Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2022-09-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: The White Dragon region has been left behind. His oaths and obligations there have been fulfilled. Now it is time to look ahead. What awaits our dauntless protagonist? A gray sky, one where the stars never shine, is overhead. A white sand made of ground bones is underfoot. That is the horror of the Demon Lands. But the dragon’s heart in his chest will not give in, and it will keep beating steadily. He will not falter. The Blue Blade will never be lowered in surrender. An indomitable will still shines in the eyes of Hadjar Darkhan, the Wind of the Northern Valleys. He’ll endure whatever fate th

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Way To The West

Book XVI

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2022 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

Edited by Damir Isovic

Cover designed by Julia Jdanova

Illustrated by Valery Spitsyn

His deal with the Demon Prince has taken Hadjar deeper and deeper into the Strange Lands, where every step could be his last. With the aid of Abraham’s squad, he’s looking for clues and uncovering all sorts of secrets and mysteries, but the Raven Sect’s fanatics are on their trail.

What will this new twist of fate bring? Will Hadjar be able to fulfill his part of the deal? Did he make a mistake when he agreed to destroy the oldest and most powerful sect of the mortal realm?

HELLO ALL!

Hello all!

My name is Kirill Klevanski and you are reading my adventure LitRPG Wuxia Saga “Dragon Heart”.

The whole story is planned out and will have 2000 chapters. Now the story has almost 1700 chapters spanning 19 books.

16 books are translated into English and released.

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

Content

HELLO ALL!

Chapter 1389

Chapter 1390

Chapter 1391

Chapter 1392

Chapter 1393

Chapter 1394

Chapter 1395

Chapter 1396

Chapter 1397

Chapter 1398

Chapter 1399

Chapter 1400

Chapter 1401

Chapter 1402

Chapter 1403

Chapter 1404

Chapter 1405

Chapter 1406

Chapter 1407

Chapter 1408

Chapter 1409

Chapter 1410

Chapter 1411

Chapter 1412

Chapter 1413

Chapter 1414

Chapter 1415

Chapter 1416

Chapter 1417

Chapter 1418

Chapter 1419

Chapter 1420

Chapter 1421

Chapter 1422

Chapter 1423

Chapter 1424

Chapter 1425

Chapter 1426

Chapter 1427

Chapter 1428

Chapter 1429

Chapter 1430

Chapter 1431

Chapter 1432

Chapter 1433

Chapter 1434

Chapter 1435

Chapter 1436

Chapter 1437

Chapter 1438

Chapter 1439

Chapter 1440

Chapter 1441

Chapter 1442

Chapter 1443

Chapter 1444

Chapter 1445

Chapter 1446

Chapter 1447

Chapter 1448

Chapter 1449

Chapter 1450

Chapter 1451

Chapter 1452

Chapter 1453

Chapter 1454

Chapter 1455

Chapter 1456

Chapter 1457

Chapter 1458

Chapter 1459

Chapter 1460

Chapter 1461

Chapter 1462

Chapter 1463

Chapter 1464

Chapter 1465

Chapter 1466

Chapter 1467

Chapter 1468

Chapter 1469

Chapter 1470

Note from the author

The book 17 is AVAILABLE for the PRE-ORDER

Chapter 1389

H adjar came to his senses and immediately unleashed his mysteries and will. This was the only way he could keep his body from being immediately reduced to ashes by the pressure of the incredible fire energy. This wasn’t an ordinary fire, but a completely different one that tormented his very soul and heart. The fire of pure chaos. Not mere destruction, but actual chaos. After all, destruction still had some purpose, but chaos was both creation and destruction at once, their insane symbiosis, a kind of passionate union of two opposites, simultaneously absorbing and devouring each other while also complementing and restoring each other as well. It was like…

“Hey!” Helmer waved his gray, clawed hand in front of Hadjar’s face. “Hadji, my dear friend, this isn’t the best time to indulge in meditation. Of course, I am aware that you’ve only recently made progress by becoming a Nameless and returning to your fashionable outfit, but believe me, your and my asses are hanging on by a thread right now, one that is thinner than the pubic hair of a virgin.”

Helmer’s words and the appearance of the swarm of nightmares scurrying around his feet, playing with the demon’s torn cloak, where every gap looked like a predatory, fanged maw, brought Hadjar back to reality.

He’d really almost started meditating on various mysteries. He’d been at the Lord level for too long, had learned too much during that time, and had fought against a lot of powerful opponents… It would’ve been better for him to go into deep meditation for at least a year in order to strengthen his mind and soul, strengthen the foundations of his path of cultivation, but time, as always, was playing on the opponent’s side. Whoever this opponent even was.

He looked around. He was standing in the middle of a scorched desert, though even the deadest of mortal lands would seem like a paradise, a true oasis in the middle of a sandstorm, in comparison to this nothingness. This area seemed not to know what life even was. It was as if death was your only neighbor here, as well as desolation and the abyss. There was nothing to see: no hills, no rivers, no mountains, no vegetation or living creatures at all.

Something that resembled white sand crunched under Hadjar’s feet. However, Hadjar already knew what white sand looked like, as he and Einen had travelled the Sea of Sand a lot. So, he would never confuse this substance with it. White, insular, shiny. It wasn’t sand, but ground bones. It glowed with a golden and crimson light because of the strange sky above. It was low, but, at the same time, seemed to reach unfathomable heights. It was densely covered with clouds. It seemed as if, instead of a proper sky, there were only bloody clouds swirling in whirlwinds because they were constantly being tormented by a fire of flaming gold. Flashes of fire plowed through them and emerged like birds of prey from the dance of blood and metal only to disappear into them once again.

The only thing that the eye could cling to in this unnerving place were the sharp rocks that rose up everywhere. Like broken swords or fangs, they reached for the bloody, golden sky, as if trying to bite it, pierce it, or at least wound it.

“Damn it, Helmer! Seriously, where are we?”

“Hey, dude, seriously, have you changed your hairstyle? You really do look different. Did you actually have sex recently, or what? It’s a shocking change.”

“Helmer…”

“I already told you. I’ve brought you to my home. Welcome to the Demon Lands!” Helmer even did a weird hand motion as he said it a second time.

Hadjar looked around once again. Well, this was probably how he’d imagined they would look.

“What are we doing here?” He asked.

Helmer adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and stroked the lump of fear that had jumped onto his shoulder. The lump whispered something in its master’s ear, then returned to the swarm.

“The Prince ordered me to bring you here for an audience.”

“The Demon Prince?”

Helmer turned to Hadjar. His single, red eye flashed from underneath the brim of his hat:

“Hadjar, please watch your tongue. I wasn’t kidding when I said our lives depend on how the next half hour goes. I have displeased the Prince too often lately to be able to count on his favor. And you... Well, you are Hadjar Darkhan. In the miserable period of time you insist on calling your life, you’ve somehow managed to get in his way several times. So we’re in a very... unpleasant predicament.”

Hadjar knew all too well when Helmer was putting on an act and when he wasn’t. Right now, the demon who was the Emissary of the Prince of Darkness, the powerful Lord of Nightmares, was more serious than Hadjar had ever seen him.

“But the Demon Prince is a being of a different level. He can’t-”

“He couldn’t,” Helmer corrected him sharply. “You and I have recently made a deal.” Hadjar’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the Blue Blade. “Let’s not discuss it further. Suffice it to say, this deal has made you vulnerable despite the laws that restrict mortals, Immortals, and those who stand above all.”

Hadjar swore. He knew perfectly well that everything always had its price, but sometimes, it was very difficult to trace what exactly you would have to pay for something, be it a service or an action you’d taken. Apparently, the fact that he’d managed to delay the deaths of Arkemeya and their child had turned into problems that not even most epic heroes from ballads and legends could deal with.

“You said the Demon Prince owed me a little.”

“That’s our ace,” Helmer nodded. “If things go the wrong way at all, you’ll definitely use that card, after which we’ll get out of here however we can.”

“We?”

“The Prince will skin me alive and boil me in the feces of dogs after the many times I’ve gone out on a limb for you.”

“By the way-”

“I still have some big bets riding on you, Hadjar.” Helmer glared at him. Ah, yes, the Lord of Nightmaresand his games. Everyone with such vast power always had their own games. “So please don’t shit yourself. If you feel like shit has already started flowing down your thighs, tell Daddy Helmer, and together we’ll try not to die under the nearest fence.”

Hadjar grimaced.

“Even the former bandits in my army were more gallant than you.”

“More gallant… By all the Extinguished Stars, what the fuck are you talking about right now? Are you the Mad General or a drunken whore? Why should I be gallant?  Pull yourself together, man! We’re on our way to meet the Prince!”

The swarm of nightmares stirred, turning into a wave, then formed an oval archway, inside which space rippled slightly.

“Where does this portal lead?” Hadjar asked, checking whether his sword was firmly in its scabbard. It was purely a habit at this point.

“By all the blood and flesh in this world! Are you really that stupid? This is the gateway to the Prince’s Palace, Hadji. Nut up already and let’s go!”

Helmer easily lifted Hadjar by his collar, as if he weighed nothing and wasn’t protected by a shield of mysteries, will, and energy. He then threw him straight through the portal, like he was a mangy kitten.

Chapter 1390

H adjar found himself in front of large double doors. They stretched so high up that he had to take a few steps back in order to see the edge where they touched the ceiling.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Helmer asked, in a quieter tone than usual. It was clear from his voice that he was also nervous, but hardly for the same reasons as his unwilling companion.

Hadjar felt like if he went through these doors right now, his body would be reduced to atoms or even less than that, and so would his soul, past, present, and future. The creature that waited on the other side of these heavy stone doors adorned with the image of skeletons dancing in wild flames possessed some truly incredible power.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Helmer suddenly exclaimed. He bent down and held out his hand. One of the nightmares jumped up onto his gray palm. The demon moved it onto Hadjar’s shoulder. The feeling of imminent death instantly disappeared. “As long as this is with you, part of my power will protect you from the local forces.”

“Local forces? Isn’t that the aura of the Demon Prince?”

Helmer smiled a little crookedly.

“Look around you, Hadji,” the demon waved his hands around the corridor in which they were standing. It was made out of gray stone and currently empty. Not a single sound could be heard. The wide aisles were guarded by silent, creepy statues of harpies and chimeras. The hot, yellow light of the burning sky poured through the stained-glass windows. “Do you see anyone else here?”

Well, that was true. Apart from them, there was no one else present in front of the Demon Prince’s throne room. And Hadjar doubted that there was anyone else besides them in the Palace itself as well.

“The Demon Prince isn’t a being in the literal sense of the word,” Helmer pulled his hat slightly over his eyes. “He’s the very personification of this region and all its past, present, and future inhabitants. He’s like a primordial force that appeared in opposition to the one that sat his ass down on the Jasper Throne.”

Hadjar took another look at the mighty doors. They had such an exorbitant mass that he doubted that he would have the strength to move them by even an inch. They seemed to be…

“A cage, Hadjar,” Helmer nodded at his mortal companion’s unvoiced thoughts. “For in the whole Demon Lands, besides me, there are no more than thirteen demons that can withstand the presence of our ruler. The rest-”

“-would turn to dust,” a voice sounded from behind the doors. “You shouldn’t keep my guest waiting, slave.”

Helmer clenched his fists. His red eye flashed dangerously. Hadjar had seen the Lord of Nightmares fight once before, in the Wastelands. He’d destroyed an army of demons. He’d absorbed and devoured their essence with just one of his desires. He hadn’t expressed any emotions back then. For him, it had been a mundane chore, like a peasant clearing out weeds from their garden. And now, Hadjar finally saw Helmer’s rage for the first time, which made goosebumps march up and down his back, and the small lump on his shoulder trembled with fear. Even someone’s night terror was afraid of the Emissary’s rage.

“Yes, my lord,” Helmer answered heavily.

Taking a step forward, without turning to Hadjar, he approached the doors and touched their surface. The skeletons, frozen in an eternal, fiery dance, suddenly came to life. They turned to the demon and assessed him carefully. Only then did the monumental stone doors move. With a wild roar, as if mountains were falling, they slowly opened up into the throne room. Each of the doors, as Hadjar had assumed, was at least twenty-one feet thick. They clearly weren’t carved out of simple stone, although he couldn’t sense their magic properly. Even so, what little was revealed to his gaze was something that no ordinary stone could possibly hold within it.

Hadjar had seen many throne rooms, ranging from the castles of minor Barons in the Northern Lands, created for the sake of their ego, all the way to the Ruby Palace of the dragons, created by the best dwarven craftsmen. This one was simply impossible to call a mere throne room. Hadjar almost stumbled, but a clawed hand caught him in time.

Don’t show any weakness, a voice sounded in his head. At first, Hadjar didn’t understand how Helmer did it, but then he remembered the nightmare sitting on his shoulder. Otherwise, this beast will devour you just for his own amusement.

Hadjar looked down at the narrow bridge upon which he and Helmer were now standing. It led from the corridor to a wide platform with a throne. The hall itself, larger than a city square, was actually the huge, hungry mouth of a volcano. Lava was boiling down there, underneath the bridge. It wasn’t ordinary lava, either. Hadjar looked at it and saw flashes of something alive, something hungry, something that was ready to destroy and create with its destruction. Jets of fire rose up in golden arcs to the very bridge and broke on the stone, which was the only thing that connected the ruler of demons with his lands. The energy of this lava was so powerful that even despite Helmer’s and his own protection, Hadjar still felt its pressure weigh his soul down.

“So that’s what you look like, you bag of flesh and bones named Hadjar Darkhan.” The ruler’s voice was like the lava itself, eliciting the sense of molten gold and liquid fire. “Surprisingly, I don’t know any other mortal’s name. You should be honored.”

“My lord,” Helmer dropped to his right knee.

Hadjar remained upright. According to the laws of hospitality, which sometimes bound the living even more strongly than the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, he was a guest, and therefore could afford to take several liberties.

A firestorm raged behind them. Flashes of heat rose high until they touched the sky itself, igniting it with a red glow. This volcano was the center of this country, the greatest concentration of all the chaos that reigned here. And the quintessence of this chaos, its personification, was the Prince. He sat on a throne made of stone fangs and claws. Skulls and other bones served as its back. His crown was two huge horns, between which a crimson flame burned.

More than ten feet tall, he looked at Hadjar with white eyes that had no pupils. His mighty torso breathed fire and looked like it had been cast from molten bronze. He wasn’t wearing any armor, only massive shoulder pads, to which a ragged cloak sewn from scraps of leather was attached. A belt and steel boots with greaves, which he’d tucked pants made of the same material into, was all the attire that the Demon Prince wore.

On his left arm sat a creature that looked like a miniature dragon. In his right hand, he clutched the hilt of a huge, eight-foot-long sword forged from thousands of bloody lightning bolts. Stuck into the stone, it tirelessly kept splitting it apart, and it, as if by magic, was restored back to its original state every time. Red flashes of lightning surged out of this endless battle and flew away somewhere far up into the air. The ruler’s white hair barely covered his pointed ears. The Prince smiled, revealing rows of sharp fangs.

“I imagined you to be more... courageous, Mad General.”

Hadjar smiled inwardly. That wasn’t an insult that could provoke him easily.

“Prince,” he bowed slightly, “May I know why you’ve invited me here?”

Chapter 1391

T he Demon Prince laughed, the ancient stones trembled, and fiery pillars of destruction and creation shot out from the depths of the volcano. This was enough for him to understand what Helmer had meant when he’d called his ruler the ‘personification of the Demon Lands.’ Hadjar felt like he’d already heard about something similar. Something about the physical embodiment of the hills or mountains. However, he couldn’t remember what he’d heard, exactly. An eidetic memory was almost useless when you had to sift through decades of experiences.

“He wants to know why I…” The Prince struck the armrest of his throne and Hadjar felt the vibrations. “Why I invited... him…”

There was no doubt that if it hadn’t been for Helmer’s protection, he would’ve been destroyed on the spot.

“By the Extinguished Stars, slave, why didn’t you tell me that your mortal friend was such a funny little bag of flesh?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Helmer bowed his head deeper.

The laughing Prince suddenly froze and slightly narrowed his white eyes at him.

“Know your place, dog. I didn’t allow you to speak.” He snapped his fingers.

Hadjar didn’t understand what had just happened, but Helmer coughed and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He tried to hide it in the folds of his torn cloak before Hadjar saw it, but he failed. Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. Something was definitely wrong here. However, he knew almost nothing about the demons and their lands. Perhaps it was normal for humanlike, red blood to flow through the veins of one of the most powerful entities in this region.

“Well,” the Prince looked at Hadjar. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away. “Our interests, Wind of the Northern Valleys, have had the misfortune of intersecting in the Mortal Lands several times already.”

The Mortal Lands was one of the ancient names for them. All those who had lived since the beginning of time divided the world into four realms: the Mortal Lands, the Spirit Lands, the Demon Lands, and the Seventh Heaven.

“It has been quite irksome,” the Prince continued. “Moreover, I still owe you a favor, despite the fact that you managed to disrupt my plans and destroy a rather valuable outpost.” The Prince paused.

It was a common practice for a ruler. If Hadjar started apologizing, he would take on the burden of paying back this debt. If he started bragging somehow, he would insult the Prince and would then be calmly challenged to a duel. Considering that his deal with Helmer included Hadjar in the Prince’s sphere of ‘responsibility,’ it wouldn’t end well. So, Hadjar chose the only correct tactic — he remained silent.

The Prince smiled with his eyes alone. His smile was predatory and carnivorous, but at the same time, it was also calm. He had seen dozens, if not hundreds of thousands, like Hadjar before, and they had all sunk into the abyss eventually, while he was still sitting on his throne.

“Your father taught you well, little Prince,” the Prince said. “That night, my warriors couldn’t take your parents’ lives directly, but... it turns out that everything went as it should. Your aunt died. Your uncle went mad. Your throne was usurped.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened from the wild rage that overwhelmed his whole being and his incredible surprise.

Stop! A desperate cry sounded in his head. He’s luring you into a trap. He’s playing with you like a cat plays with a mouse. The Prince has nothing to do with your family, Hadjar. It was just an accident, nothing more. Don’t believe him.

Hadjar’s heart was beating fast. He remembered how Nero’s mother had died. He remembered that because of the gods’ mistake, the mistake of the ones who wrote in the accursed Book of Thousands, the army of Lidus had found itself surrounded by hordes of demons instead of nomads.

The Prince, watching Hadjar’s mental struggle, simply kept smiling.

“You’re thinking about whether I’m deceiving you or not, aren’t you? Well, my words are partly false, and they are partly true. Like everything else in this world. Everything has both a beginning and an end inside its short path.”

It took a huge effort of will for Hadjar to release the hilt of his Blue Blade. He knew that if he drew his sword, he would die here and now, but not drawing it was a much worse fate. Not trying to repay someone for the deaths of almost his whole family… There was no honor in it. It was as his father had once said: A man can be killed, but he can never afford to be humiliated by dishonor.

“I didn’t know that you, honorable Prince, are a philosopher.”

“We’re all philosophers, you sack of flesh and blood,” the demon blew on his claws and extended them toward his strange animal. It began to chew on them enthusiastically. “When you step not on the earth, but on the fragments of stars broken by old age, you look into eternity, realizing that it’s your only companion on this path.”

“And a poet,” Hadjar added.

“I’ve heard rumors that,” the Prince cast a quick glance at Helmer. A trickle of blood was running down his beard. “You are not a stranger to the art of music and poetry yourself, you creature of flesh and blood.”

‘Flesh and blood’ was a general term for everyone who hadn’t been created from primordial energies. Fae, Spirits, demons, and gods had, in fact, been made of the same materials initially, but over thousands of epochs, in the forge of their own aspirations, they had changed so dramatically.

Hadjar automatically touched his spatial ring, inside which his old Ron’Jah rested. How long had it been since his fingers had touched its strings?

“You’re right, honorable Prince,” he nodded. “Yet, for me, the stars are still the guides of eternity, and not its servants, so…” He trailed off.

The Prince laughed again. The volcano spat fire and lightning once more.

“Did you hear that, slave?” The Prince turned to the kneeling Helmer. “A flesh and blood puppet is hurrying me along. Hurrying. Me. Along. Hah! I can’t remember having such a fun day in the last hundred epochs! Not since a desperate poet came down here in search of his wife, who was taken by one of my Dukes. Do you remember his name, slave?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Helmer bowed even deeper, “This despicable slave has no honor-”

The Prince waved him off and Helmer swallowed the rest of his sentence. This time, he restrained the cough, but it was clear that doing so had cost him dearly.

“Well, you amusing pile of flesh and blood, in tribute to your bravery or overwhelming stupidity, I’ll get down to business, but first!” The Prince raised his index finger, which was crowned with a claw, and inside which the Sword’s mysteries were much greater than the ones Hadjar had managed to comprehend over the course of his entire life. “Since we’re talking about philosophers and poets, I’ll tell you a story.”

Chapter 1392

“I t happened a long time ago, Wind of the Northern Valleys.” The Prince stroked his pet, which licked the liquid fire of chaos from the demon’s fingers. “In those days, Miristal was young and beautiful. She danced at the best balls of the Seventh Heaven, and every man invited her to dance, but she was faithful to the proud Irmaril.”

Hadjar at first thought that the Demon Prince was speaking poetically again, but the demon seemed to be speaking about the heavenly bodies as if they’d really had consciousnesses and minds, and he himself had seen them in the flesh. Well, considering the fact that Hadjar was possibly talking to a sentient volcano that embodied all the chaos of the Nameless World right now, that might actually be the case.

“In the days when the gods walked the Mortal Lands, we didn’t know discord. All four countries were united by a single purpose — the fight against the creatures living beyond the Verge.”

Hadjar knew little about the Verge. Many decades ago, back when he had found himself in the temple of the God of War, he’d met a novice of said god. The Immortal monk had shown him a map of the Nameless World and its four countries, spheres, or worlds, whatever they were. But all these areas were separated by a bold line — the Verge — beyond which was a space so alien to reality that it had no real name.

Hadjar had always felt like the lack of a proper name for what lay beyond the Verge had something to do with Names, but so far, he hadn’t been able to formulate his feelings into thoughts and words.

Before the first Darkhan had sealed the Verge, cutting off the creations of the Void from reality, the whole world had been united by one goal — survival. The creatures of the Void had been so strong that a lot of gods, demons, and Spirits had died at their hands, and humans had barely survived under the onslaught of monsters that had only kept growing in power.

“After the triumphant victory of the Black General, while we celebrated the beginning of peaceful times, something happened that none of us could have foreseen. Our hero, immortalized in song by the Heavens and the Earth, turned away from his rulers. The Black General betrayed Derger, the Jasper Emperor, and descended to earth. He said that only one battle had been won, not the whole war, and that while we’d protected the Heavens from the Void, intelligent beings, those of flesh and blood who walk the Earth, still suffered from their ignorance. Naturally, after he brought people the light of knowledge about the path of cultivation, he was declared a traitor and became fair game to all.”

Hadjar had heard this part of the story. Moreover, he’d seen and even fought against one of those agents who had been sent by the Seventh Heaven to destroy the one who’d stolen their fire of knowledge and brought it to humans.

“I don’t know, flesh and blood one, if there are any stories about the Black General left in your country, but he was a great warrior,” the Prince ran his claws over a long scar that covered his torso. “Maybe he was even the greatest. Apart from me, only a few of those who fought against him were able to live to tell the tale.”

Hadjar heard a chuckle inside his soul. A fragment of the Black General’s soul was right in front of the Prince at the moment. Most surprising of all was the fact that Helmer knew about it, but the demon lord didn’t.

“He was naive in some ways because of his youth,” the Prince continued. “He was proud, like a swaggering peacock, but also full of honor and dignity. I believe that the Seventh Heaven and the geezer in the jasper nightgown forever covered themselves with the shame of dishonor when they accused him of betrayal. The Black General, my old enemy, can be considered anything but a traitor!” The Prince slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne and the volcano responded with a roar of flame and lightning.

“If a warrior follows their honor, nothing else matters. It doesn’t even matter where that path leads them... But we’ve strayed from the topic at hand. After the ages of wandering and battles, when the last flying city of human mages fell, the Black General showed up on my doorstep. He was wounded. His people and followers had been exiled to the North Wind Country. He himself was tired of the eternal battle and sought only sweet oblivion and eternity.”

The last flying city of the mages… Hadjar had visited its Library and seen the Spirit of the girl who’d once sheltered the fallen half-god, not knowing how it would turn out for her people. He hadn’t known the whole story back then, and he probably didn’t know it now, but at least he had a few more fragments of the past at his disposal this time.

“To honor the memory of how we fought side by side in the last battle at the Verge Gates, I gave him shelter here. I gave him the opportunity to lick his wounds. And how did he repay me? He whispered to my servants, MY SLAVES!” The Prince’s eyes flashed, and pillars of fire surged from the mouth of the volcano. “He whispered to them something about freedom, about being able to choose their own destiny... about how laws, rulers, idols, and ways were unnecessary. This whisper rose up in a wave that swept through all countries, Wind of the Northern Valleys.”

Hadjar listened to his soul. The Black General remained silent. He rarely spoke, anyway. He just sat on the hill in the center of the world of Hadjar’s soul and contemplated reality through his descendant’s eyes.

“That’s why he is a traitor!” The Prince raised his hand. “Not for revealing our secrets to mortals. Not for giving up his rank of General and going to wander the world. Not even for refusing to draw his sword do I call him a traitor, you sack of flesh and blood. That’s why, because you still owe me for not tearing your soul apart after what you did to my city in the Mortal Lands, I want you to complete my commission. Of course, you can always call upon my debt to you in response, and then we’ll have settled the score.”

Don’t even think about it! Helmer’s whisper sounded in his head again. If the Prince pays back his debt, he will immediately devour you.

Hadjar knew that already.

“I’m ready, honorable Prince, to pay back my debt to you,” he replied calmly.

The Prince shrugged his shoulders. The situation was advantageous for him regardless. If Hadjar took advantage of his old debt, the Prince would immediately kill him, getting rid of an annoying fly. If he didn’t and went to complete the mission instead, everything would be fine as well. If he succeeded, the ruler would make a catspaw of him. And if Hadjar died, it would be even better…

“Go to the land that humans call the Strange Lands.” The Prince raised his palm in a permissive gesture and Helmer, after whispering something, got to his feet. Behind them, the nightmare lumps began to form the archway of his portal. “Destroy the Raven Castle, the citadel of the Raven Sect, the hosts of so many fragments of the Traitor’s soul. Kill their leader and everyone you encounter along the way.”

Before Hadjar could answer, Helmer pulled him into the open portal.

***

“What the-”

“Before I leave, Hadji, I want to say that I definitely took good care of you. You definitely won’t be able to complete this task without help, so I brought one of the groups of idiots who tried to break through to the Ruby Palace here.”

“What do you-”

Helmer disappeared.

Hadjar found himself sitting at a table in a noisy tavern. He looked around and saw familiar faces. Abraham Shensie waved his hat in greeting. Itia was arm wrestling with some thin guy. Guy was sharpening his axe. Gustaf was throwing knives at a target with a group of mercenaries on a bet. A red-bearded dwarf handed Hadjar a wooden mug full of fragrant booze.

“Glad to see you again, Hadjar-dan. You look... healthier. Have you cured your soul illness?”

“I’m glad to see you too, Alba-udun. Is there any more booze? I feel like I’m going to need it.”

“I’ve got something better, my friend,” the dwarf handed him a bag of spicy tobacco. Well, that was also a good idea.

Chapter 1393

H adjar filled his pipe and took a drag. Closing his eyes to savor the moment, he exhaled a few smoke rings and put the pipe aside. The physiology of a Nameless dealt with the harm of tobacco faster than it managed to get into his lungs and blood. It was a kind of breathing training. Still, strong breathing was even more important for a swordsman than having strong hands.

“And that’s what happened,” Abraham drank another bowl and showed it to a passing waitress.

“Do you have any money?” The girl asked doubtfully.

Hadjar almost choked on the pipe smoke. He hadn’t paid much attention to the auras of the tavern’s visitors, but now noticed that all the servers were at the Heaven Soldier level. Most of the visitors were mid-stage Spirit Knights or higher, sometimes even Lords. However, none of them looked like noblemen or rich people in general. They were simple wards of Lady Luck, mercenaries ready to take on any assignment if it promised them some money.

“Yeah,” Itia drawled, “It’s obviously your first time in the Strange Lands.”

Hadjar didn’t deny it. He’d once visited the borders of the area that terrified the absolute majority of cultivators and earned a dozen new scars for his trouble.

Here, in an area larger than the combined territory of the Red Phoenix and White Dragon regions, there was an incredible number of powerful cultivators, ancient sects, city-states ruled by Heaven Emperors, monsters, treasures, and anomalies.

The local architecture was surprisingly reminiscent of the Northern Kingdoms: a lot of wood, poorly treated stone, and steel. All of it, of course, was made from special, magical materials. For example, one could’ve traded the table they were sitting at for a good house close to the city center, or a high-level warhorse in Dahanatan. It made sense. After all, other materials simply wouldn’t have been able to withstand the combined pressure of the locals’ auras.

“You wound me, beautiful!” Abraham grinned and placed a small vial filled with a few drops of the essence of the World River on the table.

Well, it was the only currency that made sense at the top of the path of cultivation. Sages said that those who had passed through the Strange Lands acquired either immortality through song, or true Immortality.

“You’re too old to be flirting with me,” the girl chuckled. “For two drops, you can feast here for the whole evening.”

Before Abraham, who looked like his heart had just been broken, could answer, the tavern girl had already gone to the lower floor. The squad was seated on the second floor. There were also rooms for important guests on the third, final floor.

“We need to get an understanding of the local prices first,” Itia said. “Otherwise, we’ll waste the funds that the sage gave us.”

“Don’t look at me,” Abraham raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve just been called old! How did she even know…”

The rogue really did look like a man in his prime, despite the fact that he was several centuries old. Hadjar had noticed during his travels through the Nameless World that the stronger a cultivator, the longer they could live thanks to a strengthened body and spirit. But the weaker a cultivator, the more they actually got to live.

This was due to the fact that the higher one climbed on the path of cultivation, the higher the risk of going to one’s forefathers became. That meant that the really old ones could only be found in the Land of the Immortals.

“What sage?” Hadjar took a sip. Surprisingly, the drink, which had been distilled from birch buds, managed to intoxicate him. He didn’t remember ever reaching this state since he’d become a true cultivator. The Strange Lands were a wonderful place… He then settled in to listen to his companions’ story.

“And that’s how Alba-udun,” Abraham nodded at the dwarf, who was sleeping with his head buried in a bowl of stew, “killed Dagla-uden. After that, we-”

“I was against it,” Gustaf interrupted him. “You, Hadjar, are a nice guy, but I would’ve preferred to stay away from you.”

“I was in favor,” Guy suddenly added, adjusting his mask. “Death is near.”

Nobody knew what that last remark was about, and they didn’t ask.

“I abstained,” Itia said softly.

“So,” Abraham summed up, “I made the harsh, strong-willed decision to follow you to the Ruby Palace. I haven’t known you for a long time, but it’s probably your destiny to always start some kind of civil war or revolution. Since my illustrious father, may the demons tear his soul apart, didn’t manage to deal with dragons’ treasury, I thought why not save a good friend from the executioner and-”

“Also stick your nose into the greatest cache of treasure in the entire White Dragon region in the process,” Hadjar finished for the old rogue.

Abraham took a bowl of booze from the tray of a passing waitress and winked at him. The aroma of hops entered Hadjar’s nose. He hadn’t smelled anything like it for a long time now, not since the days when he and Nero had served in the army of Lidus.

“Well, as we were approaching the mountains” Abraham continued, “Guards swooped down on us. There were twenty Lords there. It wasn’t very pleasant, you know. The sky was burning, and my gut told me that there was a whole army somewhere nearby.”

“Death is near,” Guy remarked, no longer sharpening, but now gently stroking his axe.

“Exactly. We were ready to fight to the death, especially Alba-udun.” The dwarf snorted, as if in agreement, causing bubbles of fat and carrots to appear atop the stew. “Suddenly, a sage in a gray raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat appeared. He put all the guards to sleep with a wave of his hand, and then offered us a very interesting deal.”

“Or rather, he gave us an ultimatum,” Itia frowned.

“Honey, I’m just trying to look at life with a positive attitude,” The old rogue spread his arms out helplessly.

“It’s strange that you haven’t led us to our deaths yet by doing so.”

“That’s because I am a very skilled and experienced leader of our ga... group of adventurers. I know how to find even the most hidden of paths and-”

“-how to worm your way in anywhere with your bullshit,” Itia got up and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Get a new stew for Alba-udun as well. This one is cold!”

“Go to the demons, Shensie.” She flashed an indecent gesture and went down the stairs.

“Well,” Abraham continued as if nothing had happened. “The gist of the deal is that we’ll help you deal with the Raven Sect, and the sage, in return, will pay us a fortune of two hundred drops.”

Hadjar choked a bit. Two hundred drops? Although, considering how many epochs Helmer had wandered around the Nameless World, he most likely had hundreds, if not thousands of times that much wealth. Hadjar took another drag. What good and strong tobacco…

“You do know what the Raven Sect is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, stranger.”

“Are two hundred drops really-”

“Each! Two hundred drops each, Stranger!”

“Are they worth risking your lives for?”

Abraham smiled a little sadly, “Maybe they aren’t. But my years are coming to an end. Without a lot of money, I’m unlikely to reach the next level, which means I’ll soon stumble upon the steel of someone who is younger, angrier, and faster than me. And so, I want to die with glory and honor, and not like an old dog.”

Hadjar glanced at Guy.

“Death is near,” the axeman answered his mute question. “It won’t get any closer.”

“Where the squad goes, I go,” Gustaf shrugged his shoulders. “I have no other family, and nowhere else to go.”

Itia placed a wooden tray laden with pleasantly smelling food on the table.

“Abraham won’t last a week without us,” she said.

Alba-udun once again made his stew bubble up. Hadjar exhaled a cloud of smoke. He didn’t know if he was lucky or not.

Chapter 1394

A  tall young man was sitting in the middle of a field. He had gray, almost white hair and a strong, muscular, but not overly large body. His almost fragile-looking body actually had steely muscles and bulging veins. He was like a fast, sharp, and strong sword that was ready to attack an enemy tirelessly. The gray-haired young man had tired blue eyes that still burned with immense willpower.

The young man took out his blade from its scabbard. A wind started blowing. It played with the man’s long, gray hair and azure-colored robes. The clouds embroidered on them seemed to float. Sometimes, bright stars appeared, peeking out from their white, fluffy embrace.

The sword was not inferior to the robes in any way. Its ink-black hilt contrasted sharply with its blue blade. On it, the white Quetzal bird soared amongst the clouds, reaching for the small stars shining at the very edge.

The young man stood up and waved his hand. Around him, over a hundred sticks were suddenly buried in the ground, appearing seemingly out of thin air. They formed eight loose rings around the center, where the young man stood. The farthest of them was 250 feet away, and the closest one was 30 feet away.

The young man closed his eyes and raised his sword in front of him. Wearing his blue robes and wielding his azure-colored sword, he looked like a hero who had materialized from a minstrel’s song about the great feats of the past.

Accompanied by a gust of wind, the young man took a barely-noticeable step forward. His sword arced out, swung around, and appeared behind the swordsman. He accelerated, then slowed down, swinging his sword all the while as he fought against an invisible opponent. A lunge was followed by a sharp thrust, a swing was followed by a parry. He moved so quietly that his clothes didn’t even rustle. It was as if it wasn’t he who was following the wind in its art, but the wind was following him. It was as if a light breeze was born not somewhere amongst the endless expanses, but in the very center of the circle of sticks, in the young man’s own heart.

All of this didn’t last long, only about a quarter of an hour.

Hadjar opened his eyes and, wiping his sweaty forehead, looked around. The first four circles had turned into a pile of woodchips. From the fifth to the seventh circle, there were only scraps stuck in the ground. Only the eighth row had remained more or less intact, although there were still obvious marks left behind by sword cuts on them.

“We still have a long way to go, old friend,” Hadjar sighed while looking at his blade. “It’s just a pity that we don’t have much time left.”

Hadjar was training with his new power. The Nameless level had given him access to his own element. In the case of an ordinary cultivator, this was expressed in how their Techniques would change. For example, Alba-udun’s Techniques resembled a fiery volcano.

Hadjar’s situation was somewhat different. He had been the bearer of the True Name of the Wind since his childhood, which meant that the element had always lived inside of him. Maybe it had helped him, someone who was devoid of any significant talent for the path of cultivation, move up the levels at such an incredible speed.

And now he had claimed his own Name from the elements, receiving it from Boreas himself. Hadjar wasn’t better at seeing, hearing, or feeling the Wind, however. It was as if he had simply become aware of some new aspects to it...

In these training sessions, Hadjar, who was weaving a new art into his Style and Techniques, was trying to keep the ever-playful Wind inside his sword and body, but it always strived to go beyond that. Because of this, the percentage of his potential that Hadjar could use was incredibly low, and his Techniques were much weaker than they should’ve been. Of course, he had still become incomparably stronger than before, but, nevertheless, he couldn’t keep his hold on the Wind within 250 feet of himself or wield it with true mastery.

As for the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique, which Hadjar could use as if he were its actual creator, everything was much more complicated. Hadjar doubted that this gift, or rather, this bribe given to him by the Black General, belonged to the Techniques of the Mortal Lands, or even the Land of the Immortals. It was so complicated, so profound in its mysteries of the Sword, Wind, Warrior Spirit, and far more, that it was unlikely that someone who hadn’t devoted thousands of epochs to the Sword and hadn’t been in countless battles could’ve ever created something like this.

After he’d acquired the knowledge of the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique, he had stopped calling his ‘Song of the Torn Sky’ Technique a Divine level one. It was unlikely that anything that was weaker than the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique could be called a Divine level Technique. He knew that in both the Mortal and Immortal Lands, there was also another, higher level, the level of Star Techniques. However, he strongly doubted that even this level could compare to what was now in his mind, body, and soul.

His current situation was similar to his distant past, back on Earth, when he’d used a laptop. He’d had no idea how it worked, about how the electricity needed functioned exactly, or the Internet’s many intricacies, but, nevertheless, he’d still used it. According to the neural network’s estimates, Hadjar was using the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique at about 0.001% of its full potential. Further calculations, as his neural network had already indicated, would be pointless.

During the month that Hadjar, Abraham’s squad, and the redheaded dwarf had been travelling through the Strange Lands, he hadn’t been able to make any progress in using the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique.

“You’re training, aren’t you?”

Abraham, wearing his straw hat, was standing near a tree and chewing on a long blade of grass.

“That’s some commendable zeal, stranger.” Despite the fact that everyone already knew that Hadjar had never been to the Strange Lands before, he was still called that. “When I still had a chance to move further up this cursed path of power, I also trained.” The older man patted his harness that held all his daggers and short sabers. “Then I discovered that wine, smoking, and young girls are much more pleasant than constant sweat and blood.”

“What a lovely idea, Shensie,” Hadjar waved his hand and the splinters and marred sticks disappeared. “Alas, I can’t afford to indulge like that.”

“What’s stopping you? Your wife, your child? It’s all nonsense, my friend. They’re chains with which we bind ourselves, no more than that. A wife is a companion of the soul, not your body. And a child... One day, they’ll spread their wings and fly out of the nest. They might not even come back.”

“Like you?”

Abraham smiled a little, “Stranger, I have nowhere to come back to.” He said this with warm sadness in his voice. The kind that didn’t torment one’s heart like a sharpened knife, but rather, soothed it like a soft blanket. “Well, it’s all meaningless in the end. Let’s go back to the camp. Itia and Gustaf have returned from the city. They seem to have found the ravens’ trail. I hope it doesn’t turn out like last time.”

Last time, instead of one of the outposts of the Raven Sect, they’d found themselves in the middle of a brothel, which, in turn, had been a cover for a local gang. The ensuing battle had been difficult and bloody. Hadjar didn’t really want to think about it.

Chapter 1395

T heir camp made Hadjar feel nostalgic for the times when he’d worn the General’s medallion. There were several tents set up in the middle of a small clearing. On the outside, they looked quite small, but they could’ve actually accommodated about forty or fifty soldiers. They’d cost them ten drops in a border city of the Strange Lands.

In the center, surrounded by the four tents, a bonfire was burning. The heat of it would’ve been able to melt the soul of a mortal or even leave burns on a weak initial-stage Spirit Knight. And although there were hares of such a high Stage of cultivation in the area that they could break the spine of a bull from the region of mortals with one blow of their paw, there was no real difference between camping in the Strange Lands and camping in Lidus. Both of them were soothing to Hadjar.

“Damn it, stranger,” Itia smiled. She often smiled at Hadjar. “I still can’t get used to your new appearance.”

Hadjar looked at his clothes/armor sewn for him by Queen Mab. With a slight effort of will, he forced them to turn into the simple clothes made by his wife: a linen shirt, some canvas pants, and a plain cape. They were nothing special, but they warmed both his heart and soul.

“That’s better,” Itia nodded and returned to her previous task.

Slowly, expertly, she ran a burning stick over some bare heels. She was torturing a beaten merchant. He was tied up and lying next to the fire. He was wearing a leather hunting suit, had a strong jaw, short hair, and had wielded a spear at the level of an Imperial artifact.

Well, the overall level of power in the Strange Lands was higher than in any other region of the mortal Nameless World, as all the strongest cultivators would flock here, looking for opponents of equal power and more serious dangers that could help them advance along the path of cultivation. As a result, it was difficult to say what the true root of the dangers posed by the Strange Lands was: the local atmosphere, or the cultivators who, eventually, over many epochs, had possibly created such a local atmosphere. But would they have congregated here in the first place if the area hadn’t been dangerous to begin with? It was truly a mystery.

Hadjar had a whole list of things he didn’t like. In first place, of course, were schemes, and a little lower than that were merchants, as schemes and trade usually went hand in hand. Hadjar had immediately identified the man’s unpleasant personality thanks to his greasy, moist, shifty eyes.

“By the demons of the underworld!” The cultivator, who was an initial-stage Lord, screamed. “What do you want from me?”

“How long do you think she’ll have to spend on breaking him?” Leaning on his bow, Gustaf watched what was happening with great interest.

“I don’t know, honorless thief,” Alba-udun, as always, was eating apples and constantly reminding Abraham’s squad that they were smugglers and thieves. Thus, by the Uduns’ standards, they were devoid of honor and masculinity. Itia’s very presence made his insults and logic a bit odd, but the dwarf didn’t care. “But I think long enough. Itia is in a good mood today.”

“She’s in a good mood? Take her away, please! Aaaahhhh! Get her away from me! Ah-ah-ah!”

“Death is near,” Guy confirmed philosophically. The dancing flames that were caressing the prisoner’s heels were somewhat comically reflected on the surface of his mask.

Hadjar massaged the bridge of his nose tiredly. Abraham, clearing his throat, approached Itia.

“Honey-”

“Abraham, do you want me to kick you in the balls?”

“Ahem,” Abraham cleared his throat again and straightened up a little to maintain his authority at least a bit, not in the eyes of the squad, but at least in the prisoner’s eyes. “Have you even asked him a question?”

“I haven’t. But I saw him talking to the mercenary Glets the Grumpy, who, in turn, had just come from Khlesten City, which is seventeen days away from here.” When Itia mentioned distances, she meant the speed at which the local horses of incredibly high Stages of cultivation could move. “And as we already know, there is a headquarters of the Raven Sect in Khlesten and-”

Before interrupting her, Abraham took a prudent step back, out of Itia’s direct reach.

“Itia, my dear, have you told all of this to our... guest?” Abraham smiled slightly at the prisoner, who shouted even louder at that. He seemed to be expressing his legitimate doubts about his status as a guest.

“Hmm,” Itia said, “Do you think I should have done that?”

“It seems to me that it was worth hinting at, at least.”

“But he must know whom he’s dealing with.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, my dear, that he certainly knows whom he is dealing with now.”

Itia sighed, shook her head sadly, cursed, got up, and headed toward Hadjar, passing the burning stick to Abraham along the way. When their ‘guest’ could no longer see her face, she laughed quietly into her palm and winked at Hadjar.

There was nothing more frightening about torture than the realization that you were being tortured just for fun or out of sheer madness. You could say anything, but the suffering would never stop. Such a realization, filled with the horror of endless pain and eventual death, was the most terrible thing a prisoner could feel. Abraham’s squad knew that all too well. Their little ‘performance’ was meant to speed up and simplify their work.

“I apologize for this mistake, honorable...” Abraham let a very eloquent pause linger.

The prisoner, who was breathing heavily, started crying even harder. After all, his skin had been charred black and some bones had even broken through the weakened flesh. This was the sort of pain that an average cultivator simply couldn’t withstand.

“Alf. I’m... a free merchant... named Alf.”

“So, honorable free merchant Alf,” Abraham squatted down and toyed with the flaming stick in his long, thin fingers. He did so dangerously close to the man’s charred heels, which prevented them from healing and caused even more pain, albeit to a lesser extent than before. “Can you tell us why you met with the mercenary Glets, whom the local government suspects is assisting the criminal Raven Sect?”

“I...” Alf had apparently wanted to try and invent some sort of excuse, but then he noticed Abraham’s calm gaze. The smuggler knew how to be convincing when the situation demanded it. “He needed medicine.”

“Very interesting. Go on, honorable Alf. What kind of medicine and why did the mercenary need it? Is he ill?”

“He isn’t. It isn’t for him.”

“Who needs it, then?”

“He didn’t say.”

The stick came dangerously close to the merchant’s heel.

“It’s true! He just asked me to get him some Darkness of the Last Nights.”

“What is the Darkness of the Last Nights?” Gustaf muttered.

“It’s very rare stuff,” Alba-udun spat. “It’s made from a rotten lotus mixed with the blood of a virgin that was collected at the death of said virgin during the last ten nights of the lunar month. Well, that and a few other, no less disgusting ingredients. It’s very rare and very dark stuff.”

Sometimes, the Udun was very useful.

“What is it used for?”

Albadurt glared at Abraham, “In rituals related to the dark energy of the World River.”

The dark energy of the World River… Hadjar hadn’t heard that term in a long time. It was a kind of legend. It was attributed to demons, but as Hadjar already knew from experience, these creatures used chaos, not darkness. The only one who definitely utilized the dark energy was the Black General.

“Well, that’s a good lead,” Abraham nodded. “Tell me, honorable Alf, what plans did you make?”

“I agreed to meet him in the square in three days. I’m supposed to give him-”

He didn’t have time to finish speaking. Abraham’s dagger suddenly went through the merchant’s neck, and he was silenced for all eternity. No one protested. The Nameless World was simply too ruthless, and leaving someone alive who knew your plans was akin to courting death.

“How’s your disguise Technique, Guy?” Abraham asked, wiping his dagger clean on the dead man’s clothes.

Guy was already reaching for his mask when the various shouts sounded:

“No!”

“Not right now!”

“Damn it! I’m going to throw up!”

The axeman just shrugged his shoulders and remarked in his familiar manner:

“Death is near.”

Hadjar looked at the corpse of the merchant. He wasn’t wrong.

Chapter 1396

T he main square of one of the city-states of the Strange Lands looked somewhat unusual to Hadjar, who was accustomed to the opulence of the capitals of the Seven Empires, the sheer luxury of the Dragon Lands, or the vast grandeur of the dwarves’ country. It was a small, very well-maintained square, which could fit about a thousand people in it. There were no more than fifty thousand people living in the whole city, which had neat houses, narrow streets, a miniature skyport, from which boats and, rarely, some small ships would depart.

While the local cities, villages, and fortresses were tiny by the standards of the Nameless World, he knew that he shouldn’t underestimate them just because of that. The Strange Lands were a rebellious and dangerous area. The strongest representatives of all the races from all forty-nine regions of the Nameless World lived here.

It was the last stronghold of the Mortal Lands, as the locals called it. There was a belief that anyone who traversed all four ends of these lands would grasp Immortality and go to the Land of the Immortals, throwing off the shackles of the Heavens and the Earth in the process. Hadjar knew that the exact opposite was actually true. Those who became Immortal would, in fact, be putting on the shackles of the laws of the universe and could no longer interfere in the lives of ordinary humans and nonhumans. This was the only thing that prevented the gods, demons, and Immortals from starting some incredible mess in places where their breath alone could destroy entire civilizations.

One should also avoid being fooled by the outward simplicity of these cities as well. The materials with which the streets had been paved, the houses had been built with, and even utensils had been carved from, were all incredibly durable, magical rock. For example, the sticks that Hadjar had used during his training were carved from Omalgezh wood. A shield made of Omalgezh wood would be able to withstand several shots from one of the cannons of ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies.’

The coaches used by local merchants looked no worse on the inside than the Palaces of Dahanatan, and had the same amount of interior space. Magic…

The boats flying over the Strange Lands were faster than the eyes of not only a mortal, but even a weak true cultivator could follow. It really was a region that stood almost at the very peak of the path of cultivation.

Right now, a part of their group was sitting in one of the local taverns, the windows of which overlooked the central city square, behind a city wall that was only fifteen feet thick, but so sturdy that the entire White Fang army couldn’t have broken through it even after ten years of relentless assault.

“Are you thinking about something again, kid?”

Abraham sat cross-legged, lazily sipping on some booze and looking at the bored waitresses. Wearing aprons with colorful ribbons and lace dresses, they mostly talked to the bartender and would sometimes disappear into the kitchen. They had almost nothing to do at the moment. Currently, besides their group, there were about ten more visitors in total in the entire tavern.

“What a strange place,” Hadjar replied, going back to watching the square. There were only a few more people there than inside the tavern itself: some street vendors, the occasional young people idly strolling by, musicians, and the rare citizens going about their business. “Very strange.”

“It is,” Abraham agreed. “At first glance, you can almost forget that all of them would be considered Great Heroes in our homelands.”

“Or even Emperors,” Itia added philosophically.

Four of them were currently sitting at the table. Guy had gone on his mission, and Gustaf was covering him. Abraham was using an artifact that could get through Techniques and spells that cut off people within them from the rest of the world. It clearly belonged in the toolbox of thieves and smugglers. And, of course, Albadurt had immediately pointed this fact out while chewing on another apple.

“You’re right,” Hadjar breathed out.

For example, the musicians, who were merrily strumming on their Ron’Jahs and rhythmically beating their drums, ranged from the peak-stage Spirit Knight level to the advanced-stage Lord level. Moreover, each of them possessed a body no weaker than a Heaven level artifact, which was the highest level of body cultivation in the Empires. Hadjar himself, despite all the insane things that flowed through his veins, only possessed a body at the same level.

“But I like it here,” Abraham continued, “It isn’t crowded and-”

“It’s boring.” Itia helped him find the right words. “I expected more excitement from the Strange Lands.”

She was right about that. In the less than two months that they’d been here, except for that one clash with some bandits and coming across a couple of wandering monsters in the forest, they hadn’t encountered any true danger. It almost seemed like the surrounding world had completely fallen asleep.

Such a sharp contrast to the eternally dangerous, unceasingly chaotic outside world was a little shocking and even unsettling. The Strange Lands didn’t look at all like the ordinary people imagined them to be. No children were burned alive here, nor were any legendary monsters stalking the roads, snacking on entire villages and cities along the way.

Suddenly, Abraham, interrupting his musings, leaned forward a little and even set his booze aside, which was absolutely unusual for him.

“It seems like something interesting is about to happen.”

Alba-udun stopped munching on his apple. Everyone turned to the window. Near the fountain that had a monument to a man with a potter’s wheel, their friend Guy was standing. Even Hadjar, who was quite good at spotting oddities and things that stood out, couldn’t identify him. From his appearance, all the way to his habits and aura, Guy was an exact copy of the free merchant Alf, whose ashes were currently floating somewhere in the whirlwinds of the eastern winds.

A middle-aged man approached him. On his back were eight simple shortswords that rested in a strange, wheel-like scabbard. The blades’ handles were wrapped in bloody bandages.

The mercenary, named Glets the Grumpy, who’d just come from the city of Khlesten, was short, thin, covered in scars, and wearing light leather armor. Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes — it was actually a high-quality Imperial level artifact. It clearly had several magical properties.

“You’re late, Glets,” Alf’s voice sounded from a small clay jug standing in the center of their table, which would probably not arouse suspicion.

“Not everyone has the carefree life you do, Alf. Have you brought what I need?”

“I have.”

Hadjar once again praised Gustaf in his heart, as he was luring Glets into a trap, but the mercenary didn’t even sense it at all.

“Where is it?” Glets asked.

“My comrades have it,” Guy-Alf jerked his head in the direction of the tavern. “I’m not enough of a fool to believe that you’ll let me live after I give it to you.”

A blade flashed between them.

“And I’m sure they’re listening to us right now, aren’t they?” Glets whispered hotly. “Well, let’s meet at the edge of the city, at the stone of the Suffering God, in three hours. You better not be late. My commander’s patience isn’t unlimited.”

Guy and Glets were suddenly enveloped in a dark veil of energy. It elicited some surprised exclamations from the surrounding people, but when it disappeared along with the two cultivators, everyone went back to minding their own business.

“Well,” Abraham put the jug back into his spatial artifact with a wave of his hand. “It would seem that things have gone a bit awry…”

Chapter 1397

“T hey’ve gone a bit awry?” Itia grumbled. “Is that what you’d call it, Abraham?”

They quickly left the city and met back up with Gustaf in their camp to figure out what to do next.

“How did this happen?” Itia sat down heavily on one of the stumps that served as chairs for them.

“I underestimated the sectarians a little,” Abraham tried to stay composed while diligently throwing earth over the fire. “Glets probably didn’t realize that Guy wasn’t Alf, but he still somehow spotted my artifact.”

“He’s a thief, you old fox,” Alba-udun suddenly spoke up after staying silent until now. “Same as you. The Stone Ancestors say that a thief always understands a thief better than anyone else ever could.”

“Thanks for the dwarven philosophy, Alba-udun.” Gustaf jumped down from a tree. Hadjar had only been able to sense the young man’s approach from a few hundred feet away, which once again proved he was quite skilled. “I chose not to take the shot. Maybe I could’ve helped Guy, but then we would’ve lost our only link to-”

“No one is blaming you,” Itia interrupted him. “You did everything right.”

The dwarf nodded affirmatively and patted Gustaf on the back. “Do you want an apple?” He even tried to hand him a treat.

“Oh, leave me alone!”

“The Stone Ancestors say that…”

Well, Albadurt still didn’t know when to hold his tongue, regardless of what his honorable Stone Ancestors told him he should do.

“All that trouble because of this little bottle.”

A bottle materialized in Abraham’s palm. There was a substance inside it that was similar to a living resin. It was something black, viscous, and it moved inside the magic crystal bottle as if it had a will of its own.

“We need to think about what we should do next.” Itia unwound her whip and checked how sharp the poisoned edges of it were.

It was a very dangerous medium-range weapon. Hadjar would consider his options several times before rushing headlong into battle against Itia. Of course, he wouldn’t die, but victory would probably end up costing him too much.

“Well,” Abraham took off his straw hat and ran his hand through his gray-streaked hair, “We don’t know how many of them there are. We don’t know what they’re capable of. What we know for sure is that there will be a trap. And…” Abraham fell silent.

What he had listed was already enough to make the idea of rescuing Guy seem like pure madness to everyone. There was no need to make the situation worse.

“He’s our friend, Abraham,” Gustaf whispered. “He lost his face when-”

“I know!” The old rogue lost his composure for a moment. “I know, Gustaf. I know that all too well.”

Once upon a time, Abraham had gotten into big trouble in the Port of the Dead. He would’ve lost his life if not for the axeman who’d arrived just in time. As a result, Abraham had survived, but Guy had lost half his face in the process.

“Fucking Strange Lands!” Itia swore tiredly.

In just a few hours, the seemingly peaceful place had landed them in a heap of deadly problems.

Someone bit into a ripe apple with a loud noise.

“Are you thinking about the same thing I’m thinking about, Hadjar-dan?” The redheaded dwarf touched the hilts of his battle axes with his palm. His tattoos flashed with green light all across his body.

“Apparently, I am,” Hadjar nodded, then walked over to Abraham. “I have an idea, Shensie.”

“An idea, kid?” Abraham arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Do you remember that trick we failed to pull off in the Glass-”

“Emerald!” The dwarf corrected him, a little displeased.

“In the Emerald Forest of the dwarves?”

“Hmm,” The old rogue drawled. “I can’t say that I really like the idea, but... it seems like we have no other way out.”

***

“Do you know, deceiver, why this stone is called the Stone of the Suffering God?”

Guy was lying on the ground, bound by enchanted ropes. Next to him, a few feet away, was his axe, which had been wrapped in rags. His face was still covered by his mask. Death was near. He’d always known that. He’d presumed that it would come in the form of a mighty beast, an enemy’s steel, or perhaps some kind of natural anomaly. But he’d never suspected that his wanderings would find him in the Strange Lands, talking with a children’s horror story in the form of a cultist who worshipped the Enemy. The fallen Black General had once been an equal of the gods. He’d saved the whole world from destruction in a battle against horrifying monsters that had come from the nothingness. The traitor above all traitors.

Surprisingly, the children’s horror story given life looked quite normal: he wielded a long, narrow sword, vaguely similar to Hadjar’s, was quite tall with a muscular body, slightly cloudy, gray eyes, a narrow forehead, and thick, blond hair.

Outwardly, this sectarian was no different from the mercenaries who surrounded him. He was even wearing the same kind of armor. Maybe he sometimes needed to look not like the employer of the mercenaries, but like their leader.

Anyway, death was near, and Guy was ready for it. It was just a pity that he didn’t know what had happened to her. Had she found what she had gone to look for in those distant lands? His little girl… He would wait for his ‘funny little star’ and her children… his grandchildren or, perhaps, great-grandchildren, or... How many centuries had passed since that night? No matter, he would wait for them at the table of his ancestors, whom he would meet with honor and…

“Don’t be in such a hurry to die, deceiver, my plans for today don’t include drawing my sword,” the sectarian said. Guy could sense the power coming from him, which was much greater than even the one that Hadjar possessed now. “I came to these outskirts of our paradise region to acquire some medicine. No more than that.”

Well, if death wasn’t near yet, maybe he could learn something useful.

“Why do you need the Darkness of the Last Nights?”

“Why else would I need medicine, deceiver?” The sectarian shrugged his shoulders. “To cure a sick person, of course.”

Guy frowned. Something was wrong here. Who could be so important to the Raven Sect that such a powerful sectarian had been sent to fetch it?

“But I’m asking you about something else, deceiver. Why is this stone the Stone of the Suffering God?”

Guy looked at one of the wonders of nature — a glacial boulder the size of a two-story house. The only thing that gave it the right to have its own name were the streams of liquid amber running down its sides that came from somewhere inside it.

“I’d like to hear the tale.”

Damn it all!

“Run away, you stupid boy!”

A powerful kick to Guy’s jaw sent him into oblivion.

Fucking Hadjar... Guy had liked him better when he’d worn black armor. At least then he hadn’t forgotten about death being…

Chapter 1398

H adjar jerked toward Guy, but when he sensed that the axeman was still alive, he stopped his impulsive charge. The kick, even if it had been delivered with a steel boot and been quite strong overall, hadn’t sent Guy to his forefathers.

In front of him, near the stone that seemed to be leaking liquid amber, stood one of the hosts of a tiny bit of the Black General’s soul — a tall blond man with a sword that was very similar to his Blue Blade.

This made sense, as almost all of the fanatics, as far as Hadjar knew, were swordsmen. Many of them preferred such classic, straight swords that were designed more for elaborate swordplay than for instant killing. Many considered such swords to be nothing more than ceremonial ornaments, forgetting that the greatest swordsman of all time had used just such a blade.

“I had a feeling that you would come, my misguided brother.”

The sectarian waved his hand and the mercenaries, including Glets, moved away. All of them were wearing similar sets of leather armor. Illuminated by the light of the flickering flame of their evening bonfire, metal plates decorated with a skillful engraving of a soaring raven glittered on their chests. It was unlikely that an organization like the Raven Sect could properly function by only relying on their core forces, so that made sense. They had enough funds to maintain a small private army. Well, that made the Demon Prince’s task a little more complicated. Moreover, Hadjar still couldn’t comprehend the motives of the demon.

“The Parade is very close, my misguided brother,” the sectarian continued. “Soon, all the feathers scattered around the world will return to the nest.”

Did Hadjar have to deal with failed poets all the time now? Or were the cultivators who had reached certain heights simply unable to speak in anything but metaphors? Would he become one of them?

The blond man stepped over Guy and eloquently placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the power of a peak-stage Nameless. His body was as strong as an Imperial level artifact. Hadjar sensed mysteries emanating from his sword that were similar to those emanating from the Black General’s Technique. They were all fools who naively used borrowed power without understanding what this would ultimately lead to.

“You need this, don’t you?” Hadjar held out his hand, revealing the bottle that held the terrible mixture.

Outwardly, the blond remained calm, but his gaze hardened a little.

“I suppose it would be silly to ask where Alf is right now?”

Hadjar said nothing.

The sectarian smiled, “I’ve heard stories about you, Hadjar Darkhan, Mad General.” Demonstrating his power and confidence, the sectarian turned his back to Hadjar and stared at the stone. “Raven’s Wing managed to bring back news about you. He described you as a man who was guided by honor. Was there honor in killing a captive merchant?”

Hadjar could’ve said that this merchant had probably done a lot to get such an elixir, possibly even acquiring some of the ingredients with his own two hands, but he didn’t bother. He’d learned the lesson of Chin’Ameh and his accursed manipulation Technique: sometimes, a warrior walking the path of honor must be guided by necessity. All too often, honor and justice had different faces. The fate that had befallen Alf was not full of honor, but it had been fair and had come to him by traveling along the path laid down by the merchant himself.

“You’ve got a strong heart,” the blond man ran his hand over the stone. “You aren’t confused by such simple speeches anymore, are you?”

“You know my name, fanatic, but I don’t know yours.”

“Fanatic? Are we really fanatics, my misguided brother? We only saw what our glorious ancestor wanted to show us. We heard his voice. So, we aren’t fanatics. Fanatics are those who refuse to see what the first Darkhan revealed to us. What he paid the highest price to show us.”

Hadjar stayed silent again. He couldn’t see it, but he could somehow sense that the man was smiling.

“You don’t know the whole story, do you?” He asked. “You don’t know why, even after the Black General won freedom for him and his people in the first war, he went into battle once again? Why he decided to destroy what he’d once defended?”

“What do you mean?”

The blond man laughed loudly enough to miss the noise of Alba-udun carefully walking around the edge of the forest on the other side.

“The time will come and you’ll find out, my misguided brother... if you live long enough, of course,” the sectarian continued, wiping away his tears. “I, Kafem Boniysky, won’t offer you a chance to join our ranks. Too many loyal brothers and sisters have already fallen victim to your blade. Their souls cry out for revenge.”

Kafem turned around and, untying his scabbard from his belt, without drawing the blade within, pointed it at Hadjar. There was no greater insult for a warrior than to receive a challenge with an unsheathed sword. It was worse than a slap to the face or even having someone spit in it. But Hadjar wasn’t young or silly enough to throw himself like a frenzied dog at a rag being waved in front of his face.

“You kill each other endlessly and yet-”

“Don’t compare us to yourself, Mad General!” Kafem interrupted him sharply. “We don’t kill each other! We fight for the glory of our Ancestor! With each new round of battle, our souls grow stronger and we grow stronger! Only the truly strong will be able to walk the path of the Black General and finish his business!”

“Call it what you want, Kafem,” Hadjar shrugged. “To me, you’re just a handful of fanatics clutching at the shards of an illusion. Do you need this potion? Then catch!”

Before Hadjar threw the bottle into the air, as was their their plan, Kafem smiled broadly for the third time and shook his head.

He even clicked his tongue before speaking, “You’re still very young, Mad General, and the Strange Lands are older than any other region. If you keep being so blind and naive, they’ll devour you.”

He gave a command.

The ranks of the mercenaries shifted and the tied up squad members fell to the ground, bathed in the light of the fire. Gustaf had a black eye, Itia had a split lip, Abraham’s straw hat had turned into something obscene, and Alba-udun had a broken blade protruding from his left shoulder.

“This plan just keeps failing, doesn’t it?” Abraham spat out some blood. A blow to his stomach silenced the smuggler.

“So, Hadjar Darkhan, do you know why this stone is called the Stone of the Suffering God?” Kafem’s gray eyes flashed with something cruel and ruthless. “According to the legend, the wife of an old god was kidnapped and he shed bitter tears of despair and suffering until he turned into stone. And since then, these tears have embodied weakness and despair within them. They produce a wonderful, truly volatile poison, which you were all poisoned with a few hours ago.”

“The legend I heard is a little different,” Hadjar sighed. “It wasn’t a god who shed tears there, but the Potter, and it happened not far from the Fiery Mountains in the Dark Forest, but... I don’t care.”

Hadjar clenched and unclenched his fist. He felt neither tired nor weak. Perhaps the poison somehow affected one’s will, but the fact that he had been living with Chin’Ameh’s evil Technique in his heart for several decades had granted him something like immunity to such things.

“We seem to have a stalemate here, Kafem.” His will and mysteries swirled around Hadjar’s palm. “If you hurt my friends, I’ll destroy the bottle, and then send all of you to your forefathers.”

“Them,” the sectarian pointed at the mercenaries, “You probably will. But you don’t have enough power to handle me, boy.”

“We can check that right now.” Hadjar drew the Blue Blade and a bird’s cry echoed out. “If you defeat me, I’ll give you the bottle. If I defeat you, you’ll tell me where your castle is and how to get there.”

Kafem’s response was his will, mysteries, and energy flaring up around him. The sectarian rushed forward.

Well, Hadjar had wanted to find out how much his power had grown, and a live opponent was much better suited for that sort of test than any sticks could ever be.

Chapter 1399

K afem moved faster than any Nameless Hadjar had fought before. His movements were sharp and precise. He didn’t take a single unnecessary step. He didn’t use a single ounce of unnecessary energy. He was like a deadly weapon that used only what it needed to complete its task, no more and no less.

He slid over the grass at such an incredible speed that if not for his immense control over his power and energy, he would’ve created whirlwinds of destruction with his movement alone, toppling trees and splitting rocks. Kafem completely controlled himself, so much so that even the grass under his feet didn’t sway.

His sheathed sword strike contained a power that defied what a cultivator of the seven Empires could comprehend with their mind alone. His speed, skill, and accuracy exceeded all reason.

His seemingly simplistic downward swing contained deep mysteries, energy, and will, which were so closely intertwined that it was difficult to distinguish them from each other. Like all cultivators who’d started their journey to what lay beyond the edges of a True Kingdom, Kafem didn’t use his power wastefully on the surrounding area, but completely concentrated it inside his own sword. No Nameless from the regions that Hadjar had fought in before was capable of this. Not even every Heaven Emperor... It was precisely this difference in how well a cultivator used their own potential that was the main measure of their level of cultivation, and not all of those supposed levels of progress.

“Not bad, boy!” Kafem laughed as his scabbard struck the flat of the Blue Blade.

Waves of blue wind scattered around Hadjar. He still couldn’t control his power very well. He had too little experience with being a Nameless. Over the past few months, his neural network had managed to complete only ten thousand fights, which simply couldn’t compete with the experience of a cultivator who had lived for ten thousand years.

Even so, Hadjar still looked completely different from someone who’d gained their power so recently. Rather, he was more like a Nameless level cultivator who had been fighting for several centuries. That was his true trump card in this ruthless world, allowing him to immerse himself in endless battles inside his mind, which would be accompanied by relentless pain and death every second he used it.

Kafem was strong. And fast. But… he was still a human being and couldn’t be compared to the Dragon Emperor, may the Great Ancestor be kind to him.

After firmly blocking the man’s strike, Hadjar then instantly crouched down and kicked out at Kafem’s legs. This kick would’ve been able to cut off the peak of a mountain in the mortal region, but in a battle of the Nameless, it was only enough to force Kafem to move away from him.

Rolling to the side, Hadjar jumped up and spun his sword until he launched himself and the tip of his blade into a frenzied lunge. The space-splitting wind struck several mercenaries, leaving deep cuts on their Imperial level armor. Maybe simple Lords and Nameless would be surprised and amazed by such great power, but Kafem just kept laughing. He parried Hadjar’s attack with his scabbard as if it wasn’t a deadly strike, but an annoying fly.

“You’re fighting like a country bumpkin, boy!” Kafem stepped forward and stabbed his opponent in the chest with his scabbard.

At the point of impact, Hadjar’s clothes flashed blue. Their only magical property — the ability to absorb part of an attack’s force — had worked. If not for that, the blow would’ve broken his bones, hurt his internal organs and, what was much more terrifying, his energy body as well.

Hadjar flew back a couple of yards and landed lightly on his feet. Spitting out blood, he forced his own bones to heal with his willpower and energy. The horrific black bruise on his chest disappeared in an instant.

“You’re sloppy,” Kafem spat. “Look at what a mess you’ve turned the clearing into after just a few of your movements!”

There were many long cuts on the ground around the combatants. The cut grass exuded a slightly sweet smell. White stripes had even appeared on the weeping stone.

“Control your power, boy, otherwise this won’t be interesting at all!”

He approached, and once he got within four feet of him, Kafem swung his sword. Hadjar sensed a momentary flash of energy, will, mysteries, and the Magic of Words. A red lightning bolt passed through Kafem’s body, penetrated his scabbard, then broke off from it, turning into a sparking copy of his blade.

This Technique that carried a Divine level power almost looked like a Spirit level one. The lightning sword was only about six feet long, but despite its apparent lack of might, it was incredibly saturated with energy and will. The lightning sword was actually one of the most powerful Techniques that Hadjar had ever seen.

“You talk a lot,” Hadjar said.

He swung his sword. A dragon’s roar cut through the sky as the scarlet lightning sword soundlessly came toward Hadjar. A blue wind swirled around him with streams of the Sword’s mysteries and the True Word he possessed. The dragon generated by these whirlwinds opened its wing and covered Hadjar with it. The scarlet lightning blade struck it, but there were no explosions of energies that would grind the heavens like millstones. There was no echo of the will and mysteries rolling toward the horizon. Nothing like that happened. On the surface, it almost seemed like this wasn’t two cultivators fighting at all, but merely strong practitioners using Spirit level Techniques.

However, if a practitioner had been nearby, or even a proper Spirit Knight, they would’ve been unable to sense anything about this battle. That was how far both Hadjar and Kafem had traveled along the path of cultivation.

“That’s better.”

Hadjar turned around just as a heavy scabbard crashed into his side. He was bent at an unnatural angle and hurled over twenty feet away.

After rolling across the ground, Hadjar finally got to his feet with a great deal of effort. This time, his bones healed a little slower, as Kafem had managed to damage part of his energy channels. They were already fusing back together at an incredible speed, but it still wasn’t fast enough.

“I’ll admit, my misguided brother,” Kafem bent down and picked up the bottle of medicine, “You fight better than most of the Sect. Maybe... on par with the second circle. But you are still far from the first circle and even more so from the Master’s own confidants. I don’t know why you’re so desperately trying to find our headquarters, but with such measly power, there is nothing for you there but death.”

Hadjar got up and, holding his sword with both hands, assumed a low stance.

“Sorry,” Kafem spread his arms out. “I’ve already gotten what I came for. See you later.”

By the time the ‘Dragon Dawn’ surged through the air, completely cutting down several trees and even bisecting a couple of boulders, the sectarian and his mercenaries were no longer there. A black veil had enveloped them, and when it had disappeared, they’d disappeared along with it.

“Damn it,” Hadjar swore. He sat down on the grass next to Abraham, who was quietly chewing on a blade of grass. “Well, everything seems to have worked out.”

The old rogue stood up and threw off the ropes binding him with a slight twist of his wrists.

“I didn’t think they would fall for it so easily.”

While the other squad members were also casually throwing off their bonds, Abraham approached Guy and helped him to his feet.

“You-”

“The bottle, my friend.” Abraham patted Guy on the shoulder and smiled. “It’ll lead us to where that blond idiot is going.”

Hadjar hated schemes, but he was still good at coming up with them.

Chapter 1400

T hey decided to relocate. Before they did so, Abraham and Itia stocked up on liquid amber from the Stone of the Suffering God.

The poison had only really affected Alba-udun, who was still in a kind of trance and would carry out any command. The squad wasn’t against it — they’d needed a little break from the dwarf’s endless verbal barrage.

The rest of the squad had spent too long in the smuggling and thieving business and had made sure to become immune to various types of poison. After all, poison was the ruler of the seedy underbelly of society.

After moving a few hours away from their old location, they set up a new temporary camp. They didn’t even set up any tents, electing to just lay down some mats so that their meditation would be a little more comfortable and then lit a fire.

A map imbued with special magic displayed Kafem’s location that was heading north, toward a marsh that bore a very strange name — Eglhen. Or maybe the name only seemed strange to Hadjar, who was used to the fact that in most other regions, these sorts of areas had more descriptive names. For example, the Marsh of Light Fog. Or the Gray Marsh. Or something else that would make it clear to a traveler what they would be dealing with.

They’d already decided to wait long enough to give Kafem and his mercenaries a half-day head start. That way, there’d be plenty of distance between them, but not too much. So, there was nothing left to do but meditate until dawn.

Hadjar had volunteered to be on guard duty. After all, they might end up attacked by bandits or wandering monsters. He doubted that he would be able to meditate in peace for the next few hours anyway, even though there was something for him to meditate on — his short fight against Kafem in the physical world had been as effective for his training as several thousand neural network fights.

Now Hadjar was sitting and lightly touching the strings of his Ron’Jah. Music refused to come from his heart, and he didn’t know why.

“Death is near, General.”

Hadjar moved to the side, giving Guy enough room to sit next to him on the log. The dancing flames were reflected in his silver mask, which hid half of his face. Only once, very briefly, had Hadjar seen what exactly the axeman hid behind this mask. It had been enough for him to understand how strong the bonds of friendship between Guy and Abraham were.

“Zzzz,” Abraham seemed to almost confirm Hadjar’s thoughts with a snore. Apparently, not everyone was meditating…

“Your soul isn’t calm right now, is it, Hadjar?” The axeman asked unexpectedly.

Guy hardly spoke at all. When half of your mouth and teeth were missing, it became quite difficult to do so. In order to speak clearly, Guy had to use some special Technique. In any other situation, Hadjar would’ve ignored such a tactless question, but he appreciated the fact that Guy really did want to talk about this. It wasn’t as easy for him to approach others as it was for Albadurt.

“I don’t know, Guy,” he touched a string and it let out a melodious note. How long had it been since he’d last played music? “I don’t know.”

“Death is near.” The axeman sighed. “Today, it was closer to me than usual. I felt its breath on my face...or rather, on what was left of it.” Guy reached for his mask, but didn’t touch it. “Thank you for coming to save me, General.”

“We all came,” Hadjar corrected him.

“You all did,” Guy nodded.

They were silent for a while. Hadjar wondered how old this man was. Three thousand years? More? He himself, when you accounted for everything that had happened to him, was very close to completing his second century of life. How old was he now? One hundred and seventy years? One hundred and eighty? Three mortal lives could come and go easily in such a long time…

“How long do mortals live these days, Hadjar?” Guy asked suddenly, like he’d overheard his thoughts.

“Sixty years... Maybe seventy,” Hadjar shrugged.

He took a stick and used it to adjust a burning log. The coals hissed gratefully. The heat from the fire greedily licked his hands, forcing Hadjar to once again recall the times when he had been a General. Why was he thinking back on those years more and more with each passing day?

“So it’d be about twenty-eight times…”

“Pardon?”

Hadjar had almost never communicated directly with Guy, and he certainly hadn’t seen the man smiling before. To be honest, it was rather horrifying to behold.

“I’m a twenty-eight times great grandpa,” Guy replied. He stretched out his palms toward the fire and shuddered a little. “Warmth... I haven’t experienced it for a long time…”

“You have-”

“I had,” Guy interrupted him, and wrapped his ragged cloak more tightly around himself. “I had a daughter, Hadjar. A long time ago. Sometimes, I forget what she looked like. Our memory, no matter how perfect it is, will always remain human. We simply don’t want to remember a lot of things.”

Hadjar said nothing. He had already noticed that as well. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to remember the faces of his parents, of Nero and Serra.

“Today, I saw her so clearly in front of me,” the half-faced man continued, “As if it had all happened just yesterday. She was a good girl. She loved magic. I didn’t mind.”

“Guy, I-”

“Listen to me, General,” Guy said sternly, and Hadjar fell silent. “When she was three centuries old, she met a wandering mercenary. He wasn’t the best match for her, but... Children are just guests in our lives. I let her go. They wandered for almost seven centuries until they finally came back. It was the very beginning of the war. I was commanding a regiment back then.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened slightly. He had always known that Abraham and Guy had military backgrounds, but he hadn’t suspected that Guy had served as a senior officer.

“He was wounded. Badly. He had lost all his power. Outwardly, he looked normal, but his whole energy body was in tatters. My daughter tried to help him at first, but then it became clear that all her efforts were in vain.” Guy fell silent. It was clearly difficult for him to tell this story.

“She…”

Guy nodded, “She broke her own Core,” he confirmed Hadjar’s suspicion. “She chose to live a mortal life. They lived for less than half a century after that. Then death came for them. They died together in the night. My grandchildren woke up, but my child died. They both seemed like they’d just fallen asleep, but... death is near, General. We must never forget this.”

Choosing to live a mortal life... It was a difficult decision. Such actions were extremely rare in the Nameless World. The stronger the cultivator, the less often it happened, even when it came to their one and only partner on the path of cultivation.

“Today, I realized that my twenty-eight times great-grandchildren live in this world. And I also realized that I would never get to see them.”

Hadjar didn’t know what to say, so he remained quiet.

“This is a strange place, Hadjar,” Guy got up and adjusted his mask. “I feel like a mortal here again.”

“Me too.”

The axeman nodded. He returned to his mat and assumed the lotus position.

“Maybe each of us, since we feel like mortals here, will be able to understand what they live for and what they die for.” Guy then plunged into meditation.

Hadjar remained on the log, sitting alone with his Ron’Jah, not understanding what exactly Guy had tried to tell him.

Chapter 1401

W hile the group was slowly moving toward the Eglhen marsh, somewhere far away from them — so far that even an Immortal would need several centuries to reach those dead lands on their own — a demon was walking along a dusty path. A torn, predatory cloak fluttered behind him. A wide-brimmed hat covered his one eye, and a demonic essence bled in his hands. Black lumps that were actually nightmares swarmed around his feet, which were encased in simple leather boots that had been worn out a long time ago. An endless army of personified fears accompanied the Demon Prince’s Emissary on his journey. A cold, northern wind was blowing into his back, and clouds were gathering overhead.

“Calm down, old Boreas,” the demon whispered. “I came here as a messenger.”

There was a thunderclap without any lightning. It sounded like battle drums.

“Your time will soon come, wretch.”

The demon just smiled. His time had come a long time ago.

“You all lost a long time ago, Wind,” the demon lifted the collar of his cloak. Old Boreas blew with all the might of his lungs. The wind would’ve penetrated to the very depths of his soul... if he still had one. “Humble yourself and take a look, as I once looked.”

Thunder struck once again, but Boreas’ power was no longer there. The demon had reached his destination. Amidst low hills, at the intersection of four roads, in the middle of a field of millet and rye, there was a small hut. It was well made, with a nice, beautiful fence surrounding it.

The demon walked up to the gate and touched the wrought-iron handle with long, gnarled, gray fingers topped with yellow claws.

A pleasant voice sounded from inside, enveloping him in a refreshing chill:

“I remember those fingers looking quite different.”

A pretty old woman came out onto the porch of the hut. She was wiping her hands on her apron, and her still lush, but now gray hair was pulled back into a thick braid that lay over her shoulder. Even wearing a simple dress and bast shoes made from birch bark, she still didn’t look like the rustic old woman she wanted to disguise herself as. Even such an unsightly appearance couldn’t hide the fact that…

“Your Majesty,” the demon raised his hat slightly.

“Helmer,” Queen Mab, ruler of the Fae Winter Court, nodded.

The demon turned his single, scarlet eye to the fence, “I remember this fence looking quite different — old and crooked.”

“Some young general helped me out. You know him.”

“I do... He suffers from an incomprehensible desire to help all those who are in need. I wonder why you didn’t eat his heart and drink his soul, Winter... But no, I’m not surprised you didn’t. Family is more important than anything else... That’s what you told me back then, isn’t it, you old crone?”

The old lady adjusted her apron silently. A big, black cat woke up. He stretched out and, hissing at the guest, easily jumped down from his perch, slowly ambled toward the road leading to the house, and then lay down in the middle of it. Helmer looked at the animal. He ran his claw along the door handle, but didn’t dare grasp it.

“Does your loyal knight still hate me?”

“I share his prejudice, halfbreed,” the queen still didn’t move. “There’s no way he can get over the fact that you killed my sister.”

“Titania and Mab, Summer and Winter… You’ve been feuding since you were born.”

“That was before the false gods and false demons found themselves in the World River.” The queen’s human, brown eyes began to change. They gradually darkened, blackened, and icy stars seemed to light up inside them. “Why have you come here, murderer?”

“Murderer?” A smile touched the demon’s lips, revealing the many rows of his sharp fangs. “You know better than I do that Titania can’t be killed. Just like you. You are connected by your very essence to this world. As long as it exists, you will live. I’ve just-”

“Stop,” the queen interrupted him. “I’ve had enough of this small talk, demon. Tell me why you came to my kingdom, and I’ll decide whether to leave you this pathetic shell or send you to oblivion.”

Despite her threat, the smile on the demon’s face only grew wider. “You know why I came here, you old witch.” Helmer’s voice had sounded ingratiating before, but now it sounded like the hissing of an angry snake. “Do you remember how I came to you last time? How I crawled here on my knees, begging for help?”

“Back then, I told you that I couldn’t help someone who had abandoned his own path, demon,” the queen said with her head held high. “And now I would say that I don’t want to. Maybe you’ve gotten closer to your goal, Helmer. Maybe you’ve managed to deceive those flames inside the pierced mountain, but not us, the ones who came here first, who are part of this world. Even-”

“Your older brother,” Helmer interrupted her, even though among mortals and Immortals, among gods and demons, there was no one who would dare to interrupt Mab. “For thousands of epochs, he has been suffering in chains, not knowing who he is. That is my handiwork. Your younger sister has lost her light forever and has left the sky. That is my handiwork. Your twin sister, the great Summer, is now nothing more than a limp tree. That is also my handiwork.”

The cat got up on all fours. His fur stood up. His eyes flashed with anger, and he extended his claws, which shone with pure steel. The hut behind the Queen was shaking and changing. The carved wooden hut turned into innumerable ice needles. The simple shutters turned into stained-glass windows made of rock crystal, and the porch turned into a gray stone that had absorbed the cold of millions of epochs.

The field behind Helmer also shook. Instead of rye and millet, there were now soldiers. In the black sky above his head, in a chariot drawn by warhorses, stood old Boreas. His huge sword stretched along the entire horizon. His white beard flashed like lightning.

Queen Mab revealed herself. Her black hair blended with the sky, as if she wore the night itself on her head, encircled by a crown comprised of two bloody wings of steel. There was a cloak on her back. It squeezed her shoulders with the paws of a wild ice leopard, and it descended all the way to her feet in a blizzard of ice fragments. Her slender body was covered by leather armor with metal plates sewn into it. In her hands, she clutched a thick staff covered in symbols formed from the letters of an unknown alphabet. Two sky-blue eyes shone on her beautiful face. They radiated cold rage and an unstoppable will that could break the heavens themselves.

“Do you want to declare war on me, you pathetic halfbreed?” Her voice sounded like a roaring avalanche, ready to sweep away everything in its path. “YOU? A pathetic and worthless night terror? Do you want to try and succeed where your masters failed?”

She struck the ground with her staff and an army rose up behind Helmer, one that was too numerous to count. She slammed her staff down a second time, and instead of the cat, a warrior chained in winter with a sword forged from death and cold appeared on the path. She brought her staff down a third time and the heavenly knight in the chariot swung his sword. The most terrible of the northern storms roared ceaselessly in his blade.

“Do I want to declare war on you, crone?” The scarlet eye flashed. He suddenly grabbed the gate’s handle. His flesh hissed and boiled. Gray smoke stretched into the sky. But the demon seemed not to notice the pain caused by this substance that was so similar to steel but clearly wasn’t — iron was pure poison to the Fae and Spirits after all. “Back then, thousands of eons ago, when you refused me, I swore on this very spot that I would leave your heart to rot on your own grave.” With his other hand, the demon squeezed the sphere. A red mist swirled around his figure. “I’ve come to tell you, Queen Mab, that the Parade will begin soon. They are waiting for you there. It doesn’t matter whether you come or not. Your fate has already been written.”

He disappeared. Only the twisted, broken fence and the melted handle of the gate was left.

“What does this mean, granddaughter?” Thundered in the sky.

The pleasant-looking old lady came up to the fence and picked up the purring cat, cradling him in her arms. She looked at the fields of rye and millet, and then went back to her hut.

“So, it’s the third time...” She said while stroking the purring, fluffy cat. “Everything is like in the song...” Then, far more loudly, she added, “Go to Hafotis, Grandpa. Tell him to work the bellows with all his might. The time has come. Soon, we will go to war.”

Chapter 1402

I n the middle of a garden of unparalleled beauty, which was spread out below a Palace that was indescribable in any language of mortals, there was a shadow. A short young man with heterochromatic eyes was standing there. He was wearing a patched cloak made from the memories of the Wind itself. He held a staff carved from the tree that had been struck by the very first lightning bolt to ever pierce the skies.

The young man calmly looked at the numerous fountains and statues in this garden. He idly inspected the beautiful stone sculptures. However, none of them could compare to the one that was hidden in the shadows. The ancient marble statue was covered in ivy and mold, even chipped in places. It was so old that time itself could seem like a bashful young child in comparison to it.

“What are you doing here, mortal?” A voice boomed. “There is no place for mortal flesh in the halls of the gods!”

The man who’d spoken was twelve feet tall, unapproachable and ferocious. His hair, which was the color of a molten sun, streamed out from underneath a golden helmet with two black horns. Armor that glittered in the midday sun covered his body. A cloak shone behind him with a hot flame. Mighty hands that were ostentatiously uncovered and devoid of any protection as well as scars rested on the hilt of a two-handed blade.

“So, you’re the new guardian of the Verge that Hafotis forged for Derger,” the young man said thoughtfully. “How interesting.”

The god’s name seemed to galvanize him.

“How dare you, a mere mortal slave, say my Master’s name?” He swung his sword, trying to cut the shadow down, but suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. The creature’s eyes opened wide, radiating gold and bewilderment. How could some mortal bind him, the Golden General, with his magic?

“A slave?” The young man came closer to the golden warrior. Compared to him, the short wizard looked like a child. “You say that you have a master, while I don’t have one, so which one of us is the slave, you hunk of junk?” The shadow tapped the warrior’s helmet with his staff. “That was a very dull thud... Maybe Hafotis messed up and instead of giving you a head, he made a chamber pot? Well, at least your cloak is rather beautiful-”

“Ash,” a calm, firm voice made the numerous flowers and trees in the garden stir. “The last time you visited, I was missing a whole bush of Star Flower afterwards. If I lose my General’s head as well, I’ll consider it an insult.”

“An insult?” The wizard drawled. “I’ve known you for a long time, Derger-”

“For a very long time,” the voice interrupted him. The God of War didn’t show himself. “Longer than any other mortal or Immortal. We’ve been calling out to you for a long time, Wizard. You’re more powerful than most of the senior gods.”

The golden warrior’s eyes widened even more. Was his Master really telling the truth? He obviously was. Derger never lied or cheated. The God of War had always been guided by honor. He would never defile himself with the stain of lies or dishonor. So, under the light of Irmaril, there lived a mortal equal in power to the Jasper Emperor himself. The Golden General had only ever heard about this from the ever-bored junior gods. Some of them even boasted that they had personally met and known the wizard during their mortal life.

“I’m afraid that my bad back won’t allow me to climb the stairs to the Seventh Heaven,” the shadow of the young man pointedly grabbed his own back.

“You still can’t forgive us, Ash?” A slight sadness tinged Derger’s voice. “None of us wanted this outcome for you or her.”

The shadow’s fingers tightened on his staff.

“Don’t tempt me, God of War.” Suddenly, the wizard’s voice turned into a bubbling flame hidden inside dormant coals. “Don’t tempt me…”

“Is this how you’ll find your peace, Ash? Maybe if you come up here and turn all your pain and rage against us, it’ll finally give you peace?”

Blue flames swirled around the shadow. It seemed like magic of unprecedented power was about to descend upon the garden and the Palace, but no. The shadow closed his eyes and breathed more evenly. His fingers relaxed, and the flame disappeared.

“The one who will bring me peace is already walking through the mortal lands, Derger.”

“The Last General? I’ve heard those stupid rumors before. The rumors that claim that the prophecy will soon come true.”

“Don’t you believe it, Derger? Don’t you believe the song of the First Tree of Life?”

The voice laughed. It sounded tired, sad, and amused all at once, as if Derger was laughing at some irony that only he understood.

“You’ve lived a long time, Ash. But compared to us, you’re just a youngster. There has always been some kind of prophecy. There has always been a threat. The children of the goddess Danu. The demons. The creatures from beyond the Verge. The Black General. The prophecy... It doesn’t matter. We’ve resisted them all. The throne is intact. Mortals still live in the Mortal Lands, the children of Danu live in the Spirit Lands, and the demons are stuck in the Demon Lands. The world order is indestructible. And so it will be forever. Just like there will always be a war, which means that I am eternal as well.”

“Everything that is visible is not eternal, Derger.”

“Are those the words of the Sage Liao-Feng? It always seemed amazing to me, Ash, that they were the death of the Sage himself, then they were the death of Hu’Chin, the Blue Flame — I always liked that snake — and now they will be yours as well. There’s something very poetic about it.”

They both fell silent. There were so many things that connected the God of War and Ash, but both of them wouldn’t have minded if these ties didn’t exist. They’d hurt each other too often. Sometimes without knowing it, sometimes on purpose.

Without any exaggeration, in terms of the sheer number of problems he’d caused the Seventh Heaven, Ash had almost caught up with the one whom he’d once chained with his own two hands to the Mountain of Skulls — the Black General. However, Ash had never hidden his attitude toward the Seventh Heaven in general and the gods in particular. The left hand of the Jasper Emperor? He didn’t give a damn about this title or what was written in the Book of Thousands.

“I’ve always wondered, Ash,” Derger said suddenly, “Why didn’t you take Darkhan’s side at the end of the Battle of the Heavens and the Earth?”

Ash didn’t reply.

“I was sure that you would accept his arguments, but... you became the one who chained the Black General. Your last friend. I can’t even imagine what it was like for you after that — having to live through these thousands of epochs all alone and-”

“That’s enough, Derger,” the shadow told him wearily. “You can’t provoke me. You know perfectly well that I can destroy half the Seventh Heaven. Your desire to compete with me has already led to several catastrophes and the death of three civilizations. That’s it. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

“A warrior is born to fight, Ash. To fight against the strongest. Don’t blame me for following my essence.”

“Your essence...” The wizard repeated. “Do you know how a human differs from an animal, Derger?”

“I think I’m about to be enlightened by the wisdom of mortals. Go on, Ash, this day can’t possibly get any more boring anyway, so you might as well tell me.”

“A human differs from an animal thanks to their ability to control their animal essence.”

Silence filled the garden for a while.

“What do you mean by that, Wizard?”

“Everything I wanted to say was said,” the shadow replied and then added, “According to the agreement made at the Verge Gates, I, as the strongest mortal, have brought this message to the Seventh Heaven. The Parade will start soon. They are waiting for you there. It doesn’t matter whether you come or not. Your fate has already been written.”

The shadow disappeared, and the Golden General was able to move again.

“What does that mean, Master?” He asked in surprise.

Derger didn’t answer him immediately.

“That I was right, servant,” the god finally said. “We’re going to war soon.”

Chapter 1403

H adjar shuddered and looked to the north. Far off in the distance, the night was dying down. The stars were fading under the onslaught of the blazing and bloody golden dawn. It was weird… He could sense a war coming from somewhere far away. The sound of war drums seemed to be coming from that area…

Bam… Bam… They slowly fell silent somewhere beyond the night.

“Is something wrong, Hadjar-dan?” Alba-udun, after rubbing an apple on his forearm, bit into it with a loud crunch. “Oh, by the Stone Ancestors, it’s a pity that these don’t grow in our lands. They’re the food of the Seventh Heaven!”

“They don’t eat apples in the Seventh Heaven, they eat cherries,” Hadjar answered him absently while thinking about something else.

Alba-udun choked on the apple. Clearing his throat, he tapped his chest and looked a bit oddly at Hadjar.

“What?” He wheezed out through his pain and surprise.

“The Cherry Feast,” Hadjar continued. “It’s celebrated once every thousand epochs. During one of them, the Sage Liao-Feng, the patron saint of the Girtai country, died.”

Alba-udun coughed some more, then struck Hadjar quite hard on the back of the head with the butt of one of his axes.

“Fucking hell! Are you out of your mind, dwarf?”

“Are you, human?” Albadurt squinted at him, then jerked his head in the direction of Abraham and his people. They’d gone ahead along the trail and now they could hardly hear their conversation. The relatively small distance, even for mortals, of just sixty feet, severely limited the senses of cultivators due to the atmosphere of the Strange Lands. “I understand that it’s customary for you humans to trust thieves and bandits, and that’s why they still live among you, but you should still be careful!”

“Actually, no,” Hadjar replied, feeling a little indignant. “Humans aren’t as different from dwarves as you might think, Albadurt.”

“Maybe,” the dwarf shrugged. “But not a single resident of the Ruby Mountain, if they were in their right mind, would speak about the secrets of the Seventh Heaven so openly.”

“But I…” Hadjar trailed off.

In the past few minutes, he had felt like he was being called to war, as if battle drums were thundering somewhere in the distance, and some commander was calling for him to serve under their banners. He’d almost answered this call, even though he didn’t know how he could do so. It was some kind of impulse coming from somewhere deep within him, from the true depths of his being that were even deeper than the illusory world of his soul. And since he’d plunged so deeply into them, he hadn’t even realized that he was talking to Alba-udun. He had no idea how he had acquired this knowledge. That sometimes happened to Hadjar: he knew some things simply because he knew them. Maybe it was due to the neural network’s and his subconscious’ tricks. Maybe it was something else entirely. There truly were too many secrets and mysteries in the Nameless World.

“Calm down already, Albadurt!” Hadjar threw up his hands in defeat.

The dwarf, who had brought his axe butt up again, squinted at him a little, then returned the weapon back to its sling.

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re of sound mind, Hadjar,” the dwarf retorted as if nothing had happened. “What is the Cherry Feast and who is this Sage Liao-Feng? I’m not very knowledgeable about the gods. I’ve never heard of those.”

Hadjar wanted to answer that he had never heard of them either, but he stopped himself just in time and avoided another ‘mental health check.’ It was a good thing he had done so, as the dwarves had a natural power that wasn’t inferior to the orcs in the slightest. And, as they progressed along the path of cultivation, their abilities only multiplied.

In other words, a Nameless human cultivator, all other things being equal, always lost out in terms of pure power to a Nameless dwarf cultivator. Humanity was saved only by the fact that, according to Alba-udun, they ‘bred so much that rabbits were jealous of them.’

“Have you finished flirting?” Itia called out to them. “We’ve already arrived!”

“Let’s hurry up,” Hadjar nodded and quickened his pace.

Albadurt lagged behind. Hadjar could feel the dwarf’s gaze boring into a spot between his shoulder blades, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t afford to reflect on the oddity of that call to war that had come from nowhere, or to puzzle over having yet more incomprehensible knowledge. The Cherry Feast? The Sage Liao-Fang? He had never heard of either of them. Of course, he had the option of going inside his soul and talking to the Black General about it, but considering that with every hour that Hadjar didn’t get stronger, his prisoner became stronger instead, he didn’t want to waste time on idle conversation. If Hadjar’s soul truly weakened at some point, it would be completely absorbed by the Black General. Fucking hell, sometimes he just wanted to relax…

“The Eglhen marsh!” Abraham announced proudly, pointing down at it from atop the hill where they had stopped.

The view was truly enchanting and frightening at the same time.

“I read about it as a child,” Gustaf leaned on his bow and put his hand to his eyes.

“Yesterday?” Itia asked him with a chuckle, but she was ignored.

“I never thought it would be so huge,” the archer continued.

“And so unpleasant,” Alba-udun added. “It is utterly unpleasant. I remember my grandma’s garden. It was so lovely...”

Of course, no one listened to the dwarf. Albadurt was talking about something related to his grandmother, her garden, his grandfather, his numerous brothers, his other grandparents, and so on, but it was just white noise to them at this point.

Everyone checked their weapons and sources. The mere sight of the Eglhen marsh filled them with a kind of primal anxiety. This was how an herbivore felt in the presence of a carnivore: goosebumps would roam along their spine, and the roots of their hair would appear to be slightly electrified.

The marsh, which was enveloped by a purple mist, stretched out as far as the eye could see. Dead trees rose from the moss and quagmire to extend their broken, bare branches a few feet into the air. The stench of decay and rot was dizzying.

Hadjar blinked. He could’ve sworn he’d just seen two glowing, miniature figures flying between the trees. They had looked very similar to the Fae that acted as the messengers of the gods. He wondered what Freya was up to. He hadn’t heard from her in a long time…

“They say that there are more anomalies and dangerous monsters here than in both the Red Phoenix and White Dragon regions combined,” Guy said. “Death is near.”

“I wonder what Kafem forgot here.” Abraham held a part of the map in front of him, on which the sectarian was marked with a flickering rune. Judging by its movements, he and the mercenaries were moving deeper into the marsh.

“I’m liking our adventure less and less.” Itia untied her whip from her belt and wrapped it around her right arm.

“Did you like it at first?” Abraham grinned.

“Should I answer you honestly or send you to the demons?”

“I’m afraid that’s where we’re going anyway, dear,” Abraham dodged Itia’s whip.

“Death is near,” Guy repeated, and was the first to start heading down the hill.

Hadjar followed him, then the others followed Hadjar. Alba-udun brought up the rear.

“So, every autumn, my grandma would make wonderful stone currant pies. Have you ever tried this delicious berry? No? I can tell you about twenty-six different recipes…”

Chapter 1404

H adjar pulled his leg out of yet another liquid pit.

“Fucking marsh,” Gustaf swore, voicing their overall mood.

Ordinary people often confused swamps and marshes due to their apparent similarity. However, swamps were just flooded areas of land where moisture-loving plants grew on the bottom. Marshes were also swamps in a way, but in marshes, the land alternated with water, which was hidden under such violently abundant vegetation that it couldn’t be distinguished from this very same land. Due to the constant rotting and release of enzymes, the acrid fog that hurt their eyes never disappeared in this place. Coming from all sorts of spores, mold, and moss, a horrific poison would spread out, causing hallucinations and even a loss of consciousness, or a persistent headache at best.

What was much scarier was the fact that if the land was peat or black soil, it would turn into a kind of quicksand. It would look like dry land at first, but after just a couple of seconds of enduring the weight of a person, it would instantly turn into a viscous goop that would try its best to drag the unsuspecting person to the bottom.

Maybe it would seem strange to a mortal that mighty cultivators would tread the Eglhen marsh with such caution, but this wasn’t just any ordinary region. Anything could be deadly in the Strange Lands. Even the simplest grass was so saturated with magic and energy that the best alchemists of the Empires would’ve been overjoyed to get their hands on it.

So, the half-faced Guy led their group. Armed with a long stick, he would always check the trail ahead thoroughly first and only then take the next step. Nobody really wanted to risk it. Maybe the others would be strong enough to help them get out, but who knew what kind of creatures lived inside marshes, which had once been called the ‘places from which no one returned’ by the ancients.

“I heard that there are ghosts here,” Gustaf whispered.

“You’re like a kid who’s afraid of the dark,” Itia hissed at him irritably. She was annoyed by the fact that they had been walking through seemingly endless marshland without any rest for two days straight.

“Ghosts only live in those places where blood was spilled but the act was not recorded in the Book of Thousands,” Alba-udun threw an apple core somewhere off to the side.

It landed noiselessly on a hummock and slowly sank into it. Hadjar thought he’d seen long fangs protrude from within the hummock, surging out of the moss and quagmire, but perhaps he’d just imagined it. The poisonous mist had enough power to affect even his mind, which had been hardened by numerous trials.

“Then the Eglhen marsh is the most suitable breeding ground for ghosts,” Abraham, who had been silent until now, suddenly joined the conversation. He pulled his straw hat over his eyes as he chewed on a blade of grass he’d previously picked up in the forest. Any sensible cultivator who didn’t want to sit down at the table of their forefathers anytime soon wouldn’t put even the rarest ingredient into their mouth if it grew on these lands. Admittedly, there were some special ingredients that could only be found here and were used for their own, extremely specialized purposes.

“Hey, geezer,” Gustaf always tried to tease someone when he was nervous. “Do you know any stories that we don’t?”

“Hey, boy,” Abraham smiled at him. “It’s easier to list the stories you know than the ones you don’t.”

Gustaf raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, indicating that he didn’t want to argue with the old rogue. Smart guy.

“Death is near.” Guy almost went down together with his stick. Straightening up and finding a turn in the path, he repeated, “Death is near.”

“Well, at least something in this world doesn’t change.” Itia ran her hand through her brown hair, after which she got lost in some thoughts of her own.

“Come on, you old fox, don’t keep it to yourself,” Alba-udun took out another apple from his spatial ring. Had he bought the entire supply of all the dragon merchants or what? “As my great-aunt once said-”

“It happened a long time ago.” Everyone was grateful to Abraham for interrupting Albadurt. “I heard this story in a tavern. A young florist with eyes the color of horse droppings and the face of a seductive god told it.”

His words echoed in Hadjar’s soul.

“The events that that young man told us about were older than the first legends that our mothers’ mothers shared with us and-”

“Shensie, seriously,” with a wave of her whip, Itia cut a mosquito buzzing over her ear in half, “If it weren’t for your obsession with beating your dad in terms of fame, you would be able to earn quite a living as a wandering bard. Can you get to the point already?”

“Shut up, you scary woman.”

“Scary woman? You’re taking advantage of the fact that in order to reach you, I would have to hit Gustaf and Hadjar with my whip as well. And they don’t deserve it today.”

“Hey! What about me? What kind of evil has this worthy dwarf done to you, you scary woman?”

The rest laughed. Abraham’s and Albadurt’s ‘scary’ had completely different meanings. Itia didn’t even think about taking offense at the dwarf’s words. To them, any representative of the human race looked like the personification of ugliness. However, this didn’t work both ways. For example, the dwarven Princess was really beautiful, even by human standards.

“May I continue?”

“Death is near.”

“Thanks for the reminder, buddy. So, if I’m remembering the story that the flower merchant told us correctly, and if at least a third of it has anything to do with the truth, we are currently going through an area where an ancient battle took place.”

Hadjar raised his head and looked at the low sky covered in dark clouds. For some reason, he already knew who this story was going to be about.

“Have you ever heard about the Potter, my friends?”

Hadjar stumbled. For the first time in a long time, his intuition had failed him.

Chapter 1405

“T his happened before the Black General’s rebellion and before the Battle of the Heavens and the Earth,” Abraham began his story, “Back in those days, the gods still walked the earth and-”

“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Alba-udun bit into another apple, “That the gods don’t walk amongst the living these days?”

“Dwarf, if you don’t shut up right now,” Itia said through clenched teeth, “I’ll-”

“No, I’m serious,” Albadurt insisted. “Just think about it! Thousands of epochs ago, they walked amongst mortals, but now very few people believe in them at all.”

“Only a few people have ever believed in the gods, Alba-udun.”

Their entire group was shocked into silence. It was so unexpected to hear more than a few sentences per week from Guy. However, he had just willingly joined the conversation. Maybe it was because of the fumes of the marsh? Even the Shensie squad’s built up resistance to various poisons couldn’t completely hold back the onslaught of this natural anomaly for very long.

Guy struck the ground in front of him several times with his stick, then jumped over a hummock. Everyone followed him and did the same. Suddenly, Guy turned around, walked up to the hummock, and calmly stood on it.

“What is the meaning of this, freak?” The dwarf asked angrily.

“This hummock is like one’s faith in the gods,” Guy ran his fingers over his silver mask, after which he calmly walked past the dumbfounded squad and kept going. “Death is near.”

Hadjar looked at the half-faced warrior in a new light. Previously, he had just seemed like a gloomy and silent soldier, a person who was simultaneously running from death and trying to get as close to it as possible to feel alive again. But the conversation they’d had after their encounter with Kafem had showed him that sometimes he really couldn’t even guess what was going on inside the soul of a person, even if he was certain that he’d gotten to know them pretty well.

“May I continue?” Abraham asked, feigning anger. “Or do you still have any unresolved issues?”

“I don’t understand, freak… What does the hummock have to do with the gods? I haven’t heard anything about any gods of hummocks. Although, one of my cousins-”

“If there are no questions,” Abraham cleared his throat, “I’ll continue the story. According to that flower peddler, it all happened after the Potter failed to make a deal with Helmer…”

Hadjar remembered the story he had heard before: the Potter struck a deal with the Lord of Nightmares and made him a sphere to store his nightmares in, but he never received his reward — the demon ended up deceiving him.

“What did the craftsman want from the demon?” Alba-udun seemed to be interested in the story and had even stopped gnawing on his apple.

“Have you seriously never heard this story before?”

“If I had heard it before, you terrible woman-”

Apparently, Itia wasn’t in a good mood, because her whip cracked in front of Albadurt’s nose. Despite his outward clumsiness, the dwarf dodged it quite successfully, receiving only a small scratch across the bridge of his nose.

“…I wouldn’t have asked... This is why female dwarves don’t go camping. Once a month, you become worse than demons.”

Itia’s eyes flashed dangerously, but Abraham appeared in front of her just in time.

“So,” he said, “Just so you know, Alba-udun, the God of War, Derger, stole the Potter’s beloved and turned her into a statue in his garden. The Potter then set out on his endless wanderings to find a way to ascend to the Seventh Heaven and regain his lost... Hey, what’s wrong with you? Are those... tears?”

Alba-udun sniffed and wiped away a wet trail from his cheek.

“Insensitive humans,” he whispered, “This story would move even a stone.”

Hadjar patted the dwarf on the shoulder. He nodded gratefully and even held out his half-eaten apple toward him, but Hadjar politely refused.

“Well…” Apparently, Abraham didn’t understand whether the dwarf was mocking him or being serious, so he just moved on. “Almost an epoch after those events, the eternal search of the Potter brought the unfortunate artisan to this blooming land-”

“You have very strange ideas about what a blooming land is, Shensie.”

“I’m not joking, Gustaf,” Abraham pulled out his daggers. “The next person who decides to mock my storytelling skills will do so with an additional mouth on their throat.”

The archer raised his hands in surrender and the squad quieted down. The situation was oppressive and their attempts to cheer themselves up with a frivolous altercation had actually gone too far.

“Once upon a time, this land really was flourishing.” Abraham returned his daggers back to their scabbards. “There were beautiful gardens on the hills. Before becoming the servants of the gods, the fairies built their cities here. They were so small that they could fit inside an owl’s nest, but more beautiful than even the best Palaces of the Rainbow Elves.”

Rainbow Elves... They were a race that had disappeared so long ago that only myths and legends about them remained, and these had reached the Strange Lands and their border areas. The residents of other regions had forgotten about them altogether.

“This was a place of harmony, where people immersed themselves in the arts, where the other races lived to indulge in their majesty. Everything here, from the twig of a roadside bush to a river stone, was soaked in Therna-”

“Therna?”

“What did I just say about-”

“No, I’m serious! What is Therna?”

Abraham thought about it for a while.

“To be honest, I have no idea. We weren’t very sober at that point and I didn’t even think to ask the flower merchant what it was.”

A simple flower seller knew about Therna? Even if Hadjar had been as drunk right now as Abraham had been on that day, he would’ve still noticed the far too improbable combination of circumstances.

“The Potter came to this region. He had heard that Rainbow Elves had a certain potion that could control the soul. If you drink it, a broken soul becomes whole, and a whole soul becomes broken. Yes, you heard that correctly, the Potter came to this land to break his soul.” Abraham fell silent. The others were also silent. The pause dragged on.

“This is when you need to ask me why he did that!” Abraham hissed.

“Oh, sorry,” Itia said. “Why did the Potter want to break his soul?”

“That’s a good question, Itia,” the pleased Abraham replied with a nod. “He wanted every shard of his soul to go on its own separate journey. That way, ten, twenty, thirty, or even more Potters could walk on the roads that he’d used to walk on alone. All to find what his soul desperately longed for.”

Hadjar mentally went on a journey to the deepest corners of his memory. He remembered his time in ‘The Holy Sky’ School and the lake where he’d encountered a fragment of the Potter’s soul. Apparently, the elves had agreed to give him their elixir.

“Alas, the Prince of the Rainbow Elves refused the artisan’s request.”

Wait, what?

“Then the Potter, whose soul had been overcome by anger and sorrow for entire epochs, went to those who could help him. He sought out the people who had once been expelled from this blooming land. The people who not only wanted to enjoy the local Therna, but also use it for their own greedy and evil purposes. The Potter came to them with a single request: help him take the elixir from the Rainbow Elves. The payment they demanded for their aid was a terrible one: the people asked the Potter to forge them armor and weapons that would keep a warrior tethered to the world of the living even after their death so that they could keep fighting their enemy. The Potter spent a year and a day in the forge, then, in the morning, an army of those people was greeted with twenty thousand sets of magical armor that exuded the Therna of death and decay. They put them on, not knowing what sort of evil the Potter intended. As soon as they put on their armor, their bodies melted and became part of the armor, which enveloped their naked souls that were now under the Potter’s power. He didn’t want to place such a terrible weapon into the wrong hands, just as he didn’t want to harm the Blooming Land. But he couldn’t afford to back down. Leading his army of ghosts, he went to war with the Rainbow Elves. And so the Potter became a General. The battle was terrible, and its aftermath you can see around you to this day. The Blooming Land turned into the Eglhen marsh, named after the Prince’s wife who tried to hide the potion from the Potter, but he tore off her head with his own two hands and pulled out the potion from her still warm heart, where she’d hidden the bottle.”

“Bloody legends of the past... Who in their right mind would ever hide a bottle of soul-splitting potion in their own body?”

“I don’t know what happened next with the Potter,” Abraham ignored the dwarf’s remark. “But there are rumors that the General’s immortal army is still wandering somewhere in this marsh and waiting to-”

“I don’t think those are simple rumors.”

“Gustaf! Damn you... I warned you, didn’t I?”

“Just look, Abraham!”

Hadjar followed the direction of the archer’s outstretched hand.

“Damn it!” He cursed and drew his Blue Blade.

The legends of the past... Why did they have the unpleasant habit of being true?

Chapter 1406

H adjar had seen both ghosts and the undead in his life. He had even fought some of them. However, the creature that stood not far from their squad couldn’t be categorized as either of those things.

Unlike a ghost, it seemed to have its own flesh. Energy didn’t flow through it unhindered. It lingered inside its body, being absorbed and transformed into something completely different, something dark, like a clot of humus. It was as if the marsh under their feet had thickened, come to life, and taken a humanoid form.

At the same time, it wasn’t a dead man, either. Hadjar didn’t sense the energy of death emanating from the creature, and an icy whisper wasn’t tormenting the back of his head and neck. Whatever it was, it defied Hadjar’s understanding. Apparently, the rest of the squad didn’t know what to think either.

“Why isn’t it attacking?” Gustaf whispered.

He pulled back the bowstring until it creaked and nocked an arrow. Energy and will swirled around the archer. Archers, at such a long distance, were the most dangerous kind of opponent. Their Techniques possessed truly incredible speed and lethality. A single shot was comparable to the strongest strike from a blade. That was why they were both feared and respected on any battlefield.

“Fucking shit!” Abraham swore, drawing his saber and dagger. “Is that really the only thing you care about right now?”

“He’s right,” the dwarf said. His tattoos flashed, his eyes were flooded with an orange glow, and his axes burned with a furious flame. “Whatever it is, it’s in no hurry to attack us.”

The creature really had remained motionless. It merely stood still on the path along which the squad was walking. The leaf-shaped shield with a crack running down the middle that it held in its left hand was slightly set aside. Its body, from its heels to its shoulders, was covered with a strange armor. It looked like it was made of leather, but in some places, greenish steel shone through the strange material. It really seemed like the legend of the Potter was true and those warriors who’d donned the armor he’d created had dissolved within them.

A shoulder pad made of the same steel and covered in unknown symbols and runes lay across its right shoulder. It shone slightly and looked formidable, but not as formidable as the creature’s hood and sword. Nothing was visible beneath the thick cape covering its head. Only an abyss of darkness, inside of which there was something broken. Something waiting for a chance to move on, to throw off this artificial flesh and find peace.

This creature was desperately seeking peace, seeking the judgment of its forefathers, hoping that they would agree to judge the actions of their descendant. It wanted to wait for rebirth either at the ancestral table or in the darkness of the abyss. But even the hungry abyss of cold darkness was better than the one that had replaced the once glorious warrior’s face.

Hadjar shuddered after he felt all of this. It seemed to him like it wasn’t he who had looked inside what was left of the creature, but like it had pulled Hadjar inside itself so that he could experience all the loneliness and the desperate thirst for death that had been carried by this ancient warrior through an incalculable number of epochs.

“I’ll go alone,” Hadjar said.

“Hadjar-dan,” Alba-udun leaned forward to stop him, but Guy put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and shook his head.

“This soldier was late to his death date,” he said in an icy voice. “His only hope of restoring his honor is a glorious duel.”

Gustaf removed his arrow from the bowstring, Itia wrapped her whip around her arm, and Abraham returned his saber and dagger to their scabbards.

“By the gods, they both need this,” he clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest.

His simple clothes, sewn for him by Arkemeya from linen and canvas, fell across his shoulders in the form of the armor of the Northern Sky. He’d learned the name of the robe Queen Mab had made for him so long ago. It was blue, with white clouds and enchanting stars that radiated power. His own power. Hadjar finally understood that, too. Just like he understood that the blue cloak that the wind was playing with behind him was the scarf that his distant ancestor had given to him in the North Wind Country. The Blue Blade appeared in his hand. The Quetzal bird, announcing its arrival with a barely audible cry, rushed through the clouds toward the stars.

“Hadjar Darkhan, Wind of the Northern Valleys, Founder of the Song of the North Wind Style.”

Whispers sounded behind him.

This was Hadjar’s second time (the first had been his fight against Tash’Magan) taking part in a duel of cultivators. It differed from a simple duel in that it left a mark on a cultivator’s soul. Something like a blood oath scar, only on a less deep level. Once upon a time, Hadjar had heard from the Shadow of the Immortal that Immortals could see the marks of duels on a soul and that these helped them determine an enemy’s power. Back then, Hadjar had understood those words quite differently.

As for the other squad members’ surprise — they’d never heard that Hadjar was the Founder of his own style before, and he didn’t really advertise this fact. For each style, there were four stages of mastery in total: the Novice, the Possessor, the Master, which was usually the highest stage, and, extremely rarely, the Founder. The vast majority of cultivators in all the regions were at the first stage. Tash’Magan was a Master, and thanks to that, she was one of the strongest warriors in the White Dragon region.

The creature didn’t say anything, but that was quite understandable. It took a step back and raised its blade in front of it. Its simple sword flashed with a green light, and the same radiance flooded the area in a radius of a hundred paces all around the dead warrior.

Hadjar, whose Kingdom was centered in his sword, abruptly felt an incredible pressure. He’d experienced something like this only once before, when he’d witnessed the battle of Orune and the old rector. Whatever this was, it was his current goal on the path of the Sword, the realm beyond the True Kingdom.

“Damn it!” Abraham breathed out. “Guy, don’t legends usually lie? Is-”

“Is a True Kingdom not the limit, my old friend?” Guy ran his fingers over his mask, as if he wanted to push it aside in order to see better. “We are finally on the right path.”

The green glow was drawn into the creature’s sword and its blade burned even brighter, as if it was entirely made up of this radiance. This radiance wasn’t energy, but pure… What? Not will. Something much deeper and more powerful than simple will. It was something that made this creature an extremely dangerous, but also very precious opponent.

Hadjar assumed a low, defensive stance and ordered his neural network to keep a detailed record of everything.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Starting to record the material for further analysis.

Registry: The Path of Cultivation.

Catalog: The Way of the Sword.

Flag: priority level ‘max.’]

The creature took a step forward. Without using any energy, Words, or anything else Hadjar could sense, it covered a distance of 150 feet. Tearing apart a space and atmosphere capable of disintegrating a weak Spirit Knight, it appeared next to Hadjar. The green blade moved at a speed that caused afterimages to appear even in Hadjar’s eyes.

Clenching his teeth and tearing his muscles and tendons in the process, Hadjar used all his power, starting from the Name of the Wind and ending with his will and energy, to barely intercept the creature’s attack with his own blade. It felt like he had just been hit not with a sword, but with a battering ram.

The ground instantly disappeared from under Hadjar’s feet. The squad members seemed to shrink as they ended up beneath him.

Just a single attack from the creature had thrown him no less than twenty-five feet into the air. For the first time, Hadjar saw a small chip on the Blue Blade, right at the spot where their swords had clashed.

What the hell was this? What had Kafem forgotten here to warrant risking an encounter with one of these creatures? Alas, there was no time for him to try and find the answers to any of these questions. The creature appeared above Hadjar and its sword fell toward him with truly horrifying power.

Chapter 1407

B ack in the old days, if a cultivator was hanging in the air, without any sort of support under their feet, and a Technique, spell, or attack was flying at them, the cultivator could be considered as good as dead.

These days, however, Hadjar, who had reached the Nameless level, could, with a single effort of his will, without even expending any energy, condense the air under him to such an extent that he would be able to push off from it. He could use the Sword’s mysteries to change the direction of his fall. He could even summon the Wind and soar even higher, stepping for a moment into the heavenly realm.

He could also use the ‘Path Through the Stars’ Technique in its truncated form, which was the only form available to him at the moment.

These thoughts flashed through Hadjar’s mind faster than an arrow. He could manage to do all of this, but the black spot that had replaced the ancient warrior’s face appeared before Hadjar’s eyes. It stretched like a deadly shroud from one edge of the horizon to the other. It sucked him in. It subjugated him. And not like mental Techniques or mind control spells did, either. It was something else entirely.

When he had been very young, Hadjar hadn’t been able to comprehend the full power and boundaries of the True Kingdom, and now, just like back then, he felt extremely insignificant and small compared to his foe’s mysteries. These mysteries seemed to control the surrounding reality, subjugating it entirely. Not superficially, as a mere Kingdom did, but with roots stretching down into the very essence of everything around them, permeating all of it with the wielder’s will and power.

Hadjar simply couldn’t use any of the above methods. He was left falling backwards, watching the green, shining sword descend upon him.

At the last moment, before the enemy’s blade could cut him in two equal halves from his head to his groin, Hadjar managed to summon the Wind, and with its help, slightly alter his course.

Streams of blood shot into the sky. He flew to the side and landed back-first on a rock, breaking it apart into small fragments. If it hadn’t been for Queen Mab’s armor, he wouldn’t have survived.

“Stranger, you…”

Interrupting Abraham, Hadjar raised his fist. There was a terrible red gash on his chest, from which blood flowed relentlessly. To a cultivator who had reached such a high level of cultivation, such wounds weren’t deadly, especially if the meridians or nodes of their energy body hadn’t been affected. But he was surprised to find green sparks inside the wound — these were fragments of the glow that suffused the dead warrior’s sword. These sparks prevented his wound from healing and didn’t allow his blood to clot.

“Fucking hell!” He swore. “Is this how Immortals fight?”

There was no doubt that the dead warrior who’d landed in the same place from where it had started the duel had had the power of an Immortal during their lifetime. Hadjar doubted that even the most powerful Heaven Emperor could inflict such a nasty wound using only the Sword’s mysteries and nothing more.

“Well, okay then,” Hadjar spat and, clenching his teeth, directed his will and energy into the wound.

The warrior stood still. It was a motionless colossus, an echo of the distant past that had its roots deep in the history of the Nameless World. He seemed to be watching, waiting for his opponent to deal with the deadly threat, and then their duel would continue.

Hadjar didn’t keep him waiting. Growling like a wounded beast, Hadjar pushed the foul substances out of his body, spark by spark, effort by effort. He spent incredible amounts of energy in the process, replenishing it with pills from his spatial artifact without even counting them. Only after a full minute of struggle was he able to deal with the threat. A new scar now marred his body, which hadn’t happened for a very long time, acting as a reminder of the power that the dead warrior possessed.

All this time, the enemy remained motionless. He was watching Hadjar, waiting for him to take up his sword again. When this happened, the warrior suddenly assumed a defensive stance. He held up his leaf-shaped shield in front of him and turned his green blade so its side faced Hadjar. The rotten tree crowns froze over the warrior’s head, and the withered grass around his feet stilled.

Hadjar felt some pressure descend upon him again. His True Kingdom would be destroyed if he used it like before, simply releasing it into the world and not imprisoning it inside his sword.

He was peering into the darkness underneath his opponent’s hood and trying to recall the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman. Returning mentally to his past, he didn’t see or hear what was happening behind him.

“How long are they going to stand like this?” Alba-udun took another bite of his latest apple. “What’s wrong with this dead guy anyway? I never encountered anything like him before.”

“Have you never fought against the dead?” Itia asked in genuine surprise.

“Restless souls sometimes rise up in the crypts of the Mountain. We were sent in to guide them to the Stone Ancestors a few times.”

“He isn’t quite dead,” Guy touched his mask again. “He’s stuck on the threshold of his forefathers’ house. His gaze is directed at the ancestral table, but his soul is tied to a body that hasn’t gotten its final rest yet.”

“You’re scaring me, half-face,” Gustaf smiled wanly. “What about our favorite-”

“Death is near,” Guy interrupted him, and the archer sighed with relief. “But not for this warrior. Who knows how many epochs he has been walking around these lands, waiting for someone who can give him the long-awaited judgment of his forefathers to come along…”

“By the gods and demons,” Itia breathed out. “Do you really think he’s one of those people from Abraham’s story? Do you really think this is a warrior from the Potter’s army?”

“Maybe,” Guy drawled.

The whip on Itia’s arm creaked and her eyes became as sharp as a dagger:

“Who in their right mind would condemn even their most hated and evil enemy to such a fate?”

“Calm down, my dear,” Abraham put his hand on Itia’s shoulder. “There comes a time when we all have to answer for our sins. Who knows what this warrior did during his lifetime. The kind of power he has… I haven’t even…” The old rogue stopped talking.

Everyone was too busy watching the fight between the two warriors to notice this, or the deep pain and sadness in the old thief’s eyes. Everyone except Guy.

“Death is near, my friend,” he whispered so that only Abraham could hear him. “We are finally on the right path.”

Abraham didn’t react in any way. He only continued to observe the two motionless figures.

***

“One day, Hadjar, the moment will come,” the Shadow of the Immortal was swinging a ghostly blade around as he circled his disciple, “When you encounter an opponent who will be able to take away all the power that you’ve collected bit by bit.”

“Take away my power?”

The Shadow nodded.

“Is that even possible?”

“Doesn’t it already happen every day? Isn’t someone taking away our power every day and every hour, leaving us to fight with our bare hands?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. When the time comes, remember my words. Remember that no matter how strong the enemy is, regardless of what they have taken away from you, as long as your hands are holding a sword, you can still fight. You can fight with your own power.”

***

Hadjar looked at his enemy’s blade that was shrouded in that green glow. The dead warrior had been deprived of all his powers, from his energy body to his will, and yet he was still so mighty that no warrior of the seven Empires could so much as breathe freely in his presence.

Hadjar still couldn’t really understand what Traves and the Shadow of the Immortal had tried to tell him. He still didn’t know what ‘his own power’ was. Every time he’d thought that he had finally been able to get to the bottom of these words, he’d realized that he was only at the very edge of understanding the Way of the Warrior. No matter how far he went, the path ahead still seemed endless.

Even so, this memory was enough to inspire him, and he would try to use those small bits of mysteries beyond the True Sword Kingdom that he had managed to acquire over the years. This battle had definitively confirmed that such a thing did exist.

Hadjar closed his eyes. He sunk deep into his consciousness. He collected the scattered particles of what he’d painstakingly realized. Each of these particles was slowly attached to the Blue Blade, one by one.

In the outside world, this manifested in the stars that seemed to flash along the Blue Blade, as if the sword was coming to life, and the static image of the Quetzal bird soaring through the clouds began to come to life as well.

Using the Wind flowing inside his body, Hadjar took a step forward.

“What the…”

“What is this?”

“Had-kha-jar-ha-djar-kha-dan…”

While Gustaf and Itia couldn’t understand what had just happened, and the dwarf was choking on an apple, Abraham and Guy exchanged glances and nodded to each other.

Chapter 1408

A s far as the rest of the squad could tell, Hadjar suddenly turned into a blurry stream of azure wind and moved directly toward his enemy. The dead warrior didn’t move. Plunging his shield into the ground, he waited for his foe’s onslaught.

The Blue Blade, flashing with swirling stars, crashed into the green steel. There were no shockwaves sweeping away everything in their path, nor any flashes of energy capable of reaching the dark sky. All the power of Hadjar’s mysteries, all his will, energy, and speed, were almost completely concentrated in this attack. Only a few cuts along the ground and the swaying grass indicated that he couldn’t fully control his power yet. The ringing of clashing metal was the only noise produced by their collision.

Without waiting for his opponent to use his mysterious power again, Hadjar turned back into a stream of misty wind and moved behind his foe. Reflected in the ancient, moss-covered armor, he saw himself swinging his sword. For a brief moment, his sword flashed with a similar glow. His wasn’t green, however, but blue.

This was enough to make the dead warrior move from his spot.

After retreating and doing his best to put some distance between them, he turned around and launched a backhanded swing. Hadjar didn’t even try to block it. He felt that if he tried to do so, the small chip on the edge of his blade could turn into an actual crack. His opponent’s green blade struck the azure wind stream. Despite Hadjar’s incredible speed, it was still able to reach him. A new cut appeared on his blue armor and his blood drenched the ground.

Ignoring the wound on his left arm and the green sparks preventing it from healing, Hadjar continued his assault. It looked as if a whirlwind of blue wind was circling around the dead warrior, and lightning bolts of steel sprinkled with cold starlight were periodically shooting out of this whirlwind.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before,” Itia breathed out and tightened her grip on the handle of her whip.

Guy and Abraham remained silent.

“Hadjar-dan has gotten stronger again,” the dwarf tossed an apple core over his shoulder. “But he’s still a long way from…”

Nobody listened to Alba-udun. All their attention was focused on the combatants.

No matter how fast Hadjar’s wind was, no matter how quickly his sword struck, the dead warrior managed to block it either with his shield or his sword. The measured, green glow indicated that he wasn’t putting much effort into this battle. With each new exchange of blows, he only pushed his enemy back.

Hadjar felt his power running out as his energy supply dwindled. It became increasingly difficult to maintain his ‘Path Through the Stars’ and his connection to the Wind. So, stopping abruptly, he used the inertia from his rapid movements and all the resources he could muster to summon a single Technique.

In the past, he could use the ‘Dragon Storm’ several times during a duel, but now his source almost broke due to the fact that more than two-thirds of his reserves were pulled out of it just to create a single wave of energy followed by a dragon’s open maw, which was ghostly and barely noticeable. It was almost as if Hadjar hadn’t advanced up the ladder of cultivation, but, on the contrary, had taken a few steps back and returned to the bare minimum of a true cultivator. However, the concentration of power in this Technique was so great that even the squad members standing in the distance felt its pressure on their souls.

When the dead warrior, who was leaning into his shield with all his weight, blocked the attack, Hadjar couldn’t maintain control over the power.

“By the Stone Ancestors!” The dwarf exclaimed and, swinging his axes, enveloped the squad in a shield of red-hot lava.

Who knew what might’ve happened if he had been even a fraction of a second slower. A blue flash enveloped the swamps. A whirlwind comprised of cutting wind that had incredible speed and power circled around the two combatants, and then, accompanied by a dragon’s roar, the silhouette of a titanic sword pierced the sky, cutting through the dense cover of low clouds and exposing the darkness of the starless night.

“I’m not sure that-”

“That even the Dragon Emperor could deflect such an attack easily,” Abraham interrupted the half-faced man.

When the flashes of energy dissipated, and the whirlwind finally settled down, an absolutely incredible sight greeted them. The disheveled Hadjar stood in torn and bloody clothes that only vaguely resembled his fine armor. His trembling hands barely held on to his vibrating blade. Blood was running in streams all over his body. The dead warrior stood in front of him. He looked the same as before. Only a small cut had appeared on the surface of his shield.

“Damn it!”

Drawing his blades, Abraham charged in to try and rescue him. Guy had already swung his axe, intending to plunge it into the ground and use a Technique. Itia’s whip soared through the air. Gustaf’s arrow whistled off the bowstring. Albadurt’s axes blazed with volcanic flames.

The dead warrior didn’t even turn in their direction. He just waved his sword at them and the green glow covered the swamp. When it subsided, all of them were unconscious.

Only Hadjar was still on his feet. The dead warrior approached him. Hadjar sensed something staring into his eyes, looking for something in them. Hadjar tried to raise his sword. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to defeat the dead warrior. Still, that didn’t mean that the battle was over.

The dead warrior swung his sword. Hadjar held his breath for a moment. He’d been prepared for anything: a flash of pain, a light at the end of the tunnel, the house of his forefathers, but the dead warrior pointed his sword somewhere to the northeast, nodded his head, turned around, and went in the opposite direction.

“Hey! Stop!” Hadjar called out to him through the pain and the approaching gloom. “Our battle... isn’t over yet…”

The dead warrior didn’t listen to his wheezing. He just continued on his way into the darkness. He was still waiting for the one who would grant him his long-awaited death in glorious battle.

When the green glow dissolved in the darkness, Hadjar fell to the ground. Blood was flowing from his wounds. His energy body wasn’t hurt, but with his source empty, he couldn’t speed up the healing process, and his natural regeneration was hindered by the green sparks.

“Fucking hell,” he swore.

Immobilized, he lay there and watched the clouds slowly covering the sky, enveloping the cold universe. No matter how many roads he traversed, no matter how many battles he left behind… Damn it all. He was still only at the very beginning of his journey...

“You’re probably the bravest and dumbest mortal I’ve ever known.”

A small sun flashed on Hadjar’s chest.

“Freya,” he croaked. “Why are you here?”

Chapter 1409

T he fairy Freya. A small creature that could fit inside the bud of a wildflower. She was also a beautiful and incredibly powerful warrior. A messenger of the gods and one of the Ancients. Her sword, which looked more like a needle, rested in a leather scabbard. Four transparent golden wings, woven from sunlight, were folded behind her back.

Hadjar hadn’t noticed right away, but something in the fairy’s appearance had changed. She’d used to wear a dress or a doublet, but now she was wearing full armor. What kind of blacksmith could forge such tiny armor so skillfully, complete with coats of arms and patterns? Most importantly…

“Why are you-”

“There’s no time,” Freya took off. “You, Wind of the Northern Valleys, have managed to find trouble where there shouldn’t have been any, as always.”

Golden sparks fell on Hadjar, who was lying in a pool of his own blood. The more Freya flapped her wings, the thicker the haze of golden sparks became. They covered the warrior’s body with a warm blanket of light.

“What’s this?” He asked in a much calmer tone.

The pain was gradually going away. The golden glow was slowly but surely expelling the remnants of the dead warrior’s energy from his body.

“I couldn’t explain it to you, little warrior, even if you passed the trial of the Heavens and the Earth.”

“The Heavens and the Earth... The Immortals, they-”

“They don’t have this power,” the fairy interrupted him. She really was in a hurry, not even trying to obfuscate anything.

Soon, Hadjar’s wounds healed and he was able to get back on his feet. Freya hovered in the air in front of him. Her eyes, which were the color of a bright dawn, looked anxious and worried.

“What lies beyond the True Kingdom, little warrior, is the secret upon which the Seventh Heaven stands.”

“So, there really is something there...” Hadjar drawled thoughtfully. “If not all Immortals possess such power, then who-”

“One of the dead kings,” the fairy interrupted him again. “I don’t have much time, Hadjar. The Pond of the Eternal Eye will soon be able to pierce the local veil with its gaze.”

“The Pond of the Eternal Eye? What are you talking about? One of the dead kings? Isn’t that Erhard?”

“Listen to me carefully, human,” the fairy flew close to Hadjar’s nose. “I’ve already told you not to trust a halfbreed. And now I’ll say this: find out how predictions work, and find out the first of them. Hurry up. War is coming.”

“War?” Hadjar, who’d barely had any time to recover from his battle, couldn’t understand what Freya was talking about. A long time ago, she’d given him three pieces of advice, but he’d thought that the events related to them had long since come to pass. “What war?”

Freya touched her armor, “The last war.” For the first time ever, Hadjar heard something akin to fear in the fairy’s voice. “The altar of the one who wasn’t born. Find out about it. Find out about the predictions. Please, little warrior, while there is still a little time left…”

Hadjar shuddered. It was an old memory that he would’ve liked to forget, but which was still stuck in his soul like an old splinter: ‘The one who wasn’t born will bring you death.’

“Hurry up,” Freya continued. “Time is running out. The battle drums have already begun to beat. The flame has broken out in the forges. Hurry up. The Seventh Heaven is waiting for you, little warrior and…” The fairy stopped. She turned sharply toward the dark, clouded sky.

Freya saw something scary there.

“Goodbye, Hadjar,” she turned back to him abruptly. “The next time we see each other, one of us will die.”

She flapped her wings and flew up to his forehead. Clinging to it with her whole body, as if it was something that could protect her from all troubles, she kissed him with her golden lips. Hadjar could barely feel this farewell kiss.

“Freya, you…”

The fairy was already gone. She’d faded away like a half-remembered dream. Only a small spark on his forehead, which was slowly being absorbed into his skin, was proof that everything that had just happened had been real. Hadjar rubbed the spot she’d kissed.

“I’d like to deal with the Raven Sect first,” he grumbled and, turning around, went over to the others, who were still lying on the ground. “Fucking hell, I hate all these schemes…”

***

“Emperor, all your schemes will lead to nothing. The Wind of the Northern Valleys won’t play the obedient role of a pawn in them.”

In the middle of the most beautiful of the Palace halls, on the stones sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow, which were decorated with a spring wind imprinted in the marble pattern, lay an equally beautiful maiden. She was wounded, with dried blood in her golden hair, naked, covered in bruises and abrasions, bound by chains forged from the rarest and most powerful magical metals that had been enchanted by the best of the court mages. She was barely breathing. And yet, her eyes the color of a bright dawn radiated only will and courage. Despite the fact that she had been stripped naked, beaten, and truly injured, she hadn’t given up on trying to break the chains and get back up.

“They’ll lead to nothing?” A voice sounded.

There was no one else in the hall except the maiden. The voice seemed to flow from inside the Palace itself. Or maybe the Palace itself was really talking.

“Derger... I only asked you to bring our beautiful messenger to me.”

“My Emperor,” another voice sounded, “She resisted. I just-”

“That’s enough,” the first voice interrupted him. “You may go.”

There were footsteps in the hall, but no one could be seen.

“Why did you decide to help him, Messenger?” After some time, the voice asked. “The war is near. We’ve lost an experienced commander due to your defiance.”

She was breathing heavily, but the look in her eyes remained clear and steadfast.

“All debts,” she said with great difficulty, “Must be... paid... my…  Emperor.”

“Debts?” The voice sounded surprised. “Do you honor your duty to that poor creature that still wanders in the darkness?”

“That creature... had... a name...” The maiden said through gritted teeth. With every word she spoke, the chains tightened even more. They tore her flesh and broke her bones. “Until you... took... even... that.”

“I took his name? Are you accusing me of unlawfully taking the name of a poor mortal?” The voice laughed, and it sounded as if something was thundering in the sky. “I have the right to take the names of everyone who walks under the heavens. I have the right to take the lives of everyone whose eyes have seen the light of Irmaril. I am everything. I am the beginning. I am-”

Laughter rang out in the hall once again. But this time, it was completely different: fragile and full of pain and regret.

“You can try to convince yourself of this as much as you like, my Emperor,” gathering all her strength, the maiden spat out these words. The chains squeezed her even tighter. “But there are those in this world who know the truth…”

Something hung over the maiden. Something that silenced her.

“Be careful what you say next,” the voice whispered.

“Are my words false?”

“Maybe not…”

For a while, there was only silence in the hall.

“Everything isn’t lost yet, my Emperor,” the maiden whispered. “You can still…”

Something invisible lifted her chin. It looked into her eyes.

“You already knew it would happen when you agreed to my offer to go on a trip with Ash, didn’t you, you little girl?” The voice sounded insinuating, as if it was penetrating the maiden’s consciousness, easily wandering through her memories. “You felt how it would all end, but you still went anyway.”

“My people-”

“You made a deal with me, Messenger. You, not me, came here and prayed for me to save your people from Time. I fulfilled your request.”

“I-”

“Debts must be paid,” the voice interrupted again. “You said so yourself. Your debt to me is still unpaid.”

The chains that had been tormenting the maiden’s body all this time fell to the ground, and the fairy now hung in the air.

“Now go, Messenger. When the time comes, you’ll meet him on the battlefield and pierce his heart with your blade. That’s your debt. And you’ll pay it.”

The silence was broken only by the barely audible flapping of wings.

“Won’t you, Freya?”

The fairy, who was frozen in the air, naked, wounded, but not broken, only lifted her head proudly.

“Or should I call you Maverie? Is that the name you came up with when you met him back then? I never liked it.” There was irony in these words. “I wonder how the Wizard will react if he ever finds out that all these epochs, his last friend, whom he buried so long ago, has been alive and well. Although, are you really his friend, my beautiful spy? Or have you already forgotten whom you serve?”

The voice laughed again.

“I-”

“Don’t forget, as long as you serve me, your people won’t disappear in Time.”

The eyes the color of a bright dawn flashed, then faded out.

“My... Emperor...” The fairy bowed.

“You made the right decision. You may go. You need to prepare for battle.”

“Yes, my Emperor.”

The fairy flapped her wings and flew out of the hall.

Chapter 1410

“D ie!” Hadjar dodged, and Abraham’s dagger passed an inch from his left eye. “Damn, it’s just you...” Abraham exhaled and tried to get up while cursing, but failed.

“You don’t seem happy to see me,” Hadjar grinned and, wiping away his sweat, sat down on the nearest hummock.

“Everything in this world is relative,” Abraham shrugged. “Gentlemen and lady-”

“And dwarf!” Alba-udun added a little indignantly.

“And dwarf,” Abraham added with a sigh, “What condition are we in?”

Hadjar had woken Abraham up last because the old rogue had the highest level of cultivation. Hadjar could’ve taken advantage of the situation to scan Abraham’s energy body completely, but there would’ve been no honor in that.

“We’re somewhere between the hairy cheeks of my old, wrinkled ass-”

Abraham cleared his throat and raised his hand.

“Thanks, Alba-udun,” he interrupted the dwarf. “Gustaf, what do you have to say?”

The archer folded his telescope. It was a lot better than what Hadjar had used over his years of wandering. This telescope could easily pierce the dense air of the local atmosphere. Such artifacts made Hadjar think that the seven Empires weren’t really vast territories in the eyes of truly powerful cultivators.

“Considering everything that’s happened, we are about a day, maybe two days behind Kafem and his group.”

“Damn it,” Abraham hissed. “We must hurry, gentlemen and dwarf.”

“And lady,” Itia smiled a little slyly.

“Honey, I’d tip my hat to you, but I lost it somewhere.”

“How are you handling the loss of your favorite hat?”

“By the gods and demons, woman, why are you picking at my soul scar? I would rather have lost my... On second thought, no, it may still be useful to me.”

“I guess you’re saving it for the cheap girls?”

“I’m not rich enough for the expensive ones. So, you’re right, my beautiful Itia.”

“Don’t even try, you old dog. Your eloquence hasn’t worked on me since I was a teenager.”

Hadjar looked at Itia and Abraham. Strangely, he still didn’t know much about their past, despite the fact that he trusted them to have his back. Guy and Abraham had once served in an army. Itia had been one of those girls she had just mentioned. Gustaf... Who knew what had brought him to the squad.

In spite of these unpleasant thoughts, Hadjar still smiled. It felt good to just listen to this light, friendly argument. However, the spark left by Freya was still burning his forehead, which tinged all his enjoyment with worry.

“What happened to the dead warrior?” Guy’s heavy voice suddenly soured the cheerful atmosphere.

Everyone turned to Guy. His question hadn’t been posed directly to Hadjar. The axeman, who was wrapped up in a ragged cloak and standing on a stone, had dropped this question into the darkness.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Guy asked.

Hadjar only nodded stiffly.

“Guy, you…” Abraham didn’t finish. Something stopped him and the old rascal just shook his head and got to his feet with a sigh. “Let’s go,” he said without a trace of the foolishness from before. “These lands have proven that they’re dangerous. We shouldn’t waste even a minute.”

They got up and, after collecting their simple belongings, headed in the direction where the tracker, which was still attached to Kafem’s group, was leading them.

Guy hesitated. He was still standing on the stone and peering into the darkness. When he thought that no one could see him, Guy bowed low and said something in a language that Hadjar had never heard before.

By the Evening Stars, Hadjar didn’t want to distrust Abraham and his people. When he was with them, he felt a kind of warmth and calm that he had once felt back when he’d worn the various officer badges of the Moon army. But…

***

“He said, ‘Honor and Glory to the King of the Past.’”

Hadjar choked on the paw of a local rabbit. Cultivators of their level didn’t need food. But ‘You are what you eat’ was a saying for a reason. The local atmosphere was pressing down on them. So, instead of expending their alchemical supplies and using them to replenish their power, Gustaf and Alba-udun had spent half an hour hunting. They’d caught some rabbits. Horned ones. With claws and fangs, and with Cores valuable enough to buy the entirety of Lidus with. Each rabbit had been at the initial level of the Primordial Stage. These furry beasts the size of cats had been capable of destroying a weak Lord. Gustaf and the dwarf had caught ten of them.

“How do you know?”

Alba-udun’s eyes flashed with a joyful glow as he sat down next to Hadjar. They were sitting on the other side of the fire, and because of the flames, it was difficult for the others to see and hear what these two were talking about. That was good. The dwarf started talking in a rare dialect of the Dragon Lands:

“I heard this story from the cousin of my grandpa on my-”

“Albadurt, in all honesty, after recent events, my consciousness isn’t strong enough to keep track of the intricacies of the many branches of your ancestral tree.”

“How beautiful.”

“Pardon?”

“What you said about the ancestral tree, Hadjar-dan. We call our family ‘a stone.’ Trees almost never grow inside the Ruby Mountains. Although, when I studied at the human academy, there was a tree there. I really loved climbing on it and-”

“Albadurt!” Hadjar pleaded.

“What? Ah, yes. Well, one of my grandmothers used to tell me fairy tales. In fact, all the mothers of our mothers should do so. Although, I don’t know exactly what human grandmothers-”

Hadjar pointed a sharp stick at the dwarf, on which pieces of rabbit meat had been baked above the coals.

“Well,” the dwarf broke off a rabbit paw from the stick and started eating it, bones and all. “In these fairy tales, there were countries that were once located on the territory of the Strange Lands.”

“Were there really countries here in the past?”

“Of course there were,” the dwarf nodded. “Magical lands where magical creatures, the First Races, and humans lived together. For example, the Amarie Hills, where the senior fairies lived.” Hadjar held his breath. “Maybe you didn’t know this, but once upon a time, fairies weren’t as small as they are now. And they certainly didn’t serve the gods. But before the Master of Almost All Words was even born, they made an alliance with the Seventh Heaven, and their queen, a beautiful warrior, entered the service of the Jasper Emperor, and he, in turn, saved the senior fairies from Time by making them so small that it could no longer perceive them.”

Hadjar looked at Alba-udun a bit differently now. Was there really a whole storehouse of knowledge about ancient times hidden behind the facade of a talkative Udun?

“Don’t act so surprised, Hadjar-dan,” the dwarf continued with a slight sadness in his voice. “We, the few remaining survivors of the First Races, remember history better than the human tribe.”

“I see.”

Alba-udun chuckled, “This is the only thing that still connects our peoples with those times when we walked freely on these lands, and there was no counting our numbers. And now… the Races are leaving in Time one by one. I’ve heard that the steppe orcs of Lascan also left recently.”

Steppe Fang… May you have a magnificent hunt, my old friend!

“Do you think Guy is that old?” Hadjar asked.

“I don’t think so, Hadjar-dan. The times I’m telling you about are older than even some of the Ancients. Maybe in the Land of the Immortals there are some who remember the stories of their parents about those lands, but not here, in the realm of Time.”

“Then why…”

Alba-udun turned sharply to Hadjar. His eyes flashed.

“Life has taught me, Hadjar-dan, to never, under any circumstances, trust humans.” Hadjar had no doubt that Alba-udun would, without any hesitation, instantly turn his weapons against Abraham and his people if he had to.

“But you call me your friend and-”

The fire in Alba-udun’s eyes went out as abruptly as it had flared up, then the dwarf laughed, which briefly attracted the rest of the squad’s attention.

“What a joker you are, Hadjar-dan!” The dwarf was guffawing furiously and hitting his knee with his palm. “Do you really consider yourself to be a human?” He wiped away his tears and patted Hadjar on the shoulder. “Good joke, Hadjar-dan. Oh... I can’t... man…”

Hadjar was too shocked to react in any way, so he just sat there and stared at the dwarf.

“Stay alert, my friend,” the dwarf finished laughing just as abruptly. “I’ll watch your back, but stay alert. I don’t trust Abraham and Guy, and neither should you.” Taking the stick from Hadjar’s hands, he went out to the patrol post — he had drawn the lot that meant he had first watch.

Chapter 1411

“W hat do you see, Gustaf?” Abraham whispered.

Instead of his lost hat, he now wore a gray bandana over his gray hair.

“Kafem and his people have camped out near a rock.”

Abraham’s squad was hidden behind a hill that was about ten minutes away from the spot where Kafem and his mercenaries had been standing for almost a day.

Though the Eglhen marsh was almost a perfectly flat surface, there were some deep ravines left over from dried-up lakes, some actual lakes, and even some low forests, but there weren’t any mountains. Except for a single, lonely rock. It looked like the fragment of an arrow that had fallen from the sky and plunged into the ground, remaining there to rot in oblivion for all eternity.

“Why have they stayed there for a whole day?” Itia frowned.

Guy silently sharpened his monstrous axe. Hadjar thought about what the dwarf had told him two days earlier. Even if he set aside his paranoia, it was still impossible not to notice the oddities in Guy’s and Abraham’s motives and behavior.

“Maybe he didn’t need the Darkness of the Last Nights for himself?” Gustaf handed the telescope to Abraham.

The latter, after crawling along the wet ground to get into a better position, directed the artifact toward the rock.

“Do you think Alf was just another mercenary?” He asked. “Then the question becomes: who does Kafem work for? Alba-udun…”

“What, human garbage?”

Unlike the others, the dwarf wasn’t prone. He was leaning against a dry, dead tree, standing fully upright, and picking his teeth with a stick. However, he was still invisible. Hadjar had already begun to understand his new and very strange friend. The dwarf wasn’t worried about the humans’ potential displeasure at all. He considered himself a kind of dispassionate observer who was simply there to cover Hadjar’s back. It reminded him of how he and Einen had traveled through the Sea of Sand. Dwarves probably weren’t all that different from humans.

“What can the Darkness of the Last Nights be used for?” Abraham asked.

The squad had stopped paying attention to the dwarf’s rude and insulting words a long time ago. None of them doubted that, at the crucial moment, Alba-udun would lend a hand.

“A lot of things.” Albadurt threw the stick away behind him. “Rituals that use the dark energy of the World River can lead to a variety of consequences.”

“I wonder where the dwarf acquired such vast knowledge about dark energy…” Gustaf squinted a little. “Your people-”

“Don’t talk about my people that way,” Alba-udun retorted a little more harshly than usual. “We were fighting against the dark priests before your tribe had even come down from the trees.”

“Dark priests?” Hadjar asked.

His neural network’s database didn’t contain any information about any dark priests, only the most common ones. They only lived in the Land of the Immortals. They were servants in the temples of the gods and instruments of their will in the mortal world, as the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven couldn’t directly influence the lives of mortals because of the laws of the Heavens and the Earth. The Immortals, being an intermediate link, had their own loopholes and indulgences in this regard. For example, due to his numerous deals with Helmer, he could now influence Hadjar’s life a little more than other demons.

“These are old stories, Hadjar-dan,” the dwarf, still not caring about secrecy, approached the hill and, shading his eyes with his hand, peered into the distance. “Stories that my grandfather was told by his mother’s mother.”

Unlike with his previous stories, this time, no one rolled their eyes and looked for a way to shut up the talkative dwarf as soon as possible.

“Once upon a time, back when the Enemy hadn’t yet cut the Verge off from our world, various creatures broke through it. Not all of them looked like monsters that were incomprehensible to our minds. There were even some who could communicate.”

“Communicate?”

Hadjar already knew what kind of war the Black General had been waging tirelessly for countless epochs. He’d even heard that he’d managed to win against innumerable hordes of creatures from beyond the Verge. But he had never heard of those creatures being able to communicate.

“How-”

“They offered power,” Guy suddenly interrupted Alba-udun. “Power in exchange for service. Like the gods with their priests.”

“Exactly,” the dwarf nodded. Hadjar noted that Guy and Abraham knew a little more than they maybe should. “But while the gods don’t ask for anything in return…”

Hadjar doubted that very much.

“…those beings gave power in exchange for souls.”

“Souls?”

“Yes. The dark priests were supposed to gather souls for those creatures. By the way, that’s why dark energy has become associated with demons. Ordinary people believe that demons devour souls, even though they would rather destroy them completely than collect them.”

Hadjar looked at his sword. He remembered the conversation he’d had with the dragon artifactor: the Predatory Blades hadn’t been made by blacksmiths’ hammers. The Soul Predatory Weapon was the weapon of a god, created from his own soul and as a part of his flesh. According to legends, only the Black General, the one who’d spent the longest time on the front lines, fighting against creatures beyond the Verge, had ever wielded one. After all, as any warrior knew all too well, when you fought against someone for long enough, you would eventually take in a bit of your enemy without even meaning to.

“But the last dark priests disappeared before the era of the Drunken Monk, the last era of the Golden Times, which were several epochs before the Battle of the Heavens and the Earth.”

Suddenly, the dwarf drew his axes.

“What are you up to, dwarf?” Itia hissed.

“Take a closer look,” Alba-udun pointed to the west. “I think we’ll soon find out for whom Kafem bought that potion.”

Chapter 1412

I n the Eglhen marsh, there were no roads or paths. It seemed like even the Heavens themselves hadn’t planned for someone intelligent to try and live here. However, a group of people who were using six-legged, initial-level Spirit Stage horses whose manes had been replaced with sharp spikes as their mounts seemed to already be aware of this. They were also pulling along, or rather, guiding the strangest carriage Hadjar had ever seen. Instead of using wheels, it was floating on a cloud. It was similar to the magic Techniques used by dragon mages, only far more powerful. The carriage easily floated over the marsh.

Clad in identical suits of gray armor, the warriors radiated the auras of high-stage Nameless. Their leader, a stocky rider who wore a white cloak (the others wore gray ones), didn’t try to conceal his power as an initial-stage Heaven Emperor. Their coat of arms shone on the warriors’ breastplates: it depicted two stars being pierced by long spears, which formed the symbol for ‘rain.’

“Is this some sort of clan?” Itia asked after Hadjar handed her the telescope he had received from Abraham.

“The Strange Lands are a very old region,” Abraham replied. “Some truly ancient families live here. One of them is right in front of you. The Star Rain clan. They practice the Stardrops Spear Style, which was created by their founder, who overcame the trial of the Heavens and the Earth long ago and became an Immortal.”

Hadjar slowly turned to Abraham, but he answered even before the question was asked:

“My father tried to top up his piggy bank several times. Even the Ruby Palace can’t compare to the old families of the Strange Lands. This region is the last frontier before the Land of Immortals. That’s why…”

Hadjar looked at the coat of arms again. This family had its own Immortal. Maybe even more than one of them. None of the forces of the other regions could boast of this as far as he knew. Indeed, the Strange Lands were a very special area.

“But what could they possibly need from the Raven Sect in general and Kafem in particular?” Gustaf asked.

“Moreover,” Abraham added, “The Star Rain family is known for their charity work and having quite a friendly disposition. They rarely leave the territories under their control, and those territories, in turn, don’t experience any riots or uprisings.”

Hadjar took another look at the coat of arms. During his life, he had more than once seen how aristocrats who wore a mask of virtue were usually hiding something that was its exact opposite behind it.

“Gustaf, can you reach them? Imperceptibly?”

“I’ll try.”

Abraham nodded and took out a small leather pouch from his spatial artifact. He tied it to one of Gustaf’s arrows and the latter, after pulling his bowstring back until it creaked, launched the arrow. After flying for at least three miles, it embedded itself into a rock so neatly that it didn’t make a single sound or cause any part of the rock to fall away.

“Great!”

Abraham took out another artifact, which was a small music box this time. When he opened it, everyone in the squad could clearly hear everything that those who were standing next to the rock were saying, like they were right next to them. Without a doubt, this was definitely not the cheapest artifact in a thief’s toolkit.

***

“Kafem, we’ve checked the area and spotted no one,” one of the mercenaries reported.

Kafem’s blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and he was dressed in loose, white clothes. He was sitting on a rock and, with his chin propped up, he watched the approaching Star Rain family members with a bored expression on his face.

“Tell your people not to do anything... interesting.”

“Interesting, Kafem?” The mercenary snorted. “Your Sect pays us enough not to look for other ways to make money. Moreover, my guys still want to live and agitating the clan’s fighters would go against that desire.”

“It’s good that you know that, Alkor. Now go. Watch the perimeter.”

“Are you sure those cultivators are still alive?”

“They are. If Raven’s Wing’s words were at least a little bit true, we can’t get rid of the Mad General that easily.”

“Okay, but what if-”

“If something happens, neither you nor I will be a match for these aristocrats. So, let’s hope everything goes smoothly.”

The mercenary Alkor, after casting a quick glance at the dismounting warriors, turned around and walked briskly toward his men. There were now fewer aristocrats than they’d had in their group initially. Some of them were probably patrolling while others were lying in wait.

Hadjar’s trained eye easily caught the coordinated work of a military unit. They’d instantly outlined an inner perimeter with their bodies, and their spears were ready to occupy the outer one. The carriage was in the center of their encirclement. An elderly man stepped out of it. His best years were clearly behind him, but true strength hadn’t yet left neither his hands nor his brown eyes. Hadjar saw all of this thanks to the Technique Gevestus had taught him. He doubted that anyone living in the Strange Lands would be able to notice a True Name’s presence.

“Kafem,” the old man bowed slightly.

It was clear that he’d been a soldier once and had fought in many battles. He’d also offered up a bow more out of politeness than any deep respect.

“Honorable Cassius.” The sectarian didn’t even think to bow. The Raven’s followers had some problems with this act. “How was your journey? I’ve heard that not everything is peaceful and quiet in the Star Rain Lands right now. Well, with the Head’s only daughter being ill... Vultures have probably started circling above your heads already and-”

“Kafem, if I wanted to discuss my family’s affairs with you, it would clearly not be in this life.” Cassius, demonstrating his staunch faith in his own abilities, calmly stepped outside the perimeter set up by his people. “Here’s your Sect’s payment.”

He took a ring off his finger and threw it on the ground, right at Kafem’s feet. It was a gesture that could be regarded as an insult.

“Of course, of course, honorable Cassius,” the sectarian smiled.

There was a pause. Apparently, Kafem was incredibly pleased that the representative of one of the most powerful clans in this world was depending on him to some extent.

“The Stars and Moon potion, Kafem. We’ve paid a high price for it.”

“Of course,” Kafem nodded. “The potion and the ritual are already in our possession,” he patted a small bag slung over his shoulder. “Where is the young lady?”

“In the carriage. She’s too weak to move on her own.”

“Of course… Well, in that case, I am afraid to say that I don’t know what to do: the ritual can only be carried out inside.”

“Inside?”

Kafem got up, dusted himself off, and slowly walked up to a rock. After standing in front of it for a short time, he put his palm to its surface. Ancient hieroglyphs and magical symbols lit up all over the rock. A part of the rock disappeared, revealing a passage. There was a partially collapsed staircase inside.

“Welcome, honorable Cassius, to the temple of the Goddess of Life. Only… I’m afraid your carriage won’t be able to pass through here.”

***

Hadjar exchanged glances with the dwarf.

“This is a temple of the dark priests,” the dwarf made some sacred protection gestures. “And he definitely doesn’t have the Stars and Moon potion in his bag. What is going on here?”

“Let’s find out,” Abraham checked his scabbards and blades. “We’re going after them.”

Hadjar swore under his breath.

Chapter 1413

W hile Abraham’s squad was preparing to follow Kafem into the temple of the dark priests, Cassius and his men carefully took an elegant stretcher out of the carriage. By the High Heavens, even the most distinguished representatives of the nobility in all the regions wouldn’t have refused a chance to rest on such a stretcher. The crossbars were made of some incredibly expensive, magical wood. They radiated an aura of calm and peace. Even from such a great distance, it was easy to sense that they were able to increase the healing properties of medicines several fold. The fabric connecting the magic crossbars was either silk or brocade. Its magic was even stronger than that of the wood, inundated with various potions and powders, and enchanted with the strongest of healing magic.

“Damn it,” Abraham said. “My wrinkles will disappear at this rate.”

“And maybe you’ll regain your potency,” Itia chuckled.

“Darling, do you really think I go to brothels for the sake of small talk?”

“Oh, you can talk? I was sure that you can only drink and sleep.”

“Death is near,” Guy adjusted his mask. “And for this girl, it’s very near.”

On the stretcher, beneath covers made from equally precious and magical healing materials, was a girl who looked to be about seventeen years old. It was her actual age, too.

Hadjar wasn’t looking at her face, which had been disfigured by black scabs, wrinkles, rotten boils, whitish pimples, and other wounds, the edges of which hadn’t healed, exposing yellowish flesh and pale blood. He was looking deeper, at her energy body. A normal cultivator’s energy body resembled a human circulatory system with several centers. But the girl’s energy body looked torn apart. Her channels and nodes had been severed. They resembled an incredibly chaotic tangle of dirty rags, from which the girl’s energy gushed freely into her surroundings.

“By the gods and demons,” Gustaf breathed out in awe. “How is she still alive? That’s just impossible.”

But it was possible. Hadjar knew this all too well, perhaps he even knew it better than anyone. It was possible to survive as an ugly cripple, but only when your energy body had been destroyed at the earliest levels of cultivation and at a very young age. However, the girl’s wounds were relatively recent. Maybe six months or a year old at most.

Surprisingly, she was already a mid-stage Nameless at such a young age. Even Hadjar had only reached a similar level after more than a century of effort, and while risking his life every day in the process.

“What a pity!” Kafem shook his head. He stood next to the stretcher and watched Cassius’ men as they carried the girl into the bowels of the temple. “The heiress of the Star Rain family… Who would’ve thought that she would suffer such a setback at the Forty Families Tournament?”

“The Forty Families Tournament? What’s that?” Gustaf asked.

“Once every twenty-five years, the forty largest families of the Strange Lands arrange a competition for the younger generation.” Abraham once again put the telescope up to his eye. “The main requirements to compete are that the contestants have to be younger than twenty-five while also being at the Nameless level.”

“What?” Albadurt cried out. “How is that-”

“Shhh,” they all hissed at him.

“Forget everything you knew about the path of cultivation from your old countries and regions,” the old rogue continued. “The Strange Lands are a completely different beast altogether. Some even call this region the True Land of Martial Arts. The Forge of the Immortals.”

Hadjar just massaged the bridge of his nose. He had already heard the word ‘true’ being thrown around a lot. He’d even gotten tired of it. There were so many ‘true’ things in the Nameless World that the fact you could even find anything false at all was strange. Although, when looked at more closely, all the ‘true’ things turned out to only be the result of combining ignorance and a small mind.

“The forty strongest families that also include several sects and large clans possess about ninety percent of all the best resources and lands in this region.” Abraham folded his telescope, uncorked several flasks, and covered the surface of his blades with their contents. “Each of these families is in no way inferior to the capitals of the other regions in power.”

“Damn it,” Gustaf swore. “Why do these monsters even fight each other?”

“Well, their motives are the same as ours, even though we’re mere mortals: honor, glory, resources. Most of the Immortals come from the Strange Lands. It is here that the best of the best are concentrated: knowledge, artifacts, resources, sects, schools, clans, or families. That’s why every cultivator strives to get into the Strange Lands. This is the only place in the mortal world where you can hope to reach the real peak of the path of cultivation.”

“You sound just like a barker at the market.” Itia pulled her hair into a tight bun and, using her Imperial Armor, covered her face with a leather mask that acted as a replacement for a helmet. She had to use light, mobile armor. Her leather jacket and high boots, which were high-quality artifacts, could withstand several quite powerful attacks. “We’re already in the Strange Lands. There is no point in actively convincing us to go here.”

“I was just answering the question.” Abraham adjusted his bandana and also put on a mask. Itia’s mask looked like a simple oval with several slits, but Abraham preferred to wear the visage of a fox.

“If it hadn’t been for the son of the Underground Whisper family, none of this would’ve happened.” Cassius walked next to the stretcher, looking depressed.

“The Underground Whisper?” Alba-udun grinned. “That’s what we call diarrhea. Do you know how long dwarven diarrhea lasts? I remember when one of my cousins…”

“The Underground Whisper family?” Kafem grinned. “Wasn’t their eldest son engaged to the young-”

Cassius’ eyes flashed:

“Think twice before you say the young lady’s name.”

“My apologies, honorable Cassius,” Kafem bowed. Despite the regret in his voice, an evil glimmer could be seen in his gray eyes.

Cassius and Kafem followed the procession. Several mercenaries were moving behind them. The rest, including three of the Star Rain people, remained behind to guard the entrance to the temple.

“Stranger,” Abraham turned to Hadjar. “Can you pull off your wind trick with the whole squad?”

Hadjar didn’t answer him immediately. He listened to the Name of the Wind. His loyal friend was ready for any adventures, as always. He wondered if the Black General, back when he had just won the war and was still staying in the Seventh Heaven, had also listened to this constant call of his northern friend?

“Not for long,” he replied. “You all need to hold on to each other, and someone needs to hold on to me. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

“Okay,” Abraham nodded. “Guy, you’re behind Hadjar. Gustaf, Itia, you’re on the right and left. Alba-udun, you-”

“I’ll switch places with Guy,” the dwarf interrupted and stood next to Hadjar.

“By the gods and demons,” Abraham exhaled wearily. “Okay. Then Guy and I will stand close to you. Please try not to kill anyone prematurely. First of all, we are here to take Kafem alive and find out everything we can about the Sect’s lair. Secondly, if possible, we’ll try to help the Star Rain family, because whatever Kafem has planned, it is unlikely to have anything to do with healing the girl.”

“Abraham, are you really going to try and help someone?”

“Why not, Itia? Ultimately, we might manage to kill two birds with one stone and get one of the strongest families of the Strange Lands indebted to us. Who in their right mind would ever refuse such a... Hey... Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because some people never change,” Itia grinned.

“No people ever change,” Abraham waved her away. “Stop talking. They’ve already gone inside. Go on, stranger, do your trick.”

Hadjar closed his eyes and let the Wind envelop the squad.

Chapter 1414

T he squad approached the very edge of the stairs that led down into the temple of the dark priests. After getting past the mercenaries who were guarding the stairs, they emerged from the Wind on the second turn of the stairs. Kafem, Cassius, his men, the girl, and several other mercenaries were ahead of the squad by about forty flights. Most surprisingly, that wasn’t even halfway down the stairs.

“Can you sense it?” Guy whispered.

“Death is near?” Itia prompted.

Despite her bravado, she still looked worried. Even she was only a bit less nervous than the others. Due to her past, Itia possessed a special sort of composure that even the most experienced of thugs would envy.

Hadjar ran his palm along the walls of the tunnel.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hadjar-dan,” Albadurt boomed. The dwarf walked with a frown.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Abraham adjusted his bandana, then lowered his left palm to his blades, “But I agree with the dwarf.”

Guy looked away from the images carved into the walls.

“It’s something even scarier... and it’s near.” He finally said.

Hadjar didn’t know how Kafem had managed to draw Cassius’ gaze away from the insidious decorations, whether he’d used a Technique or the old man’s own desperation, but it would truly be difficult to confuse this place with something that was even remotely related to healing and the Goddess of Life. Depictions of unnerving creatures could be seen on all the walls. It was difficult to even find the right words to describe their appearance, which couldn’t possibly belong not only to this universe, but also to anything that had to have even a spark of life.

Their bodies weren’t like anything Hadjar had ever seen. Their arms looked like legs, their legs like a spider’s flexible legs. These creatures flew, crawled, and disappeared in the faded paint only to reappear in a completely different place. They devoured and tore apart the Nameless World itself.

However, some of the creatures from beyond the Verge looked like humans and wore armor. Tall, creepy humans disfigured by something that was far beyond Hadjar’s comprehension, but still.

An army of these monsters depicted in the ancient stone paintings was fighting a battle against another army of black-armored warriors. These warriors were led by a glorious General whose sword knew no fatigue, and he himself knew no mercy or doubt. A black cloak fluttered behind him. His black helmet topped with a predatory, steel fin sliced through the air, and the darkness itself became his armor. This warrior was fighting atop a mountain of the creatures’ bodies against a huge monster whose mouth looked like a hole in reality itself.

Hadjar’s heart began to beat faster. He could hear the ringing of steel; the crunching of bones; screams and groans. The symphony of this war, which hadn’t ceased for so long that even the youngest of the stars had managed to grow old and go out, and their descendants had even lived out their last few centuries in the endless, cold emptiness of eternity…

“Hadjar-dan?”

He shuddered and moved away from the images.

The rest of the squad had already managed to descend to the next flight of stairs while he had stood there, silently looking at the scene of battle from the distant past, not noticing the passage of time at all.

“Let’s go, Hadjar-dan,” Albadurt pulled him by the hem of his clothes. “It isn’t good to look into these…” He grew silent.

After they caught up with Abraham and the others, their group, hiding in the natural shadows of the staircase, carefully followed Kafem and the cultivators he was no doubt leading into a trap.

“If it hadn’t been for your oath, Kafem,” Cassius’ voice sounded. The old warrior was leading a procession of other warriors in gray armor that were carrying the stretcher on their shoulders, which was currently covered by something that resembled a sarcophagus lid. “I would’ve thought that we aren’t in the temple of the Goddess of Life at all.”

“Then it’s a good thing that oaths exist, honorable Cassius!” The sectarian said, holding his torch out in front of a carving that depicted a gruesome scene of battle. “Speaking of oaths… It’s not very clear to me how the son of the Underground Whisper family managed to hurt the beautiful Lathea and-”

Hadjar felt the hairs on his back stand on end. Maybe this was how his soldiers had once felt when he had been angry with them? It was as if a discontented, hungry predator had woken up from its slumber nearby, and was now ready to spring, baring its fangs and extending its claws. That was what Cassius looked like right now. He’d automatically raised his hand slightly behind his hip. It was a gesture all spearmen were familiar with — to draw their weapon, they first needed to untie it from its sling.

“I warned you, you descendant of that fucking-”

Kafem’s blade appeared at Cassius’ throat. The sectarian radiated a pure desire to decapitate the old man. The situation instantly escalated. Abraham raised his fist and the squad froze. The same thing happened a few flights below them. There, Kafem’s people had drawn their weapons and pointed them at Cassius’ people, and they, in turn, had done the same. Only the few people carrying the sarcophagus with the girl inside of it had remained completely motionless.

“You can treat my Sect as you please, honorable Cassius,” Kafem’s voice sounded as cold as the magic steel in his hands looked. “You can treat me as you please. But the next time you allow yourself to disrespect my ancestor, to whom all of us mortals owe our power and our very lives, I’ll soon find myself burning in the fires of a broken oath, but I’ll take your life first.”

For a moment, a heavy silence hung in the air.

Abraham chuckled softly.

Guy said, “Worthy... Stupid…”

Hadjar agreed. Kafem also had honor, even if it was a perverted kind of honor. No warrior could be condescending toward someone else’s honor. By doing so, they would deprive themselves of their own honor. Cassius was a warrior. He still remembered the ways of his ancestors. He made a fist, covered it with his palm, and nodded his head slightly. He didn’t say anything, but that gesture was enough to convey his apology.

“Well,” Kafem smiled again, and his sword disappeared into its scabbard as quickly as it had appeared. “Let’s keep going, then.”

Chapter 1415

T he procession kept descending, and Abraham’s squad followed after them. Their presence was hidden by the darkness, even fooling all the Nameless and the two Heaven Emperors, Cassius and the guard leader. It wasn’t the darkness of a night in the barn where two lovers were embracing. It wasn’t even the kind that swirled over a battlefield as vultures pecked out the eyes of fallen soldiers.

This darkness was of a completely different kind — viscous, like tar, and predatory, like a hungry wolf. It crept close to the very soul of any person going down and then waited for the right moment to pour itself inside of them and absorb everything it could reach.

That was why fifty powerful cultivators, ranging from the mid-stage Lord level all the way to being genuine Heaven Emperors, were holding torches made of special types of wood and fabric in their hands.

Looking at this procession, which was doing its best to defend itself from the otherworldly darkness, Hadjar mentally rushed through all the roads and paths that he’d had to take on his way here. Every time it had felt like the beings around him had possessed great power, they’d still ended up fighting for their lives against something that had looked frightening even when compared to their amazing might. There was something so mystical and deep in this realization that made Hadjar think about…

“This isn’t the best time to meditate, Hadjar-dan,” Albadurt whispered. “We’re getting close to the Low Temple.”

“The Low Temple?” The archer asked. “What’s that, dwarf?”

“The gate to the abode of the dark priests,” Albadurt spat to the side, “May all their descendants be cursed and their ancestors forgotten.”

These words were quite a harsh and deadly insult for dwarves, so it was easy to imagine just how deep the contempt the dwarf felt toward the dark priests was.

Abraham quickly estimated the distance left until they reached the last flight of stairs, which was already visible at the bottom, and turned to the dwarf.

“While we still have a little time, Alba-udun, we would all like to know what we are going to be dealing with soon.”

The dwarf spat again, swore in his native language, made a sacred sign, and finally said:

“May my fathers’ fathers and my mothers’ mothers forgive me, but these aren’t the kind of stories that the world should hear.”

“This world has heard all sorts of stories,” Itia argued. “Another one isn’t-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman,” the dwarf grimaced. “Every time we recall stories related to the darkness, we only give them more food. We make them stronger. That’s why the name of the Enemy of All Things has been forgotten and only the Ancients still remember it.”

“Enough with your superstitions,” Gustaf waved his protests away, though he still took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it just in case. “Tell us about the temple of the dark priests.”

“Well,” Alba-udun yielded. “It was your choice. But after you hear this story, the mark-”

“-The mark of dark creatures will forever remain on our souls,” Abraham interrupted him. “We’re aware of these superstitions, my stocky friend.”

“I’m not your friend, human dog,” the dwarf growled, after which he continued speaking quite calmly. “So, the Temple of the Dark Priests is a place safely hidden from the light. No matter which one it is. None who come from the four worlds can feel safe in this dark temple. Just like the dark priests can’t feel any kinship with anyone from the four worlds.”

“Not even demons?” Gustaf asked.

“What is a demon, boy? The desire of nature to destroy itself. Pure chaos and nothing more. They are as scary as they are necessary, as without destruction, there is no creation.”

Hadjar took another look at Alba-udun. Either he was very well trained, or the dwarf was a deep thinker. Considering the fact that while telling this story, Albadurt was also picking his nose, Hadjar was inclined to go with the former. The dwarf had probably received a very good education.

“The dark priests,” the red-bearded dwarf continued, “Serve the beings beyond the Verge that don’t belong to this reality.”

“How can anything not belong to this reality?”

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, boy. My teachers called them fragments of the past that are seeking to devour our future. In our grandmothers’ scary fairy tales, they were the nightmares of the gods themselves, against whom they fought for many epochs. But I can’t tell you which it is for sure. Maybe they are something else altogether. No one really knows.”

Hadjar had a feeling that he already knew someone who might know more about the creatures beyond the Verge. However, he wasn’t particularly interested in talking with the Black General right now.

“So, long story short-”

“That’s so kind of you to finally get to the point,” Abraham whispered as he carefully watched the procession, which had already descended onto a wide stone platform that had a sign on it that was written in a language that Hadjar’s neural network simply couldn’t recognize. “Because of your empty chatter, we only have a bit of time left now.”

“Ahem,” the dwarf cleared his throat. “So, their temple is divided into three parts. The first is the Gate, which you and I have just reached. There may be various traps and obstacles here designed to protect the priests from a possible invasion.”

“Do the scary and horrible dark priests need to be protected?”

“Shut up, Gustaf,” Itia whispered. “Go on, dwarf.”

“Thank you, woman. Past the Gate is the Monastery, where the dark priests live. Usually, all the assaults of our people and our allies were focused on reaching the Monastery. After slaughtering every priest, destroying all their knowledge, and burning down everything that could burn, our warriors would leave, sealing the entrance behind them.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said.” Albadurt’s eyes lit up and his hands reached for his axes. “Farther in, behind the Monastery, there is the holiest of holies of the dark priests — the Sanctuary… I don’t really remember this part of my teachers’ stories. However, it doesn’t matter. It’s a place where the priests perform their rituals and offer up sacrifices. A place so cursed that no one has ever dared to set foot in it.”

“Then how-”

“Dwarves can do more than just build things,” Alba-udun interrupted him. “After we dwarves and our allies would destroy their temples, even if some dark priests had stayed behind in the Sanctuary, we would make it impossible for them to get out of there. Their last sacrifice to the Verge would end up being their own lives.”

“Death is near,” Guy commented on the situation.

“You can’t even imagine how right you are, half-face,” Albadurt nodded. “I could swear on the Hammer and Anvil of my ancestors that Kafem is leading these people there, to the dark priests’ Sanctuary. Damn it... I should’ve put some clean clothes on. My Grandma always told me to only die in clean clothes, as…”

No one listened to the dwarf’s random lamentations.

Chapter 1416

“K afem, I need you to tell us what we are doing here and how this place is connected to the Goddess of Life.”

Even a person blinded by a deep hope and endless desperation would sooner or later be able to look behind the veil of self-deception. After going through the Gate, which had turned out to be just a long, dark corridor carved into the stone (of course, if any of those traps that Alba-udun had told them about had been there before, they’d been turned off or defused in advance), Cassius found himself in the Monastery. He could no longer turn a blind eye to what was happening.

The huge cave where their procession had stopped wasn’t inferior in size to some Palaces. Its distant arches extended somewhere high above them, looking not like cold, wet stone, but like a drizzling, autumn sky. The houses in which the priests had lived were blocks carved out of stone, with slits for windows, benches, and small ledges that were apparently intended to be beds. The streets, or rather the well-trodden paths, which were now overgrown with moss, wound around everything in some incredible, esoteric way. It didn’t take a genius to tie it all together and…

“Remind me, why did you say the dwarves declared war on the dark priests again? To exterminate them, right?” Gustaf muttered.

Abraham’s squad climbed onto the roof of one of the houses and took refuge in the darkness there. Running his palm over the damp wall, Hadjar looked at the foul-smelling moisture on it. Somewhere nearby, there was an underground river… He could feel a slight hum and some deep vibrations radiating through the ancient Monastery. Apparently, thanks to this fact, this specific temple had managed to escape from the punishing hand of the dwarves and their allies. Running water had certain properties: it served as a natural barrier against the undead and hid energy signatures from the outside world, dissolving them before they could escape. That was why most of the capitals in the Empires had been founded near rivers. Once upon a time, it had helped them hide from wild predators, who had been the rulers of the world until intelligent beings and humans had reached certain heights on the path of cultivation.

“Anyone can make a mistake,” the dwarf grumbled. “The priests deceived us... But they paid for it in full.”

After looking at his palm again, Hadjar turned his gaze to the roof of the house and mentally commanded his neural network to analyze it.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Substance: Moonless Night Stone.

Saturation: 19 C.U. of abs. energy.

Approximate age: too little data.

Possibility of using the material to advance the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique: not possible]

It was now clear to him where this unusual darkness was coming from. The whole temple had been carved out of cursed matter. Moreover, it was so saturated with it that it could instantly destroy the soul of a mid-stage Lord. Which gave rise to an obvious question: how were some of the cultivators that were being monitored by Hadjar and the others even staying alive?

“Don’t you trust me, honorable Cassius?” Kafem raised an eyebrow. “Even after I swore to you that neither I nor any of my people would harm your Princess? And that we’ll do everything in our power to restore her to her former glory?”

“Oaths are usually as false as their bearers,” Cassius replied calmly.

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

Cassius said nothing. After a few moments, the recently enraged Kafem laughed:

“You’re right, honorable Cassius, I’ve lied more in my lifetime than I’ve told the truth, and who knows, maybe I’m lying right now, but... You made a deal with our Sect. In exchange for the treasures your clan gave us, we’ll heal your Princess and make her even more powerful than before. She’ll be-”

“Enough with your empty words,” Cassius raised his hand. “I’m not so stupid, Kafem, to believe that we are in the temple of the Goddess of Life. It looks like a den of demon worshippers, but…”

Cassius didn’t finish that thought. Everything was clear even without any more words. From the houses that towered around them, from the walls, thresholds, even the window frames, the darkness was oozing out. Like a mist barely visible to the naked eye, it rose toward the very ceiling and spread out like a veil, concealing a fate far more terrible than simple death.

“If I’d told you the truth from the start, honorable Cassius, that a natural resource of sufficient power to perform a ritual with the Stars and Moon potion isn’t in the temple of the Goddess of Life, but in the lair of the worshippers of... Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares, would you have agreed to follow me here?”

Hadjar choked on air. There was no doubt that Helmer might have admirers. There were fanatics of every kind in the Nameless World, but that was going too far… He idly wondered how Helmer would’ve reacted to what the sectarian had just said.

“So that’s what this is…”

Hadjar exhaled heavily. He was certain that Cassius had been and still was a glorious warrior. He probably held a high post in the Star Rain clan. But it was hardly high enough to deal with politics and the art of telling lies with truthful words. Moreover, Hadjar had a feeling that the Star Rain family wasn’t counting on the success of this expedition at all, and that the money that the Raven Sect had received was from Cassius’ personal savings.

Why did Hadjar think so? Even though he hated schemes, he’d all too often found himself in the center of far too many twisted webs made from lies and truth. Right now, there were two liars standing on the ground below them. Kafem and Cassius were deceiving each other.

No major clan would ever put all their eggs in one basket. Even if Lathea was their eldest and strongest daughter, there were surely several other offspring behind her who weren’t all that inferior to her. That was why it would be easier and cheaper to focus their efforts on the upbringing and cultivation of those children rather than wasting a fortune on a living corpse.

Cassius’ people looked like former soldiers. They were his people within the clan. The money he’d given away also belonged solely to him, Hadjar was sure of it, which meant that no matter how the situation turned out, there wouldn’t be any help from the clan. Both sides had gone all in.

And their squad…

Abraham whispered:

“It’s time to come up with a plan.”

Chapter 1417

“D on’t you have a plan already?” Itia hissed. Her whip looked more like a snake’s tail as she fidgeted with it in agitation.

“My dear, you insult me,” Abraham, with a barely noticeable movement, took something out of the sling on his belt and, winding his arm back, took aim. “When have I ever had a plan?”

He hurled a crescent-shaped strip of steel. Silently and imperceptibly, with Abraham’s very condensed mysteries and energy flowing through it, it flew through the air and, without even grazing flesh, cut a leather cord hanging from the neck of one of Kafem’s people. Apparently, Abraham had come to the same conclusion as Hadjar…

At first, nothing happened, then the hall was flooded with terrible screams. Only someone who was looking death in the face could scream like that.

“Nooo!” The mercenary shouted, rolling on the ground, while everyone around him was looking at him in confusion, unable to comprehend what was happening. “It’s here! It’s here! It’ll devour us all!”

Steel flashed. The torchlight reflected off Kafem’s sword. His Divine level weapon stabbed right into the mercenary’s heart.

“What have you done?” One of the mercenaries, an advanced-stage Lord, drew his weapon and turned to Kafem. So did the others. “Explain yourself, Raven, or-”

“Or... what?” Kafem grinned. “You aren’t even strong enough to entertain the Mad General, by whose hand your comrade just fell. I’m not interested in you at all.”

Hadjar looked reproachfully at Abraham, but he just spread his arms out in a show of confusion and innocence.

“The Mad General?” Cassius drawled thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard a couple of stories and songs about this man. Something about his struggle against... I don’t remember whom. But it was beautiful... even if it was a bit boring.”

The old man and his people didn’t interfere. Maybe Cassius didn’t know much about schemes, but he wasn’t stupid and could clearly see how what was happening right now would benefit him.

As for Abraham… Hadjar still didn’t really understand what kind of past connected Guy and Abraham, what their true power was, and what goals these two pursued, but this simple strip of steel said a lot about Abraham. The fact he’d thrown it so easily, and yet no one had noticed where the man’s death had come from as it had broken through the protection of his artifact armor without even grazing his skin and had then cut the enchanted strap in such a way that the experiment had not lost any of its purpose... Not even some professional assassins were capable of such a thing. However, Hadjar was certain that Abraham Shensie wasn’t actually an assassin.

“You’ve killed one of the-”

“Not me,” Kafem reminded him, “The Mad General did it. I told you it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of him. As for your comrade…”

He took a step back. The body of the deceased mercenary began to throb in agony, then curved into an impossible arc, making even the most seasoned cultivators present shudder. The dead man’s skin was rapidly sloughing off, his hair was falling out, and a column of thick, black smoke was coming out of his mouth. Writhing like a hungry snake, it reached out toward the cultivators, trying to touch their faces and crawl into their bodies, but each time, it came across either the defenses of the stronger cultivators’ will and mysteries, or the Lords’ artifacts, and the smoke soon dissipated and was drawn back into the darkness.

“Not the most pleasant way to die,” Cassius stated. “Kafem, how do you explain this?”

“I tried to poison the Mad General,” Kafem shrugged. He bent down and wiped his blade clean on the mutilated corpse. “He just paid me back in kind.”

“So we were followed? Your guards aren’t very good.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Honorary Warrior of the Star Rain clan,” the same Lord who had recently pointed his sword at Kafem bowed slightly. “Go fuck yourself. And-”

He didn’t get to finish speaking. Cassius’ men took a step forward and simultaneously unsheathed their weapons. The mercenaries had no chance against the trained fighters, but they nevertheless also bared their weapons and stood in defensive positions. When a beast was cornered, it didn’t simply give up.

“I need to find… different people to work with,” Kafem sighed sadly, massaging his temples. “Let’s calm down a little. I think the Mad General is currently listening in on our conversation.”

Nodding to the sectarian, Cassius pushed him aside with his hand and stood in the center of the square, turning his back to the roof where Hadjar and the others were hiding.

“That old soldier has a fat ass,” Abraham chuckled.

“Death is near,” Guy nodded.

“I think you’re right, my friend. Everyone has the right to live out the rest of their days in bliss and prosperity when they reach old age.”

No one could figure out how Abraham understood what Guy wanted to say with his ‘death is near’ phrase each time. Hadjar could only guess that these two had their own, long history that made their bond a very deep one.

“Mad General!” Cassius shouted. He amplified his voice with his will, so that it was perfectly audible throughout the entire cave. “I’ve heard that you are a man of great honor and dignity. I don’t know how your path crossed with Kafem Boniysky’s, and I do not care. But, please, just hold back until Kafem fulfills his end of the deal and heals my ward! After that, I won’t get in your way. If you dare to continue to interfere with our mission, I swear by my forefathers that I’ll send you to yours.”

After listening to the resulting silence for a bit, he nodded again and returned to his people.

“So you’re just using me?” Kafem pretended to be surprised. “And here I thought we had established a strong relationship with you.”

“Stand down, you fanatic,” Cassius said. “Your mercenaries won’t die for you, which means you are alone against me and my people. No matter how good you are with your sword, like everyone else in your Sect, you can’t handle all of us on your own.”

“Alone? Well, yes... I am alone, aren’t I? Let’s go, gentlemen, before the Mad General does something… mad.”

Leaving behind the dead mercenary, the procession moved on through the intricate streets.

Chapter 1418

“W hat did that accomplish?” Itia frowned. “Now they know we’re here.”

“They would’ve noticed our presence sooner or later anyway,” Abraham explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “But now we know a little more than before.”

While the procession moved through the streets of the deserted temple city, the squad jumped from roof to roof and hid in the shadows, where the light of torches — which dispersed the poisonous vapors of the local stone — couldn’t reach them.

“You knew that the darkness surrounding us wasn’t simple from the start.”

“Yes, but now we know exactly what Kafem is up to.”

Even Hadjar was surprised at these words. He believed that he was pretty good at figuring out schemes and that, due to the many years he’d been forced to participate in them, he’d learned how to see through other people’s plans and traps with relative ease. However, it turned out that he wasn’t as good as he’d thought.

“What is that blond bastard planning?” Alba-udun voiced everyone’s thoughts.

“To kill us all.”

“Well that much is rather obvious,” Gustaf remarked. Despite the fact that he was running across the rooftops, he still managed to aim at the procession with unerring accuracy. Despite his youth, he had a solid grasp on his high level of cultivation and a very impressive amount of experience. It inspired respect.

“That’s the most important thing,” Abraham explained. “If it’s obvious even to you, Cassius will have figured it out as well. Which means that if we push him in the right direction a little-”

“Then if everything goes our way, the Honorary Warrior of one of the most powerful clans in the area will be indebted to us twice over,” Itia finished for him. “And since we’ll need any help we can get in our mission to destroy the Sect, which they can’t deal with so easily even in the Strange Lands, then why not use the Star Rain clan?”

“Does my genius really have such a beneficial effect on you, my dear?” Abraham exclaimed.

“But I don’t see any reason for Cassius to help us,” she added.

“By the gods and demons,” Abraham signed. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had to deal with anything so interesting.”

“What about the Port of the Dead?”

“Death is near.”

“Guy, my dear friend, you’re absolutely right,” the old rogue smiled. “As for your concerns, my dear, Cassius will have no choice but to help us. His fate is currently tied to Kafem’s because he probably gave him all his money in his efforts to save the Princess. But, as we all know by now, the potion that the sectarian has with him has nothing to do with healing.”

“I still don’t understand-”

Judging by the dwarf’s and the archer’s baffled looks, they still didn’t know what Abraham was getting at. Guy, as usual, was simply looking through the slits of his mask with a cold, almost lifeless gaze. Hadjar had realized where everything was going long ago. And he didn’t like it. More than schemes, he hated having to act as a puppeteer interfering in someone else’s fate.

“The Princess will die, there is no doubt about it,” Abraham summed up. “If they don’t use a potion powerful enough to restore her meridians in the next few days, she will perish. However, even the Stars and Moon potion isn’t able to do that. Maybe if one of the most powerful Immortals or even gods themselves were to help her out, she would be fine, but as things stand... she is doomed.”

For some time after that, the squad moved in silence. Cultivators were usually close to death. Maybe they were closer than they should be, but that was their way. Along a thin razor’s edge, balancing above the abyss, they always strived toward an ephemeral goal — the opportunity to determine their own fate. That was what power gave them. It was her own fault that Lathea had suffered such a fate. And yet, they only felt sympathy for her. She was still so young... even younger than Gustaf.

“When it happens, Cassius will be furious,” Abraham continued. “Kafem has already taken steps to, just in case something goes wrong, buy time and direct his anger toward us, but... we can get ahead of him on that. All we need-”

“Is to distract Cassius and force him to split up from the rest of his group,” Hadjar finished for Abraham. He’d come up with exactly the same plan, but the problem was that…

“They need to be distracted,” Alba-udun said. “I don’t think that will be all that difficult to accomplish. But Cassius doesn’t know any of us and-”

“Oh, but he does,” Abraham grinned. “So, Itia, you asked me what the plan was, so here it is…”

***

Abraham stopped next to Hadjar. The procession had halted again. The town separating them from the dark sanctuary wasn’t that big, and by the standards of powerful cultivators, it looked like a village, but because of the constant pressure emitted by the black fog, it was quite difficult for them to move around in. This also made it blatantly obvious that the Shensie squad was quite powerful overall.

“Everything’s ready,” Abraham said.

They stood on the edge of the roof and gazed at what was once a garden or perhaps a grove of strange plants, of which only the characteristic paths between lawns now remained.

“I would never have thought that the dark priests could have gardens,” Abraham remarked.

“Maybe they grew some killer trees or poisonous shrubs here.”

“Or apple trees. Dwarfs do like apples-”

“We don’t like apples,” the dwarf, who’d overheard their conversation, objected. “We love them. What could be tastier than a juicy, ripe apple? My…”

No one listened to yet another one of his stories. Abraham and Hadjar got down to business.

“I’m sorry that you have to do this, Hadjar... I know how much you don’t like this, but-”

“It’s for the greater good,” Hadjar cut him off firmly. “I’m younger than you, Abraham, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t experienced life.”

The old thief nodded, “Then let’s begin.”

Chapter 1419

P iercing the darkness with a silvery gleam, an arrow flashed with the light of mysteries and energy as it embedded itself right into the leather collar of one of the mercenaries on duty. Surprised, he reached out to his neck and, after putting his palm to the wound, looked at the blood that now stained it.

“What’s…”

He fell to his knees, then collapsed face down onto a stone wet with moisture and blood. His partner, after recovering from the shock, threw up his right hand and, using his energy, created a pillar of power. It was a very obvious signal at all levels of perception.

Abraham could’ve killed him in ten different ways during that time, but he didn’t. For their plan to work, they needed a commotion in the camp.

“Young man,” Abraham came out of the darkness, shaking his pipe, “Can you help me? I’ve been trying to find…”

He dodged an axe Technique, which tore a nearby house to shreds. Stone fragments rained down from the darkness, and the mercenary and some of his comrades rushed after the old rogue, who was complaining about rude youths.

At the same time, on the other side of the gradually stirring camp, another group of mercenaries was attacked by a man whose face was half-covered by a silver mask. His axe knew no mercy. Each of its swings reaped a bloody harvest, and each strike ended with the cry of another mercenary. As soon as reinforcements joined the sentries, the half-faced cultivator disappeared into the darkness, leading the chase through the complex web of streets within the ancient temple.

“What’s going on out there, by all the demons?” The mercenary leader swore.

His blade drawn, he peered into the darkness. A fire, which they’d lit from preprepared wood, created only a small patch of light, beyond which was the viscous, liquid darkness.

“Boys!” A shout suddenly came from the depths of the darkness. “Will you keep a lady company?”

A whip cracked. An explosion of energy destroyed the fire, giving part of the camp to the darkness that hungered for heat. A woman’s laughter was drowned out by the clatter of steel heels on the cobblestones and the clang of weapons.

“It seems like you’ve really offended this General.” With his arms folded across his chest, Cassius sat quietly in the center of the camp and watched the dancing flames and the play of shadows created by them. In them, he saw the outlines of what was irrevocably gone.

“Something’s wrong here,” Kafem drawled thoughtfully. He watched as the mercenaries dispersed around the city of the dark priests and couldn’t understand what Hadjar’s plan was. Why did they need to separate the mercenaries from the Star Rain people?

Still clad in gray armor, Cassius’ men vigilantly stood guard over the sarcophagus that held their mutilated Princess. For some reason, Hadjar and his people hadn’t touched them and…

With an imperceptible movement, Kafem drew his sword and cut an arrow in half. The Technique, which had taken the form of a bird’s claw, dissipated in the air, but the splashes of will and energy were still able to get to the sectarian, leaving scratches on his armor.

“Damn...”

Not every archer was capable of such a feat. Usually, when their arrow was destroyed, their Technique disappeared along with it.

“All right, Hadjar!” Kafem jumped to his feet. “You want to play? Then let’s play!”

He seemingly disappeared into thin air. He possessed an Imperial level movement Technique, which allowed him to move so quickly that even Cassius barely caught the direction he was heading in. After all, any warrior who wielded a light sword had to be fast in order to avoid falling prey to a heavy sword.

“Captain.” The leader of the gray-armored warriors approached Cassius. “What should we do?”

The old warrior peered into the darkness.

“Take the Princess and go a couple of miles to the north. The cultivators didn’t attack there.”

“Should we pursue them?”

Cassius wasn’t good at scheming, but he understood tactics and strategy. The two wars he’d gone through had taught him some things with blood, steel, and magic gunpowder. He simply shook his head.

“I understand, Captain.” The warrior nodded.

They gray-armored warriors lifted the sarcophagus with the Princess onto their shoulders and moved to the north.

Cassius was left alone by the fire. He was still staring at the dancing orange and gold flashes of flame. When the air trembled next to him and a young man appeared within arm’s reach of him, he didn’t move, but not because he was sure that the young man couldn’t harm him. On the contrary. Despite the fact that the stranger with long, black hair, blue eyes, and clothes along which white clouds floated, sometimes exposing shining stars, only possessed the power of an initial-stage Nameless, there was a certain strength to him. Also, the way the young man had appeared here was unusual. Unlike Kafem’s Technique, this wasn’t moving in the classical sense. Rather, it was as if the young warrior had simply pushed through the air in front of him and then walked out of it, as if going through an open door.

“You’re the Mad General, I presume?”

Hadjar saluted in the manner of the Strange Lands (Abraham had showed him how to do it), then came closer to the fire, but not so close that a spear could reach him easily. Cassius approved of the caution — the caution of an experienced warrior who had fought against a wide variety of opponents.

“Have you come to ask me for help in your battle against Kafem Boniysky?” The old warrior asked.

“I’ve come to warn you, honorable Cassius of the Star Rain clan. Kafem is leading you into a trap,” Hadjar replied with a bow. Powerful cultivators could feel it in their gut when they were being lied to. That was why the art of lying by using the truth was so highly valued amongst politicians. “He doesn’t have the Stars and Moon potion.”

Cassius looked up from the fire. His eyes were full of pain mixed with rage.

Chapter 1420

S oon, the anger in his eyes disappeared, leaving behind only an icy calm. People often said that in a business where people died young, you should be afraid of the old. Cassius had lived a long life as a soldier in the Strange Lands, a place where even strong cultivators didn’t usually live to see their tenth century.

“Why should I believe you?” Cassius asked quietly.

“I have no reason to lie to you, honorable Cassius.” Hadjar took a step forward to get closer to the old man. By doing so, he demonstrated his trust in the man’s honor. “We’ve been spying on Kafem for a long time now and have our own accounts to settle with him. We honestly had no idea that he had made an agreement with you.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“We followed Kafem to this place, then we saw your procession and overheard your conversation.”

Cassius chuckled. A spear materialized in his hand, which he’d taken out of the spatial artifact bracelet on his right wrist. It had a white shaft and a steel tip as long as a man’s forearm. It was covered in runes and magical hieroglyphs, and bore traces of wear and tear — small chips and notches left there by various blades and armor. It was simple, without any unnecessary decorations. Nevertheless, Hadjar sensed the power of a Divine level artifact emanating from the weapon.

“Am I supposed to believe that you were suddenly possessed by a desire for justice and simply wanted to help me and my ward?” Cassius’ voice dripped with tired sarcasm.

“No you aren’t, honorable Cassius.” Hadjar bowed again. “We just want to capture Kafem. We have a few questions for him.”

“What could a warrior from a distant land forgotten by the gods, demons, and cultivators need from a Raven Sect member? I’ve heard that where you come from, even Heaven Soldiers are rare, and that you were born a mere mortal.”

“That’s right, honorable Cassius,” Hadjar nodded. “To answer your first question: we want to learn everything we can about the Raven Sect from Kafem.”

“Why?”

It was so easy. Even easier than Abraham had expected it to be. But Hadjar didn’t feel any joy, not even the kind that a fisherman felt when their prey had taken the bait.

“We’re going to destroy his Sect.”

Cassius didn’t react at first, and then he laughed. He laughed loudly and even coughed from how hard he ended up laughing.

Hadjar simply stood there, motionless. Mentally, he counted down the seconds: Abraham and the rest of the squad would be able to distract the sectarian and his mercenaries for no longer than a few minutes, after which they would either have to fight them head on or retreat into the darkness and hide. The mercenaries were weak, and Kafem, no matter how powerful he was, wouldn’t be able to handle the coordinated assault of the squad. But no one knew what trump cards the fanatic was holding up his sleeves. After all, he had the home field advantage now.

“Destroy the Raven Sect?” Cassius wiped away his tears and even put his spear back into his bracelet. Apparently, he thought he was dealing with a fool. “The Sect that the Forty Families of the Strange Lands haven’t been able to find for thousands of centuries? By the gods and demons, General, I thought the songs and stories were lying, but you really are mad.”

“I may be mad, honorable Cassius, but I know for certain that we aren’t standing in the temple of the worshippers of Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares.”

Their eyes met. Blue gazed into brown. They looked at each other, peering into each other’s soul and trying to understand the man in front of them.

“You’ve met him,” Cassius declared, after which he made a sacred sign and whispered a prayer to Derger, the God of War. “By the gods and demons, I thought it was just a song.”

A song? Had someone really made a song that claimed that the paths of Hadjar and the Emissary of the Demon Prince had crossed? Only Arkemeya, Azrea, Nero, Serra, and Einen knew about that. Two of those people were dead. One was imprisoned in an icy coffin. One had become an ally of the God of War and ascended to the Seventh Heaven. Einen was living in the capital and dealing with the affairs of his clan. Surely none of them could’ve shared this information with others. Then who…

“Okay, well, now I’m interested. General, tell me everything you know.”

“I don’t know much, honorable Cassius.” Hadjar pointed in the direction where Kafem had been leading the procession. “I don’t know what Kafem promised you, but there is only a sanctuary of the dark priests over there.”

Cassius’ eyebrows rose slightly. He seemed to know as much about the dark priests as Albadurt did.

“Is tonight an evening where fairy tales become reality?” He stroked his thin beard. “As a child, I heard stories about how the dwarves, together with their allies, destroyed all the dark priests and their temples.”

“Apparently, they didn’t get all of them.”

“Apparently not...” Cassius agreed. “But what could Kafem possibly need from my ward in this temple? Why did he deceive me? Moreover, he swore an oath. Speaking of, I don’t see you being overly eager to cut your hand.”

“Oaths are like a weather vane. Whenever a wind blows, they will turn toward it. There is no point in believing an oath if you don’t formulate it yourself.”

Hadjar knew about this all too well, perhaps even better than most. Too often, oaths had been both his salvation and the cause of mortal peril for him.

“You said that he doesn’t have the Stars and Moon potion?”

“He doesn’t,” Hadjar nodded. “Instead, he has another potion.”

“What is it?”

Their conversation was slow. That was always the case when you expected a trick or a sharp blade against your throat to follow every word the other person said.

“The Darkness of the Last Nights.”

Cassius was silent for a moment. He was remembering something. Despite the absolute memory that a cultivator attained at the Spirit Knight level, when you’d already lived for dozens of centuries, you had to work hard to find what you needed from it. It was like wandering through a huge library full of all sorts of different books. Books about your own life.

“I’ve heard something about that potion, but I don’t know what it’s used for.”

Hadjar sensed the flashes of energy subsiding at the edges of his perception. The chase was coming to an end, and so was the time that Abraham had bought him. He took another quick glance at the sarcophagus with the Princess. He had a good idea of the suffering the girl was going through. He had gotten lucky, but she couldn’t possibly live with such injuries. Everyone understood that. Except Cassius. The only thing that could help this girl was being granted mercy.

A blade flashed and drops of blood flowed down it.

“I swear to you on my life, honorable Cassius, that I’ll help your ward,” Hadjar said. “In exchange for this aid, I ask you for only one thing — when the time comes, don’t interfere in our conversation with Kafem.”

His blood flashed with a golden light and his wound healed, leaving behind another scar on Hadjar’s palm. A moment later, he took a step forward and disappeared into the wind currents.

Oaths were like a weather vane…

Chapter 1421

“H ow did it go?” Abraham asked.

He and the rest of the squad were calmly standing on the roof of a building and munching on some apples.

“Better than it could’ve gone,” Hadjar replied.

He looked at the camp, where Kafem and the rest of the mercenaries had returned. There were now fewer of them than before.

“But not as good as it should have?” Abraham murmured.

Hadjar said nothing. He ran his palm over the hilt of the Blue Blade. His loyal friend responded with the cold of the rope braid that was wrapped around two wooden plates screwed into the blade itself. It looked like such an elegant weapon, but it was actually very simple and…

“I repeat, Hadjar-dan,” the dwarf’s fist nudged his shoulder. “This is neither the time nor the place for deep meditation.” Alba-udun turned to Abraham. “What now, thief?”

“Nothing special, dwarf,” Abraham answered. “It’s Kafem’s turn now. We’ll have to wait and see what he does.”

“Death is near.”

“No, Guy, we can’t just kill him. The Raven Sect is the most hidden one of all. Without a person who can take us there, we’ll never find their base.”

“And if we do find it,” Itia said, cleaning blood off her whip, “Kafem can face four of us at once and hold us back. Maybe just three of us, if we give it our all, and yet he isn’t even the strongest of the Raven Sect’s members. Even if we do find their lair, without a small army to back us up, we will also find our graves there.”

“Does death scare you that much?” Gustaf was counting the arrows in his quiver, putting in new ones from his spatial artifact.

They said that while everyone fought with power, archers fought with money: their arrows cost a fortune vast enough to buy a mortal kingdom with.

“I’m scared of the notion that my grave will end up being on the land of filthy fanatics,” Itia retorted.

“It seems like we’ll learn a bit more information soon enough,” Abraham pointed to his ear, and then to the fire.

No one had noticed the artifact attached to one of the neighboring buildings. Gustaf’s arrow, which Kafem had cut so easily, hadn’t been aimed at him at all. The archer had managed to secure another eavesdropping artifact close to their camp.

“You seem to have had a visitor.”

Kafem had noticed some fragments of Hadjar’s energy and will that hadn’t yet disappeared.

Cassius didn’t answer his unspoken question.

“I dare to assume that our now mutual acquaintance suggested that you work with him against my humble self.”

Cassius didn’t respond immediately. After a short pause, he looked into the sectarian’s eyes, then nodded briefly.

“You almost got it right, Kafem,” the old warrior said dryly. “The Mad General warned me that you were setting a trap. He told me that this place is the temple of the dark priests and that we are heading toward their sanctuary.”

Now it was Kafem’s turn to be silent for a while. He and his mercenaries were gradually surrounded by the warriors of the Star Rain clan.

“The dark priests or the worshippers of Helmer… I don’t see any fundamental difference between them, honorable Cassius.”

“You’ve deceived me, Kafem. You’ve deceived me more times than anyone still living and breathing in this world.” Behind the deceptive calm, there was steel in his voice. Maybe his hands weren’t as strong and fast as they’d once been, but that didn’t mean that they’d forgotten how to hold a weapon and swing it. That much was plain even at this distance. Hadjar respected Cassius.

“You have every right to be angry, honorable Warrior of the Star Rain clan,” Kafem said carelessly, still smiling. “But I will ask you this: do you know of any ritual of the light that can restore the Princess to her former health and beauty? Yes, the Mad General wasn’t lying.”

Kafem took out a small bottle from his spatial artifact. Inside it was a kind of living substance that absorbed the light, a darkness within darkness.

“This is the Darkness of the Last Nights, honorable Cassius. You and I are actually going to the sanctuary of the dark priests. Neither Immortals, bound by the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, nor the gods, can help us. Our only option is to turn to a third force for aid.”

Cassius grunted and squinted at him. His spear was still aimed straight at Kafem’s heart. Who knew who would win if they happened to fight: an old and experienced warrior or a strong and young fanatic?

“What will this third force ask for in return?”

“I have no idea,” Kafem spread his arms out. “When we made a deal with you, I promised to get a potion for the Princess and perform a ritual. What she or you will decide to give up in return for the restoration of her health and beauty isn’t any of my business.”

“I don’t remember you speaking so sharply three months ago.”

“Well, as the merchants say: if you can’t cheat, you won’t live. But I didn’t deceive you. What difference does it make to you whether this is a temple of the Goddess of Life or another entity if it can restore your ward’s power? Can the Mad General do the same? Or is he just making empty promises? I know the way to your salvation. All that remains is to enter the sanctuary.”

Cassius looked from the Darkness of the Last Nights to the darkness that enveloped the city of the dark priests.

“By the gods and forefathers, Kafem, the next time you deceive me, those will be your last words in this world. If the Princess dies, I’ll sell my soul to the Demon Prince if need be, but I’ll eradicate your filthy Sect.”

“Of course you will,” Kafem smiled. “Let it be so, honorable Cassius.”

Abraham stretched, cracked his neck, and exhaled:

“Well, all the pawns are now in place.”

Chapter 1422

H ad Hadjar known that everything would turn out this way? He had. The years he’d spent in Dahanatan, the decades spent wandering the lands, living as an old man, and fighting in the Dragon Lands… had all made him stronger, more callous, and a great deal more farsighted.

“What do you mean, you old drunk?” Itia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, you said so yourself, my dear,” Abraham pointed to the Star Rain warriors, “Without an army backing us up, we won’t be able to destroy the Raven Sect, not even in a thousand years. Neither Guy nor I, frankly, have that sort of time. If we don’t reach the next level of cultivation within the next three centuries, we’ll get to greet our forefathers. And something tells me my late father won’t drink to my health at all.”

Itia looked at the Star Rain warriors. There were about twenty of them. Most of them were at the Nameless level. Cassius and the leader of the warriors were both Heaven Emperors. Nevertheless, this wasn’t the kind of force with which they could attack the ancient Sect. Maybe if there were five times more of them… But a hundred Nameless and ten Heaven Emperors were already an army with which they could attack entire countries.

“That’s more like a decently large squad. With their aid, we’ll just get to the Sect at best, but we’ll still die in the end.”

“Exactly,” Abraham raised his index finger. “But what does it take to raise an army? That’s right, you need to start with a squad. And when this squad goes off to restore the honor of the Star Rain clan and avenge their Princess, will the rest of the clan’s warriors be able to stay away?”

“What are you talking about, Abraham?” Gustaf got up, checked his bowstring, and stood next to him on the edge of the roof.

“When the Princess dies, the clan will simply need to find the best culprit. Blaming another family of the Strange Lands risks a war that they may not win. No clan would take such a risk. On the other hand, if they accuse the Raven Sect of having killed their Princess, they can call upon their allies and start a righteous battle. In other words, they can plunder the ancient Sect, which, over the many centuries of its existence, has surely accumulated a lot of knowledge and treasures.”

“But-”

“If you’re wondering why they haven’t done this earlier... Well, any brushwood, even the driest kind, needs a spark to catch on fire. And it just so happens that the young Princess was destined to kindle the hearts of warriors, may she be remembered fondly and experience a joyful rebirth. Live freely, die with honor, and blah blah blah-”

“I’m not talking about that!” Gustaf interrupted him. “What makes you think she’s going to die? What if Kafem succeeds? Who knows what a ritual with these priests, creatures, the Verge, and the demons only know what else will lead to!”

Hadjar looked at Abraham. They both knew what was going on here. Hadjar had understood from the very beginning why Abraham had so bravely rushed after Kafem into the bowels of this temple. It wasn’t simple courage.

“I’ve taken all the necessary precautions.” The old smuggler pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook a small bottle. It looked exactly the same as the one that Kafem had shown to Cassius a few minutes ago.

“While that’s a good copy-”

“This is the original, you idiot!”

“Death is near.”

“Thanks, Guy, but I don’t think you should beat him just yet. We-”

Itia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why didn’t you just say so right away? And just so we’re clear, while we were playing tag with the mercenaries, you managed to steal and replace the bottle?”

Abraham proudly punched his own chest:

“I haven’t been in the business for a long time now, but my hands still remember everything.  Oh, look, it seems like they are already in place.”

Everyone turned in the direction Abraham was pointing to. The procession had broken camp and was currently moving out along a street. They passed through a fairly wide plateau to arrive in front of a pair of massive doors. On the left door, the figure of a gigantic, kneeling human was depicted. In his left hand, he clutched his own heart, which had been torn from his chest, and in his right hand, he held a carved staff that seemed vaguely familiar to Hadjar, as if he had seen a similar one somewhere before. On the right door, wrapped in cloth, was one of those creepy, incomprehensible creatures depicted in the frescoes and bas-reliefs along the stairs. Bending over the human, it stretched out its ‘arms,’ or whatever those were, toward him.

Approaching the doors, Kafem placed his hand on them and whispered something that was barely audible. Cassius and his soldiers staggered back and drew their weapons. Powerful energy and mysteries swirled in the air, but even the combined power of twenty Nameless and two Heaven Emperors couldn’t block that bit of energy that didn’t belong to this world, and that the creature was exuding. Despite being carved out of stone, it turned to Kafem. It seemed as if they were communicating. But this didn’t last long, just a few moments at most. Less than a heartbeat later, the strange sight disappeared. The feeling of alien energy dissipated, and the otherworldly figure froze again in the same position it had held before. If not for the fact that the scene had been witnessed by several people, one might’ve thought that it was all just a dream.

The doors gradually opened, revealing the way inside. What Hadjar saw didn’t make any sense. When he’d first heard the word ‘sanctuary,’ he had assumed that it would be some kind of hall with statues, an altar, or something else related to religion and rituals. But it was actually another layer of reality entirely, accessible through some kind of portal. There was a whole valley on the other side with dead, dry earth covered in cracks. Along a path that was shaped like a thorny branch, mountainous pillars rose into the air. Each was at least a mile high.

The procession hurriedly entered the strange space and the doors began to close behind them. Abraham exchanged glances with Hadjar.

“Make no mistake. Everything until now was the easy part.”

The truth was that during the years he’d spent living with Chin’Ameh’s cursed ribbon of dark energy, Hadjar had learned one thing: easy didn’t always mean ‘right.’ He only had his honor. Hadjar took a step back and disappeared into the wind. A moment later, the doors closed behind him. Abraham sighed and shook his head.

“What just happened?” Itia asked, dumbfounded.

“Do you know who the easiest people to manipulate are?” Abraham asked the void with sadness in his voice. He crushed the bottle in his hand, from which the most ordinary of powder poured out. “People with honor.”

After that, he and Guy rushed toward the dwarf, who was already covered in green runes and flames.

Chapter 1423

H adjar cast a quick glance at where the heavy doors had just closed behind him. But there were no doors there. Only the scorched, gray earth covered in cracks. Instead of the horizon, where the dark sky was supposed to merge with the earth, there were scarlet flashes from which dark fangs of stone emerged.

“Damn it all,” Hadjar swore. “What is this place?”

He finally turned his gaze toward the procession, and then to a figure that stood in the center of this strange space. The many huge boulders that were scattered everywhere, one of which he was now lying on, looked like pebbles compared to it. The stone statue, frozen in a pose vaguely resembling that of a meditating cultivator, looked like one of the monsters from the frescoes along the staircase. Its ten legs topped with strange claws, some with several knees, others without any knees at all, converged at the bottom, toward a single point of its carved cloak, the ragged remains of which covered the whole creature. Its seven arms, all spread out in different directions, seemed to greet the procession. Some of the hands resembled human ones, while others had some terrible stingers sticking out of them…

Behind the monster, two huge wings stretched out endlessly into the dark sky. Instead of feathers, desiccated bodies hung from them. Hadjar barely restrained his urge to vomit. The monster’s head, which was covered with a stone hood, was bent over something it was clutching to its chest. It was impossible to see what it was holding. Only a few golden streaks and flashes, that was all Hadjar could discern.

“What kind of perverted mind could’ve possibly created such a statue?”

“It isn’t a statue.”

Hadjar drew his sword, but restrained himself just in time. He would certainly have revealed his position if he’d attacked the illusion. Beside him, on the edge of the cliff, stood a tall, translucent figure. Wearing a black cloak that fluttered in a nonexistent wind, it, like the monster, was hiding its face under a hood.

“How did you-”

“Now isn’t the time for questions, my disciple.”

Hadjar wanted to remind the Black General, who’d somehow managed to create a projection of himself right in front of his very eyes, that he wasn’t his disciple, but he didn’t.

“It isn’t a statue,” the Enemy repeated.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve already figured out what I mean.”

Hadjar looked at the gigantic statue once again. It was hard to imagine how tall it would’ve been if it hadn’t been frozen in this particular pose. Much taller than the Storm Mountain where Hadjar had once trained. By the Evening Stars, it would easily be able to step over the fortress walls of Dahanatan!

“But how-”

“Any army has scouts and spies, my disciple, you should know that by now.”

A scout? Such a scout was more noticeable than a white spot on the soul of a sinner!

“Is it dead?”

“It can’t be killed. If the creatures beyond the Verge obeyed the laws of our universe, I wouldn’t have had to fight them for longer than the entire history of your people.”

The gods had been fighting these creatures for far longer than the humans and the other intelligent races had existed. Those epochs were called the Age of the Gods in old legends and myths. Back when, apart from the gods, Spirits, and Primitive Monsters, there had been no one else in the world. The Dawn of the Nameless World. The very beginning of everything.

“Is it sleeping?”

“Yes, it is,” the Black General replied. “The stupid raven wants to change that. He’s planning to awaken the creature.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened in surprise. He wanted to wake this thing up? The Raven Sect was full of a very specific kind of people, but… After thinking about it for a bit, Hadjar realized that Kafem probably wasn’t acting on behalf of the Raven Sect at the moment. Rather, this was most likely a private endeavor of his, which easily explained the secrecy and the fact he was being aided by mercenaries, not his fellow sect members.

“He wants power,” the Black General answered the unasked question. “He thinks that in exchange for waking it up, the creature will grant him power equal to the gods. He’s a fool... No one can make you a god except you yourself.”

“Really? A few decades ago, I-”

“By drinking that potion, Sankesh would’ve exchanged his karma and life path for a couple of moments of power. Don’t believe the tales and legends, my disciple, they are just a crooked mirror in which history is often poorly reflected.”

Hadjar didn’t know whether to believe the Black General or not. He remembered that the elixir in the Library of the Mage City had been associated with the Potter and his curse.

“Wait, did you just say karma?”

“Karma, fate, life path… Call it what you will. I just used the words you were most likely to understand.”

“Since you’ve already come here, maybe you’ll tell me everything you know.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing... for a long time now. You just don’t want to listen to me.”

“At the moment, I’m the avatar of attention itself.”

“Well, Kafem wants to awaken the creature from its slumber. To do this, he needs to perform a ritual that requires a huge amount of positive karma. A good fate. A long lifespan. Until you pass the trial of the Heavens and the Earth and are able to see the deep forces driving the universe, it will be almost impossible for me to explain this process to you and-”

“-And it’s fine, just get down to business,” Hadjar interrupted him. He could feel time slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Normally, Kafem would need an incredible number of victims. Maybe... ten thousand Heaven Emperors. But sometimes, special people are born. Over the course of all their cycles of rebirth, they created so much kindness. As a result, the universe, in order to maintain the balance, returns it to them. Such people have incredible karma. They easily advance through the levels of cultivation. That’s why Lathea has such great power at such a young age.”

Indeed, the girl was only about eighteen springs old at most. Judging by how wide and long the fragments of her meridians were and how strong her source was, the clan had actually slowed down her progress so that Lathea could take part in the tournament.

“I can see and hear only what you can see and hear, Hadjar, but I’m sure that it was Kafem who arranged everything that happened to the Princess. I don’t know how a mere mortal can see karma, but Kafem obviously can. He knows that Lathea is worth ten thousand ordinary cultivators. That’s why he only needed to trap a few people.”

“And the Darkness of the Last Nights?”

“Positive karma easily becomes negative karma, my disciple. That’s why people who are destined to further the cause of good sometimes end up serving evil instead. They just don’t see the difference... just like the universe doesn’t.”

“Black General,” Hadjar growled, “I don’t know why you’ve suddenly taken up philosophy, but now isn’t the time.”

“I’m just trying to give you a hint, my disciple, but you’re not listening to me yet again... In this, you and I are similar... The Darkness of the Last Nights is needed to collect all the girl’s positive karma and sacrifice her to the creature. As a result of the ritual, for a short time, the girl really will be healed, but then she’ll immediately grow old and die.”

So, Kafem really wasn’t planning to break his oath. He technically hadn’t even lied to Cassius.

“You need to stop the ritual, my disciple,” the Black General said and then gradually began to disappear.

Hadjar asked:

“What kind of karma do I have?”

Before completely disappearing, the first Darkhan answered:

“Why ask a question to which you already know the answer?”

Chapter 1424

K afem and Cassius walked up to something that looked like an altar. It was a stone that had clearly been processed by a human hand, a hewn boulder, the top of which was now a wide bed. Lathea, wrapped in silk and satin, had been placed on it. The sarcophagus had been left behind with Cassius’ men and the mercenaries.

At the sight of the terrible creature, they’d barely maintained their composure. Hadjar understood their fear. The mere sight of the creature would create confusion in the soul and mind, which was difficult to overcome with a simple effort of will. What kind of power did this creature possess if its very appearance exposed the soul of a cultivator to such a significant threat?

“What kind of monster is this, Kafem?” Cassius didn’t leave his ward’s side for even an instant — his loyalty was worthy of being immortalized in song. “I’ve never seen-”

“We don’t have much time, honorable Cassius,” Kafem interrupted him. “None of us has a priest’s seal, so in a quarter of an hour, the sanctuary, along with its creation, will disappear from this reality and the entrance will be sealed for thousands of years. The Princess will never get a second chance like this.”

“Then do your magic, but remember what I said: if she dies, you and your Sect will follow her in death as a gift to the forefathers of the Star Rain clan.”

“Okay.” Kafem’s eyes shone with greed, but Cassius didn’t notice it. He was desperate and clinging to hope. Sometimes, hope blinded you better than any fire. “The Mad General will try to stop us. If he interferes with the ritual, everything will be lost.”

“He will only interfere over my dead body.”

After hearing all of this, Hadjar finished collecting the Wind. He’d used to absorb it inside himself and simply boost his power. But now, having truly invoked the Name of the Wind and become one with it, he moved right in front of Cassius’ men and the mercenaries. His Blue Blade still rested in its scabbard.

Hadjar’s knowledge of magic was enough for him to understand that Kafem’s ritual wasn’t one of those that could be carried out quickly and with ease. The sectarian was in a hurry, which meant that even the quarter of an hour allotted to uninvited guests might not be enough to implement his plan. So, while Kafem, who’d already spilled the potion across Lathea’s lips, bent his knee in front of the creature and drew symbols on his own chest, Hadjar had the opportunity to end this without any unnecessary bloodshed.

“Go away, General,” Cassius lowered his spear’s shaft to the ground and stood tall. Straightening up, he briefly acquired the stature and aura of a warrior of bygone times, back when his name had inspired fear and respect across the battlefields of the Strange Lands.

“I can’t, honorable Cassius,” Hadjar bowed. “If Kafem finishes the ritual, he-”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Honorary Warrior of the Star Rain clan snapped back. “If there is at least a bit of hope for Lathea, it doesn’t matter.”

It became clear that no words could reach Cassius’ heart and mind. He was completely blinded by his hope that sometimes hurt far more than any steel ever could.

Hadjar sighed and looked at the mercenaries standing in front of him, and then at the spears of the Star Rain warriors behind them, at their leader, who’d bared short, double-sided spears, and finally, at the deep mysteries beyond the level of a True Kingdom that now shone within Cassius’ white spear. Almost thirty Lords, twenty Nameless, and two Heaven Emperors. There’d been times when Hadjar wouldn’t have even been able to breathe in their presence.

“I’m sorry, but I’m still far from proficient,” he bowed slightly, “Which means I can’t do this without any unnecessary sacrifices. Therefore, I’ll give you until this handkerchief lands on the ground. Those who lay down their weapons and leave will get to live. I won’t be held responsible for the health and fate of the others.”

“Who do you think you are?” One of the Star Rain warriors shouted. “How dare a pathetic native of the mortal regions say that in the presence of the Honorary Warrior Cassius, the Striking Noon?”

“Get out, boy!”

“Bastard! Do you really think you can handle even one of us?”

The handkerchief in which Serra’s and Nero’s bracelets had once been wrapped, and was now often tied around his left wrist, dropped to the ground.

Hadjar placed his hand on his sword’s hilt. His and Cassius’ eyes met. Cassius saw something in the depths of his sky-blue eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

“Defend!” He shouted, but it was already too late.

As soon as the handkerchief touched the ground, Hadjar drew his sword. He disappeared from Cassius’ field of vision. For a brief moment, the old warrior felt like he was in the center of a storm. In the very heart of it, calm reigned, but a little farther out, the world had been plunged into chaos by nature’s rage.

The sword flashed with blue lightning bolts. Splashes of blood came down like a scarlet rain. With each of the invisible warrior’s movements, waves of wind surged out, cutting through the huge pillars as if they were made of wood, and not an incredibly durable magic stone. There was so much energy, mysteries, and will in these movements that the Nameless’ power wasn’t enough to restrain it. Incredible echoes, capable of destroying armies of weak cultivators, swept through the area that had become perfectly smooth because everything that had protruded above the ground had already turned to dust.

Hadjar sheathed his sword and stood in front of Cassius. Outwardly, he looked like nothing had happened, but internally… Three alchemy pills, which had been placed under his tongue beforehand, were quickly being absorbed. But even their combined reserve of energy and the initial reserve of Hadjar’s core was only enough to ensure that, after using a truncated version of the ‘Star Blaze,’ the combat Technique of the ‘Path Through the Stars,’ his core was now only a quarter full. It looked like the powerful Technique had only required three quarters of Hadjar’s energy reserves to use, but each of the pills could actually replenish a core like Hadjar’s ten times over.

Hadn’t Gevestus said that real cultivators who knew the ‘Path Through the Stars’ could fight using the ‘Star Blaze’ without needing to swing their sword more than once?

Just one swing of his sword had made the mercenaries disappear. There were no artifacts or bodies left behind. Their wounded souls were already on the path of rebirth, heading to their forefathers.

Most of the Star Rain warriors were lying on the ground, not breathing. Drowning in their own blood and entrails, covered in the scraps that had once been their armor, they peered with glassy eyes toward the gloomy sky.

Their leader, a Heaven Emperor, wheezed, unable to remove his hands from the deep wound in his side, which had cut through an artery and several meridians. With an effort of will, Hadjar returned the handkerchief to his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “They shouldn’t have died. May their forefathers be kind to them.”

“They shouldn’t have,” Cassius kicked out his spear with his heel and lunged forward with incredible speed and power. “And you’ll join them on their journey!”

Chapter 1425

A  stream of water swirled around Cassius’ spear, inside of which motes of starlight shone. His lunge, smooth and graceful, like the flow of a spring stream, covered the space separating the two cultivators with amazing speed and almost grazed Hadjar’s chest. He barely managed to deflect the lunge with the flat of his blade, turning on his heel and sliding along the shaft of the spear in order to get up close with Cassius, where he couldn’t properly use his spear, whose greatest weakness was a lack of maneuverability in close combat.

Hadjar didn’t possess the sword skills required to spare the lives of those fifty cultivators who had already gone to their forefathers because of him, but he could at least try to avoid killing the person for whom he felt a deep respect.

He pushed the flat of his blade into the old man’s chest, and then, without losing any momentum, he shoved the spear tip away with his palm. Cassius staggered back a few steps, and his stance was completely shattered. The water and star spray rained down on the ground, leaving deep cuts and holes across it. His spear plunged into the ground and became the only support for the old warrior.

Outwardly, it looked like two practitioners were fighting. But there was so much energy in each of their actions that one wrong move, a single slipup, would be enough to destroy an army of ten thousand Spirit Knights.

“Boy!” Cassius spat out some blood. “If I were ten centuries younger…”

“Yeah,” was all Hadjar said in response.

Indeed, if the Honorary Warrior of the Star Rain clan had been ten centuries younger, Hadjar’s remains wouldn’t have even amounted to a wet smear on the ground. He’d managed to wound the Heaven Emperor, who was now wheezing while lying on the ground, only because the latter had underestimated an attack from a ‘simple initial-stage Nameless.’ Cassius wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice. Seeing that the old warrior was hesitating, Hadjar rushed toward the altar.

“As long as I still live, you won’t get close to her!” The old man roared.

He swung his spear. A stream of water swirled around his body like a snake, then rose along his spear, until it rained down on Hadjar in a hail of thousands of spear thrusts, each of which shone with starlight.

Instantly stopping his advance, Hadjar raised his sword in front of him. His blade fluttered like an alarmed bird and the ‘Dragon Storm’ Technique, which assumed the form of a few dozen small dragon-swords, crashed into the stream of water.

Despite his old age, Cassius was still a Heaven Emperor, and Hadjar wasn’t. He managed to deflect most of the spear thrusts, but a few blows still got through his counterattack. They crashed into his blue armor and, cutting through it, left behind several aching wounds all over his body. The first drops of his blood fell to the ground.

Hadjar didn’t even have time to catch his breath, as Cassius charged in with reckless abandon, as if he no longer cared whether he would live or die. It was like the old man wanted to die right here and now in order to serve his mistress faithfully in the afterlife.

The stream of water and the stars shone around him as he assaulted Hadjar, burning his own life force in the process. His spear was attacking with a speed that not many swordsmen could match, let alone spearmen.

Hadjar dodged a direct thrust aimed at his chest, then repelled a cutting sweep directed at his feet, and then ducked under a vicious overhead swing coming in from above. While on the ground, he struck it with his palm. Waves of power swept through the area around them, and the ground sunk by several inches.

The resulting blowback was enough to turn his counterattack into a cannonball fired right at Cassius. He didn’t have time to assume a defensive stance, and Hadjar’s Blue Blade, passing through a curtain of water and starlight, slashed at the old man’s thigh as Hadjar flew past.

Once he was behind his opponent, Hadjar, who was desperately holding on to every bit of his momentum, created several cuts in the space around him with an effort of will. The pull of the cuts was enough for him to completely change direction and avoid another attack of his foe’s weapon.

A ray of starlight burst out from the tip of the spear. The old warrior had easily predicted Hadjar’s trajectory, but he couldn’t have possibly imagined that he would be able to alter that same trajectory in midair with such ease. As a result, the ray of starlight, instead of cutting through Hadjar’s flesh, only left a long incision on the ground.

“We don’t have time to waste, honorable Cassius!” Hadjar shouted. “Let me-”

“Don’t move, you dog!” Cassius stood with his back to the altar. He’d covered the girl who was like a daughter to him with his own body. “Even if I die, I’ll take you with me!”

He spun his spear and launched another attack. Steel clashed with steel. Hadjar fought to the very limit of his abilities, as he had to resist the onslaught of a Heaven Emperor armed with a Divine level spear. Water and stars fought against wind and dragons.

For each of Cassius’ thrusts, there were three or even four swings of Hadjar’s sword, but even that wasn’t enough to restrain the sheer momentum and strength of the heavy spear.

Cassius lunged toward his opponent’s chest once again. In response, Hadjar struck the shaft of the spear in an attempt to angle it higher. The spear whistled past his neck, taking some scarlet drops with it as it grazed him. Taking advantage of the fact that he’d found himself in the spear’s safe zone again, Hadjar stepped close to Cassius. This time, he struck him with his elbow. Cassius was thrown several feet back. He coughed up more blood, but plunged his spear into the ground and stood up defiantly.

“I don’t want to kill you, honorable Cassius,” Hadjar said, and added in a pleading tone, “Please don’t make me.”

“Are… you… really… the Mad General?” Drunk from their battle, Cassius grinned rapaciously. “Why… are you… so soft, then?”

He raised his spear above him. Hadjar sensed a surge of unimaginable energy imbued with deep mysteries and unbending will. Whatever the old man was about to do, it was his final trump card. The best of his killing Techniques. Hadjar wasn’t going to try and test whether his defenses could withstand the Heaven Emperor’s strongest attack. He sheathed his sword and, after cracking his penultimate pill, took a step forward.

Chapter 1426

T here was neither a flash of energy nor a surge of incredible power. Hadjar simply disappeared, then reappeared behind Cassius. He slowly put his sword back into its scabbard, while behind him, the flow of incredible power that hadn’t been channeled into a Technique disappeared.

Cassius croaked something, and a stream of blood burst out of his chest. It swept through the air like a long, crimson ribbon and fell to the ground. The Honorary Warrior fell to his knees and leaned on his spear.

“I’m too old…” He whispered. “I… couldn’t… even… beat… a Nameless...”

Lying down with all his weight resting on his spear, he closed his eyes and stilled. Hadjar took a step toward Cassius, who had fallen into a trance, but then suddenly stumbled back and put his hand to his chest. A long, crimson cut appeared, snaking from his left shoulder to his right. Neither will nor energy could heal this wound. It turned out to be so deep that it had even touched his energy body, and he simply didn’t have the time to immerse himself in a long healing meditation. He’d used the truncated ‘Star Blaze’ Technique several times, but the old man had still managed to injure him… Damn it all… Whoever he had been in his youth, Cassius fully deserved his current position as an Honorary Warrior of his clan.

Putting the last pill that Helmer had given him into his mouth, Hadjar swung his sword. The ‘Dragon Dawn’ Technique, which held a streak of light distantly resembling the one that had danced within Cassius’ own streams of water, disappeared somewhere in the area where the horizon of this strange space should’ve been. Instead, after traveling for many miles through the air, it cut through the crimson light, and multiton gray rocks fell to the ground.

The tremors caused by their fall echoed in Hadjar’s legs, but his gaze was riveted to Kafem’s severed head, whose body had been almost completely covered in strange sigils the likes of which didn’t exist in the Nameless World. They clearly didn’t belong to this reality.

Hadjar was glad that Kafem hadn’t succeeded. They would now have to look for another sectarian to lead them to the Raven Sect, but that was a lot better than letting a maniac who had made an incomprehensible deal with creatures from beyond the Verge live.

Hadjar stepped over the head that had rolled off Kafem’s shoulders and approached the altar. He pushed aside the silk and satin and saw a disfigured face, rotten, sagging, yellowish-gray skin, blisters, boils, and ulcers, and thin hair greasy from stinking sweat. Someone else might’ve recoiled, but Hadjar felt like he was looking into a mirror that reflected his past.

“I’m really sorry,” he sighed and raised his sword.

Just as he was about to bring his blade down, he saw the girl’s body change: terrible wrinkles smoothed out, the blisters disappeared, and the hair thickened. Its golden light looked like pure starlight. Her cheeks were now rosy, and her sensual, scarlet lips parted slightly in a gasp. Lathea could only recover if one person was too late. If Hadjar was too late…

He turned around to see the giant statue pointing one of its creepy hands in his direction. Darkness fell upon him.

***

Where was Hadjar?

“General! The Emperor has ordered us to retreat! We won’t be able to get to the Gates this time!”

He heard screams that were very familiar to him. That was how people shouted in a war. Those who were killing, those who were dying... Often, they sounded exactly the same.

“The extinguished stars will devour your Emperor!”

“How dare you, General?”

“Soldier, who is your General? Whom did you swear your allegiance to?”

“To you, my General!”

“Then attack! Do you hear me, everyone? Attack! Today, we’ll get to the Gates!”

Steel was singing. Energy was burning, or... no, wait, it was something more powerful than the World River. It was a power that Hadjar couldn’t describe, but he used it as easily as a mortal used simple air. He breathed it in. He breathed the battle and every moment of it in. His Black Blade knew no fatigue and never missed. He cut his way through thousands of creatures. They fell to his relentless attacks, which were capable of distorting reality itself. His Law led him. It was a Law of War that was far more powerful than Derger’s, even if the obedient dog of the Jasper Throne didn’t know it.

They were fighting the creatures. He and his soldiers. And all the while, Derger and the other gods were sitting in their Palaces and gardens in the Seventh Heaven. For thousands of thousands of years, they’d been fighting. Their every waking moment was war. Every single one of their dreams was about war. What had they done to deserve this hell? Was their endless battle worth it? But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He had been born to fight for a world that had already forgotten him, and he had forgotten what this world even looked like.

“Hey, Blackie,” a voice sounded nearby. He felt like he’d heard it somewhere before. The voice sounded like the rumbling of a fiery mountain awakened from its slumber. “What a good battle today!”

“Have you brought your demons to help us, Prince?”

“Of course I have! I’ll destroy this world, not some otherworldly creatures!”

“Then let’s join forces!”

“Yes!”

“Attack!”

“Attack!”

They rushed into battle again, myriads of creatures facing demonic warriors and the army of the Black General. They were fighting on the border of reality and what lay beyond the Gates. They didn’t look like what he had expected.

“Come on, General!”

Someone’s powerful hand helped him get to them. For the first time, the foot of someone born in the Nameless World stepped beyond its limits. He took that step so that he wouldn’t have to come back anymore. He was born to close the Gates and leave the creatures beyond them. They could only be closed from the inside. Well, that was what he would do. That was what the Black General had come here for, wasn’t it? To sacrifice himself in order to save the world and those gods in their Seventh Heaven.

“Do you want to fight, reflection? I’m here…”

Who said that? The creatures couldn’t talk. The voice was saying something else, but Hadjar couldn’t make out the words. He only heard a familiar voice declare:

“This knowledge isn’t something you can handle right now, my disciple. Now get some sleep. You’ve earned it.”

***

“It seems like you were going to hurt my disciple?”

A pillar of darkness in the shape of a gigantic blade pierced the dead reality and cut off the outstretched paw of the giant creature.

Chapter 1427

I n the middle of the dead earth, beneath a gloomy, high ceiling that acted as a sort of sky, stood a warrior clad in dark armor, compared to which the nearby darkness seemed like little more than a whining puppy standing in front of a proud, grinning wolfhound. The black armor devoured even the slightest particles of light that touched its surface, which made it seem like white balls of light were constantly flashing across it.

A black, tattered cloak fluttered in a wind coming from the warrior himself. It was as if he himself was the wind. His unstoppable, frenzied power, which had no equal in this reality or out there, in the beyond, was surging out. It could easily destroy this artificial reality and this soldier of the Verge who’d actually thought that it could end the life of his disciple.

“You...” Sounded from beneath the massive hood that hid the creature’s face. “Reflection… You failed... You broke... your... word... The lying world... isn’t destroyed…”

“I don’t have much time, beast,” a voice boomed from underneath a heavy helmet. “So listen to me carefully: when you return to the Gates, you’ll tell the Last One this.” The warrior then uttered a few more words.

He didn’t move his hand. His Black Blade didn’t even quiver. Even so, some incredibly powerful force, having formed into a seemingly endless incision, cut the creature and it, screaming all the while, disappeared inside the fold of reality that became its grave.

The creatures couldn’t be killed. Death was the law of this reality, and there, beyond the Gates, it simply didn’t exist. That was why when the creatures ‘died,’ they simply returned beyond the Gates. That was why the battle against them had lasted so long that the second generation of stars had been born over the course of it.

The warrior staggered. To keep himself upright, he grabbed the altar upon which the beautiful girl was rapidly aging.

“My disciple promised that he would help you... And if a disciple can’t... keep his... word, his Master... should take the debt... unto himself.”

The warrior pulled off his gauntlet. The bony, wrinkled hand of a truly ancient old man appeared. He slammed his palm hard against the stone, and then, when thick, dark blood began flowing onto the stone, he ran it over the lips of the aging girl. She wheezed and shook, but soon quieted down. Youth was rapidly returning to her body. Her lips were red again, a blush colored her cheeks, and her golden hair was scattered across the stone.

“My disciple, you really love...” The warrior, breathing heavily, sank to the ground and leaned against the altar, “To tie your... fate... with Princesses.” He raised his palm. After just a few drops of blood, it was covered in even deeper wrinkles and liver spots. “It seems... I’m going to have to... sleep for a while... Try... not to do even more... stupid things… while I rest.” The warrior closed his eyes.

***

Hadjar woke up as abruptly as he had lost consciousness.

“By the High Heavens, what the fuck!”

He remembered that he’d been standing in front of the huge statue of the creature, not sitting with his back to the altar in some kind of cave. Holding his head, which was buzzing so much that it felt like he had drunk an entire tavern dry, he got to his feet. Looking around, he didn’t immediately understand where he was. Not only had the huge statue disappeared, but everything else had as well. The unusual expanse of scorched, dead earth made of magic stone with scarlet smoke acting as the horizon was gone. Instead, he found himself standing in the center of a rather spacious cave, which really did resemble a sanctuary. Along its borders stood some old tripods covered in rust and mold. At the far end, atop a raised platform, there was something like an altar, near which skeletons in ragged robes lay. Apparently, these were the dark priests. Or what was left of them, anyway. The walls, decorated with faded frescoes, captured scenes of a terrible battle.

“Princess?”

Hadjar turned around. Wheezing in pain, Cassius crawled toward the gradually recovering girl.

She was beautiful. Perhaps she was even more beautiful than the spirit of Kurkhadan. She jumped down from the altar she’d been lying on and rushed to Cassius. She wrapped her arms around him and, leaning him against the wall, helped him up into a half-sitting position. Crying freely, she tried to somehow stem the flow of blood from the terrible wound that now marred the torso of the Honorary Warrior, but couldn’t. Not only was his flesh damaged, but also his energy body as well.

“Cassius, what happened to you?”

The gaze of the elderly, brown eyes met the gaze of the young, blue ones. Cassius nodded slowly, and Hadjar responded in kind. He moved away, giving the old man the opportunity to say goodbye to his ward. Hadjar was trying to find one of the mercenaries or the Star Rain people, but none of them were in the sanctuary. Apparently, only those who’d still had life in them had been moved here.

“Princess,” Cassius ran a bloody hand over the girl’s beautiful face. “Are you all right? How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I’m okay, dear Cassius. Don’t talk. You need to rest. We’ll get out of here and take you to the healers. Everything will be fine. Do you hear me? Everything will definitely be fine!”

“Of course, Princess,” the old man smiled. His breathing gradually slowed, and his expression acquired a sense of peace. “Everything is fine now…”

“Who... who did this to you, Cassius?”

The old man looked behind the Princess, at Hadjar, and said:

“The Raven Sect... my Princess. They wanted to ruin you... but this... warrior... helped us. He... saved you.”

Lathea turned around. Only now did she realize that they weren’t alone in the cave.

“Thank you, stranger,” she said, then turned back to Cassius.

All three of them understood that when it came to such a grievous wound, without the immediate help of a Heaven Emperor level healer, the old man had no chance. Hadjar clenched his fists. Maybe if he’d been a little stronger, he would’ve been able to do this without ending so many lives in the process.

“Princess…”

“Cassius… My dear Cassius…”

“Do you remember, Princess… How you always smiled when… I did... this?” Cassius stretched out a trembling hand and rubbed a finger across the tip of the girl’s nose.

“I do. Of course I remember.” Tears were pouring down her cheeks.

“I would really have liked to see your smile again…” Cassius’ hand suddenly dropped to his lap, and his eyes closed.

“Cassius! No! Wake up!”

Hadjar was going to let the girl grieve as long as she had to — for the first time in these past few weeks, he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere, but a familiar smell suddenly filled the air. Several heavy drops fell on Hadjar’s shoulders. Fucking priests! Fucking fate!

“My lady,” Hadjar reached for Lathea’s shoulder. “We must hurry if we don’t want to become the dinner of the creature that the dark priests hid in here.”

“Leave me-” The princess didn’t get to finish speaking.

The high ceiling broke and a deluge of cold water crashed into the cave.

Chapter 1428

H adjar was preparing to reenact his distant past and fight the water monster in its native element, but suddenly, he realized that he didn’t have his sword or his armor. Wearing simple canvas clothes, he was standing in the middle of a small forest clearing dotted with herbs and flowers. A stream was gurgling up ahead. Birds were singing. The tall forest rose up toward the sky, which was hidden beneath the clouds. A distant mountain range, which, because of its sheer size, seemed to be very close, had multiple noisy waterfalls running through it and was covered in fog. It was cold, but also beautiful.

Hadjar had always liked the nature up in the north. Though it wasn’t as friendly and cozy as the nature down south, it was more honest. There was no place for the cowardly and indecisive here. Only someone who was ready to go to great lengths would be able to survive in the north.

“You’re kidding me,” Hadjar whispered. “How many times can this happen to a single person?”

Over the past few hours, he’d travelled through different layers of reality several times. Well, he wasn’t against expanding his horizons and his understanding of this world and the forces that ran it, but the fact that all of this had happened without his input or consent every time was somewhat annoying.

“I love autumn.”

Hadjar twitched. In front of him, across the stream, quite a ways away, stood a woman. She was at that age when youth had already passed her by, leaving behind a blossoming beauty and the wisdom inherent only to women. Her snow-white clothes swayed slightly in the wind. Her black hair was tied up in a simple hairstyle and lay across her back. Her white skin seemed to glow a little.

Hadjar had already seen this woman on frescoes and in various books. Temples had been built for her. People worshipped her. Old legends claimed that the witch who’d saved and raised the wizard Ash had been her servant. The servant of one of the goddesses. The Goddess of Fate.

“My Lady.”

Hadjar didn’t know how else to address the goddess. This was his first time directly encountering a resident of the Seventh Heaven. Not just some minor goddess, or a native of the Land of the Immortals, but one of those beings that had been here from the very beginning, who was older even than the Ancients.

“Do you like autumn, Mad General?” The goddess bent down and plucked a flower. “Admittedly, that’s a stupid question. All of Boreas’ descendants love autumn. This is your time. The time of the north.”

“What about winter, my Lady?”

The goddess, who was inhaling the aromas of the wildflower, smiled a little.

“What is winter but a dream? And isn’t summer a kind of nap? Spring and autumn are the moments of our wakefulness, when things become what they are, and not what we want to see in them.”

There was most likely some deep revelation in these words, but Hadjar had long ago made it a rule to not try and understand the Ancients when they started being profound and mystical.

“Why have you summoned me here, my Lady?” He asked, but then realized that he was missing a very important detail. “More importantly, how did you do it?”

“How did I do it?” The goddess bent down again and returned the flower to its original spot. It extended its roots back into the ground and reached out with its bud toward the woman’s face, as if trying to thank her for her mercy. “Sometimes, we gods can do something, General.”

The woman turned around and looked up at the sky.

“I didn’t call you, General,” she said suddenly. “You came here by yourself.”

“I did? By myself? But... why?”

“Only the guest knows why they’ve come to visit,” the goddess said with a slight hint of a smile in her tone. “Do you want to ask me something, Hadjar?”

He did in fact have a lot of questions for her. For example, had she written the contents of the Book of Thousands — the book that contained the destinies of all things? Or had someone else done that? And if they had, why was she called the Goddess of Fate?

Of all the many thousands of questions, Hadjar asked quite possibly the most useless one:

“Will I have a daughter or a son?”

“Why ask a question when you already know the answer to it, my dear General?” The goddess waved her hand and a simple, blue ribbon was woven from the clouds. “This is the second time I’ve spun this kind of ribbon, General. For the second time, I give it as a gift to a General. The little dragon deceived you by taking advantage of the old legend, the very beautiful legend about a traveler in love and a brave female warrior, and how they found each other.”

The ribbon flew through the air and nestled itself in Hadjar’s hair, in the very same spot where the all too similar corrupted ribbon given to him by Chin’Ameh had once been.

“When you meet the one whose light is your light, this ribbon will show you.”

“Show me what?”

“It’s my little gift to you, General. I love it when stories end happily. It’s just a pity that this only happens in fairy tales.”

“My Lady, I-”

“Go, Hadjar. Your battle isn’t over yet.”

***

Hadjar opened his eyes and coughed up water. He found himself lying on the roof of one of the houses. The city of the dark priests was gradually sinking into the cold, dark water that Hadjar had noticed when he’d first come down here.

“I’m not kidding, human dog, take one more step and I’ll rip her head off!”

Hadjar shook his head. His consciousness stalled and refused to accept reality.

“Calm down, you son of an ornery dwarf! Let me explain!”

“You can save your explanations for your forefathers, you pathetic traitor! You disgusting dog!”

“Don’t do this…”

“Shut up, woman, or your next breath will be your last.”

“Alba-udun?” Hadjar, who was barely able to distinguish the silhouettes of the people around him, sat up. “What’s going on here?”

“Stranger, maybe you can reason with him!” Abraham, who was standing next to him, held his palms outstretched in front of him. “The dwarf has gone insane!”

After finally regaining some control over himself, Hadjar got to his feet. Guy and Gustaf, who’d already released their energies, were holding Albadurt, who was already shrouded in flames, at gunpoint, and he, in turn, had crossed his axes across the neck of Itia, who was kneeling.

“Hadjar-dan! Glad to have you back! Quick, draw your blade! These dogs wanted to deceive us! Abraham manipulated you! He wanted to-”

“He didn’t,” Hadjar interrupted, clearing his throat.

“What?”

“Calm down, Albadurt!” Hadjar said. Abraham was slapping him on the back. “I knew that he hadn’t replaced anything. He didn’t manipulate me, but... Well, in general… It was all part of my and Abraham’s plan. How do I even…”

“But why-”

“So none of you would go with me,” Hadjar interrupted him again. “Listen, Albadurt, honestly, we have very little time left. Where is Lathea?”

“The Princess?”

“Did I come up alone?”

“Should there be anyone else with you?”

Hadjar’s eyes widened. He turned toward an unexpected burst of energy.

Chapter 1429

F rom the watery abyss, something that only remotely resembled a snake emerged, creating a massive waterfall that brushed against the top of the distant ceiling. It had short paws, where instead of claws, there were mouths, their fangs bared. The monster’s head looked more like a bull’s. The creature radiated the power of a Spirit Stage beast, which meant it was as strong as a human Heaven Emperor.

“Oh, by the Hammer and Anvil,” Alba-udun breathed out, releasing Itia and turning to the creature. “Its parents sinned a lot... and with whom, I wonder?”

“Is that what you’re really interested in right now, dwarf?” Gustaf squeaked, sending several arrows shrouded in Techniques flying at the monster.

Two of the three disappeared into its jaw-claws, and one slid across the creature’s scales, but could only leave a deep scratch, nothing more. Although the Spirit Stage beast wasn’t a true Heaven Emperor in some regards, there was more primal power in it than even the mightiest human Heaven Emperor could muster. Beasts might not be able to master Techniques and mysteries in the original sense of the words, but they more than compensated for the difference with their pure strength.

“What curious pets the priests had!” Abraham, adjusting his bandana, stood next to Hadjar. “How did it go? Did everything go according to plan?”

“Cassius is dead.”

“As I thought... But did he-”

“He said what we needed him to,” Hadjar replied without much joy.

“Well, that was nice of him,” Abraham nodded.

“Death is near.”

“That’s a good point, my friend. We should grab our wayward Princess and get out of here before that giant pile of shit regains consciousness. I wonder how many hundreds of centuries it spent sleeping peacefully down here?”

“Maybe you two should explain what the fuck happened to the rest of us?” Itia hissed, both because she didn’t particularly like their current situation and because there were still traces from the axes on her neck. Fortunately, the dwarf had just strangled her with them, and hadn’t cut her. Otherwise, who knew how their adventure might’ve ended…

“Well, how do I put this, my dear? It’s just that you are such hotheads that Hadjar and I decided to hedge our bets a little. In a situation where only one madman is needed, three or four will only make it worse, not better.”

“That’s so-”

“Death is near.”

“Guy’s right,” Abraham shook the water off himself. The snake raged and thrashed, continuing to bring down the ceiling, which caused tons of water to flow into the hall. They wouldn’t drown, of course, but fighting underwater against such a creature wasn’t the best idea. “So, Gustaf, keep the animal at gunpoint, Hadjar, get the Princess, since she only knows and trusts you, and the rest of you... Who wants a new snakeskin belt?”

Suddenly, a beautiful warrior emerged from the water.

“Damn it! My senile heart may not be able to withstand so much blood running through my body. Stop fishing, man. The Princess found us herself.”

“Is that winged armor?” Gustaf continued to squeak. “Can I have just one feather? I’ll be able to buy enough arrows for a year with that.”

“Winged what?”

Apparently, only Hadjar didn’t know about winged armor, as the rest were absorbed in watching the battle.

Lathea, with an absolutely calm expression, flapped the snow-white wings growing right out of her armor. The armor was so skillfully made that Hadjar didn’t know whether it had been forged by humans or Fae. The full plate armor covered Lathea’s entire body, lighter than silk. The steel, almost like it was somehow elastic, moved with her skin, stretching whenever it needed to. Her forearms and shoulders were hidden underneath steel feathers similar to the ones that made up the girl’s wings. She wore chainmail pants. Her calves and feet were protected by boots that also looked like feathers. This was Divine level armor of the highest quality. It probably cost more than a tenth of the Dragon Emperor’s, or rather, Empress’ entire treasury.

However, that wasn’t what stunned Hadjar, but the spear that Lathea was holding in her hands certainly did. It was quite long — about four feet — and as snow-white as the cloak and wings of the Star Rain clan’s Princess. It radiated transcendent power that could only belong to a Star level artifact. Devoid of any runes or symbols along its shaft, it only had a small pattern on its very tip, which resembled a map of the movements of several stars.

The creature’s tail tried to entangle the warrior’s wings, but she seemed not to notice the monster’s efforts. Swinging her spear, she threw off the tail and cut through the creature’s flesh and scales, then, soaring up to the very top of the cavern, she swung her spear again.

The water under her first froze, then turned into a huge vortex. The rising tornado of water drained the city. Becoming an exact copy of the tip of Lathea’s spear, it flashed like a star and struck the monster under the head. It didn’t even have time to roar. A torrent of blood rained down on the squad. The dumbfounded cultivators, wiping their faces clean of the viscous, foul blood, watched as the winged Princess descended in front of them.

“With just one attack... She killed… a Spirit Stage beast...” Abraham whispered. “If only I were a couple dozen centuries younger…”

“Even then, you wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway.”

“Honey, you’re breaking my heart.”

“As if you have one, you old rascal.”

“You,” the girl pointed her spear at Hadjar. “What’s your name?”

“Hadjar, my lady,” Hadjar introduced himself. “Hadjar Darkhan, the Wind of the Northern Valleys.”

“I am Lathea the Shooting Star,” the Princess replied, then thought about his name a little. “Hadjar Darkhan... I’ve heard a few songs about you. You’re the Mad General? Am I right?”

“That’s right, my lady.”

“Good.” She nodded. “You and your people have helped me. I’m grateful to you and in your debt. People who are already in debt shouldn’t ask for more, but…” The Princess lowered her spear and sank to her right knee. “I ask you, valiant wanderers, to join me in a war against the Raven Sect!”

Hadjar and Abraham exchanged glances. Abraham had already known this because of his lifestyle. Hadjar had found this fact out the hard way. It was the easiest to manipulate those who lived by honor, though there was no honor in doing so.

“Of course, Princess,” Abraham quickly got the girl back on her feet. “Let’s hurry, though, before we all try on the role of this deceased pet snake together.”

“Of course! Let’s go to the Star Rain clan. I need to tell my father and mother everything!”

She flapped her wings and soared into the sky.

“It’s a pity that we’re leaving empty-handed,” the dwarf bit into an apple. “My grandmothers told me that the temples of the dark priests are full of treasures.”

“They are,” Hadjar replied, then gave a mental order, Analysis.

His neural network accepted the order and scanned the several blocks of gray, dead stone in his spatial ring.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Object: unknown. Too little data.

Features: unknown. Too little data.

Abs. energy unit content: 32.6.

Weight: 24kg.]

It seemed to be enough for him to reach the next stage of the Nameless level according to the ‘Path Through the Stars’ Technique. Hadjar looked at Abraham. People who run with wolves eventually learn how to howl…

Chapter 1430

T he way to Star Rain City was long. Moving at the maximum speed that the slowest member of their group — the dwarf — was capable of, it took the squad three days to get out of the marsh and reach the border of the Star Rain clan’s territory. Three days of marching without any rest. Well, they didn’t really want t

Chapter o stop in places where all sorts of monsters lived. Of course, now that they had Lathea, they could handle even grave threats, but why waste time?

“You should talk to her.”

Hadjar turned to Itia, who, wrapped up in a warm woolen shawl, had approached the fire. The flames, crackling merrily, illuminated a narrow road through meadows and fields. This was the road they were taking. Lathea had explained (actually, that had been one of the few times when they’d managed to exchange a few words with her) that this was a path mostly used by poor merchants that connected Star Rain City and Underground Whisper City.

None of them had asked about how and why the heir of another family, to whom Lathea had been engaged, had almost sent her to her forefathers. Everyone had been surprised by the fact that the merchants had made a road in the grass, and didn’t simply use skyships. Although, considering the fact that they sometimes saw shadows up in the sky that covered the ground all the way to the horizon, the skies of the Strange Lands were most likely no less dangerous than the ground.

Hadjar looked at Lathea. The girl was pretending to meditate, but she was actually just looking at the sunset. This was clear from the way her energy sometimes flared up when she remembered something unpleasant.

Hadjar shifted his gaze to Gustaf.

“He’s still got milk on his lip,” Itia snorted.

“What about you? Have you lost your communication skills?”

Itia smiled a little sadly, “It’s hard for me to find common ground with other women...”

Hadjar understood. Many former brothel workers suffered from this issue. Something would change in these women. It was like a wolf and a dog. Outwardly, they looked almost the same. But a wolf always regarded a dog as prey. And a dog would shun a wolf. Itia and Lathea were separated by a chasm they had yet to bridge.

“Okay,” Hadjar sighed and returned the gray stones to his spatial ring. Apparently, he wouldn’t be able to try and progress to the next stage of cultivation tonight.

Well, he wasn’t really eager to do so just yet. There wasn’t much use in jumping through the stages like a mad bunny. Rather, it would only cause harm. At each initial stage of every level, it was necessary to devote your time to strengthening your foundation, and only then should you ‘build’ atop it.

Hadjar stood next to Lathea. He’d always liked sunsets in the northern valleys.

“He was brave and loyal to you to the very end, my lady.”

Lathea silently peered at the line of the horizon, which looked like a strip of bloody gold. Other cultivators at her level had seen such sunsets more often than their own reflection. She was very young. Hadjar felt like an elder for the first time in a long time.

“I know,” she nodded at last. “He was always like that.”

“May I?”

There was enough space for him to sit anywhere, but in moments like these, a person needed some other living being nearby. It didn’t matter if it was reasonable or not. Lathea moved away a little. He nodded gratefully and sat down next to her.

She smelled good. Like something sweet, but not tart. Some kind of fruit, perhaps, whose taste Hadjar had never known. And like flowers in a garden.

They sat there for a while. Behind them, Itia kept watch. It was her turn.

“Cassius was always near,” the Princess finally broke the silence. “Ever since my childhood. For as long as I can remember, he was there.” Hadjar was silent. Listening was more important than talking right now. “My first memory is of running into a healer’s room,” the girl smiled at some of her memories. “I’d run away from my nanny. She’d been trying to teach me writing again, and I’d wanted to run and frolic. And so I ran. And there was…”

Hadjar easily imagined what had been happening in the healer’s room of a region as tumultuous and dangerous as the Strange Lands.

“We were feuding with the Elnadir family back then. That’s from the old language, it translates to-”

“The Blizzard Autumn Flower,” Hadjar finished for her.

Lathea nodded, “I didn’t know anybody still remembered the old language in the outer lands.”

“I like to read old legends,” he replied.

“Cassius loved them too,” Lathea sighed. She was twirling a daisy in her hands. “He often read them to me before I went to bed so that I could fall asleep. He read to me about the young man made of ice. About the girl who speaks the language of the sun. About the Potter and his beloved. About the battle against the Enemy of Everything.”

“Good stories.”

“They are.”

They were silent again for a while.

“I was scared at first,” Lathea continued her story as if she hadn’t stopped talking. “Everyone was covered in blood. There were cries. Some were without arms, others without legs. I screamed as well. Suddenly, someone hugged me. He held me tightly. He said that everything was fine and that this was just a nightmare. Back then, I thought that he was also a healer, as he was wearing all white.”

In his battle against Cassius, Hadjar had sensed the old wounds on the warrior’s energy body. Apparently, that was how he’d retired — as an Honorary Warrior... or rather, an Honorary Cripple.

“He was like a grandfather to me,” Lathea’s smile became a little warmer. “Don’t think that I don’t have a good relationship with my parents. The elders of the clan have always loved me as well, but-”

“It was Cassius who stayed with you.”

“Always,” she nodded. “From the very first day. He gave me my first spear. He put me in my first saddle. He taught me how to play the Ron’Jah…”

Hadjar’s heart trembled slightly. He couldn’t remember the last time his fingers had touched those strings.

“I haven’t played for a long time, my lady.” Hadjar waved his hand and the instrument appeared in his lap. “I would be glad to... but only if you want to, of course…”

Lathea was silent for a while, after which a Ron’Jah appeared in her lap. It was much more expensive and beautiful than Hadjar’s.

“Do you know the song ‘Six Moments before Life?’”

He smiled sadly, “Of course, my lady. I know it well.”

They started playing.

Itia wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. She’d never liked the northern lands and their piercing winds.

“You’re doing great, darling,” someone whispered nearby. “So far, everything is going according to plan.”

“You and the stranger are perfect for each other,” the girl hissed, then pointedly turned away from him.

Abraham looked at the pair of cultivators playing music together. The redhead was probably right…

Chapter 1431

“H mm,” Gustaf clicked his tongue. “This isn’t how I imagined the fortress walls of one of the largest cities in the Strange Lands would look.”

Their group stopped near the central gates of Star Rain City. The place was almost no different from any number of cities in less developed regions, except that the queue was shorter and had a hundred people in it, maybe a hundred and fifty at the most. That was easily justified by the fact that despite the vastness of the Strange Lands, there were far fewer people living here than in any other mortal region. According to Lathea, there were no more than two million people in the city, which, by Dahanatan’s standards, was a mere trifle.

However, it didn’t matter that the fortress walls were only a couple of feet thick and a dozen feet high. In fact, the walls were made of a kind of stone that even the richest families of Dahanatan didn’t have enough money to buy.

“Just two million residents?” Hadjar squinted a little. “There is an internal area designated for far more people.”

Abraham nodded, calmly chewing on a blade of grass.

“The runes aren’t very well hidden,” Alba-udun said.

“What runes, dwarf?” Gustaf was carefully examining the wall. “I can’t see any runes here.”

“That’s because your human eyes are worse than a mole’s,” the dwarf snorted. “There are more runes there than in a mage’s textbook, powered by two sources at once: directly by the World River and... By Crystals of the Full Moon?”

“That’s right, honorable dwarf,” Lathea didn’t try to deny it.

“Hey! Did you hear that?” The dwarf pointed an apple at the Princess. “Honorable dwarf! From now on, that is how you must address me.”

“Of course, you furry bastard!” Itia smiled venomously. “You apple-eating halfling with hairy armpits.”

“I have beautiful armpits, woman. I can demonstrate!”

“Death is near!”

“No, Guy, we shouldn’t kill our little friend just yet.”

“I’m not your friend, dog! You, half-face, come here. Do you want to measure our strength? I’ll show you what an Udun is!”

Some kind of commotion started behind Hadjar, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. They couldn’t stop anywhere without the dwarf fighting someone. Usually, it was Guy or Gustaf, but sometimes Abraham also decided to work out the kinks in his old bones. Itia, as befits a wise woman, stayed away and then gave them healing ointments afterwards.

“Do you always have so much fun?” Lathea giggled a little.

Hadjar was even taken aback at first, but then he remembered her age. He turned around and looked at how Guy was trying to strangle the dwarf, grabbing him by the neck with his forearm, and how Albadurt was diligently punching the half-faced man in the stomach. Abraham, Gustaf, and Itia were making bets and cheering them on. Two of them had bet on the dwarf. Only the archer believed in Guy…

“Probably, yes,” Hadjar shrugged. “Great fun…”

By this time, the squad had already managed to approach the city guards, who were on patrol in front of some very flimsy gates. These gates could even be taken down with regular Techniques, despite the security runes. For example, Hadjar would only need to use the ‘Torn Sky’ Technique at full power to reduce these gates to splinters. Something was wrong here…

“What’s happening over there?” The leader of the patrol muttered.

“Just cultivators blowing off some steam,” Hadjar took charge out of habit. He stepped forward, standing in front of the mid-stage Lord. Like Cassius’ people, he was clad in gray plate armor, armed with a spear, and the clan’s coat of arms was emblazoned on his light cloak. The other five guards were also Lords, which refuted the myth that a Lord couldn’t survive out here. “We-”

“Princess!”

Suddenly, all six guards fell to their right knee and, saluting in the local manner, placed their spears next to them.

“Senior heiress Lathea,” the leader of the guards said, almost crying. The queue and most of the guards up on the wall were already staring at their group. “Please... tell me… that it’s really you... and not a mirage?”

“Honorable Alstan,” Lathea crouched down next to the guard and lifted him to his feet. “Of course it’s me.”

“By the gods and demons, Princess!” He breathed out. “By the gods and demons, how glad I am to see you!” He turned around and shouted up at the wall, “Brothers! The Princess is back! She’s also in good health! Send a message to the city! The Princess is back!”

“The Princess is back!”

“The Princess is back!”

The cries sounded all over the walls, getting farther and farther away, traveling somewhere deep into the city. Signal lights were already being lit on the towers.

“They love her, don’t they?” Abraham muttered under his breath. “Well, that’s great. It’ll be easier to organize everything.”

“Can you be a human being for at least five minutes, you bald fox?”

“Honey, I’m more human than this dwarf!”

“But he isn’t human!”

“That’s the point!”

Itia cursed, spat to the side, and walked away from the roguishly smiling Abraham.

Hadjar looked at Lathea appraisingly. He understood perfectly well that the kind of reverence and love that the garrison had just demonstrated wasn’t something you were given simply due to your birthright. The fact that the Princess knew the guards’ names, and how she’d greeted them in turn, said a lot about her.

“Where is Cassius?” Alstan looked around. “Where-”

The Princess’ beautiful face darkened again, and her gaze sank closer to the ground.

“He’s gone to his forefathers,” she whispered.

Alstan also became sad. “In battle?” He asked.

“In battle.”

The guard nodded, then turned to the wall:

“The Honorary Warrior, Cassius the Striking Death, has left us, brothers! Blow the bugle! Tonight, we’ll hold his funeral!”

Up on the wall, the soldiers began to run back and forth. It was clear how great the old man’s reputation was.

“What aren’t you telling me, Alstan?”

“What do you mean, my Princess?”

“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” the Princess frowned. “What happened while Cassius and I were away?”

Chapter 1432

“M y rank is too low for me to have such conversations, my Princess,” Alstan bowed low. “Please don’t ask me... My son has just been accepted into the Star Spear School.”

Abraham exchanged glances with Itia.

“She hasn’t been here for a month at most,” he whispered. “What could have possibly happened in just a month?”

“A lot of things, Abraham,” Itia replied in whisper. “Maybe it’s time for us to cut and run?”

“Well, my ass hasn’t sensed anything deadly yet.”

“Your ass? It brought us to… that ass!”

“And what’s wrong with that ass, honey?” Abraham stared at Lathea’s bottom.

“Calm down, you decrepit geezer. You’re too old to be eyeing her.”

Lathea put her hand on Alstan’s shoulder and looked into his eyes.

“I understand... but if you asked me to say something to Cassius during his funeral, I would be very grateful to you, Alstan.”

The guard got the hint.

“My Princess, tell the Honorary Warrior,” the guard said in a heavy voice, “That his ward’s father fell ill after the tragedy with his daughter. He retired from the clan. Her second mother started to run everything along with the second Princess of the clan, Ethea.”

Judging by the Princess’ glowing, golden eyes, this wasn’t anything good.

“Ternes and Ethea?” She growled. Despite her meekness, there was something inside the girl that made the soldiers stand at attention. “I need to go to the city, Alstan! Open the gates!”

“Yes, my Princess!” The leader of the patrol saluted, then turned around and gave the command. “Open the gates!”

“Here we go,” Gustaf muttered, adjusting his quiver as if they weren’t entering the city on a visit, but were leading a besieging army.

“Let’s hurry up,” Lathea said over her shoulder. “Perhaps Cassius and I invited you to the wrong place.”

The girl walked through the archway, and the squad followed her.

In almost perfect unison, they all cried out, “Where are we?”

They were standing on a well-paved road with high curbs. A carriage or a loaded cart could move along it without any problems. There were arable fields to the left and right of the road. The peasants who worked them were now standing tall and looking at the Princess. Their whispers merged with the whispers of golden stalks of wheat swaying in the wind.

“Where is the city?” The dwarf looked around. “Are you kidding? You promised us a city, and this is a park!”

“This is the outer wall,” the Princess explained. “There are three more of these ahead, and only then will we reach the actual city.”

Everyone else was silent. They were thinking about how deceptive first impressions could be.

***

They moved forward for twenty minutes, which, considering the fact that they were all strong cultivators, made it clear just how vast the internal territories of the clan were. Hadjar had never seen city walls erected at such a massive distance. By the standards of the Empires, it was downright decadent.

According to the dwarf, who knew a lot about fortifications, each subsequent wall had been strengthened a lot more than the previous one. Especially the main city wall. Outwardly, it was still no match for the walls of the Empires’ capitals, being only about sixty feet high and ten feet wide. However, Alba-udun whistled respectfully upon seeing it. That was definitely a compliment coming from him. The guards there were all Nameless, and there were cannons, trebuchets, and automatic fortress crossbows situated on the parapet.

The experienced general inside Hadjar estimated that in order to besiege this wall, he would need an army of ten thousand Lords, three hundred cannons, sixty trebuchets, and twenty mortars. And to capture them, he would need a couple hundred Nameless and at least a squad of Heaven Emperors.

“Open the gates!” Someone shouted up at the barbican. “The Princess is back! The Princess is here!”

The heavy gates spun, and the huge chains lowered the drawbridge. Hadjar had almost never seen the entrance to a city closed during the day. Usually, that only happened when the rulers considered the overall atmosphere to be too volatile. Something was wrong here.

“By the gods and demons,” Gustaf smoothed his hair back and adjusted his quiver. “Now it looks more like a city of the Strange Lands.”

To be honest, Hadjar wasn’t particularly impressed. Dahanatan looked much more pompous and marvelous, as its streets were wider, its houses taller and more decorated, and its pavements less shabby. At first glance, he didn’t see any avenues. The city looked like a civilized village made from stone, with a large number of manors with their own courtyards, central buildings, and other additions.

But this was only its outward appearance. Lords, Nameless, and even Heaven Emperors walked the streets. The shops sold artifacts no lower than the Imperial level, and a variety of potent alchemical products, as well as all sorts of ingredients and resources. However, for some unknown reason, not a single skyship was visible in the sky. Hadjar hadn’t noticed a skyport, either, and he was probably standing on the tallest building already. Passers-by were sometimes leading winged monsters by the bridle. However, far more often, they seemed to be riding ordinary land-bound animals, even if they were all at the King Stage or higher.

“Princess?”

“Is that really Princess Lathea?”

Whispers could be heard everywhere. The city froze. Everyone stared at them.

“That’s impossible!”

“Wasn’t she recently declared dead?”

“No, it’s definitely her!”

“But how…”

The whispers gradually turned into a real hubbub. People began to approach them. Apparently, they wanted to take a closer look at their favorite heiress from the Star Rain family to make sure that she wasn’t a ghost.

“Hurry up!” Lathea, using a very strong movement Technique, rushed down the street toward the city center.

“Hey,” Abraham said to him, “It would be better if as few people as possible noticed us... If you get my meaning.”

Hadjar nodded and, summoning the Wind, enveloped his companions in it, after which he followed Lathea. No matter how fast she was, as long as she didn’t use her wings, it wasn’t difficult for him to keep her in sight.

They were soon standing at the gates of an old-fashioned, decorative wooden fence that separated the street from the gardens and buildings on the other side. The clan’s coat of arms was emblazoned on a flag that hung above the gates.

“Stop!” A warrior stepped forward to block the Princess. He was a peak-stage Nameless. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Get out of my way, Permy!” The Princess growled. “I don’t have time for you!”

“I don’t remember being acquainted with you, young lady,” the warrior chuckled impudently.

“Can’t you see who I am?” Lathea drew her spear, and her body was quickly enveloped in her armor. The white cloak fell across her shoulders. “I’m Lathea the Shooting Star!”

“I don’t know who you are, my lady, but impersonating the deceased first Princess of the clan is in poor taste. I will admit, your copy of her armor is worthy of respect and-”

Hadjar barely had enough time to notice what had happened as Lathea’s foot slammed into Permy’s stomach. He bent in half and, leaving a bloody trail behind him, flew into the gates with a bang, where, after smashing them to splinters, he proceeded to fly another dozen feet or so into the garden itself.

“I’m back!” The Princess growled.

“And I’m in love.” Surprisingly, this was said by none other than the dwarf who was munching on an apple with great fascination clear in his gaze.

Chapter 1433

“T his is why I don’t have a home,” Abraham said wearily.

The courtyard of the manor gradually filled up with warriors of the Star Rain clan. Just like Cassius’ men and the guards, they were clad in high-level gray armor.

In less than forty seconds, all the stone paths surrounding the low gardens, manicured lawns, and ponds full of happy golden and orange fish, were surrounded by Nameless level warriors. Three Heaven Emperors came out alongside them. Damn, how strong were the other families of the Strange Lands if the Star Rain clan wasn’t the strongest one in the region?

From what Hadjar had managed to piece together, the martial arts sects were considered the strongest around here because they would accumulate the resources of all the other families. It was customary to send the youngest children of the clan to the sects instead of teaching them at home. This helped strengthen ties and something else equally uninteresting and purely political as well.

“Princess!”

“Princess Lathea!”

The soldiers who had raised their spears immediately lowered them and, saluting, began to sink to their right knee.

“Why don’t they ever get down on both knees?” Albadurt casually bit into an apple like they weren’t surrounded by an army that could capture Dahanatan in a single day.

“Because that’s not customary here,” Abraham replied. “In ancient times, the Strange Lands fought for their independence for thousands of years. No one ever gets down on both knees here. It’s considered to be disrespectful to their forefathers.”

Hadjar glanced at Abraham. Sometimes, this old fox knew nothing about the Strange Lands, and sometimes he demonstrated knowledge that was beyond what could be found out from just general rumors and legends.

“Get up!” One of the Heaven Emperors barked. He had a heavy, prodigious potbelly, and was armed with a glaive. Its presence alone made the air tremble. He had the aura of a mid-stage Heaven Emperor and wasn’t trying to hide his power.

The two Heaven Emperors standing behind him were in no hurry to demonstrate their capabilities yet, however.

“Sixth Warrior!”  Hadjar choked on air. He was sixth? By the demons, who was in first place, then? A peak-stage Heaven Emperor? “It’s Princess Lathea!”

“Sixth Warrior!”

“This is our Princess!”

“Shut up!” The wielder of the glaive shouted. “By the order of the second wife of the Head of the clan, Princess Lathea is dead!”

“Dasinius,” the Princess said calmly. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“I do, my lady,” the warrior bowed deeply, which caused Hadjar to blink in surprise. “But when you and the Honorary Warrior left, and your father’s mind deteriorated, I… I…”

“You swore an oath, didn’t you?”

Dasinius remained silent. In his steely eyes, Hadjar saw a struggle between honor, duty, and conscience. Strange as it may have seemed, these three virtues sometimes clashed in the course of a warrior’s life.

“Well,” Lathea sighed. She spun her spear over her head and plunged its base into the ground. The water in the ponds shook. Hadjar felt like he’d suddenly been transported to the middle of a lake, inside which fallen stars shone. This feeling was similar to a True Kingdom, but somehow different as well. “The first person who gets in my way goes to their forefathers!”

“By the Hammer and Anvil,” the dwarf whispered breathlessly. “What is this woman doing? My heart is about to melt…”

“You don’t like humans,” Itia reminded him in a whisper.

“She isn’t a human,” Alba-udun shook his head. “She’s a dream... What a woman! It’s a pity she doesn’t have a beard!”

The squad coughed.

“My lady,” Dasinius bowed again. “Please don’t make me-”

“Sixth Warrior!” Lathea’s eyes flashed with golden fire. The air around her was filled with steel and battle. Hadjar hadn’t sensed such an aura from a woman for a long time. He wasn’t a sexist, it was simply a fact that such a quick and violent temper was really less common among the more beautiful half of humanity. “Do your duty, or get out of the way! Either way, I’m going home!”

Cassius had probably raised the Princess the way only a soldier could. She was direct and honest. Strong and upright. By the High Heavens, had Hadjar met her a little earlier, maybe the war of the Empires and his adventure in the Dragon Lands would’ve gone in a completely different direction.

Lathea jerked her spear out of the ground and took a step forward, thereby passing the invisible line. The other two Heaven Emperors didn’t move and maintained absolutely neutral expressions. Hadjar couldn’t figure out whether they were stronger than the Sixth Warrior or not.

Dasinius didn’t move. Lathea took another step.

“Death is near.”

“Yeah. I have no doubt that something is about to happen, my friend. Everyone, get ready.”

Hadjar lowered his hand closer to the hilt of his sword. At this rate, they would be inciting families and sects for a very long time in their search for the warriors they needed to take down the Raven Sect.

“Dasinius!” A high, feminine voice came from the depths of the manor. “Why are you doing nothing when strangers are on my doorstep? Are you not the Sixth Warrior anymore?”

A woman came into the light. She was beautiful. Admittedly, that was a common thing among such high-level cultivators.

“Damn it!” Gustaf hissed. “Heaven Emperors grow like mushrooms after the rain here!”

The woman had the aura of an initial-stage Heaven Emperor.

“Don’t forget, my boy,” Abraham said, “That we’re in the very heart of one of the Forty Families. You can encounter a lot of interesting people here.”

The woman was dressed in red and gold clothes, with a lot of bracelets on her wrists and rings on her fingers, with gems in her ears and on her neck. Sparks of the elements and the light of magic danced inside her jewelry. By the Evening Stars! She was wearing the annual budget of the entirety of Darnassus!

“Ternes!” Lathea boomed. Her voice sounded like a mountain river breaking through a stone dam. “Where is my father?”

The woman arched an eyebrow, “I don’t know who you are or who you think you are. Why did you put on the armor of my dead daughter and where did you find it?”

Lathea struck the ground with her spear and several rays of starlight cut through her bracelets and the necklace on the woman’s chest. By the demons! The Heaven Empress hadn’t even managed to react to Lathea’s simple attack.

“I’m not your daughter, you vile snake!” The girl hissed. “Where is my father, concubine? Answer me, or I will level everything here to the ground and send you and all your kin to their forefathers and the demons!”

There was a cough. The dwarf had almost choked on his apple.

“Oh great ancestors and fiery vents! Woman! Please, have mercy! How will I look at my fellow countrywomen after this? My coal won’t be able to burn!”

“My coal won’t be able to burn…” Abraham repeated thoughtfully. “I must remember that expression.”

Ternes’ face flashed with fury.

“Dasinius!” She squeaked. “Kill her!” The Sixth Warrior didn’t budge. “Immediately!” The woman screamed. “You swore the oath!”

“I did,” the Sixth Warrior said heavily. “My lady… I listen and obey.”

“Well, boy,” Abraham patted Hadjar on the shoulder. “It’s your turn.”

Chapter 1434

H adjar took a step forward, but Lathea’s spear was quickly slammed into the ground in front of him. The girl swung her shock of golden hair toward him and frowned.

“With all due respect, Wind of the Northern Valleys, I don’t need your help. This is my land, and my clan. I’ll solve my own problems.”

“What the fuck!” The dwarf almost fainted.

Hadjar didn’t even manage to answer her before whispers began to buzz through the ranks of the soldiers once again. The two Heaven Emperors who had previously remained calm finally showed signs of life. One of them raised a trident, and the other drew two long javelins — one of the rarest weapons amongst spearmen.

“He’s the Wind of the Northern Valleys?”

“Really?”

“He’s Hadjar Darkhan?”

“The guy who killed the Dragon Emperor?”

“The one who destroyed the Underground Demon City?”

“I’ve heard he’s friends with Helmer himself.”

“I’ve heard that more Heaven Emperors have fallen to his sword than to the First Warrior’s spear!”

Hadjar exchanged glances with his squad. He didn’t remember spreading any rumors about his ‘exploits.’

“Don’t look at me, boy,” Abraham raised his hands placatingly. “I didn’t know that you’re involved with demons. Although… it’s rather obvious in hindsight.”

People stared at Hadjar’s tattoos and the feathers and ornaments in his hair. Well, his appearance was peculiar even in the Empires, let alone in the Strange Lands.

“I wondered why I knew your name,” the Princess whispered with a little more respect than before.

“So that’s whom you brought with you, you obnoxious girl!” The second wife of the clan Head screamed. “A butcher from some stupid tavern songs?”

Hadjar probably had to react to that insult somehow, but he was stuck trying to figure out who could possibly be singing songs about him in this distant region, and, more importantly, why?

“Honorable Wind of the Northern Valleys,” Dasinius said. He plunged his spear into the ground next to him, put his fist in his palm, and bowed. “It’s an honor for me to welcome such a Master to the humble abode of the Star Rain clan.”

Hadjar didn’t even realize that he was addressing him at first. He hastened to respond in kind. Putting his fist in his palm, he bowed back.

“Honorable Dasinius, the rumors about my skill are greatly exaggerated, and-”

“Why aren’t you doing anything, Dasinius?” The hysterical Ternes interrupted them. “I ordered you to kill that impostor! How dare she pretend to be the deceased Princess!”

“Master Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the Sixth Warrior bowed slightly once more, “Please don’t interfere in my family’s affairs. I would gladly cross blades with you to push the boundaries of my knowledge at any other time, but not today.”

“I beg your pardon, Master Dasinius, but I can’t agree to that. It would normally be an honor for me to fight against you in a training duel, but I gave my word to Cassius, may his forefathers be merciful to him.”

“May his forefathers be merciful to him!” The clan’s warriors echoed.

“Damn it,” Abraham growled. “All this small talk is so annoying. Why can’t you just punch him in the face?”

“Because not everyone is a dishonest bastard like you are," Itia hissed.

Abraham just shrugged.

“Then…”

Even before Dasinius took a step forward, before the two Heaven Emperors standing behind him started channeling their energy, before Lathea lit the light of the fallen stars, Hadjar did what he had been preparing to do all this time.

Abraham might’ve thought that Hadjar had finally gone soft and was simply making small talk. Well, to be honest, he didn’t really want to fight these people, as he only felt respect for them. However, their circumstances demanded it.

While everyone else had been barking like unruly dogs, Hadjar had been gathering the Wind around him. And when the time came, he summoned the most powerful Technique he could use, one of the Techniques of the Black General himself — the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique.

A powerful whirlwind erupted around him. It instantly obliterated the mysteries, the will, the Kingdoms, and any attempts to protect themselves of everyone who was in the garden. The light of the stars and the feeling of the deep lake emanating from Lathea disappeared. The Heaven Emperors’ powers faded, like a spark fades when faced with a fire blazing with pure rage. Most of the common warriors tried to breathe, clutching their chests desperately, but couldn’t.

For a brief moment, a second sword appeared in Hadjar’s left hand. It looked like solidified fog, like it had been woven from the purest of blue wind.

“Whoever gets in the way of Princess Lathea!” A terrifying tornado of sheer power and unbridled energy thundered around him, “Will go to their forefathers! You have my word.”

Then everything went quiet. Even the light seemed brighter to the cultivators now. They were able to breathe again; energy and mysteries were once more subordinated to the Heaven Emperors and Nameless. Hadjar looked the same as he had a moment before. The sword of wind had disappeared, and his clothes no longer fluttered like two huge wings. But…

“Not a bad bluff, boy,” Abraham whispered, barely audible. He’d managed to sneak behind Hadjar just in time and prop him up. Otherwise, he would’ve just fallen to the ground. “But risky.”

“Master Wind of the Northern Valleys,” Dasinius bowed again. “Your sword is as powerful in person as it is in the songs. I now believe that you were able to defeat the Dragon Emperor in a fair duel.”

“Master.”

“Master Hadjar.” The rest of the warriors also bowed.

“But,” Dasinius straightened up and the glaive in his hands shone with energy, “I can’t back down from my oath-”

“Dasinius, my boy, did you swear your oath to the second wife?”

Hadjar suddenly felt like he was now in the same predicament the warriors who had barely managed to breathe under the pressure of his power a moment before had been. It was as if a mountain had descended upon his shoulders. A mountain of mysteries that had gone so far beyond a mere True Kingdom that he couldn’t even fathom the limits of this true Master’s power.

It was a woman. An old woman. Lean and thin like a willow branch. She wore simple clothes more suitable for a peasant. Her thick, gray hair was in a tight bun. Wrinkles marred her once truly beautiful face.

She was walking on air. She didn’t use any spells. She really was just walking along the air. Hadjar could just barely grasp that each of her steps created some kind of pressure from her power and mysteries. It was as if her every move was an attack from the short spear that she carried on her back.

“Chief!” The clan’s warriors fell to their right knee.

“Grandmother,” Lathea bowed.

Only Ternes remained motionless.

“Dear child,” the old woman smiled and ran her hand over the girl’s face. “How glad I am to see you in good health and-”

“Chief! Can’t you see that this is just a beggar trying to pass herself off as-”

Hadjar didn’t see what happened next. Ternes was suddenly lying flat on her back, blood was leaking from her mouth, and there was a palm mark on her cheek.

“Dear Ternes,” the old woman’s voice was harsh now, “You’re still breathing only because your daughter is also my granddaughter. Now, would you kindly go into the house and ask the servants to prepare rooms and dinner for our guests?”

“Grandma,” Lathea hugged the seemingly frail old woman. Only now did she vent her emotions. Her spear fell from her hands and tears flowed from her eyes. “Cassius… he… he… Cassius…”

“Come on, dear,” the old woman patted Lathea on the back and led her into the house. “Come on. You need to rest.”

Chapter 1435

T he interior decorations of the Star Rain Manor were very different from what Hadjar had expected to see. Having grown accustomed to the luxury of the Palaces and estates of the Empires or the Dragon Lands, he couldn’t figure out where he was at first. This didn’t look like the house of a family that could easily buy out the Imperial Family of Darnassus.

The floor was seemingly nothing special and simply made out of magic wood, but a normal floor would’ve deteriorated due to constant contact with the aura and energy of powerful cultivators by now. There were no unnecessary decorations, except for some obvious gifts and small trinkets that gave the place a sense of completeness and comfort. At the same time, it didn’t look as strict as an army barracks or a typical home of people obsessed with military straightforwardness.

It was a simple house. A very big, simple house, designed for several families and servants to live in as they trained, meditated, and received guests. It wasn’t meant for issuing decrees, greeting parades and offerings, nor did it seek to impress foreign ambassadors and inspire a sense of pride and respect in their own subjects.

“It’s…”

“It’s cozy,” Itia, adjusting her clothes and hairstyle, helped Gustaf find the right words. “And very homey.”

“Thank you, my lady,” came from behind them.

“My lady? Me? That’s so… kind.”

Even though they’d entered the house with the chief and Lathea, the squad was being accompanied by the three Heaven Emperors led by the Sixth Warrior.

“Pathetic,” the dwarf snorted contemptuously. “So much money is being put on display…”

“I apologize for my companion, honorable Dasinius,” Abraham — who looked like a cat that had been allowed into a warehouse that only held entire vats of cream — reacted instantly. “He’s a bit at odds with human notions of propriety.”

Dasinius just laughed, “Please don’t worry about it, honorable…”

“Abraham,” said the old rascal. “Call me Abraham.”

“What an unusual name…”

“I was named after my grandmother.”

Gustaf and Hadjar barely restrained themselves from laughing.

“Was your grandmother’s name really Abraham?” Dasinius’ eyebrows went up.

“It was,” the old thief waved it away. “She was named after her grandfather.”

“So, you, honorable Abraham, were named after your great-great-”

“No, I was named after my grandmother,” Abraham interrupted him. “It doesn’t matter. We have a rather complex system of family lines.”

Hadjar nodded slowly in admiration. He could see that the cunning old rogue had unsettled the Heaven Emperor with just a couple of words.

“So what are you doing here, Master Wind of the Northern Valleys?”

“Please, honorable Sixth Warrior, just call me Hadjar.”

“Then I’m just Dasinius,” the warrior bowed slightly.

They shook each other’s forearms. They didn’t have a single reason for enmity, so why not show each other respect?

“Frankly, we didn’t come to your house just to bring the senior heiress Lathea back home.”

“Of course,” Dasinius nodded. “You’re completely right, Hadjar. Only the weak don’t seek rewards for their worthy deeds. Your goodwill will be repaid with as much as the Star Rain clan’s treasury will allow. We may not be the richest family in the Strange Lands, but we are still one of the Forty... although perhaps that won’t be the case for much longer.”

“We don’t need money, resources, or treasures at all,” Hadjar shook his head.

“Hey, man, speak for yourself... Ouch! Honey, did you confuse the floor with my foot?”

“Shut up, you bald fox,” Itia hissed at him.

“Then I don’t understand, Hadjar. What could you possibly require from our humble family?”

At that moment, the chief opened the doors to the spacious hall and led Lathea inside. Hadjar appreciated the scope of the Star Rain clan’s modesty. Here, just like in the rest of the house, there was nothing that immediately caught one’s eye and looked somehow overly pretentious, awkward, or too rich. Nevertheless, every little thing, every painting, every piece of furniture and utensil in the spacious hall, including a round, open hearth, had definitely cost a lot of money.

The chief seated Lathea at a table that was already set to receive all the members of the squad, as well as Dasinius and his two taciturn comrades.

“Please, sit down,” the old lady pointed at the table. There were a few teapots and a couple of fish snacks laid out. “Forgive me, wanderers, we weren’t expecting guests.”

“What should I do with this?” The dwarf picked up a fish wrapped around some wheat grains. “Is it a poison or something that I-”

Itia — the squad’s voice of reason — pushed Alba-udun’s elbow so that the dwarf’s hand and the dish ended up in his mouth.

“Grandma,” Lathea seemed to wake up from a dream, “Where are the others? Where is the clan? Where are father and-”

“Hush, honey, hush,” the chief ran her hand over the girl’s wrist and she really did start to breathe more calmly. Hadjar didn’t know whether the old woman had done something directly or if the act alone was one Lathea found soothing. The old lady looked up at the squad. “I would ask you to forgive me once again, wanderers. You appeared with good news, and you even brought our ray of sunshine back to our house,” she ran her hand over Lathea’s wrist again, “But you’ve come at a bad time.”

“Grandma…”

“Promise me that you won’t blame yourself, dear,” the chief poured tea for her granddaughter with a heavy sigh. “After that incident at the tournament, your father... It was hard enough for him to survive the loss of your mother, but when you were carried away under a shroud... He couldn’t…”

“What... what happened to Dad?”

“Satin triumphed. No one believed he could beat you, my dear. But that isn’t even the problem. You know that bets were made on the outcome of the finals. Our family refused to participate in the gambling so that we couldn’t be accused of acting dishonorably, but the Underground Whisper clan... Satin’s father used his servants as proxies and bet a very large amount on your defeat. As a result, their family received so many resources that, in the coming years, they will easily be able to make their way into the top ten.”

“Dishonest bastards!” The Princess fumed.

Well, it immediately became clear that she hadn’t been engaged to this young man with the strange name of her own free will, but such were the ways of the upper class. There was rarely anyone who was free to decide their own fate in this regard.

“Your father suspected something was wrong. He took almost all the fighters of our clan and went to Underground Whisper City and...” The chief paused.

“He…”

“No, my dear, of course not. Essenin understands that killing him wouldn’t be in her best interests. So...” The old lady sighed and sipped her tea. “She captured your father. Our warriors are encamped outside their city. To keep the Head of the Star Rain clan alive, they aren’t allowed to return here. Now only your sister, stepmother, myself, twenty ordinary soldiers, and Dasinius and his brothers are left to guard our home.”

So they were Dasinius’ brothers… Well, the trio did share some features.

“We must head south immediately!” Lathea jumped up. “We can’t just leave things like this. We need to free my father and remind the Underground Whisper clan of their place! It was they who came with gifts, not us, and…”

Lathea suddenly staggered and fell into Hadjar’s arms since he managed to get to her just in time. He sniffed. The tea that the girl had been drinking was full of soothing herbs.

“Of course, my dear,” the chief said. “Just get some rest first.” She turned to Dasinius. “Be a dear and take the Princess to her chambers and show the travelers where they can rest after their long journey. I would like to have a little talk with Master Wind of the Northern Valleys. Alone.”

The dwarf and Gustaf wanted to object, but Abraham and Hadjar both immediately made it clear that it was better for them to keep quiet. As a result, Hadjar was left alone in the hall with the mighty chief.

Chapter 1436

F or a while, they just sat in silence and looked at each other. Hadjar couldn’t even comprehend what sort of power the chief possessed. Her aura was at the middle stage of the Heaven Emperor level, but in reality, the old woman surpassed everyone from the mortal world that Hadjar had encountered thus far. Was that purely due to her mysteries? He strongly doubted that. Here in the Strange Lands, they clearly knew some secrets that weren’t accessible even to the capitals of the regions. Otherwise, how else could one explain the monstrous strength of Princess Lathea, whose mysteries weren’t all that powerful? Such might could maybe be attributed to her control over her power, but according to his neural network, Hadjar had already come close to having 80% control over his own. Gaining the last 20% wouldn’t make him Lathea’s equal. Hadjar very much doubted that he could’ve sent that monster in the temple of the dark priests to its snake forefathers with just a single attack quite so easily, at least not without using some of the trump cards he had.

“You aren’t drinking your tea, Master Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the chief took her own bowl and sipped a little. Hadjar just looked at the table. “Don’t worry,” the corners of the old lady’s lips twitched slightly, “I’m not going to put you to sleep, Master-”

“Forgive my rudeness,” Hadjar bowed his head, “But you know perfectly well that I don’t deserve the title of Master in any way.”

The chief didn’t immediately react. She took a few sips, then, with both hands, placed the bowl back on the table.

“And now we know that you don’t deserve the title of liar either, young man. That says a lot about you.”

Young man... By mortal standards, Hadjar was a very old man. But by cultivator standards, he was barely any older than when he’d begun his journey. Five years or a hundred and five years — what’s the difference?

“Chief-”

“Call me Light Feather, Hadjar,” the chief introduced herself.

Some cultivators insisted on using the name they’d earned in the martial arts world, not the one that their parents had given them. Well, such a decision should be respected and wasn’t really suspicious or all that unusual.

“Honorable Light Feather, I-”

“There’s no need for social niceties, either,” the old lady winced slightly. “Believe me, young man, you get tired of them after twenty centuries. In fact, by the seventh century, they are more than tiring and more than just annoying.”

Hadjar wanted to apologize, but her words also applied to such trivialities.

“Let me be frank, then…” And yet, Hadjar couldn’t stoop to addressing her too informally because of his deep respect for her. Fortunately, Light Feather understood this and, more importantly, accepted it. “Why are we talking right now?”

“For the same reasons people usually talk — to get to know each other better and understand what motivates those with whom we aren’t familiar, but with whom the paths of our destinies have crossed.”

Hadjar nodded. Light Feather didn’t say anything else, she just took her bowl into her hands again. In the end, Hadjar had to put up with it and, lifting up his own bowl as well, drink from it a little. The tea was delicious. Something like chamomile, only more rich and deep.

“I heard what you said to the Sixth Warrior,” the chief finally continued. “You said that you aren’t looking for any benefits from our family.”

Hadjar placed his bowl down on the table.

“I’m sorry if this offends you, but you heard wrong.”

“How did I mishear?” The old lady also put her bowl on the table.

The atmosphere became a little heavier. There was no doubt that even if Hadjar used all his hidden aces, he was still unlikely to get out of this mess safe and sound. Light Feather was simply too powerful.

“I said that we aren’t looking for gold, jewelry, or knowledge from your family.”

“Then let me ask what you could possibly need that you risked showing up at my house even after my disciple’s blood stained your hands.”

Light Feather’s gaze grew sharper. Hadjar’s hand involuntarily reached for the hilt of his sword. It was pure instinct, nothing more.

“If you don’t want to lose that hand,” the old woman shifted her gaze to his scabbard, “Don’t do anything silly…”

“Are you talking about Cassius? He was-”

“He was my disciple,” the chief nodded and sipped her tea again. “From his childhood, when I found him on the streets of this city, until his death. He was a good man. I hope you had a good reason to take his life. I can assure you, if he hadn’t been hindered by his wounds, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

“I have no doubt about that, Light Feather,” Hadjar agreed. “As for the circumstances of his death… I can tell you the full story, but it will take some time.”

“Hadjar, in the current situation, time is a luxury for me, but… Perhaps this is the tribute that I owe to my disciple. Tell me everything.”

Hadjar told her almost all of it: how they had watched Kafem, about their chance encounter with the procession, about the temple, about rescuing the Princess, about Cassius’ death, and that he hadn’t held a grudge against him. After the story was over, they fell silent for a while. Light Feather, despite her outwardly calm appearance, was struggling with pain in the depths of her eyes. Sometimes, the bonds between a master and a disciple could become as strong as the bonds between relatives.

“Stupid, stubborn, honest boy,” Light Feather finally sighed. “I always knew that his sense of duty and honor would ruin him.”

“Chief, when you tell the Princess this story-”

“I’m old, Hadjar. I have long since lost the firmness of my grip and my spear isn’t as fast as before.” Hadjar choked on air. At such an old age, without advancing to the next stage of the Heaven Emperor level, the chief must have been feeling every single one of her centuries. Just how strong had she been in the past? “But I’m not out of my mind just yet. Lathea is honest and strong. She also has a dozen other virtues, but she is still young. That is her main sin. Even if she accepts and understands this story, she’ll never forgive you or your comrades. That’s why we’ll keep this secret between us.”

“Thank you, Light Feather.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the old woman closed her eyes. “If I’d doubted the sincerity of your words for even a fraction of a second, you and all those who came with you would already be dead.”

Hadjar had no doubt that this old woman alone was capable of obliterating their entire group. Compared to her, Kafem had been pathetic and weak.

“Now we move on to the main point,” she poured another bowl of tea, making it clear that their conversation wasn’t over. “What makes you think that at least one of the Forty Families will decide to help you in your campaign against the Raven Sect?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“I already told you,” her old, but still bright and clear, eyes flashed, “I’m old, but I’m not stupid. And time is a luxury. So, let’s get to the point where we both understand how we can be of use to each other.”

Chapter 1437

H adjar looked doubtfully at Light Feather. Really old people in the martial arts world were usually one of two types: either they were lazy, loved to bask in the light of glory and recognition, and had wasted their lives. Or… they had simply incredible power and foresight. Hadjar was pretty certain that the chief of the Star Rain clan belonged to the second group.

“What could I possibly do for your clan?” Hadjar was genuinely surprised. He and Abraham had pondered how they might motivate the Forty Families to attack the Raven Sect. However, they didn’t want to personally get involved in the Strange Lands’ conflicts and disputes.

“Is this modesty?” Light Feather was surprised in turn. “Or stupidity?”

“I think it’s just a realistic assessment of my own power, chief,” he bowed slightly so that his words didn’t sound rude.

“Maybe you are not a Master, Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the old woman continued, “But your Techniques are amazing. What you used in the courtyard to shock Dasinius and his brothers… I’ve never seen such a Technique before. It’s even stronger than a Technique based on Words… If you ever properly master that power, I think no mortals will be able to stand straight in your presence ever again.”

It was no wonder that Light Feather had never seen such a Technique. She was old, but compared to the dragons who could live for entire epochs, she was a little girl. Empress Tened, for example, had seen sunsets and sunrises for so many years now that it was hard to imagine the sheer number of them. If dragons cultivated a little faster, the world would’ve become theirs long ago. That fact once again demonstrated the bizarre balance of forces in nature.

“Your power doesn’t come from energy or mysteries, does it, Light Feather?”

The chief remained silent.

“I saw Lathea fight,” he spoke with the caution of a hare making its way to the water through wolf trails — any careless, superfluous word now could lead to a cascade of harsh consequences and great problems. “Her power, just like yours, isn’t really defined by mysteries or energy. Or her Technique. Rather... Her Technique was stronger than it should’ve been.”

For a while, there was only silence in the hall. Hadjar began to wonder whether he had said something wrong. It was a pity that Abraham wasn’t there.

“What do you think, Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the chief said at last. She twirled her bowl, moving it around the table. She did it so deftly and smoothly that no ripples touched the surface of the chamomile tea. “If two warriors are fighting, who should we declare the stronger among them — the one who can lift a sword weighing as much as a boulder and fight with it for three hours? Or… the one who, wounded and tired, on the verge of death, will still continue to fight with a thin reed against the first warrior?”

Hadjar didn’t answer immediately. In the world of martial arts, not everyone could become a Master. In order to teach another, a person had to truly understand what exactly they were teaching. That was why people who weren’t confident in their knowledge avoided teaching even the ones closest to them. It could only hurt them.

Light Feather wanted to tell Hadjar something, but wasn’t sure that she would be able to convey the information correctly, which meant she hadn’t taught Lathea. There was an even more powerful Master in the Star Rain clan than this old lady.

“Are you talking about will?” He even leaned forward a little. “Is it possible to strengthen one’s will?”

“Strengthen it? How can the air be strengthened, Hadjar? No, I’m talking about something else.”

Light Feather pointed a finger at her bowl. Nothing seemed to happen, but Hadjar felt like if his flesh had been inside it, it would’ve instantly been pierced by a spear. This wasn’t a simple act of will, which even Spirit Knights were capable of if they were strong enough. It was something else, something much deeper and more complex.

“The Strange Lands are a harsh land,” Light Feather took the teapot and poured some more tea into both of their bowls. “When the first settlers came here — outcasts driven away from everywhere else — they had no home, no weapons, no family. Lonely wanderers, they were left to struggle alone, forced to deal with all the dangers that the Nameless World can offer. And believe me, Hadjar, in my seventy centuries, I’ve learned that it’s capable of quite a lot.”

Pain flickered in the old woman’s eyes. The Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman had told Hadjar that the further along the path of cultivation one got, the more difficult any further progress became. Not because of the amount of power, luck, or resources that were required. No, cultivators were often let down by their own heart. The wounds that a soul endured could heal and even disappear in time, but they always stayed with you. Deep inside of you, like a stone thrown into a river. For some time afterwards, the water would ripple, reminding you of the stone. But those ripples would soon disappear, they would subside, and the river would calm down. However, the stone would still be left inside the river. That was why the older a cultivator was, the less chance they had of becoming an Immortal. During the trial of the Heavens and the Earth, all spiritual wounds were reopened. All their inner demons invaded one’s soul world. If a cultivator was even a little weak when faced with their own reflection, it would lead to their immediate death.

“They had nothing but their will, Hadjar,” Light Feather brought him back to reality. “And they had to learn how to fight with that will, how to protect themselves and their loved ones.”

“So every-”

Light Feather nodded, “Every family in the Strange Lands has its own unique way of using will. There is even a legend that claims that one wandering warrior taught the very first settlement this art.”

“A wandering warrior? Was it a swordsman in black?”

The old woman shook her head, which greatly surprised him. “It was an old man. He wore simple clothes, and wherever he went, the fog followed him.”

An old man and the fog…

Hadjar somehow maintained his composure. He was sure that the person he’d met when he had first picked up the ‘Way Through the Stars’ Technique and the wanderer about whom Light Feather spoke were the same person.

“And all our arts,” the chief continued, “Are fragments of a single whole. The one who brings them together will become equal to Immortals.”

“Really?”

The chief nodded, “You’ve already done a great deal for our family, Hadjar Darkhan. You’ve returned Princess Lathea to us. I ask you now, from the bottom of my heart, give me back my son as well. If you manage that, I’ll introduce you to our Master, and you’ll learn the secret behind the will of the Star Rain clan. We’ll also help you in your fight against the Sect.”

Hadjar looked into the old woman’s eyes. He didn’t see a warrior there, but a mother whose heart ached for her son. He was being asked to rescue the Head of one clan of the Strange Lands from a city belonging to another clan… Most other people would’ve run as far as possible, but the Mad General simply said:

“Okay. We leave at dawn.”

Chapter 1438

A fter drinking some more tea and talking to the chief about the upcoming adventure for a bit, Hadjar left the house. The Star Rain Manor was divided into several buildings, with gardens spread out between them. They weren’t as pompous and lavish as the ones in the Empires, but still beautiful enough to draw his gaze. The buildings were connected by a tangle of wooden deckings with roofs over them, a kind of corridor system without walls.

It was raining. The heavy drops were tapping against the bamboo pipes that served as drains here. Murmuring streams ran merrily into ponds, where fish surfaced periodically and caught flies that came close to the water while trying to escape from the moisture that was ruinous for them. Ironically, they would end up in the fish’s mouth, which then dragged their victims to the bottom, into the very water from which they were so desperately trying to escape.

Hadjar stretched out his hand from underneath the awning. It was a strange rain. Maybe the glory of the Strange Lands was a little exaggerated, but, nevertheless, a simple Spirit Knight wouldn’t be able to withstand this rain. Within an hour, maybe two, their soul would be completely destroyed. Hadjar withdrew his hand.

He somewhat resembled the flies. Each time, after getting out of a situation most would’ve only found their own doom in, and if they survived, would inspire them to put their weapons away forever, Hadjar instead found himself in places where even more severe trials awaited him.

He didn’t have much time left. He had long ago exchanged his lifespan for a single goal that he had been pursuing for so long. He felt responsible for the most important thing in the life of a warrior. It was his only reason to fight.

Kafem, Light Feather, the mighty cultivators of the Strange Lands… They were to Hadjar what this rain was to the flies: an obstacle he could escape from, but doing so would only mean that he would stumble at some point and…

Hadjar’s attention was drawn to a small fly. Not as fast as the others, it wasn’t strictly flying in a straight line in its attempt to overtake death itself. It was fluttering between the rain drops, retreating when necessary, bending and dodging the fish’s mouths and hiding in the foliage, where it could take some time to catch its breath. Of all those who’d tried to cross the garden, it was the only one who succeeded.

Hadjar looked at his sword. His ‘Torn Sky’ Technique represented his aspirations to reach the Seventh Heaven and make the gods pay for all their sins, to save his wife and daughter…

He couldn’t do so if he just flew straight like those now dead flies.

His Blue Blade appeared, and Hadjar summoned the Wind. His faithful friend instantly responded to his call and they became one. He sensed the wind currents like they were trails in front of him. They spread out far toward the horizon and even beyond it, stretching across endless roads where the Wind frolicked in its never-ending journey.

He stepped onto a path. He didn’t let it lead him away. He swung his sword and the path changed its direction, and then he sailed along it easily and calmly.

Sometimes, he ducked to avoid hitting the oncoming wind flow. Sometimes, he stopped so that the inertia could pass from his legs to his arms, then to his sword, resulting in a well-aimed, quick swing that only changed the direction of the wind path so unexpectedly that it was impossible to keep track of it. Like a blue fog with clouds floating inside of it, moving between streams of rain, inside of which the reflected lights of the house were frozen. Like the sparks of shooting stars. Like the wind dancing among the falling stars. Calm, but powerful. Fast, but also smooth.

When Hadjar stopped at the other end of the garden, under another awning, not a single raindrop could be seen on his clothes, and not a single blade of grass had been crushed by his feet.

The Blue Blade returned to its scabbard. The blue streaks left behind by his swings rattled in the air for some time after. The Torn Sky Technique…

No matter how strong Hadjar was, there were always those who turned out to be stronger, faster, more cunning, and more experienced than him. But if the fly was able to overcome the garden and get away from all those dangers, did that not mean that he was walking along the right path, but in the wrong direction?

He reached into his spatial ring and, taking out a piece of magic jade, directed his thoughts into it. They intertwined into a single haze from which some words, images, and movements of the sword and body appeared, until, finally, the shard flared up and was soon covered in magic runes. Hadjar brought it up to his mouth and whispered:

“Find someone who needs you more.”

He then threw the fragment into the sky. The wind, like a cheerful dog, picked up his gift and carried it somewhere far away, where maybe there was someone who would need the ‘Torn Sky’ Technique more than its creator. It was time to move on with a cool head and a calm heart. Just like the Wind coming from the Northern Valleys.

“I’ll call you,” Hadjar, drawing his sword again, swung it casually, and the stream of wind dancing amongst the raindrops without even touching them reached the pond and made the surface of the water ripple slightly. Even the strongest defense had its weak points, and even the strongest attack, if it didn’t find a target, would never lead to victory, “…The ‘Wind Path Sword’ Technique.”

Having gathered together everything he had comprehended since he’d left the Dragon Lands and everything he had experienced before, he made an elusive movement with his sword and the rain stopped for a moment, but not because nature had changed its disposition. Just for a split second, the whole garden had been covered by Hadjar’s energy, mysteries, and will.

“Endless Wind,” Hadjar named the first stance of his new Technique.

He returned his sword to its scabbard and, nodding to himself, continued on his way to the guest house. He hoped the others wouldn’t eat him alive because of what he’d agreed to just five minutes ago.

***

Somewhere, in some remote tavern in the middle of the vast expanse of the Strange Lands, there was a celebration going on. Alcohol flowed like a river, people laughed and clapped, and some knocked their feet against the tabletops. There were women’s screams, men’s shouts, and the sound of brawls breaking out. It was an ordinary, unremarkable evening. Apart from the fact it was raining.

A young man with dual-colored eyes looked out the window. There, amongst the stars, a small dot flashed by. It was like a shooting star, but the young man knew what the dot really was.

“You found her, didn’t you?” The young man smiled a little. “A Fallen Star... You’ve always gotten along well. I even envied you for it.”

“Hey, bard,” several coins fell into a bowl next to the young man, “Sing us something.”

“Well, gentlemen,” the young man dodged a shoe that flew by, “I’ll sing my favorite song for you.” Someone’s bowl broke nearby and alcohol splashed across the floor. “It’s a song about the last of the four Generals,” the young man lifted his Ron’Jah just in time to spare his instrument from being broken by the leg of a chair that had been smashed against the wall. “A song about the Mad General.”

Chapter 1439

“S o,” Abraham exhaled a ring of smoke and, sprawling out on the pillows, pointed with his pipe at the magical, three-dimensional map lying in front of him, “We need to free the clan Head of one of the Forty Families of the Strange Lands from the clutches of another such family?”

“Yeah,” Hadjar nodded.

He plucked the strings of his Ron’Jah, remembering the melodies he had once played. He wondered why he’d used to neglect it so much…

“And a few months ago, the Underground Whisper clan won a considerable amount of resources and materials through betting. Only the demons and gods know how much stronger they are now than they were before.”

“On the other hand, they must not have a lot of room left in their treasury right now...” Gustaf drawled, stroking his new, scraggly beard. “We could help them.”

“That’s very tempting, Gustaf,” Itia pointed with her dagger at several walls around the city. The fortifications of the Underground Whisper clan had been built on the same principle as that of the Star Rain clan, with only a small difference — their main city wall had only one set of gates because the city was surrounded by a river on three sides. “But how are we, by all the demons of the abyss, going to get in there? Even if we do, we’ll be little more than dead meat by then. How much gold are you planning to take with you to the afterlife?”

“Actually, I wasn’t planning to bring gold, but drops of the essence of the World River,” Gustaf muttered, but couldn’t really counter her argument.

Hadjar, who had quite a bit of experience when it came to such things, also couldn’t see any reasonable options. Back when he had been a General, he’d captured cities either by force or by cunning. In the case of the Underground City of Demons, he had even staged a small uprising. But none of these methods were suitable for the Strange Lands. They couldn’t take such a city by force. They didn’t have enough time to employ cunning. It was also very difficult to start a riot in a city built on the principle of familial unity. He was sure that when the clan had brought abundant resources back to their city, they’d shared them with their citizens as well.

“Alba-udun?” Abraham turned to the dwarf.

He was chewing on an apple and looking out the window. They were in a rather spacious room where embers smoldered in a round, open hearth in the center, and mats lay on the floor, on top of which comfortable mattresses and pillows had been arranged. All of this was a bit like the Bedouin culture. Well, the Strange Lands were inhabited by descendants of rootless wanderers and travelers, so the similarities in culture weren’t all that surprising.

“I need to look at the walls,” Albadurt replied. “But, by the Hammer of the Ancestors, if they are at least half as good as the ones here, we won’t be able to get past them.”

“Death is near,” the half-faced man was lying on the pillows and looking up at the ceiling.

“That’s right, Guy,” Abraham nodded. “Of course, we can always try to do the same thing we did at Zackaled, but we barely escaped back then, despite the fact that we were younger, bolder, and dumber.”

“Could you elaborate for those of us who don’t yet rejoice at getting a rare erection in the morning?”

“Boy, do you want to check my erection in the morning?”

Gustaf swore, then continued:

“What is Zackaled?”

“A city in the borderlands,” Itia explained.

“Guy and I stole their treasury before you even appeared in your father’s testicles, may his forefathers greet him kindly. Actually, you were conceived in that city, Gustaf.”

So Abraham knew Gustaf’s parents? Well, that explained what such a young man was doing in this squad.

“I’ve heard this story a thousand times already,” the archer waved him away.

“Yes, but you haven’t heard all of it,” Abraham chuckled and inhaled a bit of spicy smoke. “They were having a festival of the dead. All the villagers who had died recently were taken to the city to be buried in the cemetery near the temple-”

“Why not just bury them in their villages’ own cemeteries?”

“The village cemeteries can be washed away by floods, the soil is loose there, and it is sometimes very difficult to get to them. So, if they don’t burn the bodies, then... well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, okay,” the archer raised his hands in surrender. “So what does the festival of the dead have to do with it?”

“Well, Guy, your dad, Itia, and I-”

“You promised never to mention that again!” The woman screamed.

“Well, I’m doing it for a very important reason,” Abraham spread his arms out helplessly. “So, we undressed and, once we were naked, we lay down in the carts with the corpses, pretending to be dead as well. Of course, we took some herbal mixtures that we made according to my dad’s recipe. If you don’t look closely, you can’t tell the difference. Well, we passed the inspection-”

“Abraham!” Itia growled, and the tip of her whip was wriggling like a snake.

“...and got into the basement of the local council,” Abraham hastened to finish. “That evening, we went out and robbed the city’s treasury. In order to not arouse suspicion, we stayed in the city for another month. We even helped the locals look for thieves. And that’s how you were conceived.”

“All that remains is to find out-”

“There is no festival of the dead in Underground Whisper City.”

Everyone in the squad turned toward the person who’d just spoken. It was Lathea. Wearing simple, beautiful, and loose clothes, her hair undone and reaching all the way down to her hips, she stood in the open doorway which led out into the hall.

“May I come in?”

“This is your home, Princess,” Abraham said. “You are free to do whatever you want here.”

“This is my home, yes,” the girl nodded, “But as long as you are guests here, this is your room. Therefore, may I come in, gentlemen?”

Well, she was definitely well-mannered.

“Of course.” Abraham exhaled some more smoke. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”

No one reacted to his stupid joke. Lathea thanked him and, after walking into the room, sat down on the mattress next to Hadjar. She smelled the same as before, but now the smell of water and soap had been added. It was such a sweet scent. Hadjar shook his head. He had a wife whom he loved and whom he’d vowed to free. But this didn’t mean that he wasn’t human. Sometimes, men and women had to struggle with their instincts.

“Did Light Feather tell you everything, honorable Lathea?” Hadjar asked.

“Master Wind of the Northern Valleys, can we set the etiquette aside?”

“Of course. Did the chief tell you everything?”

Lathea nodded, then moved the map to the west with a wave of her hand.

“When we were kids,” she waved again, and the map zoomed in, showing high, rocky hills, “We played in those places. One time, our friend, the heir of another family...” Lathea’s voice trembled slightly. She pulled herself together, but it was clear that nothing good had happened to that boy, “He fell off that cliff. The water is fast and cold there. Not even some Lords can stand it for more than an hour, and…”

No one hurried the Princess. It took a few seconds for her to resume her story:

“He drowned. His body wasn’t found at first. They thought that he had been eaten by river monsters or something else, but after just a couple of weeks, his corpse was fished out from a well in Underground Whisper City.”

The squad exchanged glances. The city was surrounded by the river that originated from the waterfalls that came down from those rocky hills.

“So,” Abraham shook the ashes out of his pipe and put it away, “Tomorrow morning, we’ll go on a little walk in the hills.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Lathea shook her head, then pointed to the approaches that went up to the rocks. “We were lucky back then. The adults forbade us from visiting those lands, but we didn’t listen and...” She shook her head, as if trying to drive away painful memories, and then continued, “There’s a den of Ice Wolves there.”

“Ice Wolves?”

“What are those, exactly?”

“That’s impossible!” The dwarf exclaimed. “By the Hammer and Anvil! The Ice Wolves died out back when my great-grandfather was young! And they live only in the highest of mountains!”

“You may not believe me, my dear dwarf, but no one who lives in the area goes up there. Legends say that the Ice Wolves settled there because of the waterfalls that have Liquid Ice flowing through them.”

“Liquid ice is water,” Gustaf said reasonably.

“Liquid Ice, you idiot,” Alba-udun grimaced, “Is a rare resource that all blacksmiths dream of. Well, even if we don’t find a passage into the city over there, maybe I’ll manage to get a hold of something even more valuable for my people.”

“Then it’s decided,” Abraham got up and, going over to the window, closed the blinds. “At dawn, we’ll go to the hills.”

“Did you not hear me? The Ice Wolves are-”

“This isn’t the worst danger we’ve ever faced,” Gustaf chuckled with great bravado. “Princess, you-”

“Princess, don’t listen to him,” Itia interrupted, “The most terrible danger for Gustaf, due to a lack of substance in his head, is a razor blade.”

The young man blushed, and there were some good-natured chuckles.

Chapter 1440

“D amn! It’s really cold out here.” Gustaf shivered and blew on his hands.

Despite wearing a heavy fur coat sewn from the skins of local animals, he was still freezing. Just like everyone else.

Hadjar squatted down and ran his hand over the stones that were still wet from the morning mist. His gray hair streaked with black had been tied back with the blue silk ribbon. His hair ornaments swayed slightly in the wind, barely audible as they rang out when they collided with the feathers there. His tanned skin stood out when compared to the others, who were mostly pale, except for the darker-skinned dwarf.

“Didn’t you say that you were born in the north?” Abraham’s teeth were chattering. “And that you weren’t afraid of the cold?”

Hadjar sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He could smell the rain coming from the north. The almost imperceptible smell of moss and pine needles told him all about it. He could tell that deer had run through here recently. Their hooves had left tracks behind and pieces of earth that couldn’t have been brought here by the wind littered the ground, along with the more pungent traces of their passage. Birds had already flown away in search of food, but their singing still echoed across the stones. Somewhere nearby, there was an animal trail that led to a watering hole. Surprisingly, the path led toward the north, and yet the noise of the river could be heard coming from somewhere in the south, in the completely opposite direction.

“In my north, you don’t freeze like this even at night.”

Gustaf rubbed his palms under his armpits and only then breathed on them. This really gave him away as a native of the north. Hadjar had noticed the inhabitants of Balium, who’d treated his own countrymen like they’d been pampered southerners, doing something similar in the past.

“The real north is farther away.” The Princess, dressed in a beautiful white fur coat, her golden hair loose and unfettered, standing at the top of the hill, and holding a snow-white spear in her hands, looked like she had just stepped out of the frescoes of Graven’Dor, like a true warrior of the northern gods. “The Ice Lands…”

Straightening up, Hadjar jumped to another rock and lowered his hand into the loose earth. The soil was moist, but it seemed warm to him, which was definitely abnormal.

“The Ice Lands,” Albadurt echoed. He alone wasn’t wrapped up in furs. He was wearing a vest that showed off his muscular arms covered in runic tattoos. The forge of the underground blacksmiths burnt in his heart, and no cold or heat could truly affect the tanned skin of the mountaineers. “A protected area.”

“Death is near,” the half-faced man boomed. His iron mask had been replaced by a leather mask with fur frills. The metal would’ve frozen and stuck to his face.

“I agree, my friend.” Abraham nodded. “I would also like to listen to another legend of the Strange Lands.”

“And I would like to warm up,” Gustaf shifted from one foot to the other.

“Maybe I could help you?” Itia motioned like she was going to take off her fur coat.

“It seems to me like I should try to help you warm up instead.”

“Probably,” the redhead agreed. “Except you’re the one whining, not me. If you haven’t figured it out yet, it isn’t just you who’s cold. But the others are enduring and not crying about it.”

“Ah,” the archer muttered, looking enviously at Alba-udun as he joyfully jumped along the rocks, breaking off stones from them with his bare hands and... then tried to bite into them.

The dwarf had been inspired by the story of the Ice Wolves. This was due to the fact that they only lived in places where Liquid Ice flowed. It was a rare resource for those whose cultivation was related to cold energy. However, to blacksmiths and artifactors, it was almost a gift from the Heavens themselves: in order to strengthen and temper a magical item, extremely low temperatures were required. Liquid Ice made it possible to create conditions that no other materials were capable of.

“It happened a long time ago,” Lathea began her story, “Back in the days when the first people had only just come to the Strange Lands, and before the old man who taught us the knowledge that allowed us not to kneel came out of the fog.”

Hadjar straightened up. He already had a rough idea of where their group should go, but he was in no hurry. All his life, he had collected stories about the Nameless World because he felt that it was important to do so. Or maybe he just wanted to enjoy the landscape a little more. As far as the eye could see, among the hills covered in short, green grass, was a sheet of thinning, white fog that came from somewhere in the northern mountains. Coniferous forests spread out below. They were so thick that they looked like a single array of green and brown colors. The occasional streams and rivers, which ran through them like blue veins, rushed down somewhere. Gray and black rocks, rising higher and higher toward the sky, cast long shadows. Someone else might’ve called this region harsh and inhospitable, gloomy and dreary, cold and rainy. But Hadjar loved it. It reminded him of that city from his half-forgotten, distant dreams. This was what his native Lidus had looked like. He took a deep breath of frosty air. It reminded him of home. By the High Skies, how long had it been since he had last gone…

“Home,” Lathea said. “That’s what we call our lands. To you, strangers, they might be the Strange Lands, but to us, this is our motherland. Our home. Most came from the valleys, but there were also those who fled here from the mountains, the places much harsher than our own lands. They weren’t looking for a simple life. They were looking for their…”

“Home,” Hadjar breathed out.

The Princess nodded, “During their search,” she continued, “They went so far to the north that they even reached the highest mountain that brushes against the Seventh Heaven with its peak. From up there, the edge of everything is visible.”

“The edge of the world?” Itia asked. “Does it really exist? I thought the Nameless World had no beginning and no end.”

“It’s just a figure of speech, my dear. Princess, go on, please.”

“These people worshipped the North Wind and his son. They say that in the bowels of their land, there is a sword that is waiting for its owner, the son of the North Wind.” Hadjar looked over there, toward the north, where the edge of the world was. “This sword forged from the North Winds can kill a god.”

“Kill a god?”

Lathea nodded, “But only someone who is already dead and not yet born can take it.”

The one who wasn’t born will be your end.

“By the gods and demons, what a legend!” Abraham shuddered. “I can’t stand such legends. Wasn’t born. Already dead. Why not just say: ‘Go there. Take that. Sell it. Drink this…’”

“Because not everyone’s life is limited to booze and whores.”

“Sorry, my dear,” the old rogue parodied Itia’s intonation, “But not everyone lives primly and properly. Okay, this is all insanely interesting, of course, but where should we go?”

Hadjar pointed to the east, “There.”

“Are you sure?” Abraham raised an eyebrow. “The animal trail is to the north, the sound of the river is to the south, and we should head east?”

Hadjar once again suspected that something was off about this man. Even he had had to devote some time to finding the animal trail that led to a watering hole. Abraham had noticed it immediately and seemingly without much effort.

“All right,” the thief shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 1441

T hey descended from the top of the hill and moved cautiously through the forest. Hadjar and Lathea were used to this kind of nature. They felt at home here, among the windbreaks, glacial boulders, pine needles, moss, and tall bushes with a variety of berries. The same couldn’t be said about the steppe natives Abraham and Guy, Itia, who’d grown up in the city, or Gustaf, who had travelled along wide plains for most of his life.

“I remember the Dakrikie Gorge,” Guy drawled.

Hadjar looked at him sideways. The half-faced man had periods when he communicated with just his one signature phrase, and also times when he was generous enough to share several sentences a day.

“What-”

“Stop!” Itia and Gustaf exclaimed in unison.

“Princess,” Itia pushed aside a fir branch and carefully walked along Hadjar’s tracks as he led their little column of people, “We agreed never to talk about the Dakrikie Gorge again.”

“Why?”

“It was a terrible, perilous, insanely smelly, dirty, and extremely unpleasant adventure,” Gustaf explained. “Probably the worst we’ve ever had. And every time we discuss it, something similar happens.”

“So, Lady Lathea,” Abraham said, “I’m sorry about this, but your curiosity won’t be satisfied. And you, my friend, should keep your mouth shut.”

“Death is near,” Guy shrugged.

Raising his fist, Hadjar waited until everyone else froze and, carefully skirting a bush whose berries were worth a fortune in Darnassus, stepped out into the light. The edge of the forest was too big and the field was too small. It was difficult to immediately understand the boundaries of everything. There were uprooted trees rotting on the grass, trampled foliage, stumps that had been torn from the ground, and pieces of earth lay in clumps everywhere. It looked as if a storm had recently struck the forest. However, it definitely hadn’t been a storm — except for the edge of the forest and the field, Hadjar hadn’t found traces of destruction anywhere else. That could only mean one thing. He bent down and ran his hand over the grass, then scooped up the earth and sniffed it. The local animals were different from those that Hadjar was used to dealing with. Each of them could easily devour a dozen Spirit Knights. But, whatever they were, they were still animals, with animalistic behavior, senses, instincts, and so on.

“Boars,” Hadjar said. “This is their den.”

“Boars?” Guy asked in surprise. “You could build a village here.”

To be honest, Hadjar liked it better when the axeman was stingy with his words.

“Wolves hunt wild boars,” Alba-udun whispered. “They hunt in packs…”

Hadjar didn’t argue with the dwarf. He walked farther down the clearing. It smelled not only of wild boars, their piglets, acorns, and grass, but also of iron. It was unlikely that the animals carried weapons with them, so it wasn’t difficult to guess that this was the smell of blood. He only had to find a clue to make sure. If they really had been attacked by wolves, there should’ve been bodies left behind. Predators like wolves rarely took their prey back with them to their lair. They usually ate their fill right where they’d chased down and killed their victim.

Even the mortal wolves’ hunting grounds could span up to 25 miles. If the mythical Ice Wolves really existed, given their power, one pack could probably hunt within a territory equal in size to the Sea of Sand.

Dragging a beast carcass across such vast distances, even if they ran faster than Heaven Emperors, would be suicide. The blood would attract all the predators and scavengers in the area. Mighty beasts, when they reached high Stages of cultivation, gained the kind of intelligence that wasn’t at all inferior to human minds. Many of them could even assume a human form at will. For example, the dragons and phoenixes who’d managed to build entire Empires.

“Here it is,” Hadjar whispered.

In a pit four palms wide, which could’ve easily been mistaken for a pit left behind by an overturned boulder, he found not only the moisture of dew and fog, but also something more viscous. He sniffed at his fingers. They smelled like iron. He licked them. There was a slightly tangy, metallic taste. It was definitely blood.

“Where are the piglets and females?” Abraham stood next to Hadjar, once again demonstrating knowledge from a field that a thief, even such a sophisticated one, shouldn’t have possessed.

“They were all slaughtered,” Hadjar said. “Look,” he pointed to some discoloration along the grass. “Carcasses... Very large carcasses were dragged along the ground here.”

“Blood?” Gustaf pulled his boot out of a puddle. “Damn it, there’s blood here!”

“But there should be more,” Guy noted.

“A lot more,” Hadjar nodded. “Especially considering the size of the carcasses.”

“Unless-”

“Unless their wounds were immediately frozen,” Lathea finished for Itia. The dwarf, meanwhile, had been standing there and silently watching what was happening with a frown. “The claws of the Ice Wolves are cold itself. That’s what my grandmother told me. She also said that they cut their victims as brutally as a saber and then immediately freeze them.”

“You mean-”

“Your grandmother didn’t deceive you, human cub.”

Everyone immediately drew their weapons and, standing in a formation where Hadjar and Guy were in front, the dwarf and Abraham were along its sides, and Lathea, Gustaf, and Itia were in the back, turned toward the voice.

“Was it just my imagination, or is it actually trying to tell us something?” Gustaf whispered.

Hadjar could understand the language of advanced beasts because he knew the dragon language.

“Shut up!” Itia snapped at him.

Something emerged from the thicket, coming from the same side where the carcasses had been dragged. At first, Hadjar thought it was a glacial boulder that had come to life: it was sixteen feet tall, covered in green moss, and had gray, petrified skin. It really looked like a boulder, but it was actually an old boar. His tail and horns looked like dried tree roots that been worn down by age, but were no less sharp and strong for it. His tusks, like stone swords, curled up, toward his snout. His fangs flashed in the beast’s mouth, each the size of an index finger. Two pairs of blue eyes were shining along his bleeding muzzle.

“A Four-eyed Blue Boar,” Lathea breathed out. “A pack of them killed the Head of the Underground Whisper clan, after which his wife took over.”

Hadjar looked at the hooves of the beast. Despite weighing dozens of tons, he didn’t leave any traces on the ground as he walked. There was no crushed grass. No noise. No tremors echoing in their legs. The boar moved noiselessly toward the edge of the forest. The voice coming from his mouth sounded like pure menace.

“Human cubs, what are you doing in my forest?”

“Mighty beast,” Hadjar bowed, speaking in the dragon language. “We’re only looking for a waterfall that feeds into a large river that flows into the human den.”

“The language of the heaven worms?” The boar boomed. “You smell like them... and like a human... and like the wind... You smell interesting. I want to fight you!”

The boar struck the ground. This time, it did shake. Clods of earth and stones rushed like an avalanche through the forest, crushing trees and leaving behind only splinters. The might of a third or fourth level Spirit Stage beast instantly descended upon Hadjar. This meant that the ancient boar was equal in power to an initial or mid-stage Heaven Emperor.

“Mighty beast, I would be happy to grant your wish, but... I could also help you find your pack. They-”

“It was a glorious battle,” the boar interrupted him. “We trampled a lot of them. Many enemies were impaled on our tusks. But the cold death always takes what it comes for. You’ll help me find my pack, strange cub, if you accept my challenge. If the Spirits are kind, I’ll follow them to the eternal forests.”

Only then did Hadjar notice just how hard the boar was breathing. Several of his fangs were broken off. There were blackened, frostbitten wounds all over his body. Sometimes, the wolves didn’t slaughter a pack completely. They left behind a leader so that it would suffer and its gruesome fate would unnerve the other inhabitants of the forest. Fear made prey weaker. The boar wanted to fight right now because he would soon run out of strength if he didn’t.

“I’ll show you where the water falls. Now, bare your fangs, cub. Let’s fight!”

The Blue Blade left its scabbard. Hadjar and the huge boar charged.

Chapter 1442

“W e have to help him!”

Lathea, waving her spear, tried to rush in, but Abraham stopped her.

“Calm down, Princess,” the old man lit his pipe and leaned against a nearby tree. “This is commonplace with him. He’s constantly finding deadly opponents for himself.”

“But...”

The girl turned around to look to the others for support, but... Guy sat down on a rock and, after covering his face with a hood, began cleaning his mask. Gustaf was soon sharpening some arrowheads. Itia was meditating. The dwarf was eating an apple and actively rooting for the boar.

“Come on, you old timer!” Alba-udun shouted. “Do it while you still can!”

Hadjar and the boar collided. A shockwave spread out from their bodies, tearing branches off trees and splitting nearby boulders in half. Hadjar strained his body to block the tusks and horns of the boar. His muscles bulged. The dragon’s blood in his prominent veins was boiling, and the Wolf Broth was burning, dispersing energy throughout his muscles. A head-on collision against such a colossus, one that possessed the speed and power of a Heaven Emperor, no less, would’ve sent most other Nameless level cultivators flying.

But Hadjar wasn’t just any Nameless. With a draconic roar, leaning into his sword with all his weight, even as the Blue Blade creaked from the strain, he pushed the boar away from him.

The enormous beast slid along the ground, leaving deep, loose furrows in the dark earth.

Hadjar was breathing heavily. He didn’t know if he could withstand a second collision. His body, which should’ve only been as sturdy as a Heaven level artifact, shouldn’t have been able to withstand such a strain at all. If not for all the dragon’s blood and Wolf Broth in it, it wouldn’t have. Thanks to them, Hadjar’s body was more like an Imperial level artifact by now.

Angling his snout toward the ground so that his tusks and horns were pointed directly at his enemy, the boar once again charged in. His blue eyes flashed with energy and a blue cloud enveloped his multiton body. He moved so quickly that Hadjar, who specialized in speed, could barely discern his foe’s movements.

Blocking such a mighty assault would be suicide. So, instead, Hadjar created a cut in the space next to him by swinging his sword. The air pulled him in and he jumped aside. The beast’s charge turned out to be relentless, fast, and unpredictable. But the boar, despite being as tall as a cart, only seemed clumsy. He lowered his right horn into the ground and his whole bulk swiveled around so that his hind hooves could strike his opponent’s chest directly.

Bones cracked, and Hadjar felt his chest being pushed slightly inward. If not for his armor that looked like simple clothing, he would’ve been run through. He flew to the side and smashed several boulders with his back, then knocked down a couple of trees as well before he finally got to his feet. He spat out blood and rubbed his chest. It wasn’t visible, but it seemed like the bruise there would be the size of his entire torso pretty soon.

“You’re too inexperienced,” the boar muttered.

He was an old leader who had been fighting for thousands of years in this forest, all for the sake of his herd and his family, until the icy death had come for them and taken everyone. But that was the law of nature. The boar wasn’t angry. He only regretted that he’d been too weak to do more in that glorious battle.

“I only have enough strength left for one final charge, cub,” the beast said.

The boar swayed from side to side. His wounds were bleeding more and more, and a whitish veil was gradually covering his eyes.

Hadjar had only one strong pill left. All the others couldn’t replenish even a fifth of his energy reserve. Just one exchange of blows had cost him nearly half his energy. However, what was left should be enough for what he had in mind.

“The water falls two days south of here, cub,” the old leader boomed, jerking his head in the aforementioned direction. “Now, let me go to the eternal forests and try not to follow me. Your time has not come yet.”

Hitting the ground with his hoof, the boar roared with all the power that was still left in his body. Nearby trees cracked from the roar. The earth churned into a restless lake of mud, and the stones scattered to dust. The blue haze completely enveloped the monster’s body and he rushed forward, glowing brightly in his final moments.

Hadjar simply moved his sword through the air in a smooth motion, but his actions were so quick that the others couldn’t understand when his sword had managed to move from one point to another.

“Endless Wind,” Hadjar intoned gravely.

It was his Technique, but his body hadn’t yet had time to properly get used to it and make it instinctual. He had fought too few battles in his neural network’s simulations since creating it, so he still had to say its name.

The wind blew. The blue light of the boar’s attack shot a stream of energy toward Hadjar that was supposed to destroy any Technique. The flow of the blue wind, changing direction as it rounded the stream of energy, suddenly turned into a ring of mysteries and sword energy. Everything went quiet. The beast had been split in half, its two halves now lying on either side of Hadjar. Blood was pumping into the air, and the boar’s insides were gradually spilling out onto the crimson grass. A glittering, crystal monster Core rolled up to his feet. With a wave of his hand, he put it into his spatial ring. Maybe it would come in handy later.

Turning to the massive body, he placed his fist in his palm and bowed. This boar had had more honor than many people he’d met in his life.

“In just one blow…” Abraham patted Hadjar on the shoulder. “Not bad. I haven’t seen you use that Technique before. Did you pick it up in the temple?”

“Thanks for the help, Shensie,” Hadjar made a slight grimace, after which he headed toward Guy, who was sitting on a boulder large enough to accommodate another cultivator.

“No hard feelings, man!” Abraham, who had already drawn his carving dagger, shouted after him. “I believed in you!”

Then he began butchering the carcass. Of course, cultivators didn’t need food as much as mortals did, but, as the sages would say, ‘We are what we eat.’ The meat of such a beast, and you didn’t even need to process it with alchemy, would restore power and give nourishment to the source of a cultivator’s power — their Core — with remarkable efficiency. When properly cooked, it was also quite delicious.

Seeing Hadjar coming toward him, Guy moved over. Hadjar sat down next to him and took out several bottles of ointments from his spatial ring. Carefully taking off his fur coat, gritting his teeth all the while, he gradually pulled off his clothes-armor, exposing his bare torso.

“Let me help you, Master Wind of the Northern Valleys,” Lathea sat down next to him. “I often helped Cassius,” she swallowed. Talking about her deceased friend and mentor was still difficult for her, “…patch up the wounded.”

“I would be honored, Princess,” Hadjar handed her a bottle.

The girl, after scooping up a slimy, yellowish substance with a stick, began to coat the blackening, spreading bruise in it. She did so really skillfully and carefully, ensuring that he felt almost no pain.

“You have many scars, Master,” she said suddenly, running her fingers over a group of the largest traces of his past battles.

Each time they advanced their level of cultivation, a cultivator’s body would be renewed, their wounds would be healed, their scars disappearing as well, but there were exceptions. There were more than enough such exceptions all over his body. His left arm was covered with his black Name tattoo. His chest, right above his heart, held the coat of arms of the Dark Storm Tribe. His whole torso was covered in scars from swords, claws, arrows, whips, fangs, fire…

“Please don’t call me Master, Princess,” he asked her gently.

“Then in return, I would ask you to simply address me as Lathea.”

They fell silent. Hadjar waved his hand and a map appeared in front of them. He used his finger to trace a path along the route the boar had directed them to.

“Death is near,” Guy put his mask on and, after unsheathing his axe, turned toward the forest.

“What are you doing, buddy?” Abraham, whose hands were covered in blood up to the elbow, straightened up curiously.

Alba-udun, holding his axes in front of him and enveloping his body in fire and lava, assumed a fighting stance. Hadjar remained motionless.

Two people came out of the forest. A man and a woman. They looked twenty years old at most, but they had the aura of those who had seen more than a dozen centuries.

“Honorable travelers,” the woman bowed. Her hair, white as snow, lay across her equally snow-white clothing,” You shouldn’t head in that direction, or at least not in the next few days.”

Chapter 1443

H adjar shifted his gaze from Guy to their two visitors. He was already used to the fact that Abraham hid who he really was, or at least didn’t show all his cards. As for Guy… There were no real peculiarities in the axeman’s behavior, except for his very strange forms of communication. That was why what had just happened was so shocking to him.

Hadjar considered himself to be a very experienced and skillful tracker. There’d been times when not only his own life had depended on his skills, but also the lives of people close to him. It was the best way to learn. Even so, he hadn’t been able to sense the approach of the strangers until Guy had pointed them out.

“Honorable strangers,” Abraham, swinging his bloody carving dagger to clean it off, came forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. This handsome young man in the prime of his life you see before you is-”

“Abraham Shensie,” Itia interrupted him. Her whip was crawling dangerously across the grass, like a snake. “And this is his squad and our ally, the heiress of the Star Rain clan, Lathea the Shooting Star.”

“Thank you, my dear,” the old rogue nodded without turning around. “Well, gentleman and lady, who are you and what are you doing in our… camp?”

The others all looked at Abraham strangely. They wondered when exactly the den of the wild boars had managed to become their camp…

“We live a few hours from here, if you travel at a fast run,” the man said with a bow. It was difficult for Hadjar to determine his power since he was hiding his energy. “It’s our duty to the forest that gives us life to warn you not to look for a waterfall of Liquid Ice this night.”

“I knew it!” The dwarf exclaimed. “By the Hammer and Anvil of the Ancestors! I knew it was really here!”

“You know, honorable strangers,” Abraham took a step closer to their visitors. They tensed. He stopped. It was somewhat like an inept dance of two lovers, but mistakes here could lead to something far worse than just trampled feet… Like unnecessary bloodshed. “That sounds a little strange. You came here to tell us that we shouldn’t look for the waterfall. How did you know that our boy communicated with the boar in the animal language?”

Hadjar agreed with Abraham’s words at first, then his eyes widened in surprise. The question, in fact, was this: how had the old rogue known what he had talked about with the boar? As far as he knew, Abraham didn’t speak any of the animal languages, which meant that he couldn’t communicate with intelligent monsters if they chose not to talk to him. Azrea’s mother, for example, had transmitted her voice directly into Hadjar’s mind. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to understand her.

“Our village has been living in the forest since the first people came here,” the woman replied. She wasn’t very beautiful, but still looked fascinating.

“You know, something odd happened to me once,” Abraham, not at all grossed out by the gore, started picking his teeth with his bloody carving dagger. “I visited a brothel in one of the free cities of the borderlands. I think it was called ‘Summer Dream’ or ‘Dream Summer.’ Guy, my friend, do you remember its exact name?”

“It was Midsummer Dream.”

“Yes! That!” Abraham squatted down and, sticking his carving dagger into the ground, straightened back up, exposing his combat dagger and saber in the process. “I was indulging in carnal pleasures, when suddenly, the priestess of love, who was... ahem... well, you know… She began to strangle me with a fox tail. What I am trying to say is… We were told that the Ice Wolves live in your forests.”

“The Ice Wolves have long since gone extinct,” one of the strangers answered the unasked question.

“Maybe,” Abraham shrugged. “But the very fact that you don’t feel any fear when a squad of Nameless is standing right in front of you is bothering me. What worries me even more is that we introduced ourselves to you and you didn’t introduce yourselves to us.”

“Please forgive my brother for being rude,” the woman said. “My name is Lekhana, Atana’s daughter. This is Braga, Barud’s son. We’re both from the village.”

“What are you doing here, Lekhana and Braga?”

“Our hunters returned with the news that a whole den of wild boars has been eaten here. We came to scout the area and find out what the problem was.”

“According to that big guy over there,” Abraham, without sheathing his weapons, pointed to the boar’s remains, “It was an icy death.”

Lekhana and Braga exchanged glances. Their white hair seemed to be living its own separate life, as if they were underwater, and it swayed slightly. It looked more than strange. But there was no animal aura emanating from them. Hadjar hadn’t yet heard of animals being able to hide their essence, which, of course, didn’t mean it was impossible. Lekhana took a step forward, but Abraham blocked her path.

“I would like to accompany the old leader on his last journey,” the girl bowed again, but the fact that her brother had also taken a step forward did not escape the notice of Hadjar and the others. “So that the eternal forests will meet and reward him for who he was.”

“That’s very interesting-”

“You can sing your song for him,” Guy said suddenly.

He met Lekhana’s gaze, after which the girl nodded, and once she reached the boar’s remains, she knelt next to them and began to chant something. Hadjar could distinguish several words in the animal tongue, but couldn’t grasp the essence of the song.

“Why did you two, both of you unarmed, no less, come to where someone killed a whole flock of wild boars?”

“A herd,” Braga corrected him. “Wild boars live in herds, not in flocks. We’re the fastest runners in our village.”

“Well, that’s not the point,” Abraham spread his arms out. “Listen, boy, I’ve been a little on edge lately. Dark Priests. Sects. Doors to other dimensions. So, let’s get down to business. Why can’t we go to the waterfall of some kind of ice?”

“The moon.”

“Oh, you’ve decided to become my newest source of irritation? Not the best idea, but who am I to-”

“There will be a full moon tomorrow night,” Braga explained. “At that time, the Liquid Ice will be so cold that no matter how strong you are, no matter how thick the skins you wear, you won’t survive going there. No outsider can survive that. Only the children of the north can bear the cold of the north.”

“Children of the north... the cold of the north...” Abraham muttered. “You’re still annoying me, but...” The old rogue waved his blades one final time, then sheathed them all at once. “Since you’ve come here to scout, go ahead and do so.”

He walked away to join the others and, after crossing his arms over his chest, he just stared at the white-haired siblings. They walked around the clearing, sometimes stopping to look around, sniffing the grass and touching the soil with their hands. They whispered to make sure that they couldn’t be heard. Hadjar easily identified them as experienced and skillful trackers, just like himself.

“Do you believe them?” Guy whispered.

“I don’t,” Abraham shook his head. “But I have no reason not to believe them, either. That’s why we are waiting to see what they’ll do. In any case, given our goals, we can’t afford to leave a village of incomprehensible people at our back.”

A couple of minutes later, Lekhana approached them.

“We’ve learned everything we wanted to know,” she bowed slightly. “Strangers, you must be tired. The leader was strong. Even wounded, he was surely not an easy opponent. Please,” she bared a dagger, “Be guests in our village until the full moon wanes. Food and shelter awaits. We offer you water and warmth during these cold nights. No one will hurt you. I swear it by my name and song.”

She ran her dagger across her palm. The wound flashed with a golden glow and soon healed, leaving behind a barely noticeable scar.

“Well, if that’s the case, then why not?” Abraham smiled broadly.

Chapter 1444

“L ead the way,” Abraham suggested, gesturing toward the forest thicket.

Lekhana looked the squad over, her gaze lingering on the dwarf.

“I run fast,” Albadurt muttered discontentedly after realizing what this meant. He threw an apple core over his shoulder and began to warm up by squatting and bending his body.

“We’ll try not to rush,” Braga promised. “At this time, before the full moon, the forest isn’t the safest of places. We’ll run twice as carefully. It will take us four hours to get there. Please keep up.”

Without any warning, Lekhana and Braga turned around and rushed into the thicket. Hadjar didn’t even realize what had happened at first. Reacting a moment too late, he almost lost sight of the siblings.

He ran as fast as he could. The Wind flowed under his feet, creating more new paths with each passing second. He didn’t have time to look back and check if the rest were falling behind. He could barely keep up with the strange forest dwellers. They moved so gracefully, so easily, and so quickly that it both delighted and amazed him to witness it. There was no energy or mysteries used in their movements, just physical strength. They seemed so young and exuberant, like a spring river forcing its way through the shackles of ice. They moved through ravines, over fallen trees and hills, over streams. They ran, leaving behind only a ghostly, snow-white haze. Hadjar controlled his breathing and tried his best to keep up.

***

In the middle of a blooming meadow, a good distance away from a road that wound its way through various fields, slithering like a snake along high hills and shepherd trails, a young man was sitting. He looked like he was about twenty years old. He was wearing simple sandals, canvas pants cinched with a ribbon, a patched linen shirt that was torn in places, and a gray raincoat with numerous patches.

The young man was warming his hands over the flames of a crackling fire. It was reflected in his heterochromatic eyes that were too old and too knowledgeable to belong to a young man. Next to him, lying on a stone, there was a simple, carved staff that was the only reminder of his distant past, of the times when the young man had also sat by a fire, but not alone.

After hundreds of epochs, a person should probably get used to loneliness, but the young man simply couldn’t do it. In his mind, he kept returning to those happy times full of adventure in the company of Reika and the Wandering Stumps, back when his friend, a flighty demon, hadn’t yet become his worst enemy. Those happier times when the Master of Almost All Words hadn’t been alone.

“May I join you?”

The young man rose to his feet and then bowed low:

“Master. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He seemed to be addressing empty air, but the fog soon thickened and a man appeared in front of the young man. He was neither tall nor short. Neither fat nor thin. Wearing simple white and black clothes, he held an open red umbrella behind him, hiding his head with its rim.

The visitor didn’t respond at first, then finally said:

“There are such beautiful stars here.”

Ash looked up at the sky. They really were beautiful in their cold impartiality.

“We’re living in the past,” the nameless Master suddenly said. “In those times when our lives still meant something-”

“They still do,” Ash disagreed.

“They do,” the Master nodded. “But not to those whose lives meant something to us. Their time is gone. There is no counting all their rebirths.”

Ash looked into the fire. Thousands of thousands of years had passed since he’d buried the Wandering Stumps and Reika. Then their children. Then their children’s children. Then their reborn selves… Until, finally, he’d stopped following the souls of those in whom he had found his peace and salvation from the abyss.

“Why have you come here, Master? The last time I saw you, you asked me to take part in the War of the Heavens and the Earth.”

“You refused me on that night, wizard.” Judging by the movements of the umbrella, the Master had thrown his head back and was still peering at the night sky.

“And everyone who was dear to me died.”

The flames in the campfire trembled. They reached out toward the figure with the umbrella, but the fog under his feet seemed to protect this person from the heat of the fire.

“A stone can always anticipate when an avalanche will go down the slope and fall before then. If it doesn’t, the avalanche will carry it off anyway.”

“Stones again?” Ash grunted and pulled himself together. The flames calmed down and the fog subsided. “Even after so many epochs, your metaphors haven’t changed, Master. The left hand of the gods... You called me that back then. Just before you acted out your own death-”

“I’ve died hundreds of times, boy. In some sense, we are all the left hands of the gods,” the visitor replied. “We’re all destined to be a reflection of their will in this bizarre maze of meaningless choices that lead to the same outcome every time.”

“Mortals call that a vicious circle, Master.”

The visitor said nothing. He stretched out his hand as if he were trying to reach the stars. They were so far away and beautiful.

“They’re so young,” he whispered.

It was unclear whether he was talking about someone specific or about the stars. Even Ash, the last living mortal to witness the fall of the Black General with his own two eyes, couldn’t call the stars young.

“You’re wise, Master, I’ll give you that. You’re asking if you can join me on my last night in the mortal world. My answer is no. I’m not glad to see you. I haven’t been glad to see you ever since Mock-Puh left us.”

There was a short pause, during which the wind played with the flames and fog.

“So many epochs have passed since the Drunken Monk era, but you’re just as impetuous, Ash. What is wisdom, wizard, in the eyes of those to whom mountains are only furiously raging waves?”

Ash held out his hand and his staff was suddenly in it.

“For the last time, I’m not-”

“It’s time for you to go back to your throne, boy, and wait for the avalanche to come.”

The Master seemingly did nothing, but the greatest wizard who’d ever lived was soon enveloped by the fog and, a moment later, he disappeared. The mysterious man was still looking up at the stars. If someone had seen his eyes at that moment, they would’ve realized that they were no different from the eyes of the wizard who’d disappeared into the fog. They were old, wise, and lonely.

Chapter 1445

“T hat’s all I have,” Alba-udun declared decisively and collapsed face-first onto the ground.

“Your friend really runs fast for someone so short-legged,” Lekhana smiled only with the corner of her lips.

“He’s... actually... an interesting... guy…” Abraham said while breathing heavily and fanning his sweaty face with his bandana.

Their squad looked rather unpresentable: some of them were lying on the ground and others were sitting. Hadjar and Abraham leaned against the trees. Right now, they didn’t look like a group of Nameless cultivators capable of taking over a small Empire, but rather like a collection of quite infirm mortals: flushed, sweaty, and breathing heavily. Having long since taken off their fur coats and put them in their spatial rings, they were no longer fighting the cold, but the heat that was coming from inside their own bodies. Making a Nameless sweat was an achievement that not even every battle was capable of.

“Where... is... your village?” Gustaf pushed through the shortness of breath and the heat in his chest with great difficulty.

Lekhana and Braga calmly approached a berry bush and, pushing aside the branches, revealed a small path. Trampled by many feet over the years, it wound through the tall grass, leading to the center of a vast clearing, where there was a simple stockade that served as the only local fortification. Above the simple gates loomed a watchtower. A middle-aged man with hair the same color as the siblings was standing there. Apparently, such hair was the shared trait of this particular tribe.

“The forest respects the strong,” Braga explained. “We didn’t want to embarrass you. Rest first and then-”

“Who are you calling a weakling?” A voice sounded from the ground. The dwarf had already caught his breath but still hadn’t found the strength to get up.

Thanks to the Wind, Hadjar was soon able to straighten up and breathe easily. His fatigue disappeared, and energy was quickly restored to his muscles that had had to run so quickly for the first time in a long time. Actually, Abraham was also already smoking his pipe. Unlike Guy, Itia, and Gustaf, he’d also recovered quite quickly.

“I’ve never seen anyone run like that before,” Hadjar said respectfully, addressing Lekhana.

“You don’t run properly,” she replied in the animal language.

The neural network detected the way the old rogue’s cheek twitched. He didn’t seem to understand the woman’s words.

“What language are we speaking right now?” He asked, dumbfounded, realizing that he had never heard the sounds coming from his own mouth at the moment.

“Don’t you know?” Lekhana’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re just like us-”

“Hey!” Abraham interrupted the girl and, moving between the exhausted cultivators, stuffed pills into their mouths. “Come on, squad, don’t disgrace old Shensie. Don’t fall flat on your faces... Except you, dwarf, you’ve already-”

“Get off, human bastard,” the dwarf shook his fist at him from the ground.

Lekhana and Hadjar exchanged puzzled glances, but they didn’t continue their conversation.

“Get up, get up.”

Abraham lifted his comrades by their shoulders, but after taking the restorative pills, they didn’t need his help. The whip wielder, the archer, and the axeman, who’d dusted themselves off and were now shivering, put their fur coats back on, then stood next to the old thief, who’d also put on his coat.

After seeing this, Hadjar suddenly realized that he was cold as well. It was certainly strange that he hadn’t noticed until right then… Waving his hand, he also put on his fur coat. Lekhana looked at him in surprise, after which she exchanged glances with Braga.

“Let’s go,” the young man shrugged at her and pushed aside the bush, being the first to step onto the path.

Soon, he greeted the lookout louder than he should have:

“Gaten!” He shouted. “It’s us, Braga and Lekhana. We’re back from scouting! We have a squad of cultivators with us! They need shelter and food for a few days!”

Gaten looked around at their whole group with a surprised look, after which he shouted back just as loudly:

“Come in! I’ll call the chief!”

Well, at least this strange village that stood in the wilderness of the Strange Lands resembled the villages of mortals in some ways: they also had both a stockade and a chief.

“Isn’t your fence too low?” Abraham asked. “I know that all sorts of animals live out here. Some of them are as tall as ten such fences.”

“Are you really telling us what kind of animals live in this forest?”

Maybe it was Hadjar’s imagination, but there was an unexpected sense of superiority and bafflement in Braga’s voice. “You smell strange yourself!” The young man suddenly said. “And we’re only letting you in here because-”

“Braga!” Lekhana exclaimed, then turned to them and bowed. “Please forgive my brother. He can be hotheaded sometimes. That’s why we don’t let him go out alone. As for our fence, it’s intended to protect us from floods. We live in harmony with the forest. Those who shouldn’t don’t come here.”

The dwarf muttered something.

They came to the gates. Set into a single array of stakes, meant to slide along cut furrows in the ground, and probably be bolted from the inside, they would most likely be too-

“Come in,” Braga pushed the heavy doors and they opened without any resistance.

The village looked as Hadjar had expected it to: a single central street with many thin side streets branching out from it, and on both sides of those stood massive, one-story houses. Wooden houses rarely had a second floor, and they more often than not had outbuildings and a spacious attic instead.

There were shouts and laughter. The air was filled with the aromas of kitchens, stables, and various kinds of grain. There was a slight smell of dampness and onions as well.

He turned around. On the gates, there were no brackets for bolts. And the stakes weren’t cut in a way that indicated they could be used as supports instead of bolts, which was the second kind of village fortifications. They were worse and less reliable than metal bolts, but easier to install and to remove. And they were several times cheaper. But there were none to be found here. The gates couldn’t be locked at all.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had guests,” someone said from behind him.

Hadjar turned around to see the village chief. Instead of an old man, he was a mighty behemoth in the prime of his life, with pronounced muscles, scars, and his hair pulled into a ponytail and braided. He towered a head above his retinue. Lekhana and Braga bowed low to him.

“We’ll hold a new moon festival soon,” his voice sounded powerful and free, without any fear or embarrassment. “Be guests in our home. We welcome everyone who comes to us in peace.”

“Chief,” Abraham nodded, “Thank you for the courtesy shown by your people. My squad and I would like to get inside and rest for a bit.”

“Of course. Lekhana, show them to a place they can use.”

“Yes, chief,” the girl bowed once more, then turned to the cultivators, “Come on, or the whole village will gather to stare at you.”

Passing by the chief, Hadjar briefly met his gaze.

As they walked along the road, he suddenly realized why all of this seemed so wrong to him: he hadn’t seen a single resident armed with a pitchfork or an axe. And there were no dogs barking anywhere. What was a village without any dogs?

Chapter 1446

L ekhana led the squad to a spacious log building that stood on the outskirts of the village. It didn’t have windows. Two shutters served as its door. It could be either a barn or a stable. Right now, it was striking in its emptiness: no hay, no millet, no boxes, and no traces of animals, either. The floor, lined with mats, seemed pristine. There wasn’t even any dust in the air. The only light source was a round hole cut into the roof. Long, transverse beams held the walls together, and the roof was in a classic triangle shape. There was no attic. It was clearly a utility building that had never housed a family within it.

“Make yourselves at home.” Lekhana bowed slightly. “In the evening, we’ll hold a festive dinner. Chief Yameh would like to invite you to attend as honored guests.”

Heading back outside, she closed the shutters but didn’t lock them. As with the gates, there were no bolts or supports inside the strange building.

The squad sat on the floor and began, as all cultivators in an unfamiliar place should, to check their armor and weapons.

Approaching the wall, Hadjar watched the street through a gap between the logs. Outwardly, it was quite an ordinary village. Maybe a person who had never been to such places before would think that everything looked as it should. But as was the saying, the demon was in the details: there were no dogs barking. Children’s cries weren’t mixing with the cries of cattle. Chickens, pigs, and cows weren’t particularly fond of staying quiet. There was complete silence, broken only by the people themselves.

“Am I the only one who thinks that something is wrong here?” Princess Lathea put down her spear and began to carefully pull her hair into a tight, golden braid.

“It’s quite a normal pack,” Abraham shrugged, lighting his pipe.

“A pack, human?” Albadurt asked. “You mean a tribe.”

“No, my dear dwarf, I meant what I said.”

Hadjar turned away from the wall.

“You think they’re-”

“Ice Wolves,” the old man nodded. “No doubt about it. If they’d been something else, or even actual people, Guy would hardly have noticed them so quickly.”

Hadjar shifted his gaze to the half-faced man. He simply ran his fingers over his mask and continued to sharpen the blade of his axe even though it was sharp enough already.

“He has a special relationship with animals,” Abraham replied vaguely to the question hanging in the air.

Despite the fact that Itia and Gustaf knew the odd duo much better than the rest, even they were surprised by this. Hadjar wasn’t reassured by Abraham’s explanation. He could also declare that he had a ‘special relationship with animals’ since dragons, no matter how powerful they became, were still animals. But for some reason, he hadn’t noticed Lekhana and Braga as easily and quickly as Guy had. Something was wrong here. The longer Hadjar spent in the company of Abraham and his friend, the more convinced he became of this. The fact that Helmer had chosen these guys to assist him in the destruction of the ancient Sect was in no way justified by the fact that Hadjar and the old rogue had known each other from before. If the Lord of Nightmares had thought that other cultivators would be more useful, Hadjar would’ve found himself in the company of those very same strangers right now. This meant that Helmer also knew something about the old thief that inspired confidence in the Emissary of the Prince of Demons himself.

“What makes you think they’re Ice Wolves, Shensie?” There was childish curiosity in the Princess’ eyes.

While she was the heiress of one of the largest clans of the Strange Lands, she had clearly lacked excitement in her life. The stronger a cultivator got, the fiercer their desire to explore and adventure became. They wanted to go where nobody had ever set foot before in search of secrets and mysteries hidden under the curtains of the Nameless World. That was why they wandered the boundless lands. This was their fate.

“There are a lot of reasons.” Abraham exhaled a puff of smoke. “The way they run, talk, live… Their chief. Their names. Their habits. Everything screams that we are currently in a village of animals pretending to be humans.”

“But if that’s the case…” Hadjar began pensively. He also felt like something was wrong with the village, but he doubted that they were Ice Wolves. “The boars’ leader said that the icy death had come for them. If he was talking about the Ice Wolves, why did they send their scouts to their den?”

“Maybe they wanted to make sure that he was still alive. Or maybe they lied to us. Or maybe they sensed us and went hunting. Who knows, man? I can’t even understand humans all the time, and they’re animals.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Gustaf asked.

Abraham, groaning loudly, got up and stood in the spot where Hadjar had just been. He peered into the gap between the logs and spat on the floor. He slowly stretched out:

“We’re in a barn, aren’t we?”

Not everyone immediately understood the meaning behind his words.

“Do you think we weren’t invited here as guests?” The dwarf stopped cleaning his axes in shock.

“But as dinner?” Itia finished his thought.

“I don’t know,” the mysterious man answered honestly. “But we should be ready for anything. Princess, you said that the Liquid Ice was important to the Ice Wolves?”

“I said they only lived in areas where there was Liquid Ice,” Lathea corrected him. “The rest wasn’t mentioned in the legends. Maybe they need it, or maybe it creates a natural habitat for them.”

“Hmm,” Abraham moved away from the wall and leaned his shoulder against a wooden post that was holding up two crossbars. “Right now, they don’t want us to look for the waterfall.”

“We have to get away!” Alba-udun barked. “I’m not going to become someone’s dinner!”

“You do look like a hairy steak,” Gustaf said philosophically.

“Don’t make me angry, human boy,” the dwarf growled. “I’ll make a rug for my house out of these dogs!”

“There are a lot of them,” Itia reminded him.

“Then I’ll have a lot of rugs, woman!”

“My dear dwarf,” Abraham waved his pipe in the air as he smoked, “No one is disputing your sewing abilities, but Itia’s right. They have us outnumbered. I don’t exactly relish the idea of fighting all of them.”

“We’re seven Nameless level cultivators! By the Hammer of the Ancestors, we won’t leave a shred of wool on them!”

“Did you see Lekhana and Braga run?” Guy suddenly cut in. “Even if we win, some of us will certainly die. Don’t forget-”

“Death is near,” the squad finished for him in chorus.

Guy nodded and continued to sharpen his axe.

“Okay, guys,” Abraham, holding his pipe with his teeth, slapped his knees and sat back down on the floor. “Wake me up when they take us to dinner. We’ll act according to what comes after that. However, I would advise you to keep your weapons ready just in case.”

Hadjar adjusted the sheath that held his Blue Blade, sank into a lotus position, and then plunged into meditation, where he continued to wage endless battles in the training mode of his neural network. There were still a few hours left until nightfall.

Chapter 1447

S omeone touched his shoulder.

“Hadjar.”

He was already reaching for his weapon, but then he saw a girl’s beautiful face.

“Princess-”

“Didn’t you already agree to stop calling me that?” She interrupted him, frowning.

“I did,” he nodded and removed his hand from the hilt of his blade. “What’s happening?”

Looking around, he saw that the other cultivators were immersed in deep meditation. They didn’t really trust these wolves, humans, or whoever they were. However, they had security amulets. They’d worked together to create a barely visible veil that spanned the perimeter of the building. If someone disturbed this perimeter, their artifacts would immediately bring them out of meditation.

Lathea was the only one not meditating at the moment. Sitting next to Hadjar, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Her fingers were gripping her spear tightly, so much so that her knuckles were white. She was scared, but not for herself. The girl was worried about her father. Hadjar had no idea what had happened to Lathea’s mother and why Lathea’s stepmother was now running the Star Rain clan.

Due to Cassius’ death, she was clearly experiencing a mental trauma and was thus on edge, even if she didn’t need to be. If the Underground Whisper clan hadn’t yet done anything to the Head of the Star Rain clan, it was unlikely that they would suddenly harm him in the foreseeable future.

“Do you trust them?” She asked.

Hadjar didn’t answer immediately.

“I have no reason to distrust them,” he finally shook his head. The ornaments rang slightly in his gray hair. “They haven’t behaved in a hostile manner toward us, at least not yet. On the contrary, they seem rather sincere in their efforts to protect us from something. However, I don’t understand what they’re protecting us from.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lathea waved her hand. “Who are you talking about?”

“The Ice Wolves. Or whoever they really are.”

The girl sighed and pointed at Abraham and his squad.

“I mean them,” she whispered. “Do you trust them?”

Hadjar looked at his companions. Did he trust them? That was a good question. He had been wondering about that for the past few weeks.

“I trust Albadurt quite a bit,” he replied. The dwarf was currently meditating while munching on an apple. Whenever he could get his hands on them, he gobbled them up. “For the rest... So far, we are bound by a mutually beneficial venture. That’s enough for me.”

“But do you trust them, Wind of the Northern Valleys?”

Hadjar looked into her eyes. They were too mature, sharply contrasting with her youthful face. He turned away abruptly and clutched the wedding bracelet on his wrist. It was just his instincts acting up and nothing more.

“Trust is a broad concept.”

“I know.”

“In that case, Lathea, my answer is that I trust them enough to ask why you decided you could trust me.”

Now it was the Princess’ turn to be silent. She looked up at the wooden ceiling.

“Cassius trusted you...” She whispered, as if that explained everything.

Maybe he had, right after Hadjar had become the reason why the Honorary Warrior had gone to his forefathers, may they be kind to him.

“Abraham is a very strange man,” the Princess suddenly continued.

“A bit, yeah.”

“No, Hadjar, you don’t understand. We clans have our secrets. The power through which the Strange Lands still remain unconquered differs from the power that reigns supreme in the other regions. It has its roots in ancient times, back when people didn’t yet wield the energy of the World River.”

Hadjar didn’t reveal that he had already learned about the will and teachings of the Forty Families from Light Feather. Sometimes, silence loosened tongues and extracted valuable information much better than any interrogation ever could.

“It allows us to sense and perceive other cultivators differently,” Lathea continued. “When I feel you, it’s like a wind. A cold wind. Gustaf is a lost puppy. Itia is a weeping willow. Alba-udun is a rock broken off from a larger stone. I don’t know how to describe it any better. Each of us who wields this power has our own interpretations. They are individual. But I can’t feel Guy or Abraham.” This was serious enough for him to reflect on what he had just heard. “It bothers me. It isn’t scary, just annoying. I haven’t experienced this too often. For example, I can’t feel my father. He’s too strong for me.”

“What level of cultivation does the Head of the Star Rain clan have?”

“He’s the same as all the other Heads of clans and sects in the Strange Lands,” Lathea tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear again. “They are all peak-stage Heaven Emperors.”

“And those who-”

“I can feel those who are weaker than that.”

All sorts of dubious scenes came to Hadjar’s mind. How often had Abraham demonstrated powers and abilities that simply couldn’t belong to a mere Nameless? But at the same time, he’d quite often found himself in situations where he hadn’t been able to oppose strong Heaven Emperors. Or… Maybe he hadn’t wanted to do so? Fucking schemes…

“Maybe he’s injured,” Lathea whispered very softly. “I don’t know why you suddenly decided to destroy the Sect, but I’ve heard stories from Cassius about what is stored there.”

“In the Raven Sect?”

Lathea nodded, “Once upon a time, the best warriors of the Forty Families tried to find their fortress. No one ever returned from that trip, apart from a lone, crazy, gray-haired warrior. He claimed that he’d found creatures that didn’t look like humans, monsters, Spirits, or demons in the depths of their castle.”

Well, Hadjar had also encountered such creatures before. One of them had almost killed him. His head ached.

“Are you all right?”

“I am. Go on.”

The Princess looked at him for a bit, clearly concerned, but then kept talking:

“He said that the fanatics tortured these creatures and drank their blood, which prolonged their lives and made them much stronger. He said that even those who were near death, with a mostly destroyed soul and body, were easily able to return to the battlefield after drinking the blood of these creatures.”

Lathea fell silent.

“What happened to this madman?”

“The following morning, he died of his wounds. In any case, that’s how the story goes. After that, a fragile peace was established between the Raven Sect and the Forty Families. They didn’t bother us, and we didn’t try to find and destroy their fortress anymore.”

“Well, that’s…”

The alarm artifact flashed with a silvery glow and disappeared into Abraham’s spatial ring. He opened his eyes.

“We have company,” he said, pulling the entire squad out of meditation all at once.

The barn’s shutters opened and the chief and the siblings appeared on the threshold.

Chapter 1448

“H onorable Yameh,” Abraham sketched a beautiful, elegant bow.

Hadjar hadn’t seen such elegant movements even amongst the aristocracy of Dahanatan. It seemed as if Abraham had spent half his life at the courts of Kings and Emperors.

“My name is Abraham Shensie,” he introduced himself. “That guy in a mask is Guy. The girl with a whip is Itia. The girl with a spear is Lathea the Shooting Star. The redheaded dwarf is Alba-udun. The guy with a bow is-”

Yameh, completely ignoring Abraham, went inside the barn. His escorts remained standing out on the street. It was a very rational decision, because tension hung heavy in the air. In such situations, they were usually guided by the laws of hospitality. But if they really were animals, they may not even know about such concepts as the implied safety of a guest. If a guest came to a person’s house, even if they were a child killer and a rapist, no one would touch them as long as they were still their guest. Spilling the blood of a person who’d entered your home with no ill intent was like breaking an oath. Or like spitting in the face of your forefathers. Things were a little different when it came to animals, however.

“Greetings,” the unfamiliar language sounded once again. “As I said before, you and your companions are guests in our home.” Yameh said this right away, as if responding to their thoughts.

“Could you repeat that in a normal language?” Abraham flashed his usual smile.

“Be guests at our feast!” The chief said loudly. “At the festival of Northern Lights, we welcome everyone who was supposed to come.”

“Who was supposed to come?” Guy repeated.

“Are we going to eat or not?” The dwarf boomed. “I’m running out of apples.”

“Well, since the dwarf’s stomach is asking for it,” Abraham spread his arms out, “I can’t help but agree. Lead the way, honorable chief.”

Yameh nodded and, after exchanging glances with Hadjar, headed for the exit. Abraham was the first to follow him. Putting his hands behind his back, he gestured to the squad: stay vigilant.

“What is he-”

Hadjar interrupted Lathea by pointing to his eyes and then to the group of white-haired strangers.

They went outside and found themselves under the light of the evening stars. This area was located a lot farther north than Balium, farther north than even the region where Sankesh had gone. If, according to Lathea, the Ice Lands really were in the Strange Lands, then the Strange Lands were the northernmost region in the Mortal Lands.

The street greeted their group with a sudden stillness. The screams subsided, the children’s laughter stopped. There was absolute silence, broken only by the sounds of the forest and the play of the wind. The lights went out and darkness covered the village with its cool hand.

No one in the squad asked any unnecessary questions. Trying not to show their tension, everyone kept their hands close to their weapons, and the energy in their sources was ready to be unleashed. At any moment, they could turn from seven harmless cultivators into a deadly force and…

“Please, come here,” Yameh held out his hand, pointing to the village square.

Sound returned to the world as quickly as it had left it. The light cut into their eyes. A bonfire was burning in the center of the square and young boys and girls were dancing around it in a strange and oddly rhythmic, but very beautiful dance. They were kicking their legs up, jumping and turning, clapping their hands in unison and, like waves, running together toward the flame, then whirling around it and, after splitting up again, moving back to their original positions. It was like…

“The Dance of the North Wind,” Lekhana whispered in Hadjar’s ear. “Let’s go. You need to talk to our shaman.” She grabbed his wrist and started leading him to one of the many tables where the villagers were eating, discussing something loudly, drinking, and laughing.

“Stop!” Abraham got in her way. Braga and several other young and strong white-haired men appeared in front of him instantly, as if popping up from under the ground. “I understand that our Hadjar is a dashing fellow, but you need to ask his commander for permission first.” He poked his own chest with his finger.

Hadjar didn’t remember when he’d managed to become a subordinate of Abraham, but he really didn’t feel any special desire to go somewhere with Lekhana. He didn’t trust her. Moreover, every time he’d talked with shamans in the past, it hadn’t ended well: he had been thrown into his own dream, one similar to a fictional reality; he had been sent to the stars; he’d even ended up in the Land of Spirits once.

“He’s my guest,” Yameh’s voice was both lower and firmer now. He was clearly unhappy with Abraham’s antics, “Just like you and your companions. The Eternal Forest as my witness, there is no place in our forest that is safer for you right now than my village.”

“Oh, your forest… Your village…” Abraham smiled again. “Well, okay then, alright. But if something happens to the boy, chief, there will be no place in this forest bloodier than your village.”

Braga and the other guys took a step toward the old rogue, but they were stopped by Yameh’s raised hand.

“Anyone else would’ve been offended by your words, strange man,” the chief said much more calmly. “But what kind of host would I be if I was so easily offended by empty threats?”

“Oh, trust me,” the old thief ran his hands over the hilts of his daggers and sabers. “Abraham Shensie never makes empty threats.”

Yameh and Abraham looked into each other’s eyes for a while, after which the chief ordered:

“Braga, take our guests to their table. Lekhana, tell the shaman that our guest must make it to the Lights. I feel like he’s never seen them before.”

“Of course, chief,” Lekhana bowed.

After exchanging a wink with the dwarf and Lathea, Hadjar allowed the girl to lead him away from the square and the general festival. The squad sat down at their table, which was bursting with a variety of food. Despite the abundance of meat and vegetables, there were no fruits or berries to be found. Maybe Abraham was right, but Hadjar had never heard of animals having shamans before.

“Where are we going?” He asked when they left the village and started heading into the forest.

“To the shaman,” Lekhana replied. “He is our protector and Master. He’ll answer all your questions better than Yameh or I ever could, my distant brother.”

“Distant brother? What do you…”

Suddenly, Lekhana threw off her clothes and was completely naked in the light of the rising moon. Her lithe, slender body glistened with a silver light.

“Keep up!” She cried out and charged into the thicket like a blizzard.

“By the Evening Stars,” he sighed, “I’ll regret this later.”

Stowing his fur coat in his spatial ring, he rushed after her. This time, Lekhana ran even faster than before. With every step he took, he had to rely more and more on the Name of the Wind. His old friend was happy to play. It laid down paths for Hadjar, allowing him to fly over streams, jump over deep ravines, and pass through rubble and weeds with ease.

And so they ran, faster and faster, until they turned into two streams of light. The white and blue fog were overjoyed to be racing each other. Only the forest’s darkness and the light of distant stars witnessed their little game.

“We’re here,” a voice suddenly declared.

Hadjar woke up. He suddenly felt the touch of something cold. Snow was falling. Large flakes were coming down from the surface of the heavenly silk’s black expanse. The moon was shining. Hadjar was standing at the edge of a cliff. With a loud echo, the Liquid Ice was flowing down from its edge and into a white river. A beautiful song filled the air. There, at the very edge of the cliff, stood a white wolf. His tail floated through the air like snowy threads. His head thrown back, he was singing something to the moon.

“Lekhana?” Hadjar recoiled, lowering his hand to the hilt of his blade. “So, Abraham was right.”

Warm fingers touched his palm. He turned around and saw snow-white hair and a beautiful human body glistening with beads of sweat.

“This is our shaman,” Lekhana said. “The last of the Ice Wolves of the Nameless World. He’s waiting for you.”

Hadjar turned to the cliff and met the gaze of two shining stars. The unbridled, wild force of nature itself fell like an avalanche upon his soul. For the first time in his life, he was face to face with a beast at the fourth level of the Celestial Stage, one that was equal in power to the Immortals themselves.

Chapter 1449

A Celestial. This was a beast capable of summoning the trial of the Heavens and the Earth at any moment. If he managed to pass it, he would become a god. If not, then, by damaging his energy body and losing his mind, he would become more powerful than a Celestial, but… The Wild God Stage was called ‘wild’ because the beast lost all its knowledge and the skills that it had acquired over the epochs of its cultivation. There would only be instincts and raw, natural power left.

Hadjar examined the wolf closely. He wasn’t a magical animal, one of those who possessed accelerated cultivation. The path that a human could traverse in an epoch, a magical beast could overcome in ten, and a simple beast… The Ice Wolf was definitely one of the Ancients.

Bowing low, Hadjar greeted the mighty creature.

“My name is Hadjar Dark-”

“I know your name,” the unfamiliar language sounded once more. “Your name must’ve come here on wings, distant brother. And you’ve come with it. Everything is as it should be.”

The wolf sat down on the snow and, folding his paws in front of him, lowered his head onto them. He wasn’t all that large or muscular. Outwardly, he didn’t differ much from his mortal kin at all. Except for his eyes. Hadjar had never seen such eyes before.

“Distant brother?”

“All the children of the North are brothers and sisters.” The wolf wrapped his tail around himself and yawned. “You are my brother. I’m your brother.”

Hadjar turned around and looked at Lekhana. She was sitting in a lotus position and breathing in the winter and snow. The cold didn’t seem to touch her heated body.

“You got it right,” the wolf confirmed his guess. “Lekhana and Braga are your siblings in spirit, but not in blood.”

“In spirit...”

“The flesh is malleable, Wind of the Northern Valleys, but the spirit is not. Me, you, Lekhana, those with whom you came, we’ve changed our flesh so many times that even the most ancient of the night lights can’t count them all. But each time, our unchanging spirit remained in that new shell of blood and bones.”

Hadjar sat down on the snow and placed his sword in front of him. While he did dislike talking to the Ancients, whom he had encountered many times over the years, he couldn’t afford to miss such an opportunity.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Mad General,” the wolf suddenly said. His black eyes looked like two abysses that embodied time and power. “I’ve been waiting so long that my children managed to become part of the Wind in the meantime. And their children became part of the Earth. Now those we once hunted breathe us and eat us.”

“Why have you been waiting for me, honorable shaman?” Hadjar asked.

“To kill you,” the black eyes flashed.

Hadjar didn’t make a single move. Even if he gathered all his power, burned up his soul, and called upon Boreas himself to help, he wouldn’t be able to escape death here. There were boundaries that no one could cross. One such boundary was the one between the powers of the mortal and the Immortal. They existed in different planes of reality.

“Then why are you hesitating?”

The wolf didn’t answer at first. He turned away and looked at the falling ice. The river of rare material flowed sedately and smoothly until it dropped with violent force to merge with the water and go somewhere far away.

“The one who created my Spirit,” the Ice Wolf finally broke the silence, “Did so for only one purpose: when the time comes, when I meet a madman who has declared war on the gods, I am supposed to kill him, tear him apart and devour his soul, but... That was a long time ago, mortal. Long before the brightest star of the night lit up and fell to the ground.”

The wolf was talking about Miristal, Hadjar had no doubt about that. He spoke of the brightest night star, extinguished either right before the War of the Heavens and the Earth, or right after it. It was difficult to piece together the chronology of these events from just some fragments of legends.

“When I do that,” the beast continued, “The song of the Four Generals will never come to be and the reflections won’t disappear.”

Reflections… Hadjar had already heard this word before. But he couldn’t remember where. Why couldn’t he remember? Damn it, now his head hurt!

“What language are we speaking right now?” He asked.

The wolf turned back to him.

“The Name Wind of the Northern Valleys isn’t one word, and not a thousand words, either. This Name can create and destroy. This Name can also describe things.”

“Are we speaking…”

The wolf nodded, “We’re speaking in the Name of the North.”

The frosty wind curled around him in snowy whirlwinds, and the blizzard crackled with ice and frost that covered Hadjar’s hands, but they didn’t hurt him.

“Your Name, General, contains three Names that don’t include battle, hunting, or war. But when you combine them, you’ll see what your true power is.”

The wolf got up and walked to the edge of the cliff.

“I don’t understand… What do you mean?”

“Go to the land of ice and winds, where the father of your Spirit was born. There you will find the Name of the North and continue your journey to the Seventh Heaven.”

With each of the wolf’s words, the sky above them darkened. The stars were shining brighter and brighter. Hadjar sensed the arrival of a power that could crush the whole world.

“What’s going on?”

“Hurry up, brother!” The wolf growled. Throwing back his head, he howled at the stars and a ray of light that had almost fallen from the distant sky. “I’ve defied my fate and my creator won’t let this go unpunished!”

The Jasper Emperor, Hadjar guessed. He was somehow going to interfere in the lives of mortals and, violating the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, destroy the wolf who’d betrayed him.

“Raise your sword, Wind of the Northern Valleys!” The wolf’s howl was drowned out by a terrible blizzard that rose over the cliff.

Hadjar took his Blue Blade and, trudging through the wall of ice and snow, covering his face with his hand, approached the wolf.

“Stab me in the heart! I’ll share my power with you!” The wolf stood over the cliff. His howl seemed to freeze even time itself. Not only did the ray freeze, but even the falling waterfall of Liquid Ice. Lekhana’s sighs stopped. Birds froze midflight. “When the time comes, I’ll help you subdue the North!”

“But why?”

“There is no time, General! You’ll get all your answers in the land of ice and snow! Now strike! Let me return to my children and siblings in the Eternal Forest.”

Hadjar looked into his black eyes and saw nothing there but a mute plea. He raised his Blue Blade and, with one sharp, well-aimed thrust, rammed it up to the hilt into the beast’s chest. The wolf trembled and froze. The ray of starlight disappeared, the blizzard subsided, and the wind died down. Lekhana was breathing steadily again, and the birds were flying away from this strange land.

Hadjar sensed the incredible power of the Ice Wolf, an Ancient beast at the Celestial Stage, being greedily absorbed by his predatory sword. It feasted, and the wolf became lighter and lighter as his body dried up. At some point, he turned into a mummy, slipped off his sword, and disappeared into the depths of the noisy waterfall.

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar swore. “What’s going on here?”

“We’ll meet again at the edge of the Ice, Mad General.”

Hadjar turned around abruptly, only to see Lekhana gradually turn into a snowy figure and then crumble as she merged with the streams of wind rushing to the north.

“Hurry up,” the wolf’s voice came from her lips. “Soon, the Mountain of Skulls will fall and the time of the Potter will come.”

A moment later, Hadjar was left standing on the cliff all alone. Abraham had been right after all: it really was an Ice Wolf village.

Chapter 1450

I f not for his neural network, Hadjar might not have found his way back to the village. Not because his abilities and skills as a tracker had somehow deteriorated sharply, but because he was just so tired after running alongside Lekhana or, rather, a part of the Ice Wolf’s Spirit. How acutely must a creature feel its own loneliness in order to split its own Spirit into hundreds of fragments and allow those to exist separately as a village of their own? How many epochs did it take the lone wolf to master this power? Hadjar had never even heard of such a thing being done before.

After reaching the village, Hadjar saw what he had already expected to see: a light snowstorm was swirling over the deserted houses, watchtower, and stockade. It soared up toward the dark sky, merging with the stars twinkling in the night.

“Hadjar-dan, Hadjar-dan!” Stumbling over grass and roots, the white-faced Alba-udun ran over to him. “By the Anvil of the Ancestors! What just happened! As soon as I started to caress a pretty girl, she… she…”

“Honorable dwarf,” Lathea, who walked up behind him, smiled a bit worriedly. “She was an old woman.”

“She suited him,” Abraham said, shaking off some snow from his head. “She was short, plump, and had a mustache. What else could a dwarf need?”

Having reached Hadjar, the dwarf unsheathed his axes and, standing back to back with him, frantically looked around.

“They are demons,” he said, his eyes flitting about nervously. “Or some other foul creatures! Hadjar-dan, we have to get out of here! Damn it! They all just disappeared! Bang! Just like that! They all simply turned into snow!”

The dwarf looked like a cultivator that was ready to battle against the whole world. Abraham, lighting the pipe, stood next to them and watched the blizzard rushing to join the sky.

“I’m guessing you met their shaman,” Abraham nodded at Hadjar’s sword.

Hadjar looked at its scabbard and was surprised to find that the black braid of the blade’s hilt had turned white. It somehow resembled ice and snow.

Analyze, Hadjar ordered mentally.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Object: Blue Blade.

Level: Divine level artifact.

Progress to next level: Star level artifact 92/100%.]

So, his predatory weapon had almost reached the next level of its cultivation, which wasn’t surprising: over the past few decades, entities of incredible power and unimaginably high levels of cultivation had become his prey, either by chance or thanks to his skills.

“He was an Ice Wolf,” Hadjar explained. “The village was part of his soul.”

“What do you mean?” Gustaf asked.

Just as Hadjar was about to answer, Guy unexpectedly did it for him:

“The old wolf,” the axeman adjusted his mask and turned away from the blizzard. “He couldn’t stand his loneliness.”

“Splitting one’s soul into an entire village,” Abraham said thoughtfully. “And I, old fool that I am, thought that they were all just wolves.”

“Well, in some ways, you weren’t wrong.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Just don’t let it go to your head, you bald rascal,” Itia lightly nudged her old friend with her shoulder.

For some time, the squad stood there silently, watching the now dead village. Could it even be called dead if it had only ever been inhabited by the reflections of the Ice Wolf? Reflections…

“Hadjar!” Lathea caught him just in time and didn’t let him fall into the snow. “What’s wrong with you? Can you hear me? What’s going on?”

“My head...” He whispered. It felt like someone was using a hammer and chisel to carve pain straight into every cell of his brain. “It hurts…”

***

What was this? Where was he?

“What are you planning to do now?”

He was sitting on the edge of a cliff. Below, clouds were floating. Thick and dense, they spread out in a single, unified whole that resembled hard ground. He liked looking at them. They reminded him of the Mortal Lands, of those fleeting memories that still remained with him even after the gods had decided to embody him into a human form.

The gods… He’d never really liked their land, on the edge of which he was currently sitting. It was artificial, hovering somewhere between the stellar ocean of eternity and earthly suffering. He liked neither its gardens, nor its magnificent Palaces, nor its tall towers full of the most powerful secrets, mysteries, and knowledge.

“I don’t know, my Lord,” he answered honestly.

Across his lap lay a faithful and reliable friend. This sword grew stronger with each defeated enemy. Forged by a Divine blacksmith from a piece of his own soul, it was one of a kind. The Predatory Weapon of the Soul. The Black Blade. It was thanks to this sword, and not his armor or hair color, that he’d become the Black General.

But that was in the past, myriads of epochs ago, so long ago that old stars had been extinguished and new ones been born since then. Among those very same stars, he’d fought against an innumerable and terrible enemy that hadn’t known death or fatigue. But the Gates had closed, creating the Boundary that would stop all shadows and creatures from crossing over into this reality.

“Who am I?” He asked aloud. “Who am I, my Lord, if I have no one else to fight, if there is no army standing behind me? Who am I if I no longer have...”

“What made you… you?” The voice asked.

He nodded. He could sense that someone was sitting next to him on the edge of the Seventh Heaven. Someone incredibly powerful. Perhaps even as powerful as himself. Of course, this was not Derger, whom the Black General served. Both the General and the God of War knew very well that if they happened to fight, it wouldn’t be the General who would go into oblivion. It sounded scary. He’d heard that after their deaths, the mortals’ forefathers greeted them and rebirth awaited them. Stupid mortals. They coveted the gods’ fate, not knowing that those beyond the borders of time didn’t have anyone waiting for them except complete oblivion. The gods weren’t reborn. The gods didn’t meet their forefathers. Only the loneliness of absolute nothingness was their ultimate destination. They were like fragments of a broken mirror with reflections of their own destinies locked inside.

“The whole Seventh Heaven is celebrating, General,” the voice said. “It’s praising its savior. It’s praising you. Why aren’t you at the feast? Ashtarie is waiting for you.”

Ashtarie... She had many names, but here, in the Seventh Heaven, the Goddess of Love was called Ashtarie.

“You are here as well, my Lord.”

“Fair enough,” the invisible entity replied. The Jasper Emperor rarely showed himself, preferring to hide himself behind the magic of Words. “But, you see, I could ruin the feast with my appearance. While the subjects are feasting, the ruler must find a reason to leave the celebration as soon as possible and not sour it. Our lot is the lot of the lonely. Maybe that’s why Liao Feng always says that the best ruler is a recluse who doesn’t want peace, war, or power. Alas, those kinds of people never become rulers.”

Liao Feng, the God of Wisdom, was one of the few gods the Black General was always happy to talk to.

Chapter 1451

T he feast dragged on. For two epochs, the gods celebrated their victory. For two epochs, the Black General loitered around the Seventh Heaven without doing anything. Maybe to the rest of the gods, two epochs were like two days to mortals, but not to someone who was used to fighting and shedding blood every waking moment.

They watched a storm coming in from the north. The neighing of warhorses, the rumble of a chariot, and the thunder of rolling laughter could be heard from it.

“It seems like Boreas wants to personally congratulate you on your victory.”

“He fought with dignity and glory,” the Black General nodded.

There was silence again. They both knew where this conversation was going.

“Aren’t you happy with these two epochs that you’ve spent here in peace and tranquility?”

He answered honestly, “No.”

“What more could you possibly want, General? You’re so famous that sometimes I worry that you might be chosen to take my place!” The voice said jokingly, even though they both knew it was impossible. “You’ve guarded Derger’s garden and had conversations with the most beautiful of all the women who were born and who will ever be born.”

She had been turned to stone because there had been room in her heart for only one man.

“You’ve visited every Palace, every library, and every corner of the Seventh Heaven.”

He had seen that they were no different from each other.

“You’ve learned all the secrets and all the mysteries of the Way of the Sword. You can even use it to cut through my magic. Who knows who would win if we dueled.”

Therefore, there was no longer an opponent he could fight to experience the joy of true, hard-earned victory.

“What do you want, General? What does the one who saved our world from destruction want?”

“You know what I want, my Lord.”

“I do,” the Jasper Emperor sighed heavily. “But if I let you go... If you descend into the mortal world… You’ll find your Name, General. Along with it, you’ll acquire the fate that each of us has. Even the gods. Even Kestanie…”

Kestanie was the true name of the Goddess of Fate, the Keeper of the Book of Thousands. He had only seen her twice. She left her territory less often than even the Emperor did.

“Why do you want to exchange freedom for the shackles of fate? You’re the only one, General, in the whole Seventh Heaven, who, despite possessing unimaginable power, can use it however he wants.”

And what did he want? Why did he need power and freedom if there was no one to share it with, if he had no one to protect now? If there was no one to protect… he didn’t have anything to fight for.

“That is my wish, Emperor. Let me go.”

“And if I refuse?”

The General turned to the void. He knew that if he wanted to, with just an effort of his will and soul, he could pierce through all of his Lord’s magic and make him reveal himself without even drawing his sword. But instead, he just put his hand on the hilt of his blade. This was enough to make the whole of the Seventh Heaven shudder as it felt the presence of unimaginable power and strength that could destroy worlds and burn stars. His power and strength.

“I’ll fight you.”

“Fight me?” Even as the junior gods who had until recently been feasting struggled to maintain their existence, and the senior ones used their power to avoid suffering too much harm, the Jasper Emperor remained completely calm. “Do you really want to declare war on the Seventh Heaven?”

“If I must,” the General nodded.

“This is your home.”

“No!” The General snapped with the ferocity of a sword swing. “My home is there, down below, where you took me from.”

“We gave you life.”

“And I’m grateful for that,” the greatest swordsman bowed. “But I’ve already repaid the gods in full. I fought for thousands and thousands of epochs. Tirelessly. Without showing any mercy to myself or my enemies. I locked the Gates. I liberated this world. If you don’t wish to free me in turn, my Lord, I’ll fight for my freedom just as I fought for yours.”

“Freedom...” The voice sounded tired. “You’re freer than any of us, but you’re ready to declare war on the gods just to put on the strongest of chains? The chains of fate? I’ll probably have to discuss this with Liao Feng for several epochs to try and understand you a little better. Or maybe you don’t really understand yourself.”

“I’ll ask a third time, my Lord,” the General bowed low. Not out of supplication, but out of deep respect for this creature. “This will be the last time I ask nicely. Let me go.”

“Three times,” the voice seemed to smile. “I’ve heard that you never say anything three times... Little Miristal will miss you.”

Miristal... He liked to play with this girl in the gardens of the evening stars. She was the most beautiful of them. And the kindest. She had never called him by the name given to him by the gods. She was so unlike the arrogant Irmaril, who never got tired of showing off his power and beauty.

“What are you going to do down there, General? Amongst the mortals?” The Emperor asked suddenly. “Amidst their pain? Their hatred? Their suffering?”

“I’ll learn.”

“From mortals? By the Eternity! What are you going to learn from them, almighty swordsman?”

“Life,” the Black General replied firmly. Maybe down there, he would finally find out who he was. Why he had been born. What he needed a sword for. What the point was…

The voice laughed, “You’ve spent too much time with Liao Feng. Sometimes it seems to me that his words are the greatest of the forces that have ever appeared under the light of Eternity.”

The Black General wasn’t very patient. He took a step forward.

“What is your decision, my Lord?”

“So it’s time, is it?” The voice sighed. “The time has come for the Mountain of Skulls to appear and the coals are already waiting for their flame, the Potter is walking amongst the mortals, the fate of the Last King is sealed, the forge will soon leave the anvils, the chains are winding like snakes, and the walls are rising above the ground.”

The Black General recoiled. He didn’t understand what the Emperor was saying, but every word echoed in his soul with seals that formed... formed his Name…

“Thank you,” the General, who had found his Name, whispered. Flashing with black fire, he began his fall through the cloudy lands.

The Emperor, still sitting on the edge of the Seventh Heaven, watched the flash of black flame disappear into the white clouds: this was how the soul of the fallen god who’d decided to live amongst the mortals burned.

“My Emperor!” He heard Derger’s voice. “My Emperor!”

The God of War appeared next to him and showed him an empty casket from his library.

“He’s stolen-”

“I know what he’s stolen,” the voice interrupted him. He should’ve gone back. There was nothing he could do here. “Send someone to get him.”

“But-”

“The General will be weakened by his fall. He’ll be greatly weakened. Get the scrolls with our knowledge of the Ways back.”

“But what if-”

The Jasper Emperor took one last look at the black dot that had already disappeared into the distance.

“Send him to Eternity.”

***

Gasping for air, Hadjar woke up.

“By the Hammer of the Ancestors, he’s awake!”

“By the gods and demons! Princess, if it wasn’t for your medicine…”

Hadjar could barely make out the outlines of his companions leaning over him. He felt like he had dreamed. It had been a very strange dream… But he couldn’t remember it.

Chapter 1452

“W hat...” Holding his head, Hadjar got up and leaned against a tree with Lathea’s help. “What happened to me?”

He found it difficult to breathe. He loosened his clothes and inhaled deeply. Clouds of steam escaped from his mouth when he exhaled, but he didn’t feel the cold. On the contrary, it seemed like his whole body was burning. The energy in his meridians and Core raged. It was like a fever, but one that affected his energy. Something was happening inside him. It was almost as if his energy, just like an actual creature of flesh and blood, was trying to fight against an alien substance.

“Take this,” Lathea held out a small pill.

“What’s… this?”

“It’s Stardust,” the Princess explained. “It’ll help. Take it.”

Hands shaking, Hadjar took the medicine and, without hesitation, threw it into his mouth. As soon as the outer shell melted and the powder got into his bloodstream and spread through his meridians, his energy calmed down. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He could sense that somewhere deep inside his Core, something that didn’t originally belong to him had appeared.

“Are you okay, boy?” Abraham sounded concerned.

The other squad members looked at him almost like he was a leper, as if they had already written him off as doomed. Cultivators rarely got sick. Their physical or mental suffering was usually a result of grievous injuries or lingering wounds. If a cultivator couldn’t shrug off or heal from such damage, their years were numbered.

“I don’t know,” Hadjar answered honestly.

“It looks like an energy infection,” Lathea moved away from him and, after tying her hair back into a ponytail, drew a knife. “We need to make sure.”

She took a step toward Hadjar, but Guy, Abraham, and the dwarf all blocked her path at the same time. The latter even drew his axes.

“It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” Abraham raised his hands, “But I take care of the members of my squad. I’m not letting you simply cut him open.”

Hadjar wanted to remind him that he wasn’t part of Abraham’s squad, but he didn’t have the strength to argue. He could barely stand on his feet and was finding it hard to think at all.

“My mom died of this disease,” Lathea whispered.

“I’m sorry, Princess-”

“No, it’s okay, you couldn’t have known about-”

“-but could you give us more details?” Abraham finished.

“You’re a bastard,” Itia hissed.

“Calm down, this is rather serious... Okay, okay. Don’t swing your whip at me! I’m an old man, dammit!”

Hadjar could never figure out whether the old thief was fooling around or being serious.

“I understand the need,” the Princess nodded. “It happened when I was a little girl. A group of Green Limping Giants appeared in our lands.”

“A group of what now?”

“They’re monsters,” Lathea explained. “Their leaders are usually Celestial Stage beasts. The others are weaker, thankfully. They’re very dangerous. During their migrations, entire cities and families are destroyed. Not even all of the Forty Families are able to handle them.” The girl sighed, squeezed her eyes shut, and then continued. “My grandfather fell on the battlefield. My mom, thanks to his sacrifice, was able to finish off their leader. However, at the moment of his death, she became infected with his energy. We couldn’t diagnose the disease in time and she died.”

“What does this process entail, exactly?” Abraham pointed to the knife in Lathea’s hand.

“I need to make an incision over his Core, along his central meridian.”

“Along his central meridian?” The dwarf exclaimed. “By the Ancestors, woman! If you miss or your hand falters for even a moment, he’ll die faster than we can blink!”

“Honorable dwarf, I-”

“Come on. Get on with it.”

The others turned to Hadjar. They all looked worried.

“If you weren’t sure you could do it…” Hadjar had some strange desires running through his head right now. He was ready to tear into his own chest with his bare nails and rip out his Core if it would stop the soul-searing pain. “You wouldn’t have suggested it.”

Abraham sighed. Stepping aside, he stretched out his hand toward Hadjar.

“Do it,” he said.

Lathea nodded and walked over to the wounded man. He was breathing heavily. He looked pale. His tanned skin had turned gray, and his already gray hair looked like a translucent cloth swaying in the wind.

“You need to let me-”

“I’ll remove my body’s defenses,” Hadjar whispered. He spoke with extraordinary difficulty.

The Stardust had calmed his energy, but it hadn’t removed the heat inside his Core. This heat burned inside his body with an intensity worthy of Albadurt’s ancestors and their forges. It burned Hadjar’s very soul. With every passing moment, he could feel himself getting weaker.

“We need to set him down on the ground.”

Hadjar only vaguely understood what was happening. Someone’s hands gently lowered him to the ground. Someone put the hilt of a dagger between his teeth and asked him to bite down.

“I’m getting started,” he heard a somewhat familiar voice.

A length of cold steel touched his flesh. During his life, he’d managed to get acquainted with pain well enough. But what he felt as the simple mortal blade entered his energy body and cut through the space above his Core… The pain was such that white storms of agony whirled before Hadjar’s eyes. They were like clouds... clouds that he had already seen in his life, long ago. Or maybe not in his life... Something was happening to his memory and…

Everything became quiet. The world froze. The pain was gone. His consciousness gradually returned. He could make out the silhouette of Lathea washing the blood off her blade. It was black and viscous, not at all like the fluid that ran through human veins.

“And?” Abraham demanded impatiently.

“It’s as I thought,” Lathea said heavily. “This is an infection of alien energy. I have a cure for it, but…”

“Princess! By the gods and demons! Could you talk without dramatic pauses?”

The Princess shifted her gaze from the nervous Abraham to Hadjar.

“This is a very strong infection. I didn’t even know it was possible to get so infected by foreign energy. The medicine will only slow down the spread of the infection.”

“How long will I have?” Hadjar whispered.

“A few hours,” Lathea replied uncertainly. “Maybe a day. No longer.”

There was only silence in the clearing. Hadjar held out his hand and Lathea placed a small vial into it. After tipping the contents down his throat and feeling relieved, he could think more clearly.

“And then what?” Itia whispered, clutching her whip tightly. “Are we just going to watch him die?”

Silence answered her.

“Princess,” Abraham spoke after a while. “Maybe… there is at least some way out?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that-”

“Do not delay,” Abraham interrupted her sternly.

Lathea looked at Hadjar, and then looked around at the rest of them.

“There are two conditions,” she finally replied. “We have to immerse him in something that is extremely cold. This will keep the infection more stable and slow it down. And then he must purify his flesh and energy, and to do that-”

“He has to advance to the next stage of cultivation.”

“Considering his unstable aura and the fact that Hadjar has only recently become a Nameless, it would be impossible. I’ve never heard of anyone moving so quickly from the initial to the middle stage. Besides-”

“Princess!” Abraham growled.

“I’m sorry... We simply don’t have a medicine that can purify most of the alien energy. So if Hadjar... When Hadjar begins his transition to the next stage, he’ll have to fight the Ice Wolf that infected him with its energy.”

The Ice Wolf… They thought that the old beast was the cause of this. Hadjar wasn’t so sure about that.

“All we can do…” Lathea sighed. She still hadn’t put her dagger away. “Is to ease his suffering so that he goes to his forefathers’ house in the best possible way and-”

“To the north,” Hadjar whispered. He tried to get up, but couldn’t manage it.

“What, Hadjar-dan?” The dwarf reached out and helped him up.

“Take... me... to the north... to the waterfall...” Hadjar whispered, after which he waved his hand and a stream of blue wind froze in front of them. “The wind... will show…”

“Is that a True Name?” Lathea’s eyes widened.

Hadjar didn’t see what happened after that. He passed out again.

Chapter 1453

W hat... Where was he? Everything hurt. He was in a lot of pain.

“Are you coming back from a war?”

What? A war? Yes, he did think that he’d fought amongst the stars.

He opened his eyes. A woman was standing in front of him. Her black hair fell like a silken waterfall over her shoulders. It was wavy and dark, like the abyss beyond the Gates. He’d heard that mortals compared such things to a moonless night, but he’d never seen a night without moons. The stars were always shining in the Seventh Heaven. Mortals saw only their tiny reflections in the endless gardens where the black flowers of space bloomed.

Reflections… He saw his reflection in her eyes. Was that what he looked like in mortal form? He had tanned skin, black hair, and light eyes, eyes similar to the ice of the northern mountains. Hers were green, like a cat’s.

A wind was blowing.

He raised his hand.

“Don’t move,” she gripped his wrist.

He felt the touch of flesh for the first time. It was strong, but also warm and soft. Gentle.

The wind was blowing. His brother and only friend. It was glad to see that he had finally come down here. Now they could play and travel, not just fight amongst the endless star gardens.

He began to breathe for the first time in his life. He inhaled deeply, experiencing such unfamiliar smells: the smell of the wind, the smell of flowers... There were no plants here that were as exquisite as the ones in the gardens of the Seventh Heaven, but these smells were more beautiful than anything he had felt in the Seventh Heaven.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“My name is...” He tensed. “My name is…” A sharp pain pierced his consciousness. And what a feeling that was! “I don’t remember,” he answered honestly.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and the iron bracelets along her arms rang out.

“What are those?” He asked. He had heard from Liao Fengg that mortals captured their own kind to serve them. “Are you a slave?”

“I’m not,” the girl smiled. He saw a smile for the first time. It was as beautiful and warm as the touch of her hand had been. “That’s just the way it is in these lands. Young girls, those who haven’t yet found a decent husband, wear bracelets.”

“And then?”

“Then we give them to our husband, and he ties our hair back.”

“With what?”

The girl shrugged her shoulders. Only then did he realize that she was wrapping some cloth around his... what were they called again... wounds? Deep, bleeding cuts that covered his entire body. He was lying in the dust in the middle of some road that was little more than a few strips of land in the middle of tall grass. There were carts going around here. Mortals used them to transport themselves and food. They couldn’t move through space by willpower alone, as they did in the boundless Seventh Heaven. They had to walk. He looked down. His legs were fine. It felt good…

“It depends,” she replied. “My father, for example, got a colored silk ribbon in the city. He had to work for carpenters as an apprentice for a month to get it. But, you see, now he’s a carpenter himself, so it all worked out.”

“Father…”

“Don’t you know what a father is?”

He knew from those books and scrolls that he’d read in the Seventh Heaven that people had parents. And their parents had parents. And so on, indefinitely. The ancestors’ Spirits would welcome their descendants into the house of their forefathers with bread and honey, then ask about their deeds and pass judgment on them.

“Where am I?”

The girl tied some knots and, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead, straightened up. Unlike the famous General of the Seventh Heaven, who only had the black, shredded remnants of his armor covering his body after his fall, she was dressed a lot better: she wore a long, blue skirt and a darker blouse with red ruffles. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing beautiful skin covered in small scars. She was obviously no stranger to working with her hands. He wondered what it would be like to do something with his own two hands… He looked at them. They were large, with thick fingers. They only knew how to hold a sword and nothing else.

“You’re seven days from the front lines,” the girl replied.

Front lines? He’d closed the Gates... Oh, right, she was talking about human wars.

“Your horse-”

“What?”

“Your horse, did it run away?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t want to start his first day of mortal life with a lie. He didn’t know who his forefather was or who his foremother was. But if he died, he didn’t want to meet them with the brand of a liar marring his soul.

“What is that?” The girl pointed to the burnt, cracked casket that he was holding tightly with his left hand. “I tried to open it, but I couldn’t.”

Of course she couldn’t. This was a spatial artifact created by the best of the Seventh Heaven’s masters. It contained more space within it than a human’s eyes could cover from horizon to horizon.

“It’s all I have,” he said honestly.

She didn’t ask what was inside of it, and he was grateful for that. He wasn’t sure he could open the casket now, since he was a mortal, and whether he even needed it. He hadn’t come here looking for power. If he’d wanted that, the illustrious General would’ve remained in the Seventh Heaven. No, after falling, he was now a mere mortal and couldn’t even summon the sword from his soul into the physical world. What he kept in the casket were the scrolls that explained various Paths, Power, Energies, Soul, Will, and Words. He’d brought them with him to... To be honest, he didn’t know why. It was like with his Name. He knew he had one now, but he couldn’t remember it. In that same vein, he knew that he’d needed to take all this knowledge with him, but he couldn’t remember why.

“My name is…” The wind blew. It rustled the leaves and made the grass sway, drowning out her words. “Helen. In the old language, it translates to-”

“A flower in the wind.”

“Do you know the old language?”

He knew many old languages. Countless mortal kingdoms and countries had formed during his war. And many of them had disappeared. Records of them were kept in the libraries of the Seventh Heaven. Two epochs was a long time, especially for someone who had nothing else to do but immerse himself in books, vicariously exploring places he was never destined to visit. He’d learned a lot in that time.

“Come on.” She put his right arm around her shoulder and helped him up. “I live not far from here. I don’t have a very big house, and it’s a long way to the village, but I think we can find a place for you there.”

Barely moving his legs, he hobbled, with her help, toward the hill covered in flowers.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of whom? You?” She laughed melodically. “In this state, you are no more dangerous than a stray cat.”

He looked up at the sky. There were clouds floating there. They looked different from below. She was probably right: the Black General, the entity who had defeated myriads of creatures beyond the Verge, was no more dangerous to a mere mortal than a cat in his current condition.

He smiled. For the first time in all the thousands of thousands of epochs that he’d existed, he smiled.

***

“Hadjar!” Someone slapped his face. “Wake up! We’re here! Time is running out!”

He opened his eyes. A woman was standing in front of him. The snow swirled, falling on his face. He seemed to be dreaming again.

Chapter 1454

L eaning on Lathea and Gustaf, Hadjar got to his feet. A blue haze hung over the river of Liquid Ice.

“A river!” The dwarf breathed out and made a sacred sign. “A whole river of Liquid Ice... With this, my people will be able to forge armor and weapons for an army that... that…”

“Will surpass the army of the Black General during the Battle of the Heavens and the Earth,” Hadjar offered.

“Exactly,” Alba-udun was so amazed by what he saw that he couldn’t even express his emotions.

Hadjar now had no doubt that they hadn’t come here by chance. The wolf had really been waiting for him all this time and had even lured him in. Otherwise, there was no way Hadjar would’ve simply come across perhaps the last place in the whole world where such an incredible amount of the rarest of materials could be found.

“Let’s go,” Lathea had already stepped forward when the dwarf once more moved to stand in front of her.

“My dear dwarf,” Abraham drew his saber and dagger again. “I hope you understand that there are a lot more of us here than-”

“You don’t understand anything, human thief,” the dwarf spat, interrupting him.

He pulled out a small throwing hatchet from his belt. The others tensed. The mysteries of various Weapons and multicolored energies swirled in the air. The dwarf swung and threw the hatchet behind him. Spinning wildly, it flew through the air, then suddenly began to slow down. Its rotations stalled until the weapon simply fell into the snow and broke apart into hundreds of tiny ice fragments.

“The Liquid Ice can freeze even a Heaven Emperor,” the dwarf said heavily. “Only those who possess the Names of Fire or the North can approach even a small pond of Liquid Ice. And this is a river! Out of all of us, only I have the Name of Fire.”

The rest of the squad looked at the dwarf with a little incredulity, but the fact that Alba-udun possessed such a Name, most likely a junior one, explained his abilities and lava Techniques. Without possessing such a Name, it would be simply impossible for him to use them.

“What a wonderful dwarf we have!” Abraham chuckled and scratched his beard. “In my entire life, I’ve only met a few cultivators who possessed the junior Names of the original elements.”

Many Heaven Emperors and even some Nameless possessed junior Names, but only a rare few possessed the Names of the original elements: Earth, Water, Fire, and Air.

“Lean on me, Hadjar-dan,” Albadurt stood next to Hadjar who, not trusting his shaky legs, put his whole weight on the dwarf’s shoulders. “Come on. A glorious battle awaits you, my friend. I’m sure they’ll sing a song about this someday as well.”

The dwarf and the human hobbled toward the river. By the Evening Stars, this short distance they had to overcome seemed longer than a hundred miles to the rapidly weakening Hadjar.

“The foundation of your current stage is very weak!” Lathea shouted. “A premature transition to the next stage…”

Her voice faded, as if the frost emanating from the Liquid Ice could bind even sound. But Hadjar already knew what she wanted to say. If one’s advancement through the stages was too fast, without strengthening the foundation first, a cultivator only made themselves weaker in the long run. That was why even the most talented heirs of the richest families needed mentors who were specialized in strengthening this very foundation.

There were only two surefire ways to do so: steady training coupled with expert guidance, or life and death battles. Hadjar hadn’t yet managed to participate in such a battle at the initial stage of the Nameless level. The boar had been dying and focused on going out on his own terms. Battles simulated by his neural network didn’t count either. Their quantity also couldn’t simply turn into quality.

The dwarf’s words were reassuring. He really did have a battle waiting for him, and not just against the Ice. If he wasn’t mistaken, some of the energy currently in his Core didn’t belong to the Ice Wolf. And, like any other fragment or Shadow, it wouldn’t give up without a fight. A battle awaited him. A battle against…

***

He woke up under a canopy that he had attached to a building that was too big to be called a barn, but also too small to be called a house. However, this didn’t prevent Helen from calling her abode a ‘house.’ Of course, compared to the Palaces of the Seventh Heaven, it looked...

“Nameless!” A familiar voice called out to him. That was what she’d decided to call him, and he didn’t mind. Why not?

Stretching and yawning, he covered his eyes with his hand. The most beautiful of women stood over him. It was strange that all the other people from the villages where they sold flowers didn’t think so, but he didn’t really care about that.

“Are you sleeping in again?”

“I…”

He didn’t get to finish speaking. A bucket of cold water was dumped on him. Teeth chattering, Nameless rolled out from under the canopy and, howling like a wounded creature from behind the Verge, rushed to rub his body down with some hay.

“Woman!” He said when he’d finally warmed up a little. “Are you insane? It isn’t even summer yet!”

Helen just laughed and, putting down the bucket, whispered something into her hands, then blew on them. A warm wind blew over Nameless and he warmed up at once.

“Magic,” he said, looking at the dark-haired girl. “Do you know where you learned it?”

That was why they lived on the outskirts, far from the village. The villagers didn’t really welcome the sorceress, or the witch, as they called her. It didn’t matter that she was the chief’s eldest daughter. It didn’t matter that she knew how to use the flowers and herbs in her meadow to heal people. She understood the forest, its inhabitants, roots, and leaves. The villagers were simply too afraid of her. They didn’t understand her, so they didn’t want to see her on their territory.

Nameless had managed to comprehend this during his year of mortal life.

“No one knows,” Helen smiled and tucked her black hair behind her ear with a familiar gesture. The sunlight shone in her green eyes. “Some of us are born with the ability to speak to forests and flowers, fire and water. I just asked the wind to warm you up and it warmed you up.”

Nameless turned his gaze to the small steps leading up to the house. There, under one of the creaking ones, was the casket, the contents of which could explain all of this. He’d learned a lot this year, but most importantly, he now understood that it was better to keep this casket closed.

Lifting his gaze toward the still cold sky of early spring and shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, Nameless inhaled the fresh air with relish and then exhaled.

“Sometimes, I think you seem even stranger than I am!” Helen laughed.

“I am. Probably…”

It would be good to only live out his thirty or forty remaining mortal years and then go to his forefathers, leaving the knowledge of the Seventh Heaven to rot.

“Come on!” She walked up to him and, standing on her toes, she reached out to ruffle his long, wavy hair. “We need to collect some roots before Telie comes to get the medicine.”

“Okay,” Nameless nodded and hurried after Helen. “Can we have a blueberry pie for dinner?”

“Let me think about it,” the girl pretended to mull it over, and then abruptly switched to running. “Only if you catch me!”

***

“Hey... Hadjar-dan... hey…”

Hadjar opened his eyes. The dwarf was standing next to him, shrouded in flames, and breathing on his hands, which were covered in a more contained, green glow. Despite all of this and the two fur coats he wore, Albadurt’s teeth still chattered. His skin was blue, and clouds of steam were escaping from his mouth. Hadjar also felt the bitter cold. It froze his thoughts, penetrating into his very soul. The river was about twenty feet away.

“I... can’t... go any farther...” The dwarf wheezed out. “I just can’t...”

“Thank… you…” Hadjar’s teeth chattered as he replied. “My… friend…”

It was the first time he’d called the dwarf his friend. After all, only a true friend could’ve dragged him for so long when every step meant risking his life.

“Good luck!” The dwarf replied. “I’ll… be… ten feet away... I’ll… be waiting… over there…”

Hadjar could barely nod. Drawing his sword, he used it to propel himself forward as he crawled toward the river.

No. Today wasn’t the day when he would meet his forefathers. She was still waiting for him. The most beautiful woman in the world. With black hair. With green eyes. With a melodious laugh. Arkemeya was still waiting for him.

Chapter 1455

H adjar didn’t feel like he was merely crawling along the ground, but more like he was climbing up a steep cliff. Each new movement was agonizingly difficult. His mind and body refused to obey him. Bound by ice and frost, he gradually started falling asleep.

“No,” he whispered through his cracked, bleeding lips. “It isn’t my time yet... It isn’t my time yet…”

He didn’t know whether the Ice Wolf had been right or not. He didn’t know whether he possessed the Name of the North or not. He didn’t know whether Lathea had correctly guessed that the heat inside his Core and the cold of the Liquid Ice could neutralize each other. None of that mattered to him. He kept moving forward because that was all that mattered at the moment — moving forward.

***

“Here you are,” Nameless held out a small pot with a concoction made from medicinal herbs. “Add one spoonful to your tea for a month.”

“Thank you,” a boy from one of the neighboring villages bowed.

His name was… He’d forgotten his name. It was so amazing to forget something. It was a completely new feeling for him, and one he still hadn’t been able to get used to over these past three years.

“Is it really necessary to come to the wedding wearing white?” The boy squinted at him.

Nameless looked at his right wrist. There were metal bracelets there.

“That is the way the ancestors of our village did it,” he smiled and tousled the boy’s hair.

“Well, all right,” the boy muttered and, after thanking him and bowing once again, ran off somewhere.

Left alone on the porch, Nameless yawned, cracked his neck, stretched his stiff shoulders and, closing his eyes, inhaled the fresh air. Summer was ending. The sky was getting grayer by the day. White, fluffy clouds were being replaced by heavy and gray rainclouds. A thunderstorm season was about to begin. Titania had probably already retreated to her ever-blooming gardens. Soon, Boreas and Mab would come here. They would bring cold and blizzards with them, covering the earth in snow and ice, so that it, like an exhausted lover sleeping under a blanket, could rest and recover from the passionate caresses of summer and spring.

He looked at the flowers. Perhaps the only things he missed during the reign of Boreas and Mab were the flowers and greenery. But, as Liao Feng had once said, everything must be balanced.

There was neither good nor evil; neither summer nor winter. There was only this very moment, in which everything was as it should be, because if it were otherwise, this moment wouldn’t exist.

Up there, in the Seventh Heaven, Nameless had never understood the Sage’s words. He was the weakest of the gods, but also the most respected. He had neither titles nor Palaces, neither libraries nor servants. Only a small number of people somewhere far away, at the Eastern Limit, revered him. But even so, there was not a single god, demon, or Sidhe who didn’t bow before Liao Feng’s wisdom. His status among the gods had reached almost the same level as that of the Jasper Emperor.

“Maybe you once walked amongst the mortals…” Nameless said pensively.

He took out a small crafting project that he had been working on for the last six months: a wooden musical instrument, to which he’d fitted the tendons of deer and birch pegs. He touched the strips…

“Strings,” he corrected himself.

The words he then said touched the strings and extracted music from them. His fingers moved faster and faster, until the music poured out. It flew over flowers and meadows, over rivers and lakes. It rustled amongst the crowns of trees and the fluttering birds. It then moved on, going higher and higher, toward the distant sky. There, it reached the ears of the one who was looking for her lover.

Nameless saw a whirlwind of petals that came from the most beautiful of flowers. When it subsided, a woman appeared in the flower meadow. She was so beautiful that the flowers next to her looked plain by comparison. Wearing a snow-white dress, she had hair the color of black marble and bronzed skin. She flapped her white wings behind her and, bending down, picked up a white dandelion. The blue bracelets on her wrists rang out, and her crown, which looked like miniature wings, fluttered in the wind. Her slender body couldn’t be imitated by any sculptor. The tenderness of her skin and touch were beyond even the best of the magical fabrics of the Seventh Heaven. The depth of her eyes could swallow entire oceans, and their radiance eclipsed even Miristal’s smile.

Ashtarie, the Goddess of Love, one of the entities who had once breathed life into a dead tree, making it into the…

“General,” she said, holding out the dandelion.

Nameless took it and put it down next to him.

The most beautiful of all the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven. The one whose scrolls contained the records of all the destinies that were intertwined with each other. Ashtarie never knew whether it was for a brief moment or for the rest of their lives. She just wrote the names down, nothing more.

“I’ve been looking for you, my beloved warrior,” she stretched out her hand toward him, but Nameless moved away from her.

The goddess’ eyes flashed and the world abruptly dimmed for a moment. Love wasn’t always gentle and nurturing. Liao Feng had said that it was one of the most powerful forces that combined both the principles of creation and destruction. Nameless hadn’t understood this until the moment when he and Helen had had a fight for the first time and then reconciled afterwards.

“My name is Nameless,” the former god replied. “What could you, a goddess, possibly want from a mere mortal?”

“A mere mortal?” Ashtarie laughed. Her laughter was so enchanting that even the most musical of birds couldn’t hope to match it. “Can a mere mortal declare war on the entire Seventh Heaven?”

“Declare war?” He was surprised at first, and then understood everything. “So that’s what the Emperor told you… That I declared war on you…”

“You were banished here to the mortal world.”

He said nothing. He only touched the strings of his instrument with his fingers.

“What a wonderful invention, General!” Ashtarie sat down next to him. She smelled like life itself. “May I give it a name?”

“A name from Ashtarie herself?”

She nodded and her blue bracelets rang out again.

“When I name it,” she said. “All creatures that hear it will be enchanted by its sound. Bards will compose ballads on it. Minstrels will sing about myths and legends with it. Women will give it their heart. Men will give it their soul.”

Before Nameless could answer, the goddess bent over his crafting project and whispered softly, “Wake up, Ron’Jah, you’re alive now.”

Her words, like Nameless’ own words recently, touched the instrument and forever became its essence. Its Name. This made the instrument its true self. It gave it the opportunity to become a part of the moment.

“Tell me, General, what’s keeping you here?” Ashtarie suddenly asked. “Derger was sent after you because you stole the knowledge of our Ways. Use them, become yourself again, and come with me. I’ll ask my father and siblings to forgive you. The doors of my Palace and... Not only the doors…” She almost touched him, but stopped herself in time. The touch of pure love would bring instant death to a mortal, “…Are always open to you.”

Chapter 1456

S inking into the Liquid Ice up to his waist, Hadjar sat down in a lotus position. He felt an incredibly dense substance wrap around him like a frosty cage that cooled the rapidly growing heat in his chest.

With an effort of will, he took out the stone he’d obtained in the temple of the dark priests from his spatial ring. A slightly pulsating fragment of gray ore froze in the air. His neural network immediately provided an analysis:

[Object: Unknown. Not enough data.

Features: Unknown. Not enough data.

Abs. energy unit content: 32.6.

Weight: 24kg.]

“That should be enough,” he said and began to circulate the energy in the way that was described in the ‘Path Through the Stars’ meditation Technique.

***

Nameless shifted his gaze from Ashtarie to the flower meadow. The flowers no longer pleased his eyes. The sky didn’t excite him with thoughts of an approaching storm. Everything became dark and boring.

“Liao Feng was right when he said that everything around you is meaningless and fleeting,” Nameless put down the Ron’Jah and got to his feet. He approached a flower and, bending over it, covered it with his hands to shield it from Ashtarie. The little flower straightened up and opened its bud, showing its beauty to the world. “He claimed that love was the crown of everything. We didn’t understand him correctly. A crown symbolizes the end in this case. Everything begins with you, Ashtarie, and everything ends with you.”

The goddess stared at the back of the former General, and then, jingling her bracelets, waved him away.

“You’ve spent too much time with the Sage. His words have poisoned your mind.”

“Wisdom is poison,” Nameless nodded. “The Sage said so as well. A small amount of it, just like medicine, makes life better, and a large dose, on the contrary, only makes it harder. I didn’t understand that before. These days, I can’t help but think about how hard the life of the wisest of those who’ve ever lived, are living, and will ever live must be.”

“The gods don’t live, General, we-”

“We exist,” Nameless interrupted her. “Imagine, Ashtarie, what a burden Liao Feng is carrying. Imagine knowing that you don’t live, but merely exist. Imagine having the power to fix it, but also the wisdom to leave everything as it is.”

“Well, if you’re so concerned about my uncle’s fate, don’t worry. His suffering will soon be over. In less than a hundred years, the Girtai people will perish, and Liao Feng will fade away along with them.”

Nameless turned to Ashtarie. Of course, since he was now mortal, he wasn’t able to discern whether the goddess was lying to him or telling the truth, but it wasn’t necessary. Ashtarie didn’t have a single reason to lie about it.

“He took in a disciple.” She twirled the dandelion around in her fingers and looked up at the sky. “A small, white snake.”

“A white snake?”

She nodded.

“Liao Feng says that the snake, after gaining wisdom, will become… what did he call it... a dragon? Yes, that’s the name he wants to give his disciple. White Dragon.”

To be a disciple of the God of Wisdom... Nameless had once asked the Sage for this honor, but he’d been refused. He’d said that the strong survived and the wise thrived and that the world couldn’t consist of only one of those. He’d also said that wisdom without power was stupidity. Nameless still didn’t understand what he’d meant.

“What’s her name, Nameless?”

He didn’t answer. The goddess blew out a puff of air and the dandelion flew away on the spring winds fleeing to the south and east. Winter was approaching with the slowness and inevitability of a proud Princess.

“I’m just curious to know which mortal you’ve replaced me with. I’m the Goddess of Love and Beauty. The most beautiful of all women.”

They both knew she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in existence. The one who actually deserved that title was currently a stone statue in the middle of Derger’s garden. And somewhere out here, under this very sky, the man she loved had been wandering for hundreds of epochs, splitting his soul countless times but not losing his purpose in the process. Ashtarie had even made an elixir for him. If the Potter drank it, he would be able to gain the power of a god for a moment, and then his soul, and all its fragments, would burn. She’d fulfilled the Emperor’s orders, but she still wanted to remain the only one who could outshine Miristal’s smile.

“You could just check your scrolls.”

“I could,” the goddess didn’t deny it, “But I want to hear it from your own mouth instead.”

He turned to the forest. His fiancée was there right now. She was collecting roots for future use.

“Helen.”

“Helen…” Ashtarie repeated. “What a beautiful name. In our language, it sounds like Ark-”

***

Hadjar gritted his teeth. The energy from the stone, which was alien to this reality, resisted his will. He had to fight against it, the heat inside his Core, the cold of the Ice, and his approaching death, all at once. Clutching the hilt of his Blue Blade, he fought as bravely as he had so long ago, at the Blue Wind Ridge. No matter who the enemy in front of him was, he wouldn’t surrender to fate. If he had to do the impossible to ascend to the Seventh Heaven, he would do it three times over.

***

“I know.”

For many thousands of years, they had sat like this on the threshold of her Palace, watching the stars play in the evening garden. Maybe some of the mortals could only dream of such bliss. However, the Black General would’ve traded all those epochs with her for just one more moment of him and Helen laughing as they tried to make a cake for their own wedding. That had been yesterday. Yesterday… Such a beautiful word. As Liao Feng had once said, it was far more poignant than ‘past eras.’ ‘Yesterday’ described more than a thousand of these epochs ever could.

“I can wait, General,” Ashtarie said. She caressed the air an inch from his face. “She’ll die. And you won’t stay mortal forever. That’s your essence. A war will come. Large or small. You will eventually answer the call of your essence.”

“If she goes to the forefathers before me, I’ll follow her.”

Ashtarie smiled, “You’ve always been so naive, General. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with you.”

She touched one of her bracelets and it turned into a long, blue silk ribbon.

“This is my gift to you both,” she placed the ribbon down on the steps of the house. “Put it in her hair. If she is your true love, the ribbon won’t untie.”

“If you already know that this is-”

“The stronger the love, the less often it is reciprocated, stupid General,” Ashtarie’s eyes became sad for a moment. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be…”

The goddess didn’t finish speaking. Nameless realized that Liao Feng wasn’t the only one with wisdom in the Seventh Heaven.

“My sister, Kestanie, has already chosen this house for the unborn soul of Gwel. The wizard will be fine here.”

“What do you mean?”

Ashtarie disappeared. The world once again shone with all the colors that had faded with her arrival. Only the blue silk ribbon lying on the steps of the house was left behind as a reminder that Ashtarie, the Goddess of Love, had set foot here.

Chapter 1457

H adjar was falling deeper and deeper. Somewhere even deeper than the blue sky, the endless meadow, and the hill with the stone and the tree. He was falling deeper into his own soul and Core. He collapsed right into the fierce, alien energy.

“Shit!” Hadjar swore when he regained consciousness.

He found himself standing in the middle of an endless field. Overhead, from behind the clouds, the setting sun was shining. It filled the sky with blood and red-hot gold. A north wind was blowing. It made thousands of torn standards flutter. Some were broken and some were whole, some were stuck in the ground or frozen in the grip of the bony hands of dead soldiers. Shattered armor, broken arrows, twisted cannons, smashed skulls, and countless weapons were everywhere. Wherever his eye wandered, he found only the battlefield. He had seen this sort of thing more than once or twice.

“Who are you?”

Hadjar turned around.

There was a man standing behind him. He was wearing black armor, a black cloak on his back, and a blue belt around his waist. A blade of darkness was clutched in his hand. A helmet covered his face.

Hadjar had known from the very beginning whose energy was actually in his Core. He’d sensed it even as he’d been escaping the temple of the dark priests together with Lathea.

“I’m Hadjar Darkhan.”

“Darkhan…” The man drawled. “Are you one of those who were forged from my flesh to guard my prison?”

Hadjar didn’t answer him. He recalled Freya’s story about Aldajir, a chained giant who had been punished for leaving the Mountain of Skulls and continuing his line with a mortal woman. But this couldn’t possibly be the Mountain of Skulls. There was only a tiny bit of the Black General’s power in his Core. A fragment. A reflection.

“Why have you come here, warrior?”

This Black General clearly didn’t know the one who was up on that hill in the middle of Hadjar’s soul. Damn it, it was all so complicated that his head ached. But he knew one thing.

“If I don’t kill you, I’ll die.”

“That’s an honest answer,” the General held up his sword in front of him. “Then we’ll fight, Hadjar Darkhan. Please, tell me your true name, so that when your skull makes this mountain higher, I’ll be able to remember your honor and courage.”

Hadjar drew his Blue Blade and assumed a fighting stance.

“I am the Wind of the Northern Valleys.”

The enemy’s face was hidden by his helmet, but even so, Hadjar was able to spot the Black General’s surprised expression.

“So be it,” he nodded.

Their battle began.

***

“Nameless! Nameless!”

Hiding the ribbon in his pocket, he turned to the path going under the hill. The same boy who had only recently come for a remedy was running along it.

“What is it? Did you forget something?”

“It’s Helen!” The boy shouted. “The hunters saw her get dragged away by wolves!”

His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t even know it could do that. But that didn’t matter right now.

“What?”

“There,” the boy pointed to the northeast. “Helen was picking roots when the Emerald Wolves came out of the forest and dragged her away. The hunters returned with their prey, but couldn’t…”

Nameless didn’t listen to the rest. Without putting on his boots, he ran in the indicated direction. Only one thought rang like a bell in his head: I hope she’ll be okay! He and Helen lived in harmony with the forest. The animals came to them with wounds and the couple healed them. The Emerald Wolves would never attack Helen. She took care of their litter in the winter. She left them roots and sometimes even meat, if they had a surplus of it.

Nameless ran as fast as he could, but his mortal legs couldn’t keep up with his thoughts.

“Faster! Faster!” He urged himself. However, his flesh couldn’t keep up with the demigod’s will. He had once moved with only the effort of thought.

When he reached the forest, he didn’t pay attention to the stones that hobbled his feet, or to the branches that cut his face, chest, and arms.

He ran as fast as he could until he found himself in a thicket. He had never been this far before. The sun hardly ever shone here, as it was too difficult for the rays of sunlight to break through the dense cover of the treetops.

“Where is she?”

He looked around, but saw only trees, moss, and boulders. He heard only birds and the creaking of trees bending under the ever-increasing intensity of the wind.

“How can I…”

He was a warrior. A General. He knew how to behave on a battlefield. He knew how to find an enemy. But he had no idea what to do in a forest. Helen had tried to teach him, but…

A lightning bolt flashed, illuminating the world for a moment. A thunderclap filled the air. It was like the battle drums were once more beating and the army of the Seventh Heaven was standing behind him again. The beasts that tormented the humans were like the creatures beyond the Verge. They were the enemy. The forest was a battlefield. Just as he’d once found his enemies in order to protect the Seventh Heaven, now he would find them in order to protect Helen.

Nameless lowered his hand to his belt, but felt only empty air. Where was his sword? Where was his armor? Where was his army?

A lightning bolt flashed. A thunderclap rumbled. Nameless fell to his knees. Even if he opened the casket right now, he wouldn’t have enough time to regain his power and skills. He was just a mere mortal and… His clear eyes shone. That didn’t mean he would give up. Stretching out his hand and gritting his teeth, he ran his palm over a stone. Drops of red blood fell to the ground. Nameless drew a sign and wrote a Name.

“Old man,” he whispered. “We fought well together. We saved each other’s lives many times. I won’t go into who owes whom. I’m just asking you to help me.”

The wind died down. The trees fell silent, but not because the storm had subsided. Even mightier than before, it hit the ground with a vengeance. A branching, white serpent made up of lightning bolts slowly descended through the black clouds. As slowly as the tall, old man walked along the moss. His body was hidden by chainmail armor. A thick, gray beard fell to his chest. He carried a heavy, two-handed sword on his back. He was Boreas, the North Wind.

“What you want...” He boomed in a deep, rumbling voice. “Derger will be able to find you. Maybe not now. Maybe it will take him years and years. But if I do this, he will find you eventually.”

Nameless said nothing.

“Do you really want to sacrifice everything?”

“Your words, Boreas, sound the same as the Emperor’s.”

“Maybe because he was right.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“You know, they don’t really just hand out gifts in the north. Do you have something to give me in return, Nameless?”

Only then did he realize that, in his haste, he’d grabbed the first thing that he’d been able to reach. He was holding his Ron’Jah. He handed it to Boreas.

“That’s all I own, apart from my life,” he said. “As payment, I offer you all my possessions.”

Boreas took the instrument.

“The first of its kind. Named by Ashtarie and created by the Black General. It doesn’t have an equal…”

“Boreas!” Nameless urged.

“I wanted to keep it for myself,” the old man sighed, “As a memento of our glorious battles. But, apparently, it’s not meant to be. If you take it, the next time we meet, we won’t be fighting side by side, but face to face.”

Nameless took a step forward. His eyes were blazing with fire. It seemed as if drums were beating as an army rose up behind the mortal, his black cloak fluttered, and his dark armor shone with the blood of his enemies.

“Tell them all,” he said, and it was like a storm was thundering. “Tell the Emperor, the demons, the Danu people, the armies of mortals, the legions of creatures from beyond the Verge. Anyone who dares come here. Anyone who threatens this land. I’ll kill you all and send your souls to your forefathers. And know this, old man: I won’t need the power of a demigod to do so.”

“We have no forefathers, General.”

“Trust me,” he pulled his Black Blade out of the ground. “If you come after those who are dear to me with blade and fire, you’ll still meet them. You have my word.”

A lightning bolt flashed. The old man disappeared, and the mortal, now armed with a sword as black as night, rushed deep into the forest. He knew where his enemy was.

Chapter 1458

S he was lying on the ground, wounded and covered in blood and dirt. Her torn dress covered her beautiful, injured body. He bent over her and, his hand trembling, he waved it over her mouth. She was still breathing. Helen was still breathing.

“That’s good,” Nameless sighed in relief.

Leaning against a tree, he plunged his sword into the ground. All around him, the remains of the Emerald Wolves could be seen. Some had been cut in half, others ripped apart by his bare hands, and others butchered and reduced to mincemeat. A pack of almost fifty of them hadn’t managed to finish what they’d started. He didn’t know why their friends had suddenly turned against them. They’d always maintained a good relationship with the forest and with this pack in particular.

However, the General didn’t care about that right now. Covered in bites, with pieces of his flesh completely torn off, standing in a pool of his own blood, he looked up at the dark sky. The storm gradually moved farther to the west, leaving behind a fresh wind in the forest, which so pleasantly blew across his heated skin. He felt no pain. His heart beat slower and slower. Thump-thump... Thump… Thump... Nameless put his hand to his chest and listened to his heart beating.

“So… I do have one...”

He remembered the words of that mortal’s beloved. He’d gotten along well with Tisseh... As much as a prisoner and their overseer could get along, that is. During the thousands of years that they’d spent together in Derger’s garden, they’d had unhurried conversations and had contemplated their reflections in the surface of the Eye of the Gods.

And in all those thousands of years, right until she had been turned to stone, despite the abundance of the Seventh Heaven and the beauty of the gods, she had longed for home and her lover, a simple potter. He’d asked the girl how that was possible. She had been surprised by his question, answering that only someone who had no heart could ask such a thing.

“Now... I understand,” Nameless whispered.

While holding Helen’s hand, he would never have asked such a stupid question. His eyelids got heavy and slowly began to droop. He wondered what the house of his forefathers would be like… Would he meet Helen there? Would they welcome him with bread and honey? Would they sit him down at the table and ask him about all his deeds? He would tell them about those few years that he’d spent in a village of mortals with a woman who’d meant much more to him than the whole world that he had protected for thousands of epochs ever had.

He felt a soft wind warming his frozen bones and soul. He felt the touch of the ears of wheat and rye, which he’d helped the villagers collect in the autumn. He heard dogs barking and children laughing. He heard preparations being made for the holiday that marked the change of the seasons. He saw them dressing up the scarecrows they would burn in a festive fire, seeing off spring and summer. He was going home…

“It isn’t time for you to leave yet, illustrious General.”

He opened his eyes. In front of him stood a figure wearing a tattered, old cloak. Nameless couldn’t see neither the face nor the body of this creature. But according to the stories he’d heard from the fairies and junior gods, he knew that under this cloak, there was such an incredible ugliness that it was impossible to erase it from one’s memory. Anyone who had ever seen his appearance was forever doomed to see him in their nightmares.

“Have you... come to… take revenge... on me?” Nameless asked.

He tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t. Maybe if a few years had passed before his battle against the wolves, he would’ve been able to regain his knowledge of the Sword. Not even the power of a demigod. Only the knowledge. That would’ve been enough to let him protect Helen and the villagers from anyone who might come after them. Even from the Emperor himself. The Black General knew something the other gods didn’t — mortals were much stronger than they appeared.

The figure dropped down beside him. Darkness enveloped his face. Maybe that was for the best.

“Why should I take revenge on you, General?” The figure asked. “You were just a dog following orders. Who would take revenge on a loyal dog?”

Nameless grinned. He wanted to rip the hood off the figure’s head, but he couldn’t move.

“Why... have you come?”

“To make a deal, of course.”

“A deal?” The General was surprised. He remembered rumors he’d heard in the Seventh Heaven about one small incident. “Didn’t... your deal with Helmer... wean you... off that?”

The General could feel how much these words hurt the wanderer.

“The nightmare will get what’s coming to him one day,” he replied. “But he is an Emissary of the Prince, deprived of honor and dignity, and you’re a valiant General. You’re completely different entities. I trust you.”

“Why?”

“Tisseh trusted you,” he replied, as if that could explain any phenomenon under the evening stars.

“What... do you... want... Potter?” The General asked with great difficulty.

“I want you to live, General.” The creature beneath the cloak held out its arm. It was covered in scabs, ulcers, oozing pus, and white worms crawled along the fleshy bones as flies swarmed over the torn nails. “You’ll live and remember.”

The hand touched Nameless’ shoulder, and his pain went away. The wounds on his body were rapidly healing. His blood was flowing back into his veins and arteries. The same thing happened to Helen when the Potter touched her.

“Remember who saved you.” The figure straightened up and, turning around, went off somewhere into the depths of the forest, carrying away the echo of the words that sounded in the rustling of the treetops. “The war where we’ll fight alongside each other is still to come, my future friend.”

Friend? He’d never heard that word before. He wondered what it meant.

“Nameless?” Helen sat up.

He couldn’t restrain himself. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tightly and buried his face in her fragrant hair. She smelled the same as always. She smelled of life.

“What... What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the General said. “The most important thing is that you’re okay... The most important thing is that everything is okay…”

She stroked his hair and whispered something in his ear. Her gaze was glued to the black sword stuck in the ground. It was as black as darkness itself. It reminded her of an old legend she’d heard from her grandmother. The legend said that this world was guarded by a General in chains, a man who relentlessly fought against demons and monsters who wanted to devour the sun and moon. Such a beautiful fairy tale…

Chapter 1459

H adjar pushed his opponent away with his shoulder. Spinning his blade in front of him and deflecting the Black General’s sword, he stepped back, creating some distance between them. His body felt like it had been burned, and he recoiled a little — the broken sword of one of the corpses had cut his thigh. Losing his balance, Hadjar almost missed a powerful attack aimed right at his injury. This sort of ruthless precision clearly testified to the Black General’s incredible skill and extensive experience. The foe had immediately reacted to his mistake and used it to his own advantage. Hadjar barely managed to block in time, and steel rang against steel. Multicolored sparks singed their clothes and armor. Old bones hissed and smoked.

Taking advantage of the force behind his opponent’s blow, Hadjar turned on his heel and swung out in a backhanded strike. He was aiming for the edge of his opponent’s helmet. That way, even if he didn’t cut off his head, he would at least hurt his neck. This kind of attack was very difficult to pull off, requiring many years of practice and even more years of honing such a skill in real battles. Of course, anticipating such a strike or defending against it was almost impossible…

Bam!

Once again, metal rang against metal when the Blue Blade crashed into the Black Blade. The two Generals moved away from each other. Panting and covered in wounds, they looked at each other without any hatred or malice. They weren’t two enemies, not really, merely two soldiers fighting atop this miniature replica of the Mountain of Skulls. Each of them wanted to win, not to survive, but in order to become stronger. That was their essence. That was their way. Their path to the ultimate goal, where every step was another battle.

“You fight with dignity, Wind of the Northern Valleys,” the Black General straightened up. “You’re a better swordsman than most I’ve ever fought. I recognize you.” The General bowed slightly.

Praise from the greatest swordsman? Well, maybe Hadjar really had mastered the Sword.

Paradoxically, despite the fact that they were inside his Core, in the very center of Hadjar’s source, there was no energy here. They fought like mortals, using only their swords and bodies.

“But let me see, glorious warrior…” The Black General lowered his blade. Despite the fact that he was standing normally, it seemed as if he’d just assumed some sort of stance, “…How well you understand the Sword.”

He swung his blade and Hadjar sensed a power he’d never seen before. It was not will, energies, mysteries, or the magic of Words. It was something else, something far more complex, and it was heading right for him.

***

“Shit!” Nameless swore.

He dipped his hand into a barrel of cold water and ran it across his face. It had been a long time since he’d started shaving, but even after so many years, he still couldn’t do it properly and sometimes cut himself.

When the water calmed down and the surface became reflective once again, he looked at himself. Wrinkles furrowed his face. His hair had become gray. How old was he now, by mortal standards? He’d spent fifteen years amongst the mortals. That meant… he was about thirty-five?

During this time, he’d managed to become a carpenter, then a blacksmith, and finally, a plowman. For some reason, he liked to sow and reap more than anything else. Sometimes, he helped with the sheep and other cattle. He led them to graze in remote meadows and valleys, where he looked at the high mountains, which had previously seemed like little more than fading waves to him. He had seen them from the lofty heights of the Heavens, watching them as they’d replaced each other in a leisurely run, going somewhere toward the horizon. And now they looked more monumental than the gods’ Palaces.

He rarely thought about the gods these days. He didn’t have time to do so, as he had to repair the roof, patch up the canopy, and prepare supplies for the winter. He’d also promised the chief that he would shoe the mules and remake a large plow that had burned up in a seasonal fire.

There were so many things to do. Nameless looked at his hands and the simple hunting knife he held in one of them. They were covered in old calluses, the skin rough and unpleasant.

“You’re a stupid guy,” Nameless sighed.

Abendin... How many years had passed since the little god, hiding the village from Derger’s eyes, had taken the God of War with him? He wondered what had become of him… Even after all this time, Nameless, or, translated into the modern language of mortals, Darkhan, hadn’t sensed his friend’s death. Maybe he’d managed to escape to the Fae Lands? The walls of Tir’na’Nog could hide someone even from the Emperor’s gaze. Or perhaps the Prince had sheltered Abendin.

“Nameless.”

He turned around.

Having hung up the laundry, Helen came up to him from behind. She was no longer as young as she’d been fifteen years ago. Gray had touched her hair as well. Wrinkles hung like cobwebs around her eyes and the corners of her lips. But to him, she was still as beautiful as the day when he had fallen from the sky and landed on her.

“My dear,” he ran his fingers over her cheek. Her skin was a little rougher, but just as pleasant as it had ever been.

It wasn’t surprising that she looked older, as she was about thirty-one winters old now. And the winters here, not far from the gorge, were harsh. Neither Boreas nor Queen Mab spared the northern region. However, no one asked them to. Hot summers and cold winters; golden autumns and green springs — what else could a simple peasant living off the land want?

“Again,” she lowered her gaze and ran her hand over her stomach.

He hugged her. He felt hot tears falling on his chest and held her tighter.

“Everything will be fine, darling,” he repeated, kissing the top of her head. “Everything will be fine. We’ll definitely succeed one day.”

“I just don’t know, Nameless,” she sobbed faintly. “Why? What have we done to Istanie? Why doesn’t she send us a child?”

Istanie was the local name for Kestanie, the Goddess of Fate. They believed she sent or, in their case, didn’t send people children.

“Come on,” he took her in his arms — she was as light as a feather — and carried her up the steps to their small house. “You need to rest.”

Covering her with a blanket and letting her long hair down, he kissed her forehead and was about to leave when gentle, albeit strong fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Always,” he whispered back, smiling.

“Promise?”

“You have my word,” he nodded. “When you wake up, I’ll be here.”

She nodded.

Nearby, on the dresser, lay the blue silk ribbon she wore in her hair. Nameless blew out the candle and went out onto the porch. He already knew whom he would see there. The one who now had power over him.

Chapter 1460

S he was standing at the bend of a stream that lapped against the foot of a hill covered in flowers. Her light, white clothes fluttered in the wind. Her black hair was arranged into a simple but beautiful hairstyle. Behind her, there were the green treetops and the snowcapped peaks of the surrounding mountains. Waterfalls of Liquid Ice fell from them. It was such a cold substance that mortals turned into frozen statues if they got within hundreds of miles of these waterfalls. They were forbidden, sacred places where, according to legend, white dogs who were the servants of the Queen of Cold and Darkness lived. Harnessed to her battle sled, they were formidable opponents and the heroes of many songs and legends.

“Istanie,” Nameless bowed slightly.

Where the feet of the Goddess of Fate stepped, white flowers bloomed, but as soon as she moved on, they immediately turned black and sluggish. Liao Feng could’ve probably found some kind of metaphor for fate in this, but not Nameless.

“We never got along with you.” She bent down and ran her fingers over a flower. Perhaps the fact that she could do so was the main difference between her and her sister. “Of all the Palaces and libraries, you never visited mine and mine alone, illustrious General.”

“You’re already the second god that’s visited this region.” Nameless moved back slowly toward the steps, where his sword lay next to the chest.

“The fourth,” Istanie corrected him. “Abendin was able to divert Derger’s gaze. The little god turned out to be well-versed in magic. I never would’ve thought that he was capable of such a feat.”

Nameless took another step back and felt a small, wooden peg with his heel. It was his first carpentry craft — a simple mechanical lever that raised the step so he could avoid breaking it every time.

“I come here in peace, General.” Istanie turned to him, and in her eyes, he saw hundreds of highlights, the glare of his fate. “You won’t need your sword.”

Of course she knew what he was up to. After all, it was in her Palace that the scroll with his name was now kept. The name he didn’t remember.

“You were the only one whose name was never written in the Book,” she turned away and looked at the mountains. “Someday, these mountains and this meadow will be separated by hundreds and hundreds of miles. They’ll call it Greven’Dor.” She whispered.

She knew more than the Jasper Emperor and Liao Feng combined, but she almost never shared her knowledge. Only a few lucky or unlucky ones could say that Istanie had granted them a prophecy. Maybe that was why, since she couldn’t say the words herself, she’d planted the seeds of the Trees of Life together with Ashtarie at the beginning of the beginning. The Trees now lived, just like Istanie, simultaneously in the past, future, and present, but didn’t have her intelligence and power, and were thus unable to observe these three timelines separately.

“Why have you come here, goddess?” Nameless asked. “Or is this-”

“She’ll never be able to bear you a child, General,” the goddess interrupted him, already knowing what his question would be. “You know that already. A tree and a human can’t have a baby.”

“What?”

For a moment, it seemed to Nameless like he was rooted to the ground. Like his feet were huge and mighty roots that ran through half the world. Like his arms were green crowns covering the sky, and his body was an immense trunk. The vision disappeared as quickly as it had appeared before his eyes.

“You were born to be a tree,” the goddess said. “A dead tree. Therefore, your seed is dead. Neither the gods, nor the demons, nor the Sidhe, nor even the Gates will change that, brave General. What is dead can’t give life.”

Nameless sank to the ground. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. It had been so long… So long ago… He’d thought he had forgotten about it. He had hoped he’d forgotten about that time, back when the gods hadn’t yet been born and the first Jasper Emperor hadn’t yet set foot in the endless, empty evening gardens. He had been bending over his dead mother, unable to shed tears, and… Nameless shook his head. It was just a dream. When he woke up from it, he was holding his sword in his hands, was armored, and he was called a warrior. The first warrior of the Nameless World.

“Why have you come here?” Nameless repeated.

He pressed the small wooden peg and the step fell back, revealing the casket and the black sword resting in a simple, leather scabbard.

“This power,” Istanie turned to him and pointed to his sword, “That makes you equal to us gods. What do you call it?”

“Therna,” the Black General replied.

“Why?”

“She told me its name,” the General answered honestly. “When I first touched it.”

“Or created it,” Istanie whispered softly. “A human shouldn’t have the power of a god, General. This isn’t right.”

“There is nothing right in this world. Or fair. There is only necessity, and those who are ready to take responsibility for it.”

Istanie smiled. She wasn’t as beautiful as her sister Ashtarie, but there was something fascinating about her. She was like Death in a way. The one that would one day come for everyone. Even its own children. Its empty, abandoned Palace was avoided even by the Emperor and Liao Feng. Of all the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven, only the Black General had visited that place, finding only a few old books there instead of a proper library.

“Ashtarie is right. You’ve spent too much time talking with our Sage.”

“I won’t say it a third time, goddess,” Nameless raised his sword. The world froze, as if something huge and incredibly powerful had just covered the whole sky. Istanie felt no magic Words, no energies, no will, or mysteries of the Sword. This was some other force. The power of a mortal that was capable of killing a god.

“So that’s why you actually visited all the libraries of the Palaces,” she suddenly realized. “We thought... Well, it would be foolish to expect a tree to become a fish. You were awakened to be the strongest. This is your inescapable essence — to always aspire to even greater power.”

He silently stared into the eyes of fate itself. The fate that he could defeat with his sword.

“This power,” Istanie ran her hand through the air as if she could feel it. “It’s almost equal to our Emperor’s.”

“Your Emperor’s,” Nameless corrected her. “I have no ruler other than this,” he pointed to his chest. “And this,” he touched his forehead. “And the ones above,” he seemed to direct this movement toward the sky.

“The ones above?”

“My father’s father and my mother’s mother,” Nameless explained. “My ancestors.”

“Your ancestors...” Istanie sighed. “There is more of the mortal in you now than the divine.”

He remained silent.

“Well,” Istanie sighed again and waved her hand.

Chapter 1461

N ear the bend of the stream, where Istanie was standing, a stone bed appeared. It was beautiful and ancient.

“When the time comes,” the Goddess of Fate said. “Put the body of your beloved on this bed.”

“Why?”

“Because only by doing so will you be able to meet her again one day.”

“What makes you think, goddess, that I’m going to part with her, or with anyone?”

Nameless got to his feet and headed down the hill. With every step he took, the power around him only grew. It was like a tsunami — an unstoppable and overwhelming force that even the gods didn’t know about. There had been no such power until the Black General had gathered together all the knowledge of the Seventh Heaven and combined it with the knowledge of mortals. Now that casket that had once held countless scrolls contained only one. One word was written on it: Therna. This word contained more power than the entirety of the Seventh Heaven.

This force, which was capable of burning the gods, hung over Istanie. However, she didn’t fear a power almost equal to the Jasper Emperor’s.

“Your valor and honor have always impressed me, glorious General,” the goddess gave him a beautiful and elegant curtsey. “Consider this a gift from the one under whose authority you placed yourself of your own free will. This has never happened before. Once freed from the chains of fate, no one ever chooses to put these fetters on themselves once more. Farewell. The one you are now and the one I am now will never meet again. Live free, Black General, and die with honor.”

She disappeared. Nameless was left standing alone with the stone bed.

***

At the edge of the Seventh Heaven, where the gardens of the Jasper Emperor ended, there was no one. Or so it seemed.

“Did you bring it?” A voice asked.

“As you requested, my Lord,” Istanie bowed, handing a casket to the Emperor. “Here are all the scrolls that contain the destinies of the children and temples of Derger.”

The void took the casket and lowered it next to itself.

“You are free to go, Kestanie.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the goddess bowed and disappeared, returning to her Palace.

She rarely left these halls and, each time she did, she made the same mistake again. Afterwards, she always vowed not to leave her Palace. But, apparently, her own scroll, which she couldn’t open, was as omnipotent when it came to her as she was when it came to others. The Fate of Fate itself. Maybe one day she would have the courage to discuss this matter with Liao Feng, but not right now…

The void was left alone to contemplate the worlds woven from beautiful clouds that separated mortals from the gods. Only sometimes did they open their snow-white blinders to show off the boundless expanses.

“You don’t have to hide, Sage.”

Next to the void, a middle-aged man appeared. He was short, with an average build, an unremarkable face, and he wore simple, gray clothes. No one would ever think that he was a god based on his appearance alone.

“Liao,” the void greeted.

“My Emperor,” the God of Wisdom bowed. “Today is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Today...” The void said. “Day… You use strange words, Sage. Simple, but also very complex.”

“What is simple to a mortal is difficult for a god to comprehend, my Emperor. And vice versa. That’s why we’ll never understand each other.”

“Sometimes, I’m amazed by your ability to extract wisdom from every word that is uttered.”

Liao Feng bowed.

“But more often,” the void continued, “It tires me out.”

“Wisdom is like a hump, my Emperor,” the Sage replied. “It makes the one afflicted with it unpleasant for others to be around. It’s heavy. It’s inconvenient to carry it around with you. And every time, they want to be rid of it.”

“So why don’t you do just that, Liao Feng? Don’t tell me that wisdom is what makes you… you. You could’ve found yourself some other activity that’s to your liking by now. Maybe you could finally build a proper Palace to replace that hut on the outskirts where you’re living now.”

Liao Feng pondered what he had just heard for a while.

“Perhaps,” he finally said thoughtfully, “I’m not wise enough to do so, my Emperor. Therefore, I continue to carry my hump as if it doesn’t harm me, but instead helps me, even though that isn’t the case.”

The Emperor laughed so loudly that lightning started flashing amongst the clouds. Abruptly, he stopped and put his hand on the lid of the casket.

“This is what you’ve come for, isn’t it?”

The Sage didn’t answer.

“So why are you silent then, Sage? Can’t you find thousands of words to convince me not to do what I’m about to do?”

“I could find millions of words, my Emperor,” Liao Feng bowed, “But even all of them together won’t change your decision.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because no one but yourself will find the right words to convince you,” the Sage replied and turned to the clouds. “I’ve come to remind you of them.”

“Consider me reminded, Sage.”

The casket burst into flames of pure gold, and the wind carried the ashes away. Somewhere in the Seventh Heaven, a god screamed in horror and pain, already harnessing his war chariot.

“This is the beginning, Sage. The beginning of the end.”

The void was once again left alone, sitting on the edge of the worlds. Only the echo of these words remained:

“Everything that is visible isn’t eternal, my Emperor.”

A hand appeared out of the void. He could still see himself. That damn Sage…

***

Hadjar, bloodied and wounded, swaying on his feet, and barely understanding what was happening, stood in front of the unharmed Black General.

“Do you give up, brave warrior?”

“Not today,” the Mad General spat out blood and repeated, “Not today.”

“Well,” the greatest swordsman swung his sword, “Let’s end it with this.”

He struck.

Chapter 1462

A s soon as Nameless returned to his house, a golden pillar came down from the sky. A chariot appeared in a once blooming field, and within it stood the enraged God of War.

“Derger?”

“How dare you, you mad dog?” The god roared and swung a spear around. “How dare you raise your hand against them? Did I teach you that? Is this the honor and dignity of a warrior?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You are worse than the final traitor!” The god’s rage burned both the forest and the village, and only the small house remained intact, protected by the General’s power. “You’ll pay for this! You’ll pay for the deaths of everyone who was dear to me! For my children! My followers! My temples! My countries! How many innocent residents! How many mortals that you dearly love! And all this just to annoy me?”

“I don’t understand,” Nameless shook his head. “Wait! What are you doing?”

He recognized the artifact in the god’s hands. He had given it to Derger as a gift. He’d acquired this artifact after a battle against Queen Mab, who had decided to take advantage of the situation involving the creatures from beyond the Verge and attack the Seventh Heaven. It was the Ever-Seeking Spear. It rushed like a bolt of white lightning toward the small house.

“Helen!” The Black General shouted.

All his power came down on the artifact that was even older than himself. But no matter how strong his Therna was, he hadn’t yet managed to fully master it. His efforts only slowed down the spear, nothing more. The Black General breathed in this power and took a step forward so quickly that he was able to move faster than even the God of Speed could manage. The attack was overwhelming. The Therna throbbing in the General’s soul was able to contain most of it, but not all of it. The steps and the broken casket, the scroll inside of it torn to shreds, scattered to all four corners of the world.

Bam! Bam!

White light washed over the house like a wave.

“No, no, no…” Nameless wailed, carrying the lifeless Helen out of the house.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Battle drums were pounding somewhere behind him.

“Please!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Please... What use is any of it without you?” He ran his fingers over her paling skin.

“General!”

He got up with her and stepped forward. He carefully lowered her body onto the stone bed. As soon as he did so, both Helen and the bed disappeared, leaving the Black General alone. He was left alone with his wounds from the Ever-Seeking Spear that had disappeared into the void. He was left alone with the rage bubbling like a volcano inside his chest. He gripped the hilt of his sword. Fifteen years. Fuck them all!

“What?” Derger looked around.

Bam! Bam! Battle drums sounded.

“Why?” The horses pulling his chariot neighed as thousands and thousands of voices shouted:

“GENERAL!”

Fifteen years of peace and quiet. The Black General tilted his head toward the sky. A black cloak fell across his shoulders.

“GENERAL!”

Black armor bound his body. Darkness covered the burning village and the burning forest. The sky was covered with the fire of impenetrable darkness. A black helmet covered his face and graying hair.

“What are you doing?” Derger shouted, his golden flames beginning to fade.

He knew the truth now. Kestanie had known it all along. He would never be able to meet Helen again, not in this life. She was waiting for him in his forefathers’ house. No one would ever be able to say that the Black General had gone to his forefathers unaccompanied by the splendor of honor and glory won in battle. How would he look into his wife’s eyes if he died like a coward? How would he greet his forefathers with a respectful bow? No. Drums were thundering. He’d promised… His faithful warriors were calling to him. He’d given his word to the Emperor… Let everything burn!

“BLACK GENERAL!” The roar filled the world.

With a cry of savage rage, he attacked Derger. He would take this stupid god with him, and then he would be able to meet his forefathers with his head held high.

***

The Black General struck. He stabbed his sword right into his own heart.

“What…”

Hadjar, who was already preparing to deliver his final counterattack, couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The warrior who had bravely fought against him until now had just injured himself.

“Come back when you grow stronger and truly understand your Sword, warrior,” the disappearing Shadow said. “Then I’ll kill you and finish what I started here today.”

“Wait!”

The vision of the Mountain of Skulls kept getting farther and farther away, until Hadjar woke up in a small stream. At first, he didn’t understand where he was. Just recently, he had walked down the shore, which had been wrapped up in a white blanket of snow and ice. And now he was looking at blooming flowers, and a small stream of Liquid Ice flowed around his body.

Analyze, he ordered mentally.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Hadjar Darkhan is at the middle stage of the Nameless level of cultivation.]

So, he had done it.

“But why?” A familiar voice shouted. “How! We’ve wasted so much money!”

“Well, we haven’t wasted any money,” another voice laughed. “Gustaf, you’ve just been too busy ‘scratching’ something in your pants! Didn’t your parents tell you that hair might grow on your palms if you indulge in such things too often?”

“Go to the demons, Abraham.”

“Right away!” The thief laughed.

Hadjar got to his feet. He felt great, but also a little weird. He remembered fighting the Black General’s power’s remnant, but it seemed to him like he had seen something else in the reflections of their blades.

“How can-”

He was holding a small jade medallion in his hand. He had enough experience to understand that this was a repository of Techniques or knowledge. But the resistance of the jade was so high that he couldn’t penetrate inside it with his consciousness. How powerful and complex must the knowledge contained within be if, even using all his might, he still couldn’t break through to the inside?

“Therna,” he took a closer look at the symbols. “That sounds familiar…”

“By the Hammer and Anvil of the Ancestors!” Albadurt collapsed on the edge of the cliff where there used to be a waterfall. He took out a phial and, muttering frantically, he collected the Liquid Ice from the stream. “Come on, one more drop. Just a little more, please!”

“Not bad, young man,” Abraham patted Hadjar on the shoulder. “You’ve made a steam room here. Phew, how hot it was! I wonder what kind of creature put its energy inside you, considering it was potent enough to melt a whole river of Liquid Ice…”

“I probably picked it up in the temple of the dark priests,” Hadjar hid the jade fragment in his spatial ring. “There was a... sculpture there. Very unpleasant.”

“Probably,” Abraham nodded and clapped him on the shoulder again. Then he went over to the almost sobbing dwarf.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Lathea whispered as she approached. “The foundation of your stage is stronger than it was before. It’s like you’ve been through hundreds of battles while meditating. Amazing! This is probably the effect of the Liquid Ice!”

“Probably,” Hadjar said, dumbfounded. He still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Okay, brothers and sisters,” Abraham waved his bandana vaguely. “We came here to check if the river, well... more like a stream now… flows into the city.”

“Yes, but how can we do that?” Itia leaned over the cliff. “I can sense cold down there. The effect of what Hadjar has created will spread for a long time. We need-”

“We need a dwarf!” Abraham forcefully nudged Albadurt off the cliff with his foot.

“Bastaaaard!” The scream came from somewhere at the bottom of the cliff.

“Meet us in the city, dwarf!” Abraham shouted down to him, and then, after thinking about it, added, “I forgot to ask if you could swim.”

The only answer he got was silence.

“Well, let’s hope he can… Why are you all looking at me like that? Did you have any better ideas? Stop wasting time! Let’s go to the city. We still have to fish the dwarf out of the sewer.”

Chapter 1463

T he outer walls of the Underground Whisper clan’s city differed from the ones of the Star Rain clan only in the symbols depicted on the banners, the color and style of the guards’ armor, and the fact that the queue to get into the city stretched out for many miles.

“They’re much more popular than your family, my Lady.” Abraham deftly dodged Itia’s elbow and handed a telescope to Lathea.

They didn’t dare use their abilities to spy on the enemy. Considering that even from here, on the south side, they could see the white military tents of the Star Rain clan’s army, the city was clearly still besieged. That meant they would certainly have measures in place to ensure that no spies can get inside or acquire any information.

“It’s the resources,” Lathea commented, passing the telescope along to the next person. “After their victory in the tournament, they began to increase their political capital.”

“Sorry, what kind of capital?” Gustaf asked while counting his arrows.

“Political,” Itia repeated. “It’s when you give something to someone without a direct benefit in return, but in consideration of future services instead.”

“I know what it means,” Gustaf muttered and checked if the bowstring on his bow was still holding strong. “I just didn’t hear you the first time.”

“Of course you didn’t, boy. A Nameless can’t possibly hear something said two steps away from them, right? Maybe someone put something in your ear? Well, they did so without a direct benefit in return, naturally. And in consideration of future services, of course.”

Gustaf swore, flipped Abraham off and, taking his telescope back from Hadjar, folded it back into his spatial ring.

“The kid is offended,” the old rogue sighed dramatically and then turned to the Princess. “They’d recognize you right away, of course.”

“I am proficient in several substitution and disguise Techniques.”

“I’m sure you are, Princess,” Abraham raised his hands placatingly.

“Death is near.”

“Guy believes in your prowess as well,” the old rascal winked. “But there will surely be cultivators there who can see past your disguise.”

The Star Rain Princess frowned, “I’m not going to just sit here while you’re saving my father!”

“Now, now, Princess. No one is forcing you to sit around. We’ll just… use a little trick.”

Abraham stretched out his hand and two vials with multicolored liquids he’d taken out of his spatial artifact appeared in it.

“The first one,” he picked up the smallest, faceted one, “Disguises your energy structure. It’ll turn you into a Lord. Only externally, of course!”

“The Elixir of the Reversed Course?” The Princess seemed genuinely surprised. “I’ve heard that it can only be obtained on the black market and-”

She looked at Abraham, who spread his arms out helplessly.

“It’s a thief’s life, Princess. You never know when you’ll have to get something from a Palace, or when you’ll have to return someone there. Now, if I may, the second bottle-”

“I don’t recognize this energy. What is it?”

“Hair dye,” the smiling rogue explained. “And a knife.”

Itia drew her blade.

“Just changing your hair color won’t be enough. Even if we change its length… Such a disguise won’t be much of a hindrance to an investigator or a bloodhound, but let’s hope that we won’t attract the attention of such gentlemen.”

Lathea nodded. Itia took both bottles and the women retreated behind the bushes.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Hadjar asked.

Abraham sighed and adjusted his bandana, “I’m not sure of anything, lad. Why do you think the Underground Whisper clan is gathering such a large crowd?”

Hadjar shifted his gaze from Abraham to the Star Rain clan’s encamped troops.

“They would’ve attacked long ago if they planned to at all.”

“Death is near,” Guy croaked, and then added, “Resources aren’t Ash’s magic staff.”

“Exactly,” Abraham nodded to his comrade. “Even if you get your hands on some incredibly powerful trinket right this second, you’ll still need some time to learn how to use it properly. Even if I give you the Heart of the First Sidhe and you eat it, your meditation will still take at least a hundred years and only after that will you become a peak-stage Heaven King.”

Hadjar had no idea what the ‘Heart of the First Sidhe’ was. He only knew who the Sidhe were — powerful beings who belonged to the Fae people, something like their high nobility. According to the rumors, Helmer, before entering into the service of the Prince, had been a Sidhe. Since Spirits, Fae, demons, and gods shared common roots, their states could always change.

Just like water.

“They’re looking for allies,” Guy added.

“Thanks, buddy, we get it.”

“They’re getting ready for war?” Hadjar sighed a little wearily. He was tired of wars. He hadn’t left the battlefield for many years, only going from one battle to another. He’d spent too many winters waiting to resume the fighting.

“More like an instant extermination,” Abraham corrected, stroking his beard. “They’ll gather allies, buy them off with resources, and then direct all this power toward the Star Rain clan.”

Hadjar once again looked at the white domes of the tents and at the streams of cultivators rushing into the city. There were about ten thousand warriors standing beneath the walls of Underground Whisper City, give or take a few hundred. It would take an overwhelming advantage to completely crush such an army.

“And they’re keeping the Head captive precisely for that reason,” he drawled thoughtfully. “To ensure that the enemy’s army remains as close as possible.”

“As the Ancestors would say: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Abraham nodded.

Gustaf, apparently tired of sulking, leaned forward and, pulling the bowstring back, took aim.

“How much time do we have?” He asked, pulling back on the heavy artifact bow until it creaked.

“I think we have a week at the most,” Abraham answered after a while. “They can’t delay any more than that. The longer the Underground Whisper clan waits, the more likely it is that all these vultures, since they’ve already gotten what they want, will scatter.”

A thief who understood strategy and tactics? Hadjar was already tired of suspecting him of something vague he had no real idea about. As long as they shared a common goal, they could trust each other. Within reason, of course.

Abraham got up and stood next to the archer. He measured the distance by looking at the bow and then at the tall spire of the tower that loomed far above the city.

“Can you reach it?”

“Of course I can!” Gustaf replied with a snort.

“Stop sulking, kid, and I’ll buy you a caramel apple.”

“Stick it in your ass, you old dog.”

“Is that an offer of political capital?”

Swearing again, Gustaf put an arrow on the bowstring and, after taking aim, angled his bow toward the sky and let it loose. The arrow blurred like a white spark. After flying for many miles, it disappeared somewhere behind the city walls.

Abraham whistled.

“Hats off to you, Gustaf. I honestly thought you couldn’t handle it.”

The boy grinned proudly and sat back down on his stump. No matter how he was teased by the rest of the squad, Gustaf wasn’t just a Nameless, but an archer as well. No sane cultivator would want to have an enemy capable of hitting them with a Technique from a distance that their eyes couldn’t even perceive.

“We’re ready,” a voice behind them declared.

“By the gods and demons…”

Chapter 1464

I f Hadjar hadn’t been prepared for the changes, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize the girl who came out with Itia. Her long, wavy golden hair was now short and brown. Freckles covered her face, and her eyes had turned a dark brown color. Her Lord level aura was also pretty confusing. Even her clothes had changed. The lavish and sturdy garments of the Star Rain clan had been replaced with a cheap and simple hiking outfit: an ordinary corset, a leather jacket, and a thick, long skirt that covered her pants and boots.

“This is rather comfortable, by the way,” Lathea brushed off the hem of her skirt.

“That’s how you must’ve disguised Tened, right, Hadjar?” Abraham winked, and then walked up to the girl and began circling her. “You need a new name... something…”

“Puneya?” Gustaf suggested.

“What?” Itia snorted. “It isn’t surprising that you can only relax in brothels with such an approach.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’ll never again…”

“Maybe Rhea?” Abraham offered. “Rhea Talna from-”

“Wet Light City!” Lathea exclaimed.

Underground Whisper… Wet Light… Star Rain... It seemed as if the names of the cities and clans of the Strange Lands had been invented by a person completely devoid of any imagination or common sense.

“And we…” The old rogue looked around at the squad with a frown. “We look like thugs.”

“Mercenaries?” Hadjar offered. “We came to get a piece of the pie, just like everyone else.”

“That’s too obvious of a lie.”

“And that’s why they’ll take it for the truth.”

Abraham scratched his head.

“That sounds... crazy.”

Hadjar just shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay, let’s move out,” Abraham waved it off. “Let’s be mercenaries, then. If anything goes wrong, we’ll fight our way through. But I would prefer not to, of course.”

“Death is near.”

“No one cares about what you would prefer, you half-faced maniac!”

***

The queue was moving rather quickly. After an hour, the squad came to the gates, where they were met by the guards. They were fairly strong cultivators at different stages of the Lord level, and they wore artifact armor. Maybe it wasn’t as strong and exquisite as the Star Rain clan’s armor had been, but it performed its function well enough. The walls, which were only several feet high and about as thick, also didn’t inspire much awe.

“I wonder,” Gustaf whispered in Hadjar’s ear, “If they are also stuffed with different… things, just like the Star Rain clan’s walls?”

“Ask Albadurt about it later,” Hadjar replied.

By that time, Abraham had already begun talking to the leader of the guards.

“We’re a group of mercenaries,” the old thief pointedly toyed with the blade of a dagger between his fingers. “We came here from Wet Light City.”

“For what purpose?” The leader of the guards asked.

“Well, I would think that’s obvious,” Abraham winked and rubbed his thumb, index, and middle fingers together.

The guard spat at his feet.

“Mercenaries,” he said it like it was something horribly offensive. To the guards, free warriors who knew neither honor, nor duty, nor dignity, and were ready to sell both their employer and comrades out for coin, really were offensive.

“I had to become one,” Abraham apologized a little dejectedly. He was an excellent actor.

“And what about her?” The guard nodded in the direction of Lathea. “She doesn’t look like a mercenary.”

“Who are you talking about, sir? Ah! Right! Well, she hired us to escort her to the city. Times are turbulent right now,” Abraham waved his hand around the queue and pointed to the tents visible in the distance. “By the way, could you tell me what happened here? Why are the Star Rain troops stationed over there?”

“Why are you asking?” The warrior was slightly wary now.

“Well,” Abraham smiled very greedily, in the way only merchants, thieves, and mercenaries could. “Extra earnings are never a bad thing.”

“Hmm,” the leader of the guards was now bored. “Come on, come on. Don’t hold up the queue.”

“Well, alright.”

Abraham paid their entrance fee and, after passing through the gates, they found themselves in lands very similar to the Star Rain clan’s. The only difference was that other crops were grown here and the irrigation system looked more expensive. Using various movement Techniques, they passed several more gates and two very valuable carriages drawn by rare and powerful mounts.

Just like in Lathea’s homeland, no one used the airspace here. Hadjar was tormented by his need to know why that was the case. In lands far less cultivated than these, the sky had long ago become a familiar, everyday space for humans and nonhumans alike.

The main walls and the central gates, as Hadjar had expected, were fortified: they had additional magic runes and artifacts, guns, cannons, and a fairly decent number of sentries. No matter how peaceful the Underground Whisper clan tried to appear, it was very clear that they were preparing for war if one looked closely.

The streets were quite busy. Merchants hurried about their business and, at least outwardly, nothing seemed too out of place. However, the large number of guards, clan warriors, and those who wore a medallion with their coat of arms, which depicted some strange symbols on them, were a bit unusual. Hadjar didn’t know this language, and his neural network told him that it was similar to the other languages of the Strange Lands.

As for the rest — the architecture, the layout of the streets, the people’s clothes and the kinds of stores they could see — if you didn’t already know that you were in Underground Whisper City, and not in Star Rain City, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, which was probably easily explained by their close proximity to one another.

“Hurry up!” Abraham urged.

Trying not to stand out from the crowd, they went toward the western part of the city. Sometimes, they stopped to buy something, haggling over every coin. They visited one of the taverns, where they drank and almost got into a fight with the representatives of other cities or just some wandering warriors, demonstrating with all their might to any possible observers that they were ordinary mercenaries. Hadjar agreed that such a disguise was necessary. Even if Guy and Abraham were peak-stage Heaven Emperors in disguise, there were still only two of them.

As a result, they only reached the sewer systems in the evening, after dealing with some annoying magical obstacles. While the others were covering for him, Abraham, who was pretending to be drunk, leaned toward a well and whispered:

“Dwarf!”

There was only silence and the bubbling of water at the bottom of the dark oval.

“Hey, dwarf!”

Silence again. They exchanged glances. Had Albadurt actually-

“I’ll kill you!” came from somewhere below.

“He’s alive!” Abraham slapped the stones happily. “Lower the rope.”

The silence was deafening.

“What? Did no one pack some rope?”

Chapter 1465

“D o you want anything else, honorable adepts?” A young man, who was passing by their table, stopped and set down a tray laden with hot food and cold drinks.

“BOOZE!” The dwarf, who was wrapped up in a fur coat, boomed.

The waiter looked at him with slight surprise, nodded, and then went to another part of the hall.

The squad was in a tavern that had a funny name: ‘Silent Beetle.’ It wasn’t in the center of the city, but also not on the outskirts. It was noisy, crowded, and not very expensive. All three floors, including the first, where they currently sat, were busy this evening. They’d barely found a table big enough for all of them to use.

According to Abraham, it was best to discuss plans regarding sabotage in such a crowd. Given his own experience, Hadjar had fully supported this idea. The situation brought back memories of when he himself had used to gather his people in such places for nefarious purposes…

“Again,” Abraham, who’d finished drawing something on a piece of paper, handed it to the dwarf. “In more detail.”

Albadurt was only able to provide more details after he drank two bowls of fortified booze, ate a bit of spicy, hot soup, and devoured a double portion of roasted Saber-Toothed Rabbit. Hadjar had seen the carcass of one such Rabbit in the market while they’d been walking around the city. It had been the size of a young pony. He would’ve loved to encounter the kind of predators that could afford to hunt such ‘small’ game.

“There are thresholds in these spots,” the dwarf took the piece of coal from Abraham and began to draw. “There’s also about ten miles of white water after a waterfall.”

“White water?” Gustaf asked.

“The rocks and the fast current,” Itia explained. “Because of those two things, there is a lot of foam, hence the name ‘white water.’”

“Go on,” the old rogue urged the dwarf to hurry.

Alba-udun glared at the thief. Obviously, their relationship wouldn’t get better after such a turn of events. Probably the opposite, in fact.

“There is a short bend with a calm current,” he drew a small arc, “But there’s an animal trail near it. Monsters use this place as a watering hole. I was alone, so they didn’t notice me, but if a hundred cultivators... or even just one platoon of twenty cultivators…”

Abraham swore under his breath. Apparently, he had been counting on the river and its confluence with the city’s sewers to make things easy for them.

“What else?”

“There are a couple of whirlpools, several rapids, two more waterfalls, then a wide mouth and the city itself. After about forty to fifty miles, the cold disappears.”

“How did you get to the city?”

“I…” The dwarf paused, smoothed his red beard, and drank some more booze. “Fishermen.”

The others exchanged glances.

“What fishermen?” Lathea asked.

“I was caught in their net,” the dwarf mumbled sullenly. “Then I cut the nets and got under their keel. I held on for a while and then swam to the walls. There were bars made by dwarven masters there. It’s difficult to get through.”

“What did you do?”

“Water always finds a way,” Alba-udun shrugged. “They ordered the bars from us, but there were no fortifiers. Too expensive. Idiots who-”

Hadjar kicked the dwarf under the table and he bit back the rest of the insult. The Star Rain clan had almost the same defense system as the Underground Whisper clan.

“The city stands on a rocky shore. There is a dam below the mouth of the river,” the dwarf drew a wide line downstream. “This raises the water level by sixty feet. Below, at a level of about thirty feet, there is a crack in the rock. Their sewer pipes are leaking and-”

“By going through the shit and waste, you got into the sewer, and from there, you found your way to the well,” Abraham nodded.

In response, the dwarf took out one of his axes. Hadjar squeezed Albadurt’s shoulder hard. He swore in his dwarven language, cursed all of Abraham’s ancestors, and then went back to devouring his food.

The waiters and waitresses here were incredibly efficient, which was to be expected from peak-stage Spirit Knights with protective amulets that helped them withstand the pressure of the atmosphere of the Strange Lands. Hadjar wondered if people in Dahanatan would believe him if he told them that here, in Underground Whisper City, Spirit Knights served in taverns…

“So, if we follow our original plan, it’s easiest to get to the river right here,” Abraham pointed to the bend where the dwarf had marked the animal watering hole.

“Are you completely out of your mind, you decrepit geezer?” Itia hissed. “Do you want to fight your way to the river through all the local monsters? Have you already forgotten what kind of creature the dwarf is eating right now?”

“I agree,” Gustaf said. “Even if we somehow get there, the city is surely aware of the most vulnerable points in its defenses. They must have several alarm artifacts set up there, at least.”

Abraham leaned back in his chair and cursed their rotten luck.

Everything was brimming with life. Musicians were playing. People were stomping their feet. Weapons were ringing out. Shouts and heated discussions could be heard everywhere.

“Essenin exceeded all expectations!”

“Yes, I didn’t think the old lady would be so fine!”

“Don’t be an idiot! She’s almost eighty centuries old!”

“It doesn’t matter, I would still like a piece of-”

“Only after she cuts your dick off!”

“Ha! For the kind of profits I got today, I’m ready to lose my legs or whatever else she might ask of me!”

It was easy to guess that most of the patrons of the ‘Silent Beetle’ were nonresidents who had come to the city for a share of the wealth.

“I’d rather just fight against the Star Rain clan and then get out of here as soon as possible. They say that a new tomb was discovered along the route to the Edge of the Ice. The Sects want to send their disciples there to thin out the weeds and mine some diamonds.”

“Well, we won’t be able to go there anyway, as it’s within the territory of the Sects.”

“They’re selling tickets! Ten drops and you can try your luck in the tomb.”

“Ten drops? Are you crazy? I am a peak-stage Lord and I only got seven drops of resources from the Underground Whisper clan! And to get even that much, I swore an oath to fight the Star Rain clan until the clan Head makes another decision!”

“Well, I have some savings. Moreover, this is the grave of Larry the Crooked, the one who, according to the legends, freed the Black General, Ash, and the Wandering Stumps from their tomb.”

“That’s just a fairy tale. Some random Immortal simply decided to leave their tomb in their homeland, nothing more. You know how they are, leaving their Shadows behind and setting things up for a while even after they take fatal wounds.”

“Maybe.”

After eavesdropping on the conversation, Hadjar made a mental note of this. The Strange Lands were the homeland of a lot of Immortals, after all.

“We need to hurry and-”

“Shh!” Abraham hissed and drew his blade, deftly hiding it under the table.

A young man with a bald head, black bags under his eyes, and an extremely emaciated body squeezed past the crowd to get to them. He bent over Lathea and whispered softly into her ear:

“Princess.”

She turned around and, squinting up at him in disbelief, asked:

“Alestan? Is that you? You’re still alive?”

“I am, Princess,” the young man nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter 1466

“S it down!” Lathea said urgently, waved her hand, and a chair slid away from one of the tables where a few cultivators were arguing about something.

“Thank you, Pri-”

“Rhea,” Abraham interrupted him coldly. “Her name is Rhea. May I ask, young man, how you recognized our Rhea?”

“May I?” Alestan pointed to the jug of booze with a trembling hand.

“Make yourself at home,” Abraham replied in an emotionless tone.

The dwarf was already reaching toward the jug, but when he noticed the condemning stares of the others, he stopped. Cursing, he completely focused on devouring the roast instead.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” Lathea answered instead of Alestan. “We grew up in the same house.”

The young man bowed his head slightly.

“I’m very sorry, Pri... Rhea, that everything turned out this way.”

There was a brief silence at the table, broken only by Albadurt’s loud chewing and his musings on the limitations of human intelligence.

“It’s okay,” the Princess’ voice trembled a little, but she managed to pull herself together. “How did you survive? Grandma said that you died when the soldiers tried to free my father.”

Alestan gulped down a bowl of the booze, wiped his lips with a dirty sleeve, and then began his story:

“While Cassius was taking you to the temple, we, together with the Third and Fourth Warriors, were trying to free your father. The Third and Fourth Warriors were supposed to distract the Underground Whisper guards, and I was supposed to break into the dungeon, but... I’ve never seen such protections, Rhea. It was-”

“Of course you haven’t,” the dwarf muttered. “Our dungeons aren’t meant for idiots like you to crack.”

Abraham glared at the dwarf, daring him to say anything else, then turned back to Alestan.

“Can you describe the protections?”

“I can,” Alestan replied confidently.

“What about-”

“They died,” the young man sighed and drank another bowl. “They took some of the Underground Whisper clan’s Warriors with them. The Second and Fifth.”

“Ahem,” Gustaf cleared his throat. “Do you mind clarifying for those of us who aren’t very familiar with the traditions of the Strange Lands? Why do you assign numbers to your warriors?”

Alestan exchanged glances with Lathea, and she nodded quietly.

“Each clan has a Head, two Chiefs, and six Warriors. They are the strongest of the clan’s cultivators, the nine pillars upon which every family rests.”

“So,” Gustaf pushed his bowl away from him, “The First Warrior is the strongest?”

“The oldest,” Alestan corrected. “Their number depends on age, not power.”

“That’s weird.”

“Heaven Emperors differ very little in terms of power,” Lathea explained. “They’re preparing for the trial of the Heavens and the Earth, and the stages into which their level is divided have more to do with strengthening one’s soul, will, and mind than with their physical and energy bodies. Maybe there is a noticeable difference in power between the initial stage and the peak stage, but the rest is almost even. The real difference is what Words and mysteries they wield.”

“That makes sense,” Abraham nodded. “So, Alestan, two of the strongest warriors of your clan killed two of the strongest from the Underground Whisper clan, didn’t they?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you…”

Suddenly, Alestan disappeared. Even the neural network couldn’t perceive his presence. However, Hadjar could clearly see the bowl rise into the air, as well as the booze disappearing somewhere into the void as it flowed out of it. Then the man reappeared.

“What the fuck?” The dwarf swore. “What are you, boy?”

“This is-”

“The Veil of Twilight,” Abraham whispered. “I didn’t think anyone could master it at such a young age.”

Alestan was clearly surprised, but not Abraham and Guy. They looked like they’d just seen something very familiar.

“What kind of veil is this?” The dwarf grumbled with displeasure.

“It’s the Technique of a famous thief,” Alestan replied. “He sold it in the Strange Lands when-”

“When he finally lost his mind,” Abraham interrupted him. “He took his family’s property and sold it.”

Alestan looked pensive, like he’d just guessed something.

“Are you-”

“Go on,” the old thief interrupted sharply. It wasn’t difficult to guess who’d owned the Technique originally.

“When I failed to infiltrate the dungeon, I wandered around the city. The Technique is good, but I don’t have enough energy to get out through several gates with it. So, there was no way I could contact the army to pass on the important news.”

The others exchanged glances.

“What news?” Lathea asked.

Alestan choked on his drink. He looked at the Princess, the confusion plain in his gaze.

“You don’t know? You really don’t know? I thought that was why you were here.”

“Come on, young man,” Abraham said. “We don’t have much time left, we can’t afford to spend it on all these theatrics.”

Alestan nodded. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t. He had to visibly gather his courage, and that alone was enough to make Lathea tense up. Hadjar was surprised to find that she was squeezing his hand. No one had held him like this for a long time. He’d already begun to forget how warm the touch of another was. His heart, like that river from before, had been gradually covered in a layer of ice.

“Essenin is going to execute your father, Rhea,” Alestan finally managed to say.

After a second of heavy silence, Lathea asked:

“When?”

“In two days, at dawn,” the young man replied. “After that, the Underground Whisper clan and all the allies they have bribed will attack our army’s camp and then move on toward our city.”

Lathea said nothing. Itia swore.

“So, we really don’t have much time left,” Abraham steepled his fingers and thought about their next move. “Can you get us into the dungeon, boy?”

“I’m not a boy,” the young man snapped. “I’m Alestan of the Star Rain clan and-”

“All right, boy, I can call you the Jasper Emperor if you want. I don’t care. Can you get us there or not?”

The young man briefly closed his eyes, then answered:

“I can’t. I tried to go there again, but Essenin made sure to strengthen the defenses of her house. Even a ghost wouldn’t be able to get in now.”

Abraham nodded, but not at Alestan. He was nodding as if some presumptions he’d made had just been confirmed, after which he turned to the dwarf.

“Alba-udun, what about you?”

“I’m okay now. I’m warm and full.”

“I’m not talking about that, but thanks for the information.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Can you break their defenses?”

“Of course,” Albadurt snorted. “Just give me a dozen of my kin and a couple of months to do so. Provided no one disturbs us in the meantime, of course.”

“I see,” the old rogue sighed. “I need to think about this.”

Chapter 1467

H adjar was standing on the roof of a small hotel where they had rented two rooms. There were so many wanderers and cultivators in Underground Whisper City that almost all the rooms were already taken. The unlucky ones who didn’t have Abraham’s persuasiveness and Guy to aid them (for some reason, the appearance of the half-faced cultivator, who wore a coat with his huge axe strapped to his back, made most people more cooperative) had pitched their tents behind the walls, on the arable land.

They didn’t grow simple crops there. They only grew ones that had an effect on cultivators. Their cattle was also all extraordinary. When they ate dinner at the ‘Silent Beetle,’ they didn’t eat simple mortal food. Just a bite of the roasted meat  that the dwarf ate voraciously could kill a mortal, but it could also help a common practitioner immediately advance through several stages of cultivation. In Dahanatan, the dishes they were now regularly eating for dinner would’ve cost them an insane amount of money. They weren’t sold openly, either. They could only be found at private auctions, or in the treasuries of old families, clans, schools, and sects. Schools… Hadjar had never officially graduated from ‘The Holy Sky’ School and was, in fact, still their disciple. That was an amusing thought…

Cassius, the rector and namesake of the Honorary Warrior of the Star Rain clan, had been able to fight against the swordsman Orune while he had hidden his power. Hadjar had no doubt that Cassius’ magic would have no effect on him now. But Orune’s true power… He wondered if he had already surpassed his Master. This was quite possibly Orune’s most important lesson. It allowed Hadjar to still look down on himself. He could always see a new horizon in front of him.

He opened his hand and the jade ingot appeared in his palm, taken from his spatial ring. Therna…

“Analyze.”

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Object’s function: Data storage.

Volume: Unknown.

Properties: Unknown.

Data: Unknown. Too little metadata.]

As always, when the question concerned something incredibly complex and vague, his neural network stalled. It didn’t even have enough data about the data.

“Therna…” Hadjar said thoughtfully.

If he were to believe everything that he’d learned about the old world and the epochs that had preceded the spread of the current path of cultivation and the emergence of the Land of the Immortals, Therna was a power that made people so powerful that modern cultivators couldn’t even be compared to them. A mortal equal in power to a Lord? How was that even possible? The answer was right in his hand, but he couldn’t figure out how to get inside the ‘scroll.’ All his attempts to break through the protections with his will, energies, or mysteries, hadn’t yielded any results, but not because he lacked power. It was like trying to open a keyhole with the wrong key. And the key was ten times larger than the lock itself. He was holding a puzzle in his hand, one that needed to be opened and-

“Have you heard these legends too?” Lathea approached him from behind.

She stood next to him on the ledge. The wind ruffled the hem of her skirt and her brown hair.

“It suits you,” a smile tugged at the corner of Hadjar’s lips.

They stood there in silence for a while and looked at the center of the city, where the lights of the main house of the Underground Whisper clan shone. It was a little more pompous than the Star Rain clan’s own home, with columns, lush gardens, and a stone fence surrounding it, along which guards patrolled.

He and Abraham had discussed taking the house by storm, but even if Abraham and Guy really were peak-stage Heaven Emperors, it still wouldn’t work out. The Underground Whisper clan had had about nine Heaven Emperors before winning the tournament. And while they’d lost two in the meantime, they still had seven left, as well as numerous defensive artifacts, traps, and so on. Besieging a fortress wasn’t the same as fighting in an open field.

“It looks like a star.”

“What?”

Hadjar only then realized that he had said this out loud. “Your hair. It looks like a shooting star right now.”

Lathea twisted a strand of hair around her finger and also smiled a little.

“That’s why Itia styled it like that,” she said slowly, and then turned her gaze back to the sky. “This will probably sound silly, but... When I was little, Grandpa liked to take care of a small garden in the backyard. When our clan was much poorer, there was a training ground there. Then we grew and needed more space.”

He wondered what it was like to train with your family… When one realized that their loved ones’ lives directly depended on the strength of their arm, they probably found it much easier to train. Maybe that was why such strong cultivators lived in the Strange Lands? Simply because they fought and trained for the sake of something so simple, but still precious beyond belief. Most people could easily understand such a motivation, too…

“He planted night flowers there,” the Princess continued. “They bloomed only at night, when everyone was sleeping or meditating. Almost no one saw their blossoms and buds. And if they did, it was only for a short time.”

Hadjar said nothing. He realized that he had never experienced something like that in his life. He’d never spent days watching the blooming of anything other than the scarlet flowers of death on battlefields. He’d been fighting for more than a century. Tirelessly. Every day… Only short breaks came into his life to inevitably be replaced by a new storm of events that would certainly lead him to war. It didn’t matter which one it was: the war of mortals, gods, demons, Spirits, monsters… It all amounted to the same thing in the end.

“I asked him why he was doing that, as no one really saw them. He told me,” Lathea smiled a little wider, “That he heard a story in his childhood from his grandmother. She told him that the gods in the Seventh Heaven see the world differently. What to us is a sky full of shining stars, to them… are gardens. Evening gardens.”

“Evening gardens,” Hadjar repeated, a little spellbound. It seemed to him like he had already heard this somewhere before or... even... been there…

“For some reason, back then, it seemed to me like I had heard that somewhere before or even been there.”

“What?” Hadjar shuddered.

“I know,” Lathea shrugged. “Nonsense. You know, when I first saw you, I felt like I’d already known you for a very long time. So long that... I don’t know if there is a word in our language to describe it. It was like I’d finally met a very close friend that I’d lost a long time ago.”

Hadjar wanted to tell her that he’d felt something similar, but didn’t. There weren’t many people in his life that he could call his friends. And when he did, it usually didn’t end well for them.

“Lathea, I-”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Abraham’s head popped out of the window. “We’ve come up with something like a solution over here!”

Chapter 1468

I n a deep cave, under a vault of shining silver stones, a beautiful altar stood. The scenes carved upon its surface could melt any heart: a cheerful girl playing with animals. A beautiful girl braiding her hair. A woman of unprecedented beauty with warm and merciful eyes looking at them kindly.

Flowers littered the cave floor. They covered the stones with such a thick carpet that anyone treading there would never feel the stones under their feet. The beauty of the flowers was comparable only to the beauty of the one that rested inside the altar. It was a tomb.

There was a man walking down the middle of this tomb. His hair was pure gold. His eyes were shining. His skin was bronzed. His figure was so perfect that no sculpture could hope to imitate his athletic grace, which was in absolute harmony with strength and endurance. Dressed in golden robes that shimmered and shone with every move he made, the man walked around the cave. He bent down to pick up the withered flowers. After placing them in a bag tied to his belt, he would take out new flowers from the basket slung around his shoulder and carefully lower them into the spot previously occupied by the withered ones.

“Unnamed,” the man said into the void.

“Irmaril,” a voice answered him. “Of all the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven, you’re the only one who refuses to call me Emperor.”

“Of all the inhabitants of the Seventh Heaven, I’m the only one old enough to remember that you are the ninth to occupy that throne. I’m tired of memorizing your names and titles. I haven’t cared about your kind for a long time now.”

“Old?” The void asked. “Ah, yes, I keep forgetting that you, just like your phoenix children, constantly die and are reborn again, but always keep your memories.”

Irmaril didn’t react in any way. He was busy doing the one thing that had allowed him to not go crazy throughout all these epochs. He was tending to the grave of the one who had never had time to give him her heart. There was no goddess or god in the Seventh Heaven who’d refused to share a bed with him. Many were even ready to link their lives to his, but the heart of the Sun God, despite all his might, had room for just one person.

“It was her choice, Irmaril. She tried to save her friend, and she died in the process. Stop being sad and-”

“Go away, Unnamed,” the man interrupted. “There is no place for you here and there are no people here who would be glad to see you.”

Power swirled in the cave. It could destroy entire countries, but only a light breeze touched the flowers, disturbing their peace. Irmaril waved his hand and gold radiance drove away the power, returning peace to the carpet of flowers.

“You didn’t join the battle back then. Neither the first nor the second time.”

“I have no reason to fight the General,” the man replied.

“You never had any love for him,” the void reminded him. “Miristal always spent more time with him than with you.”

“He was her first and only friend. I was her first and last love. You can’t understand this, Unnamed. You weren’t made to love.”

“You dare to presume that you know what I was created for, little star?”

The man straightened up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and, opening his flask, took a sip of water. After that, he calmly returned to his work.

“My light,” he said, “Covers all the lands. The true lands and the false lands both. From the edge of the mortal realm, to the vast Fae Lands. I see the scorched valleys of the demons, I know what is happening in the Land of the Immortals. I know all about the Seventh Heaven. So, yes, Unnamed, I dare to think whatever I want.”

“That’s why I came to you, Irmaril,” the void said. “I need your help.”

The man laughed. His laughter sounded like the clinking of gold coins.

“Is that how you ask for help? With threats and omissions?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it any other way.”

The man straightened up and looked somewhere to the side.

“I see you,” he said.

“I know,” the void replied. “You said it yourself, your light extends over everything that is in this world. So you should know about all of Miristal’s rebirths.”

“Rebirths… What are those but a reflection in the shards of a broken mirror? A reborn soul always has new experiences, so its fate is different. My Miristal died when she tried to save her friend from you.”

“If it wasn’t for her, the Black General would’ve been destroyed.”

Irmaril laughed.

“You know very well, Unnamed, that even the united forces of the whole world wouldn’t be enough to destroy the creature you created.” Irmaril uttered the last word with contempt and disgust.

The void didn’t answer immediately.

“You could pay with your life for such words,” came the reply.

“And then? You destroy me, and I just reappear. Nothing will change.”

The gaze of the void shifted to a longbow and arrows placed at the entrance to the cave. The longbow had been carved from the horns of a deer of the Seventh Heaven, and its string from its veins. The arrows had been made from the branches of a Tree growing in the middle of the element of Fire. The fletching had been made from the wings of birds that had joined with the element of Air. There was no archer in the Seventh Heaven more powerful and accurate than Irmaril. He could hit a target at a distance so great that even the senior gods couldn’t see that far.

“I need you to help me find a mortal.”

“A mortal?” The man asked in surprise. “When did you start being interested in the lives of mortals?” The void remained silent. “Don’t those you enslaved, the fairies, already serve as your watchdogs when it comes to those unfortunate enough to draw your attention?” The void didn’t answer again. “Oh, yes, how could I forget! You’re still bound by the same laws as the rest of us.”

“He carries a fragment of the Black General’s soul.”

The man bent down and replaced another flower in the carpet under his feet.

“What else did you expect to happen when you broke his soul and scattered it around the world? I’ve seen a whole order of mortals carrying his fragments. You need to be more specific, Unnamed.”

“He has the largest fragment of all. Now that it has absorbed some other, lesser ones, this fragment isn’t much smaller than the one locked up in the mountain.”

“Hmm,” the man drawled. “Interesting…”

He suddenly looked down at his feet. A moment passed, and then he went back to his business.

“What do you say, Daystar?”

Daystar... No one had called him that for a long time. It had been his nickname in their little trio, back when the General had visited the evening gardens. He had always come to them in the morning, when Irmaril and Miristal could be together.

“I’ll repeat myself, Unnamed. Leave. I don’t care about the schemes of gods and mortals. I’m just light. Light equally shines upon both the saints and the doomed. Leave. You aren’t welcome here.”

“I won’t forget this, Irmaril.”

Nothing changed, but the feeling of someone’s presence disappeared. The man continued his work, his expression not changing in the slightest.

Chapter 1469

A braham’s head disappeared back through the window. Lathea tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up at the sky again.

“Sometimes, Hadjar, it seems like someone is watching me from up there,” she said. “That makes me feel good. Like someone very dear to me is doing it. Someone very loving. But this feeling is like a forgotten dream — it comes in waves and recedes in waves as well.”

Hadjar looked up at the sky. He’d never liked the stars. They were cold and impartial.

“What about Alestan?”

Lathea turned to him with a puzzled look on her face.

“He’s just a friend from my childhood,” she replied. “We played together. No more than that.”

“I wonder how he feels about that,” Hadjar whispered, after which he added, a little louder, “Come on, Lathea. I’m sure Abraham has already come up with some sort of plan.”

“I don’t understand why you trust him.”

“I don’t. But at the moment, we’re allies with a common goal. That’s enough.”

Together, they returned to the room. It was spacious enough to accommodate two beds, several closets, and a round table, which they all gathered around.

As soon as Lathea entered the room, the young man’s gaze was instantly riveted to her. There was no doubt that he was in love with the Princess of his clan. But, as was often the case, everyone could see it except for Lathea herself.

“Well,” Abraham was smoking his pipe, his legs up on the table as he leaned back in his chair. “It would seem like your clever, charming, and good-looking leader has figured out how we might save Rhea’s father.”

“Who’s Rhea?” Alestan asked.

“Have you gone senile?” The old rogue frowned at him.

“Oh, yes,” Alestan threw a quick glance at Lathea. “Sorry.”

“May those who ask for forgiveness be rewarded, and may they be truly forgiven and their way to their forefathers opened-”

“Abrahaaam,” Itia drawled threateningly.

“Yes, my dear? Ah, well, yes, I lost track of things for a second. Ladies and gentlemen, have you ever heard the theory that the world will be inherited by those who own weapons but know that it is better to keep them sheathed?”

There was silence.

“Granted,” the thief nodded, “The theory is quite old. You probably won’t find it anywhere else, except etched on the walls of the ruins of Girtie’s tomb.”

Girtie... This name seemed familiar to Hadjar. His head ached. His shock of gray hair swung back and forth as he shook his head and took out his pipe. Smoking helped him get rid of the pain. Apparently, this pain was a lingering aftereffect of being infected with the Black General’s energy. The fact that there had been a spark of the ancient creature’s power in his Core was bound to leave some sort of trace behind, regardless of what had happened back at the river of Liquid Ice.

“So, old Shensie decided to use this nugget of wisdom. In fact, that’s my plan.” Abraham flashed them a smile. The old thief was obviously proud of himself.

“Can I have a little more… details?” Alestan asked.

“Don’t you understand?”

“Actually, I don’t understand it either,” the dwarf said. “Even though we dwarves are-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Abraham interrupted him. “You are the most developed, the most intelligent, and the most beautiful creatures in the Nameless World.”

“Glad to hear you finally admitting it, human dog.”

“Gentlemen!” Alestan slammed his hands on the table and got to his feet. “Are we going to argue or discuss business?”

Abraham exhaled a cloud of smoke and pointed his pipe at Alestan.

“Hot-blooded with a small brain. He’s just like you, Gustaf. Young people are all alike.”

“Fuck you, bastard.”

“You wound me! Everyone is so tense… Now, listen up. To put it simply, we have a situation where we have been put in check. How do you avoid a checkmate in that situation?”

“You protect yourself from it,” Lathea suggested.

“Maybe,” Abraham agreed. “But we have nothing to defend ourselves with. So, the only thing we can do is demonstrate our overwhelming strength and force our enemy to retreat, removing this very check from us.”

“That isn’t how chess works,” Alestan reminded him.

“But that’s how life works,” the old thief retorted. “When the Head of the Star Rain clan is led to his execution, the event will clearly be massive. Essenin or whatever her name is will definitely use this to damage the morale of her enemy and to raise the morale of her own troops. That’s why we’ll do as follows,” Abraham took out the map and some coal. “Dwarf, how many people can you get into the sewers?”

“Fifteen,” Albadurt answered after a moment’s thought. “But how will we get there?”

Instead of answering him, the old rogue waved his hand and a small box appeared on the table.

“Abraham,” Itia stood up. “Are you serious? This is-”

“I know, my dear, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Ladies and gentlemen, there is a powder inside this box, made by my father a long time ago.”

“Your father?” Alestan asked.

“Yes, kid. He invented the Technique that you’re so proud of.”

The young man’s eyes widened.

“So you’re the son of-”

“Death is near. Are you sure about this, old friend? It’ll take at least a century to make another batch of this,” Guy interrupted him.

“I’m sure,” Abraham nodded. “Dwarf, your task is to take the box, leave the city, get to the Star Rain people, and...” the old thief snapped his fingers as if he’d just remembered something, and turned to Lathea. “Princess, do you have something that can definitely confirm that this little man is really acting on your behalf?”

The Princess thought about it for a second, and then pulled a hairpin made of a metal that looked like both gold and silver out of her hair.

“This was a gift from my mother,” she said, handing the hairpin to the dwarf. “Show it to the First Warrior. He’ll definitely recognize it. If this works out-”

“I’ll return it to you,” the dwarf said gravely.

“Well, since that’s been sorted out, this is what we’ll do…”

Chapter 1470

H aving hidden himself and the others inside the Wind, Hadjar, who was standing on a nearby roof with them, watched what was happening in the central square. A crowd was gathering around a scaffold. By their very nature, humans were the same as monsters, only they had less fur, and their teeth weren’t quite so sharp. Only those who knew how to keep this monster within on a short leash had honor.

Honor… Perhaps it was the leash. Without it, humans were like wild animals, eager to see one strong person of this world bring another one down from their pedestal. This would make the crowd feel stronger, even just for a brief moment. The Head of an entire clan would fall before their eyes, and they would live on. This surely meant that they were stronger.

Hadjar has seen this before in his homeland. He looked to the north, where the roads leading away from the city were. Apart from the human world, he’d never encountered this kind of dynamic anywhere else before. Nature didn’t punish you for stealing roots or berries from it. A beast could and would only devour you if you were weaker. And too slow. In other words, you became the cause of your own death by treating the rest of the world and your own life carelessly.

“Is everything ready?” Abraham asked Alestan, who had come with them.

“It is,” the young man nodded. “The dwarf was able to get our people into the city. They’re in the crowd. You’ll recognize them by the white stripes on their cloaks.”

Hadjar looked at the square. Among the thousands of people crowding around, he was able to spot several fighters with white stripes on their cloaks.

“On my signal, you’ll set the stage, Hadjar.”

“Okay.”

They stood hidden amongst the wind currents and watched. The crowd gradually subsided. Having to sit there and wait was better than any appetizer in their eyes. Many wondered if the famous warrior would beg for mercy. They also wondered whether the executioner, who had already sharpened his axe and washed the wooden block, would be able to cut off the warrior’s head with one swing.

“There they are,” Gustaf pointed with his hand at the opened gates.

“Dad,” Lathea whispered and covered her mouth with her hand.

The man, who was being led by armored warriors, could hardly be called a man anymore. He was a wounded, emaciated skeleton covered in skin. It was difficult to find a place on his torso where the jailers’ whips hadn’t struck him. The bandage on his left leg couldn’t hide an open fracture. His left eye leaked right into a bandage, which had slipped onto the stump that was now where his nose had once been. The prisoner had no eyelids. Part of his scalp had been cut off and his skull was exposed to the rays of the sun. Horrific collars and shackles made from a special metal and reinforced with enchantments were restraining his abilities as a cultivator. He was barely managing to hobble along. He had clearly been held up most of the time, suspended by his ribs. The hook wounds on his stomach were quite prominent.

The crowd shouted and hooted when he was dragged to the scaffold, right in front of the wooden block.

“On your knees,” the executioner, whose face was hidden by a black hood, boomed.

The prisoner slowly turned to him. His withered, broken face, even in this form, retained its honor. The Head of the Star Rain clan looked at the executioner with his one good eye. In that look alone, there was so much dignity and strength that the executioner took an awkward step back, and the crowd quieted down. Galenon never knelt down. He stood upright, although it caused him unbearable pain.

“Dad,” Lathea almost took a step forward, but Alestan stopped her.

He grabbed her wrist and started repeating:

“Everything is going to be all right, Princess, everything…” His words were drowned out by the cheers of the reinvigorated crowd greeting their benefactor.

She was beautiful, but it was the beauty of a cold sculpture. She had snow-white skin, light brown hair, a statuesque figure, a haughty demeanor, sharp cheekbones, and proud, pouty lips. A small tiara rested on her head, and her extravagant clothes fluttered in the wind. She flew up to the scaffold and said:

“You’ll kneel, Galenon!” Essenin waved her hand and a surge of power, which fell upon the prisoner like a giant boulder, forced him to collapse to his knees. His head was on the wooden block, but his gaze was still proud. “Look, honorable guests and comrades! Here he is! The famous warrior of the Star Rain clan! You’ve revered him! You’ve admired him! But, in fact... He’s actually a traitor responsible for the death of my husband! My son, Satin, whom you all know, was supposed to marry their dirty slut of a daughter! I, Essenin of the Underground Whisper clan, could not allow this travesty to occur! Justice will be served and-”

“That’s your cue, Hadjar,” Abraham whispered. “Go!”

Hadjar sighed and nodded. He took a step forward and a lightning bolt streaked across the heavens as thunder roared, drowning out Essenin’s words.

“Honorable cultivators,” he spoke calmly, but the wind carried his voice throughout the city and beyond the outer ring of the walls. “You don’t know me, but my name is Hadjar Darkhan, the Wind of the Northern Valleys.”

Whispers spread across the square.

“The Wind of the Northern Valleys?”

“Hadjar Darkhan?”

“I’ve heard a couple of songs about him!”

“The Mad General who defeated the Dragon Emperor?”

“Yeah, the guy who’s working with demons.”

“Do you really believe in demons?”

“I didn’t believe in the Mad General either, but there he stands.”

The crowd’s gaze turned to the figure on the roof of a building. It was a tall young man who had a pleasant appearance. He had gray hair and was dressed in simple, cheap clothes. At his belt rested a sword with a handle as white as snow. In his hair, ornaments rang in the wind as feathers swayed.

“Master Wind of the Northern Valleys,” Essenin greeted him. “I could’ve received you in my house as an honored guest. Why are you violating the rules of hospitality and invading my city?”

“Head of the Underground Whisper clan,” Hadjar bowed sincerely. He didn’t know the whole story here, after all. “I’ve come to clarify something.”

“Can’t this wait?”

“It can’t. Please answer me, Head of the Underground Whisper clan. Did you know that your son made a deal with the Raven Sect? Did you know that that’s how he was able to treacherously defeat Lathea the Shooting Star?”

There was another wave of whispers.

“The Raven Sect?”

“Those murderous fanatics?”

“My brother died at their hands.”

“I almost lost a friend in a battle against them.”

“Fucking demon worshippers!”

“Has the Underground Whisper clan really made a deal with the Enemy’s followers?”

Hadjar looked into Essenin’s eyes. She responded in kind. He hated schemes, but life had forced him to learn a lot about them. Hadjar turned around abruptly, but it was too late. Putting a dagger to Lathea’s throat, Alestan disappeared into the void. No one from their squad had been able to react to what had just happened.

“Damn it!” Abraham swore. “I was tricked by a little bitch who still has milk on his lips!”

Satin wasn’t the one who’d made a deal with the Raven Sect.

“Don’t listen to him, honorable cultivators!” Essenin thundered. “Master Wind of the Northern Valleys has been spotted in the Star Rain clan’s city! Like a common mercenary, he sold them his sword! That clan wants to use him to destroy my family and trample on my honor! Look, they’ve even brought murderers with them!”

Behind everyone who had white stripes on their cloaks, three or four guards appeared. They instantly pinned down the Star Rain people.

Somewhere in the distance, inside the city, a pillar of fire suddenly erupted. Apparently, Albadurt wasn’t going to give up so easily. According to the plan, he had to break open the gates, and that was most likely what he was still trying to do. But he needed time.

“I understand everything now, Head of the Underground Whisper clan,” Hadjar bowed again. “Thank you for your answer.”

It wasn’t Satin who’d made a deal. It was his mother.

“What should we do now?” Gustaf asked.

Hadjar turned around and his eyes flashed.

“Something mad,” he said.

He bent down slightly and touched the hilt of his sword with his hand. Sometimes, in order to defeat a monster, you had to let your own out to rampage.

“Endless Wind,” he said, simultaneously releasing the full power of the Name of the Wind and the ‘Wind Warrior’ Technique.

A flash of blue light flew over the square. The Blue Blade struck a pair of crossed sabers. A wave of unimaginable power slammed into the city. It tore roofs off houses, disembodied screaming cultivators, reduced the streets to mud, and the stone pavement to gravel. The whirlwinds of concentrated wind exploded into pillars of power, which surged into the rapidly darkening sky. Lightning flickered like the weapons of an invisible army. Thunder pounded like battle drums. One might’ve thought that the source of all this chaos was Essenin, the peak-stage Heaven Emperor, but Hadjar Darkhan was actually the one standing in the center of it. The wind was circling around his blue robes that had clouds floating across them.

BAM! BAM! It was like hundreds of war drums had struck all at once.

Essenin was baffled when she saw her sabers waver under the pressure of the sword of a simple Nameless.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“The Mad General,” the warrior replied and swung his blade.

“General!” The thunder echoed.

“General!” The very sky roared.

***

“General!” The man with the golden hair heard the roar.

“General!” The cry resounded all across the Seventh Heaven.

Straightening up, he looked at the tomb of his beloved, then took the basket off his shoulder and placed it against the stone wall. He came out of the cave and stretched out his hand. His longbow answered his call. He touched the singing bowstring and pulled it back over his shoulder.

“But what kind of man would I be, Unnamed,” he said, “If I stayed away when the war is coming?”

He disappeared.

Note from the author

Hello folks!
Thank you very much for your time spent reading the series and giving it a chance in the first place! We hope you’ve had no regrets!

A whole team of editors, translators and artists is working to get this book as quickly as possible to you, and in the best state possible, as well. Every time a new book is published, it is both a reason for our team to celebrate and a reason for them to get nervous, wondering if this is when it all comes crashing down.

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