him — his legs had been able to withstand the pressure, but the ground hadn’t.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar saw one of the steel splinters cut through a Death Gorge orc’s shoulder and then fly past him. The orc only grinned and shouted even louder.

“Fight me, North Wind!” Steppe Fang jumped out of the crater.

Hadjar stared at the huge orc. His metal arms and legs, covered in scarlet runes and symbols, shone in the sun. Hadjar was looking at Steppe Fang, but he saw Nero’s and Einen’s faces instead.

“AAAARRRRGH!” Steppe Fang roared again.

He crossed his axes and hurled them in front of himself. Each of them turned into a huge wolf that tore through the ground with its claws. Their fangs were sabers. Their claws were spears. Their fur was like a mass of steel spikes. Their eyes were glowing, hot coals. Full of energy and primal power, they wouldn’t have left so much as a wet spot behind if they’d struck Tom the Rootless.

The Blue Blade cut through the air. A blue spark flashed at its tip, and a stream of crushing wind burst out from the wide cut, with dragons writhing inside of it. They swept away the two wolves, and then, passing by Steppe Fang, they flew into the sky and tore the gray clouds to shreds. A deep furrow appeared in the ground to the left of Steppe Fang, who had deep cuts on his arm, from which liquid sulfur and lava flowed.

“You... lost...” Hadjar whispered. Using his will in battle was still difficult for him. He had no alchemy pills left, and his Core was almost halfway depleted.

Hadjar threw the fragments of the axes at Steppe Fang’s feet.

“It’s over-”

“It’s only just begun!”

The steel wolf’s paw, slicing through Hadjar’s clothes and flesh, sent him flying. As he slammed into the ground back-first and spat out blood, Hadjar could feel that he was lying at the bottom of a deep trench that he’d made when his body had struck the ground.

Chapter 1030

S urprised, Hadjar put his hand on his chest. When he moved it away, he saw bloodstains. He jumped out of the trench and landed on one of the stone points.

“Fight me with your full power!” Steppe Fang snarled.

Or whatever remained of him did. Squatting on his haunches and using his hands as a support, he sat in front of Hadjar. The orc’s entire body was covered in a string of scarlet symbols like they were armor. His face changed — it became more elongated and bestial. His fangs, which had looked broken and yellow until moments ago, now seemed to regenerate, forming a wolf’s maw. His steel limbs turned into wolf legs. His dripping saliva burned through the earth. It appeared to be sulfur.

“Brother…”

“Awooo!” Steppe Fang howled.

He charged forward, landing on the same stone Hadjar was standing on. His paw surged toward Hadjar, tearing through the air. Without using any energy or mysteries, it managed to distort the flows of the World River. Multicolored sparks were coming from Steppe Fang’s red claws. Hadjar barely dodged to the side by turning into a white lightning bolt. While he was inside the ‘White Lightning Step’, he couldn’t use offensive or defensive Techniques. So, he just watched as the four slashes, created by a mere flick of the paw, tore through the ground and then continued on toward Sukhashim.

Once he was standing on the very edge of the circle, Hadjar raised his sword in a defensive stance, but barely managed to parry a stone spike flying at him.

Steppe Fang, rushing forward, had reached the foot of a multiton stone spike. After pulling it out of the ground, he’d thrown it at his opponent. When Hadjar turned it into dust with a swing of his sword, the orc’s paw, claws extended, was almost digging into his side already.

Turning on his heel, Hadjar kicked Steppe Fang’s forearm. It felt like he’d kicked a rock. But this was still enough for him to divert the paw and bring his sword down in a powerful slash. It slid across Steppe Fang’s right paw, and the orc, turning on his heel, aimed a rear paw at Hadjar’s throat. Despite his size, Steppe Fang moved faster than any opponent Hadjar had ever encountered before.

Creating a vacuum with his will, he jerked to the side and the blow passed over his head. If he’d done anything else, the four terrible claws would’ve spent a lot of his energy by forcing him to defend himself, and he couldn’t afford to waste even an ounce of it right now.

Hadjar, who’d managed to close the distance between them, tried to counterattack, but... for what felt like the first time in his life, he couldn’t do it. He was slower than the orc. Steppe Fang came at him with a hail of claw swipes. Hadjar used the butt of his sword to hit the orc’s front right paw and dodge his left one, but was then immediately kicked. The hits were like a shower of daggers raining down on the flat of his sword. To the spectators, it looked as if Steppe Fang’s red-hot claws were coming down on the veil of blue wind that Hadjar’s sword had turned into.

Hadjar was at his limit, dredging up every iota of speed he could muster. His sword was practically in several places at once. But so was Steppe Fang. His kicks and punches rained down from all directions.

“Fight!” He snarled. “Fight me, North Wind!”

But Hadjar could only defend himself. The white lightning bolt and the steel wolf moved around within the circle. Stone spikes shot up into the sky. Huge cracks appeared in the ground. The scarlet flashes of claw swipes swept across the ground and streams of blue wind rushed toward the sky.

Hadjar parried the claws with his sword, and then, falling, he flattened himself against the ground to try and cut off the orc’s left rear leg. Demonstrating the incredible capabilities of his new body, Steppe Fang dodged and pushed off the ground. He did so with such great force that he soared up like a bird, then immediately twisted in the air and attacked Hadjar’s back.

Hadjar struck the ground with his palms and sent himself flying above the stone spike, slashing at Steppe Fang’s face. Still in the air, the orc twisted again and crossed his arms, using his forearms to defend from the attack, and then, using the Blue Blade as a fulcrum, rammed his claws toward his opponent’s chest.

Seeing that he didn’t have time to move his sword back and block, Hadjar formed a veil of mysteries and will. The veil that Arkemeya had failed to break bent under the orc’s attack, despite it only having unstoppable physical power behind it. Rocketing back, Hadjar broke through several stone spikes with his back and only stopped at the top of the outermost one. Before his clothes crossed the boundary of the circle, he stepped on the hem of his pants to prevent them from doing so.

Steppe Fang jumped to the opposite side of the circle and stood on his haunches atop another stone spike. They stared at each other.

“You’re only defending yourself, North Wind,” Steppe Fang growled. “Why are you only defending yourself?”

Hadjar knew he was talking to an orc who had come to pillage and kill in his homeland, who’d come here to trample the lands of his ancestors. But he was also speaking to his brother, with whom he’d shed blood and who’d had his back, just as he’d had his.

“You’re my brother… How can I fight you?”

“AAAARRRRGH!” Steppe Fang roared, then straightened up. He stared at Hadjar with his scarlet, bestial eyes. “Look at me, Hadjar Darkhan! Look!”

Hadjar did.

“Look at what I’ve become… Look at the monster I’ve created with my rage...” The scarlet embers gradually faded in Steppe Fang’s eyes. “Look at this… Am I really the last of the Steppenwolf clan? The last orc of the steppes? No, brother... I’m anything but an orc... I... I... I’m a monster, Hadjar Darkhan.”

“You came here to die,” Hadjar said softly.

“These lands, my brother... Once upon a time, The First Wolf hunted here. At the bend of the Great Water, he caught the first prey, and this was how our story began…”

“I can’t-”

“You must, brother... or I’ll never be able to find peace. I won’t be able to meet my wife, hug my son, show him how to use an axe, how to catch up with a deer, how to properly ask for forgiveness from a Spirit on the fields of eternal hunting… Don’t take my afterlife away from me…”

Hadjar looked into Steppe Fang’s eyes. The red embers in them had been extinguished, replaced by grief and sadness. Steppe Fang hadn’t brought the orc army here to ravage and destroy a land full of innocents. He’d brought it here to force Hadjar’s hand. Steppe Fang had come here to die. With honor. In battle. As a free hunter should.

Hadjar raised his sword above his head. The sky darkened.

Steppe Fang threw his head back, howled, and started pounding his chest with his fists. His eyes flashed with a scarlet light once again, and the evaporating snow on his body turned into fur.

Chapter 1031

S tanding several miles away, on the walls of Sukhashim, Ognesh sensed the power radiating from the two combatants. To him, their battle was just a series of colorful flashes and vague images that kept appearing and disappearing. They’d only been fighting for a short while, but had already turned the ground around them into something that looked like it had survived a weeklong bombing.

After pausing to stand across from each other and talk for a while, they now seemed to be preparing for the final exchange.

The Mad General raised his sword. Holding it above his head, he stared up at the rapidly darkening sky. Somewhere in the distance, drums thundered, and they weren’t Sukhashim’s drums. The drumbeat was getting closer and louder. It was as if an army was rushing across the sky: the hooves of warhorses clattered; swords and axes slammed against shields; spears and halberds struck the ground; bows sang as they were drawn. Then came the thunder and lightning. With a fierce battle cry, it arced across the ground, shattering the stones that had been scattered everywhere around the duo after their fight.

Ognesh was just about to hide behind the wall just to be safe when he suddenly froze. He saw snow swirling around the orc. A sphere of snow hid him from the eyes of the spectators. When it disappeared, a wolf was standing in front of the Mad General. From muzzle to tail, it was about seventy feet long, and was taller than Sukhashim’s walls. It seemed to hover in the air. It threw back its head and howled. The howl was full of a great thirst for battle. It echoed throughout the valley, and even drowned out the thunder for a couple of seconds.

As silence reigned once more, a bright blue lightning bolt, which looked like a dragon, struck the Mad General.

Ognesh was impressed. It was as if the gods themselves had come out of the Seventh Heaven and were fighting before the eyes of mortals.

***

Closing his eyes, Hadjar seemed to dissolve. His soul merged with the wind, which penetrated his body and rushed toward the sky.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 46%... 58%…]

He was in the sky. He could feel the clouds, which were almost like the tectonic plates colliding, and the snow that was forming in their depths. He could feel the clouds pressing down on the shoulders of a mighty titan who was holding them above the world. He sensed that this titan, sometimes as fierce as a lion, and sometimes as gentle as a kitten, was present everywhere in this vast, nameless world. Hadjar could sense both the titan’s peace and rage. He absorbed every moment he’d spent with this titan since he’d been born. He tried to hear him... understand him... and even learn his name.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 62%... 74%…]

His odds of becoming immersed in the meditation were rapidly increasing, but Hadjar didn’t care. He had to... He had to… He looked in front of him and saw a white wolf. A wolf who had come to die in battle. Hadjar didn’t want to kill the wolf, but he had to. He had to give him a quick and easy death. And so, he turned to the titan for help. An old man with a lute in his hands answered him. He placed a burning length of steel into Hadjar’s outstretched hands. It was something he’d previously drawn from Hadjar himself.

[Emergency message!

The odds of repeating the ‘Cocoon’ scenario are increasing: 80%... 98%…]

Hadjar grabbed it and connected it with his sword. His brother would die quickly and painlessly. And one day, they would meet again.

***

Ognesh watched as lightning whirled in the sky above the Mad General. It came down in a spiral until a stream consisting of thousands of blue lightning bolts tirelessly struck the point of Hadjar’s blade. Suddenly, the strongest and most violent thunderclap Ognesh had ever heard rang out. It shook Sukhashim’s walls. Blood flowed from his ears.

The sea rippled and huge waves surged onto the shore, almost crashing against the orcs, who were still shouting something and brandishing their weapons.

Silence returned. Ognesh saw that the white wolf had frozen mid-jump and that a white lightning bolt had cut through it.

The Mad General had moved from one stone spike to another. He was slowly tucking his sword back into the folds of his robes. Behind him, the orc was falling to the ground from within the huge, white wolf. Apart from one small wound right where his heart was, there wasn’t any other visible damage on his body.

Before the orc even touched the ground, a huge dragon suddenly appeared, spreading its wings over the circle. It stretched out and moved somewhere toward the east, its flight full of beauty and rage. It cut through the huge waves. Its wings, which looked like lightning bolts, vaporized the water to such a depth that it took two heartbeats for the boiling sea to once again cover the exposed ground below it. But the dragon’s flight didn’t stop there. Its body flew for dozens of miles, and then, somewhere above the Lascanian lands, it exploded in a tornado that tore apart the earth and clouds.

When things truly settled down, Ognesh saw the Mad General sitting on the ground next to the orc. He was holding him.

***

“Tell me... brother... did I fight... well?” Steppe Fang spoke slowly, barely opening his mouth.

Hadjar swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Better than anyone I’ve ever fought, brother.”

“That’s... good... It means… the ancestors... will accept me and... forgive me.”

“They’ll be proud of you,” Hadjar assured him, holding Steppe Fang so tightly that it looked as if he hoped he could forcibly keep the life in his friend’s body from escaping if he squeezed it hard enough. “For thousands of years, free hunters will sing songs about you. The glory of the steppe orcs will never fade. A hundred eons will pass, but you’ll still be remembered.”

“Will you… do me... one last favor... brother…”

“Of course.”

Steppe Fang pointed to the northeast, where his home, the steppes, were.

“I don’t want to... die... lying down... like this… Not seeing my home... Help me… up.”

Hadjar, swallowing another lump, stood up. He pulled Steppe Fang toward him. The orc only managed to get up through sheer willpower. Leaning on Hadjar, he closed his eyes and turned his face toward the dawn sun. The rays of the sun painted it the brightest gold. The gold of the Lascanian steppes.

“My love...” The last descendant of the First Orc whispered, “My son... I... am… coming back to you…”

Steppe Fang took one last breath, and then the life left his body. But when Hadjar moved to lay his brother on the ground, the orc remained standing. The life had left him, but his will remained. The will that prevented a free hunter from dying on his back. He died on his feet, as his ancestors had. Standing next to him, Hadjar thrust his sword into the sky. The dragon’s roar echoed for miles:

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!”

All the orcs, also raising their weapons, echoed his roar:

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!”

It thundered across the plains for a long time:

“Mok’tan Senh’ad!”

***

In the golden lands of the endless steppes, a herd of deer grazed. Suddenly, they scattered. But one of them didn’t make it. A large, white wolf clung to its neck. After setting the still trembling prey down on the ground, it growled menacingly and a small wolf cub — an exact copy of his father — climbed out of the grass. The wolf’s dark, warm eyes seemed to say:

“Watch and learn, son.”

Chapter 1032

T o the delight of many courtiers and aristocrats, General Dekoy Schuver looked tired and like he’d aged a decade overnight. His skin was drier and a little grayer and his fingers trembled sometimes. He had a slight limp now, not from pain, but from deep exhaustion. However, his demeanor made it clear that Dekoy didn’t care what people thought of him, he just wanted to relax. Ideally, he wanted to get a divorce.

But it was unlikely that His Imperial Majesty would allow Dekoy to get rid of that... that... creature. Although, credit where credit was due, the creature knew such impossibly good things it could use in bed that he’d forget about everything else while they shared it. It was like the black lotus drug that those weird mercenaries he’d heard of rubbed into their gums to avoid feeling fatigue and fear in battle.

With these thoughts of his dear wife, Letitia Schuver, on his mind, the Head of the Secret Office entered the Emperor’s office. In the corridor outside, as always, dozens of people were waiting for an audience. Schuver smiled. He knew that most of them, no matter how many times they made an appointment with the secretary and regardless of how long they waited for their turn, would never get an audience. The strangest thing was that these people knew it, too. They didn’t come here to meet the Emperor, but to meet those who were waiting in the corridor. As everyone in the capital knew, dynastic marriages were often arranged in this very corridor, noble families quarreled endlessly, major trade deals were sometimes made, and so on.

Inside, Morgan the Fearless’ office looked as it always did: a cabinet, a table, and huge piles of papers, parchments, and tablets made of various materials were scattered everywhere.

Morgan was sitting with his back to the window. He was dressed in simple, but expensive clothes, with his hair tied back, and the crown hanging from the arm of his chair. He was carefully reading a document on his desk. Judging by the seal of the guard corps on it, the document had been written by Baligor the Tenacious. He was technically Morgan’s relative, but not by blood. The great hero Baligor was the Empress’ brother. The relationship between them, as far as Schuver could remember, had started with a deep, pure enmity, moved on to friendship, and then settled on a sort of mutual understanding.

“Dekoy.” Without looking up from the document, Morgan pointed to a plush chair in front of his desk, then lifted his ever-present glass of scarlet liquid and sipped from it.

Thanks to Letitia, the Head of the Secret Office now knew exactly what the Emperor was drinking. By the gods and demons, it made him feel both a deep respect for Morgan’s selflessness, and an equally deep loathing and disgust.

“Are you looking at my glass?” Morgan shook it at him, then put it back down on the table. “We’re all striving to acquire more power…”

“But the price, my Emperor…”

“Great power comes at a great cost,” Morgan said calmly, his eyes still glued to the report. “I’ve long since reached my limit... This allows me to go beyond what the Book of Thousands prepared for me so long ago.”

“But the price…”

“How is my son doing?” Morgan interrupted him sternly.

Dekoy immediately pulled himself together, straightened up, and cleared his throat:

“As aide-de-camp to the General of the Third Legion, he’s fighting well on the northern front, my Emperor. He’s shown himself to be a skilled swordsman, an officer with a cool head, and a very intelligent commander overall.”

“That’s good.” Morgan nodded. “Order him to assemble a squad of a hundred soldiers of his own choosing. With that squad, he will go to the Delphie Valley.”

At first, Dekoy thought that he must’ve misheard him. Or that Morgan was joking. The Delphie Valley, which was a week’s journey from the capital of Lascan, had been of great interest to the Secret Office for the past two centuries. When the war had broken out, and the Regent Mother had decided to send Derek of the Steppe and his army of the dead to fight them, they’d finally managed to find out everything about it.

The Valley was where the enemy made their high-level golems. It was a very valuable industrial area for them, possibly the most important one, even. Making a single Spirit Knight level golem required so many resources that a thousand Heaven Soldiers could be cultivated to the same level for that same cost, but…

Dekoy was well aware of the advantages and disadvantages of golems in battle. He’d been young back when Morgan, wearing the regalia of a General, had dragged the dilapidated, corrupt, and feuding Darnassus out of the dust of oblivion. With the autocratic hand of an unyielding dictator, he’d forcibly pulled them out of the pit they’d dug for themselves. Schuver, at the time, had served as a clerk in the army, and he’d seen firsthand the feats that Baligor, Cassius, Morgan, Orune and other cultivators, who had later become great heroes, had performed. And a hundred Spirit Knight level golems were, without a doubt, worth all the resources that went into creating them. It was something like the situation involving ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’ and the expenses involved in creating it: exorbitant, but justified.

“He needs to delay the production of the golems,” the Emperor continued matter-of-factly. “Ideally, he ought to ruin the production facility completely.”

“But... my Emperor.” Schuver, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, could hardly believe that Morgan was serious and that this wasn’t some sort of joke, even if he couldn’t recall a single time the Emperor had ever made a joke. “The Delphie Valley... it’s as well defended as the capital of Lascan itself... Even if we could bring four of our nine Legions there, we’d be stuck besieging it for a decade!”

“That’s why we won’t be coming at it with an axe out in the open, but with a concealed dagger, Schuver. You are aware that this is how it works, no? Or do your people use subterfuge in some other, esoteric way I wasn’t aware existed?”

“And yet... To risk the heir like this? This mission is impossible, my Emperor. And the country-” Dekoy looked at the glass full of scarlet liquid, “will need an Emperor.”

“Exactly,” Morgan didn’t take his eyes off the document. “The country will need an Emperor for whom the impossible is possible. It’s time for my son to grow up. He’ll receive the order tomorrow. You are responsible for this endeavor, and should something go awry, you’ll pay for it with your life.”

“Y-yes, my Emperor,” Dekoy bowed. He knew that this wasn’t just an empty threat.

“Tell me, has our little game in Sukhashim borne fruit?”

“It has,” Sighing with relief that Morgan had changed the subject, Dekoy placed two scrolls on the desk. “As we suspected, the orc who called for the Great Hunt was indeed familiar with Hadjar Darkhan. They fought. The battle ended just three hours ago.”

“The result?”

“Absolute victory for the Mad General.”

Morgan looked up at Dekoy for the first time. The man shrugged in response:

“The whole capital, and therefore the whole country, already knows about his past. That’s why I thought it’d be more convenient if we didn’t bother trying to create some other nickname for him.”

Morgan thought about it for a moment, “Makes sense. What about the orcs?”

“As you said, my Emperor, they really did turn toward Lascan after the fight.”

The Emperor nodded again, put down the document, and stretched. His stiff neck and elbows cracked.

“You know what I’m thinking, Dekoy?”

“That if we found out about the orcs, then the Regent Mother also found out about them?”

“Exactly. And that she knows about the Dah’Khasses as well, since she must know what’s happening in her own territory. She knew that I sent a man, one who’s almost the equal of a great hero, to Sukhashim. And yet, she didn’t react to this in any way and allowed the orcs to dock, and then turn around to start heading for her borders... Something is wrong there.”

“Maybe she has her own plans for the greenskins?”

“Not all of them are green, Schuver... Did you waste the hours I allowed you to spend in my library?”

“I didn’t, my Emperor.”

“So, while the Regent Mother is busy with the orcs, we’ll hit Delphie.”

Dekoy cleared his throat.

“What is it, General?”

“My Emperor... about that ‘almost equal to a great hero’ part…” Dekoy trailed off hesitantly.

“What? Spit it out already.”

Instead of answering him, Schuver just pushed his report forward.

“Read this... My subordinate described everything in detail… As much as his understanding allowed him to, at least.”

Morgan’s eyebrows rose slightly. The best bloodhound of the Secret Office, a Nameless, hadn’t been able to understand something about a Lord’s actions? At last, something interesting was happening in this war!

Chapter 1033

C hin’Ameh was sitting in the lotus position atop a mountain peak, with his staff resting on his lap. He held it in his hands as he stared at the clouds floating below. Beneath them lay the valleys situated along the Lascanian and Darnassian border. A little farther to the north were the orcs’ steppes... Well, the steppes that had once belonged to the now dead orcs, anyway. With the death of the last direct descendant of the First Orc, another race of the Firstborn had been doomed to extinction. This had already happened with the nagas, the inhabitants of the underwater depths.

Chin’Ameh, even back when he’d just been a novice of the Magic Dawn Pavilion, had still had access to the most forbidden of books. From them, he’d learned not only about the nagas who had disappeared from the Nameless World before the White Dragon Region had come to be, but also about many other races. Hundreds of them. They’d all been erased. Their bloodlines extinguished. Their will had disappeared, and with it, a part of the history of this world.

“One day,” Chin’Ameh whispered, “there will be no one left but humans and weak beasts.”

“Are you afraid, my old enemy?”

Minister Ju was sitting next to him, dressed in beautiful, expensive clothes, with ornaments made by the best dwarven craftsmen. Magic gems glittered in his hair. His fingernails were decorated with powdered Sun Gold. Or, as it was called by the mages and wizards, True Gold. It was mined in such small quantities that a single ounce held a value that was respected even in the Land of the Immortals. It was used as currency there.

The last few months, after they’d received the orders of the Emperor of the Ruby Palace, Chin’Ameh and Ju had been playing tag. The minister had immediately realized that the Head of the Magic Dawn Pavilion had known where the runaway dragon was. So, he’d followed him around. Chin’Ameh, who was both a Sage and a mage, had tried to hide his trail. He’d used his best spells, weaving Word Magic and will into them, but no matter how powerful his concealment methods were, the minister was never far behind. This proved that he was a worthy opponent.

“I remember the War of the Three Beasts, Minister,” Chin’Ameh ran his fingers over a floating cloud beneath him. The misty figures of a dragon, a phoenix, and a tiger rose from it. They struck each other with their tails, tore at each other with their claws, and bit into each other. “I remember the war that led to the fall of the First Dragon Emperor. I remember the war in which brother fought against brother, father against son, mother against daughter… I remember the Ruby Palace being built. I remember Traves, a hero and a traitor both, coming to take the life of our Emperor.”

“I remember all of that as well, Chin’Ameh,” Ju also ran his hand over the cloud, and the figures of the three animals were replaced by a single one — a chained dragon. “And I remember that it was you who cast those powerful spells on the chains that bound Traves.”

“I’m not proud of that, Ju. One day, I’ll answer to the High Heavens and our ancestors for my sins.”

They fell silent. Both Ju and Chin’Ameh were among the oldest dragons that lived in this region. Ju remembered the stories of his great-grandfather, whom he’d managed to meet. He had told him about how he’d fought in the war against the Black General. Chin’Ameh could say the same. They had the same great-grandfather, after all… However, they didn’t consider themselves relatives. Too much had happened over the eons for the cousins to acknowledge the bond of blood between them.

“Tell me where this dragon is.” Ju waved his hand once more, and the misty figure of the dragon turned into a human. “Or should I say, where this human is?”

Chin’Ameh lightly gripped his staff, but didn’t dare attack Ju. Not because he was afraid of losing, but simply because if he did something so rash, his plan would fall apart. No, he couldn’t afford to make that mistake.

“How did you figure it out?” He whispered.

“It wasn’t that hard. I traced Traves’ history to the moment when he left the country and set out on his journey. It was hard to find any mention of him, but I managed. Mixing his blood with human blood... Many young and hot-blooded dragons have sown their seed in the lands of the mortals, but... leaving the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique to a human… That was just…”

Chin’Ameh shuddered. He hadn’t told Minister Ju that Hadjar, Traves’ descendant, possessed the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique. How could the minister have possibly learned about this? Chin’Ameh looked at Ju. He was sitting beside him, looking at the land at the foot of the mountains. They saw it clearly, even though the mountain peak was located hundreds of miles from the border. What was Minister Ju hiding, and what were his goals?

“Why do you need this human, Minister?”

“Why do you need him, mage?”

“The Imperial Family is doomed to decline and ultimately die out if the first volume of the Technique created by our ancestor, the White Dragon, whose right wing pierced space and left wing pierced time, doesn’t return to its homeland. Along with the death of the Imperial Family, our country will crumble as well. And then the entire White Dragon region will be doomed.”

“And you, of course, don’t want that to happen?”

“It’s strange to hear such a question from a minister! I’ve spent my entire life helping the Dragon Lands prosper! All so that our children and their children can live well and soar freely amongst the clouds of the High Heavens.”

Ju just smiled. By the Great White Dragon, traces of true gold powder could be seen on his teeth. This dragon’s greed knew no bounds. All the Lords of the Heavens were passionate about jewelry, but none of them had ever reached such dizzying heights of madness.

“And yet, this is what you’ve achieved, Sage Chin’Ameh. We’re sitting here, far from our homeland, from the mountain peaks, green plains, and forests of the Dragon Lands. We’re sitting in the lands of the mortals. And we’re watching the last descendant of the First Orc die at the hands of the halfbreed whom you’re hiding.”

Chin’Ameh abruptly rose to his feet. His staff shone with pure energy as he held it in his hands.

“There’s no need for that,” Minister Ju held up his hand. “Now isn’t the time to take him, anyway. He’s a Lord... How interesting… The ‘Path Through the Clouds’ ends at the Spirit Knight level, but he reached the Lord level… He’s worth spending a little time on. I want to observe him…”

The mage, admitting his utter defeat, sank down beside the minister. Ju patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t be upset, cousin,” he smiled. “Your magic is strong and your wisdom is deep, but... during your training, you forgot about things like cunning, ruthlessness, dishonor, and scheming.”

“I see you certainly didn’t forget about them.”

A shadow crossed Ju’s face.

“Perhaps.” He turned away and looked at the clouds. “But here we are. Two ancient dragons. Powerful beings. We have no right to incinerate these humans. No right to take from them what we think is ours. And we aren’t even in our true form, but in a human one, because we find it more convenient and appropriate.”

“What are you getting at, Ju?”

“That your life seems to have been wasted.” The minister pointed at the orc army, “Their fate is our fate.”

Chapter 1034

H adjar watched the funeral pyre burn in the night. He was standing among the orcs. He was the only human there. No one raised a weapon or hand against the human who’d killed the last descendant of the First Orc, the last of the steppe orcs, the last of the Steppenwolf tribe.

The flame slowly took Steppe Fang’s body and carried its ashes to the sky. Bugles and sobs sounded. Hadjar watched the crying orcs. Free hunters. Warriors who fought from birth for the right to live under the light of the nameless star that humans called the sun. Long ago, it had been called Irmaril… The orcs, sitting on the ground, were banging their axes, spears, clubs, and fists against the ground. In their deep howls, which were vaguely wolfish, there was something aggressively sad. Perhaps all warriors of all races cried the same at a funeral…

Hadjar came up to the fire and put a wolf fang on Steppe Fang’s chest.

“May your hunts be endlessly bountiful, brother,” he whispered, and headed back to the fortress.

He moved between the orcs, and when they got in his way, they touched their chests, then their foreheads, and then gestured as if they were sending something to the sky. They did this in absolute silence, broken only by crying. They were crying not only for their brother, which most of them hadn’t even known, but also for their history. For the connection with their ancestors that they’d just lost. Many years ago, back on Earth, Hadjar... or Boreas... wouldn’t have understood such behavior. But now…

The black-skinned orcs of the Death Gorge appeared ahead. Hadjar tensed, but they passed by him in silence, not even baring their fangs. He was glad they hadn’t spat at his feet this time. Or done worse.

“Little brother!”

Hadjar turned around. A huge orc was standing in front of him. He was taller than any other orc, pale-skinned, with black hair that turned into thick fur on his chest and back. He held a mace and wore a blue fur coat made from an unknown animal’s pelt. There were so many feathers in his hair that it was hard to count them all.

“First Chief,” Hadjar made the orcish sign of respect. “I grieve with you for your departed brother-”

“Our brother,” the orc corrected him. His yellow eyes were old beyond his years. “The white feathers in your hair tell me that you are as much an orc as anyone standing around us.”

Hadjar nodded appreciatively at his words. The pale orc turned to face the funeral pyre.

“The Great Hunt, as our brother promised you, will go to Lascan instead. The words of honor spoken before the ancestors must never be broken. We always honor them. Just as we honor the pain you took upon yourself when you helped our brother leave with the dignity of a free hunter to the fields of eternal hunting.” The Chief of all the orc tribes made a gesture of respect. “I hope he gets to meet his son there. And his unborn daughter.”

Hadjar shuddered.

“Was his wife pregnant?”

“She was.” The orc nodded. “Children. A loving wife. Good hunting. That’s everything a free hunter needs to be happy.”

Hadjar said nothing. He could only feel his shoulders grow heavy.

“First Chief, please forgive my impertinence, but... I have to ask you to leave.”

He turned to Hadjar.

“Your words aren’t spoken out of fear,” he whispered thoughtfully. “If they had been, I would’ve plucked the white feathers from your hair and torn you apart already. But they aren’t. They come from the heart. Speak calmly and boldly, little brother. I will listen.”

“Lascan has flying warships. Golems. Cannons. And a lot of other things that can destroy your army from a great distance.”

“That’s probably true.” The pale orc nodded so easily and calmly that Hadjar realized that the old orc already understood all of this. He understood it, but he would still lead the best warriors of all the orc tribes to Lascan.

“Then… why? You’ll all die there.”

Yellow eyes met blue eyes. Hadjar looked behind the orc at the blazing funeral pyre. Then he understood. It wasn’t just Steppe Fang who’d come to foreign lands seeking his death.

The orc’s huge hand, which dwarfed even Hadjar’s own head, rested on his shoulder.

“Will you tell stories about us, little brother? About what we were like. How we fought. How we lived. About the path of the ancestors? I heard from Steppe Fang that you know how to make the wind sing like a bird.”

“I will,” Hadjar agreed, and felt something etch itself into his soul.

“Then go. Go to your hunters. May your hunting be plentiful and your ancestors, when the time comes, will hopefully accept you with honor.” The First Chief touched his fingers to his chest, then his forehead, and then, shocking Hadjar, pulled out a feather from his hair and braided it into Hadjar’s own. “Hunt wisely, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind.”

“Don’t let the blood cloud your vision, First Chief,” Hadjar replied.

He turned around and started walking back to Sukhashim.

Not only had Steppe Fang come to these lands to die... But all the orcs who’d followed him were here to die as well. Steppe Fang had been the last survivor of those who carried the First Orc’s will. With his death, within an era or two, the orcs were doomed to slowly decay and die. However, breathing your last while lying peacefully in bed wasn’t a proper end for a free hunter. And so, they’d gathered the Great Hunt to celebrate their extinction with honor. This would be a funeral feast for their kind, for all the tribes.

For the first time in a long while, Hadjar felt the urge to take up his Ron’Jah, touch its strings, and compose a song about the free orcs and their glory.…

“North Wind!” Someone shouted.

Hadjar turned around. A white-haired man was standing next to him. He held a regular sword, which shone in the light of the full moon.

The full moon!

“It’s time for our duel!”

White Fang charged forward. He didn’t disrupt the ground, didn’t leave a single trace of his passage on the grass or soil, and his attack was somehow invisible to Hadjar’s magical senses.

He only saw the man’s simple sword, a length of steel devoid of energy and magic, cut through his chest. Blood drenched Hadjar’s hands as he grabbed the swordsman’s wrist.

[Emergency message!

Host is in critical condition!

Damage to the host’s vital organs: 96.5%

Probability of the host’s death: 99%]

THIS CONCLUDES THE FIRST HALF OF THE SERIES.

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.

We have a favor to ask of you: please spend a couple more minutes to review ‘Dragon Heart’ on ‘Amazon’, or any of your other favorite book sites, like ‘Goodreads’ for example.

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.

If you liked the story a lot, please subscribe to the Patreon. You can always ask any questions you may have and find out the latest news about the project over there. Plus, you get other perks… (Insert shameless enticement here)

Regardless of whether you decide to write a review, subscribe to the Patreon, and support our team in other ways or not, we’re grateful to you for your time and for giving these books a chance.

Your most loyal fans,

The Dragon Heart & Kirill Klevanski Team

BOOK 11 <<< give a review!

My Patreon (EXTRA CHAPTERS)

Amazon author’s page <<< to follow!

Facebook

Goodreads page <<< copypaste your Amazon review there! Thanks))

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.

MERCH

For those who to collect mugs) >>> Merch

The book 12 is opened for the PRE-ORDER

PRE-ORDER NOW!

Patreon (First free chapters of the 12th book will be here)

What to read next

Mike Ignatov: Wasteland (2 of 7 book)

A raging fire devoured the world of the Ancients. Where once great cities stood, now there’s nothing but ruins submerged in the sand.
But even in this endless wasteland, there’s a place for life and hope. However, those who find new life here value nothing other than strength.
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 (6 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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