Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2020-03-11 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Fiction; Action; Martial Arts
Description: While crossing the desert with the caravan, Hadjar got involved in the search for the library of Mage City, where the elixir that could turn a person into a god was stored. After fighting against the desert bandits, he and his friend Einen suddenly entered Underworld City thanks to Serra’s amulets. How many stories and legends he’d heard from South Wind and Serra about it! How many times had he dreamed of coming there and talking to the Sage? How will this mysterious city welcome Hadjar? Will the underworld’s residents become his allies or his enemies? Will he finally find out what the ‘true p

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Sea of Sorrow

Book V

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2020 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 J. Kharkova

Edited by Damir Isovic

Cover designed by Julia Jdanova

Illustrations by Valery Spitsyn

Hello all!

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

The whole story is planned out and will have 2000 chapters. Now the story has almost 1500 chapters spanning 16 books. 5 books are translated into English and released.

The beginning of the story (click the link):
Dragon Heart: Stone Will

Table of contents

Hello all!

Chapter 333

Chapter 334

Chapter 335

Chapter 336

Chapter 337

Chapter 338

Chapter 339

Chapter 340

Chapter 341

Chapter 342

Chapter 343

Chapter 344

Chapter 345

Chapter 346

Chapter 347

Chapter 348

Chapter 349

Chapter 350

Chapter 351

Chapter 352

Chapter 353

Chapter 354

Chapter 355

Chapter 356

Chapter 357

Chapter 358

Chapter 359

Chapter 360

Chapter 361

Chapter 362

Chapter 363

Chapter 364

Chapter 365

Chapter 366

Chapter 367

Chapter 368

Chapter 369

Chapter 370

Chapter 371

Chapter 372

Chapter 373

Chapter 374

Chapter 375

Chapter 376

Chapter 377

Chapter 378

Chapter 379

Chapter 380

Chapter 381

Chapter 382

Chapter 383

Chapter 384

Chapter 385

Chapter 386

Chapter 387

Chapter 388

Chapter 389

Chapter 390

Chapter 391

Chapter 392

Chapter 393

Chapter 394

Chapter 395

Chapter 396

Chapter 397

Chapter 398

Chapter 399

Chapter 400

Chapter 401

Chapter 402

Chapter 403

Chapter 404

Chapter 405

Chapter 406

Chapter 407

Chapter 408

Chapter 409

Chapter 410

Chapter 411

Chapter 412

Chapter 413

Chapter 414

Chapter 415

Chapter 416

Chapter 417

Chapter 418

Chapter 419

Chapter 420

Chapter 421

Chapter 422

Note from the author

I would like to recommend you several new books of the Russian authors

Facebook groups I follow

Chapter 333

Hadjar was very familiar with dungeons as well as darkness. Probably because the former naturally came with the latter. He was in a dark dungeon once again.

Hadjar had woken up in all kinds of beds: thanks to the Bedouins, he’d even once woken up in a bed full of nude girls ready to please him; but he’d also woken up on hard mats and stones; on the bare ground; in dungeons and torture chambers; in a cave with a dragon; and in a village hunter’s home.

And yet, never before had Hadjar woken up lying on some kind of thick, viscous fluid. Why did he think this was a ‘dungeon’? Because he was completely naked and couldn’t move a finger. The substance around him was so dense that he seemed to be stuck inside it. As if someone with a bad sense of humor had shoved him in a bathtub full of foul-smelling glue.

“Azrea,” Hadjar called out.

His eyes gradually got used to the darkness. He wasn’t able to turn his head, so he couldn’t see a lot: just the distant ceiling, illuminated by a green light coming through some cracks. Wherever he was, it must’ve been huge.

“They tried to trap her in the liquid,” a familiar voice explained. Judging by where it had come from, Einen was somewhere nearby, “but your tigress was... uncooperative. She bit them, scratched their faces, and then disappeared.”

“Azrea,” Hadjar repeated in a completely different tone of voice.

He had no doubt that his furry, four-legged friend felt safe here and could probably even-

“That was three weeks ago.”

His train of thought abruptly ground to a halt. Three weeks ago? It felt like they’d reached the entrance to Underworld City only yesterday. And now he was in a dungeon. Why did it feel like he couldn’t avoid ending up in one?

“It happened right after I woke up,” Einen said.

“It’s unlikely that they spent a lot of time dealing with Azrea,” Hadjar realized. “You most likely woke up almost immediately.”

“I agree.”

Silence reigned in the cave, disturbed only by the flapping of bat wings. Hidden in the darkness, they watched the two immobilized creatures, but didn’t attack them.

“What happened while I was unconscious?” Hadjar asked.

From personal experience, he knew that the worst thing in any prison was the silence. It was better to avoid it by talking to anyone who would listen to you. Even a rat, or, in Hadjar’s case, a rat’s corpse.

“Nothing too terrible.” Einen answered. “A couple of times, someone that looked like a healer came down. I’ll be honest, Northerner, I envied you in those moments. I wish I’d been unconscious, just like you.”

“Was he that handsome?” Hadjar tried to joke.

“It was that painful.” Hadjar felt the bald man grimace.

Hadjar grunted and looked at the ceiling again. He’d often imagined his first visit to Underworld City. Of course, he hadn’t expected the royal treatment or a red carpet, but he hadn’t expected to be thrown in a dungeon for the umpteenth time.

“Do you have an escape plan?”

“A few, in fact,” Einen answered. After his friend let out a sigh of relief, he added: “But I need at least one of my fingers to be free for each of them.”

Hadjar cursed up a storm. He spent the next few hours brainstorming about their current situation. In his desperation, he even turned to the neural network, only to be greeted by the following message:

Computing module is currently rebooting…

Approximate time until completion is 3 years, 4 months, 12 days, 16 hours, 57 minutes, 45 seconds…

... 44

... 43

...

There was no way out.

“What if-”

“Already thought about it.”

“Maybe-”

“That too.”

“We could-”

“Not very likely.”

“Well at least I’m trying!” Hadjar declared indignantly.

“Northerner, I’ve been here for three weeks, playing chess with bats. You want to know what scares me the most? I lost a few times! Therefore, no matter what you end up proposing, I’ve already thought it over several times.”

Hadjar couldn’t tell if Einen was joking or not. He sincerely hoped that the islander was still managing to mock him, even in such a stressful situation. Six hours later, Hadjar realized that Einen wasn’t joking. He’d also lost to a bat. The animal looked at him with its scarlet, beady eyes, inspiring slight trepidation and a considerable amount of envy.

Ten hours later, Einen and Hadjar started arguing, accusing each other of being the cause of the unenviable situation. They even tried to crawl into each other’s ‘bath’-cells, but the glue held them in place.

Then the days started dragging on lazily, like a grazing buffalo that didn’t have a care in the world. Einen and Hadjar talked less and less. They silently indulged in deep meditation more often than not.

The substance in which they lay possessed not only immobilizing properties, but also a strange ability to absorb energy. When they tried to free themselves with the help of their energy, the liquid began to glow and power flowed away from their bodies and cores. It was a creepy dungeon, much more horrific than a simple slave collar with poisonous spikes. At least the latter was easy to understand and even familiar in a way.

“Hadjar,” Einen said.

He didn’t really want to talk, but his lips and tongue were the only muscles that he could actually use.

“I’m still here, don’t worry. I haven’t gone anywhere,” Hadjar joked dryly.

In all this time, no one had ever visited them. Not even that red-haired witch who’d obviously wanted to kill Hadjar. Surprisingly, they didn’t need food. Apparently, after processing their energy, the glue would feed them in some strange way. To be perfectly honest, Hadjar wanted to believe that it was processing their energy and not their excrement...

“What was that thing you ate when the dragon attacked us?”

Hadjar had been waiting for this question. Surprisingly, Einen had decided to ask it after almost a month and a half of them being imprisoned... Okay, admittedly, he hadn’t been able to get any answers from Hadjar during those first three weeks.

For some time, Hadjar had pondered whether to answer honestly or not. After Nero, Einen had become the first person whom he could call a friend. They’d fought shoulder to shoulder and watched each other’s back, but something in their relationship was different. There was no sincere recklessness or a readiness to charge after one’s friend, even into the abyss or a hopeless fight.

“A fairy’s body,” he answered finally.

There was utter silence. Then Einen said, “What? What’s a fairy?”

Now it was Hadjar’s turn to look incredulous.

“What do you mean — what’s a fairy?”

“I mean… What is a fairy, Northerner? The secret elixir of your royal family? A mystical potion of some kind? An artifact?”

“That sounds like a joke, Einen. However, your previous one about bats and chess was better.”

Hadjar noticed a gurgle like the one he’d heard when they’d quarreled and Einen had tried to break free from the glue in order to strangle him.

“If I could, I would challenge you to a duel,” the islander growled, continuing to make the gurgling noise.

Hadjar arched his right eyebrow skeptically. Alas, only the bats could appreciate it.

“Do you really not know who fairies are?”

“Who? I think they’re more of a ‘what’!”

Hadjar snorted. Then he coughed. Then he laughed out loud. He laughed long and hard. Even his belly started aching. After two weeks of complete immobility, this pain was a pleasant change of pace.

“Why are you laughing, barbarian?”

“Just give me a minute,” Hadjar said, out of breath, “let me enjoy the moment.”

“What moment?”

“The one where I know something you don’t.” Hadjar laughed again. He sighed and sniffed. “What a wonderful feeling it is when everyone around you seems dumb.”

“I never called you dumb. Ignorant maybe, but not dumb. I’m gonna ask you one last time, barbarian, who are fairies and how do you know about them?”

“They’re the messengers of the gods. I know about them because my mother told me stories when I was a child. I thought all children knew about them...”

Again, there was utter silence in response.

“Hey, baldy, don’t go all quiet on me now...”

Silence.

“Einen!”

“Calm down, barbarian,” Einen whispered wearily, “let me digest this new information. It’s not every day somebody tells me they’ve eaten tangible proof that the gods exist.”

Alas, the islander didn’t get a chance to finish ruminating. Footsteps were heard in the hall, and Hadjar finally saw someone besides bats.

Chapter 334

“You look good, stranger.” The paunchy man who’d shielded Hadjar from the red-haired witch’s spell leaned over his ‘bathtub’.

Now that Hadjar could see him from up close, he noticed something quite abnormal: slightly sagging, fatty cheeks, which even the weakest practitioners couldn’t have. During training, even without any meditation, a practitioner’s figure would become rather attractive and well-shaped. Only those who had advanced a long way down the path of cultivation could have some extra fat on their sides, along with people who needed it on their own chosen path.

Neither seemed to be the case with this man. Although Hadjar wasn’t a true cultivator since he was still at the Transformation Stage, he could feel the presence of the Spirit in another person. In Einen, he’d detected the influence of the Staff Spirit and the Spear Spirit. In himself — the Sword Spirit. In this paunchy man, he could feel no Staff Spirit, nor the Spear one, the Dart one, not even a Stick Spirit. Hadjar sensed nothing that would be familiar to him.

Nevertheless, the man held a military iron staff with a colored stone at the top. The power emanating from it wasn’t at the initial levels of cultivation, but at the level of a Heaven Soldier.

“What do you want from us?” Hadjar asked, looking into the man’s eyes.

“What do we want?” The man seemed surprised. “From you? By the Evening Stars, we want nothing. It was you, strangers, who disturbed our peace.”

“We just came near the entrance to your city.” Einen joined the conversation. “If you stuck your heads out of your hole more often, you would’ve noticed that we’d emerged from a spatial fault.”

The paunchy man turned to him, measured Einen with an appraising look, and then shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter whether you appeared from a fault, rode in on desert ravens,  used a flying carpet, or the Jasper Emperor himself carefully put you here. Strangers aren’t allowed to enter Underworld City.”

Hadjar could definitely dispute that. He knew of at least one stranger who’d wound up here and, moreover, become a disciple of the Sage.

“South Wind,” Hadjar said. “My teacher is South Wind. He was the Sage’s disciple. I have his seal.”

“South Wind,” the man repeated, as if trying to remember someone. “South Wind... South Wind... I don’t remember anyone who went by that name.”

“He changed his name to Eternal Stream,” Hadjar pressed, not giving up. “In Lidus, he was also called The Sand Sea of the Hot Valley.”

“Still nothing.”

The paunchy man continued to examine the tub, sometimes checking things that were comprehensible and obvious only to him. He did it very casually, using simple, deliberate movements. He seemed to have experience with this.

“Serra, then.” Hadjar noticed the strange man flinch. That encouraged him. “Serra the witch. She was my brother’s wife. Not for very long, but still! And she was my good friend-”

Hadjar didn’t get to finish speaking. The paunchy man ran his fingers along his staff, and as he did so, it was as if an invisible giant had struck Hadjar’s belly with an iron fist. Along with wheezing coughs, a trickle of blood escaped Hadjar’s mouth. Leaking out of the corners of his lips, it dissolved in the green liquid.

“We found her amulet among your things, stranger.” The paunchy man’s voice was full of steel and cold hatred. “Many of us loved and respected Serra, so I would advise you to stop bringing her up.”

“But-”

Another blow caused Hadjar to twitch in a reflexive attempt to defend himself. He felt like a stupid fly trapped in a tenacious spider’s web.

“I don’t know how you defeated one of the best disciples of the Sage, but your lie is obvious to anyone who was even a little familiar with Serra.” The man got up, turned to Einen, and struck him with the same invisible air attack.

“Why...” the islander hissed out, spitting blood.

Ignoring Einen’s lamentations, the paunchy man returned to Hadjar’s side.

“Serra never loved... men,” he said, “and her many mistresses are evidence of that. I don’t know what fate you’ll choose, but I’d avoid her sister if I were you. Nobody who knew Serra would believe that you were able to kill her, but Tilis won’t stop. She’s vowed to avenge her sister’s death.”

With these parting words, the man turned around and walked off, out of Hadjar’s line of sight. Suddenly, it dawned on Hadjar.

“Ramukhan!” Hadjar called. The man halted. “By the Evening Stars, the Great Turtle as my witness, Demons and Gods smite me if I’m lying, I’d also love to... avenge her death. Alas, there is no mortal whose life could be placed upon her funeral pyre.”

A deathly silence filled the dungeon. Even the bats didn’t dare make a sound.

“Make sure to tell Tilis all about it,” the paunchy man answered mockingly, and added, “If you survive.”

He heard the man walking away once more, followed by the thud of a stone door. Or maybe a hatch. Hadjar’s imagination, which had been flourishing in the time he’d spent watching only the unchanging ceiling, had conjured up a hinged bridge.

“Are you sure you had a brother and not a sister?” Einen asked with obvious pain in his voice.

“I’m certain,” Hadjar grunted, “it’s you I’m suspicious of.”

“I’m surprised to hear you’re interested in what’s beneath my robes. I’ve heard that sodomy is strictly forbidden in the north.”

“I never understood why, but, nevertheless, in the past six months, I’ve never seen you naked.”

“So that’s what you’d need to see to be sure...” Judging by his voice, the islander felt sick. “You are definitely a real barbarian. In my homeland, only a man’s parents see him naked until he is able to wash himself. After that, only his wife sees him naked.”

“Everyone has their own quirks...”

For some time after that, they argued about the subject of nudity and the barbarism of different countries. Hadjar couldn’t understand why the islander was so embarrassed by nudity, and Einen used the word ‘shame’ a lot. Using this meaningless chatter, they tried to relieve their stress and the tension they felt. Nevertheless, the stronger a warrior was, the more difficult it was for them to face their own powerlessness. In their particular case, the powerlessness was being generously accompanied by the oppressive darkness and a hopeless dungeon.

“Wait a minute, Hadjar.” Einen’s voice became serious. “What did he mean by you having to ‘choose your fate’?”

Again, as if the underworld dwellers had been waiting for just the right moment to make a grand entrance, the sound of footsteps could be heard in the darkness.

Chapter 335

By the sound of it, there were at least ten people approaching. The many voices were almost a blessing after so long spent in isolation with just Einen.

“Stay back, you bastards!” Einen shouted as they got near him.

“Put a gag in his mouth,” a dry, senile voice ordered.

Soon, they could see three men in white, weird clothes — shapeless, roughly stitched, with the seams on the outside, patched and dirty. The owners of such robes were unlikely to hold a high position in society.

Judging by the sounds around him and by Einen’s muffled cursing, three other people had appeared near his ‘bathtub’, too.

The men held long, steel sticks: two had fishing lines and a self-tightening knot on top. Upon seeing the third, Hadjar sighed tiredly, frustrated and reassured. The third stick had a slave collar at the end, one with spikes coated in poison lining the insides. One dose of that poison would render any practitioner unable to access their energy. It was a very effective and abominable concoction. Amusingly enough, it was the most popular product of the alchemists in the nearby regions.

“Come on, get it over with,” Hadjar snarled at the boy walking along at his side. He had probably never seen a naked girl, he was so young. He hadn’t dared to come close to Hadjar’s ‘bathtub’ and was trying to fasten the collar onto Hadjar’s neck from a distance. Of course, he kept failing.

“Give me that,” the old man’s voice that had ordered for Einen to be gagged growled out. Hadjar was a bit grateful to him, as he’d been dreaming about that happening for many days now…

Taking the steel rod from the boy’s hands, the head servant finally appeared on the ‘stage’. These people didn’t have slave collars, but still wore rather modest clothes, so they were clearly servants.

The old man, who was apparently their leader of sorts, looked no better. Staring at Hadjar the same way one would a rat, he jerked the collar in place around his neck and turned the handle of the rod, snapping the two parts together.

The same click sounded from Einen’s direction.

“Drain the solution,” the old man ordered, handing the stick back to the boy.

“Yes, Salif,” one of the men bowed.

While Hadjar was being held against the wall of the dungeon like a mad dog, a strange seal was being applied to the various hieroglyphs on the side, in a certain order. After several layers had been applied, the hieroglyphs flared up. Somewhere below, a heavy flap creaked, and with a very unpleasant, chomping sound, the green glue began to trickle slowly into the hole. As his body was released from the viscous captivity, Hadjar slowly began to move his limbs.

It was difficult. Despite all the nourishing properties of the liquid, it had done nothing about his muscle atrophy. Fortunately, the poisoned thorn of the collar only prevented the external manifestation of energy, so nothing was interfering with its circulation inside his body. Gradually, after restoring the current of power along his meridians, Hadjar finally felt in control of his own body again.

“Get up!” The boy squeaked out.

His sharp tug on the rod sent pain coursing through Hadjar’s body. Hadjar was kind of glad to experience this pain. After a few weeks of imprisonment, it was like a light, warm summer rain. Standing up, unashamed of his nudity, Hadjar gave the boy a quick, sharp look. He shivered and looked down at the floor. He was clearly not a fighter.

Staggering and stumbling a couple of times in the process, scratching his knees and his hands vigorously, Hadjar got out of the bath.

Looking around, he barely resisted the urge to curse. He wasn’t too shy to swear in front of the young boy, but swearing was often a sign of weakness, and the last thing a prisoner, or worse, a slave, should ever do was give their captors the satisfaction of hearing such a thing.

The place where he and Einen (who was being dragged out of his bath, swaying and trying to hide his ‘shame’) had spent the past month and a half looked like a bathhouse. There were at least forty empty ‘bathtubs’ in this place. Just how many people do they normally imprison in here!

“Hold them down.” The old man made sure that the collars were firmly attached to the prisoners and then went ahead. “If they send any of you to the forefathers, it will be your own fault.”

“Yes, Salif,” the servants replied in chorus.

Two servants stood on either side of the prisoners. They put a ‘bridle’ around their necks with great dexterity. Getting into a sort of arrowhead formation, they pulled the prisoners toward the exit.

To Hadjar’s surprise, they indeed walked over to a stone door. It resembled the one he’d seen in the sheikh’s treasury — massive, but very functional. It glowed faintly in the dim light of the cave, and had various patterns and hieroglyphs painted on it. The resemblance had some implications... which would have to be pondered later.

Keeping up with the servants while feeling the terrible weakness in his whole body wasn’t an easy task. Hadjar often stumbled. After one such stumble, accompanied by the servants’ displeasure and the tightening of his ‘bridle’, Hadjar began to feel warm blood running down his shoulders.

His cold, blue eyes flashed. With a growl, Hadjar grabbed one of the rods. He fell to his knees, accompanied by the servants’ laughter that sounded like the barking of hyenas. Blue sparks of lightning danced across his arm, and pain shot through his body. The hieroglyphs on the rods glowed.

“Stupid stranger!” The man who was leading Einen along shouted. “He’s just like a dog. Until he gets disciplined, he doesn’t understand who the master is.”

Hadjar gave him the look he usually reserved for those he wanted to kill. The servant started and turned white, but didn’t look away. Instead, while still leading the islander, he drew a simple club from his belt.

Coming closer (Einen was trying to slow down the progress of his trio of guards, but couldn’t do it), he hit Hadjar on the head. Sparks flew from Hadjar’s eyes. They were blue as well.

“Come on, stranger, look at me like that again. Fucking dog…”

He started to swing again, but was stopped by the old man’s shout: “Don’t ruin the merchandise, you fool! Or do you want to deal with Karissa?”

“I beg your pardon, Salif,” the boy bowed, still looking at Hadjar. A mixture of fear and rage could be seen in his childish, wolfish eyes. Hadjar knew from personal experience that such a person never became anything worthwhile — just a scoundrel and an asshole. Once upon a time, the first man Hadjar had defeated in a duel had looked at the world in that same exact way. That man had killed a daughter in front of her own mother.

“Move, you dog.” The boy tried to spit on Hadjar’s face, but the prisoner dodged.

Standing up with his back straight and head held high, Hadjar followed the old man. The young man holding the rod with his collar almost stumbled at the sudden change of pace.

Einen, who had also received a painful blow to the chest from that club, greeted the northerner’s actions with a broad grin. It was the kind of small victory over their captors that gave them hope. And for prisoners, along with their dignity, hope was their last refuge. Hadjar realized dungeons made him quite philosophical…

Chapter 336

They followed the old man into a long corridor. The passage, obviously manmade, had, at first, naturally formed over hundreds or thousands of years and, judging by the number of irregularities on the walls and the ceiling and how far the stalactites and stalagmites had grown out, no one had interfered in the process.

Now that he was in the narrow stone corridor, Hadjar felt the lack of a clear sky overhead as almost a physical pain. While he’d been in prison, he hadn’t been particularly aware of the fact that he was underground. And now the realization struck him.

To the boy’s delight, Hadjar swayed slightly and cut himself quite deeply on a stalagmite. Suppressing a cry, Hadjar picked up a small, needle-shaped shard that he’d manage to break off from the ground with a deft movement of his hand. The servants didn’t notice him doing so, but the vigilant Einen did.

After a brief exchange of glances, Einen mimed a symbol from his native alphabet. It was the number three. Hadjar wished he’d taught the islander the sign language of hunters…

They both knew that, even if they succeeded in killing the servants and the old man by some miracle, their escape attempt would still be doomed to failure. They had no idea where they were, and the slave collars, which could only be removed with a special seal, were still around their necks. On the other hand, if they didn’t try to escape, they would no longer have any self-respect left.

At the first turn, Einen gestured ‘one’. Hadjar responded with a slight nod. He understood what Einen was signalling.

They passed the second turn in the same silence and at the same leisurely pace. Apparently, only one of the seven servants wanted to harm the strangers. The rest of them, and even old Salif, were trying to set a pace at which the journey would not last forever but the prisoners wouldn’t be forced to stumble after them.

Five minutes later, Einen and Hadjar had regained control of their bodies. This was the result of years of hard training and their high levels of cultivation.

As soon as the third turn appeared ahead, the islander pretended to stumble. A great actor was clearly being wasted, trapped inside Einen. He staggered plausibly, cutting his forehead against the stone wall, leaving streaks of blood and skin behind. Blood spurted in all directions. Only an inexperienced person believed that there would be a lot of blood if one cut into a torso. In reality, cutting one’s face or head was the far more guaranteed way to ensure lots of blood loss.

“By the Evening Stars!” Salif exclaimed.

Noticing the holdup, the old man had wanted to kick the prisoners at first, but then he’d seen one of the strangers in a pool of his own blood. He took a special flask out of his pocket and walked over to Einen.

“Hold him down,” the old man commanded.

Due to this unexpected situation, he’d completely forgotten about the second prisoner for a moment. Hadjar didn’t waste the opportunity. Unclenching his fist, he deftly seized the stone needle. Rushing forward, ignoring how the collar choked him and the screams of the falling servants, he grabbed Salif by the shoulders and held his ‘weapon’ against the old man’s perfectly visible carotid artery.

“Don’t move!” Hadjar shouted to the boy who was already swinging his club.

He was aiming right at Einen’s head. Such a blow wouldn’t kill the sturdy islander, but would certainly send him into oblivion for a long time.

“Don’t be silly, stranger,” the old man said calmly, almost lazily. “You understand that you won’t escape, don’t you?”

“I do,” Hadjar nodded and pressed the needle down harder. A red trickle ran down the old man’s skin.

“Then why do this?”

Neither the pain nor the blood seemed to be bothering the old man.

“Take Einen’s gag out.”

“What?”

“Take the bald man’s gag out.” Hadjar had forgotten that he’d been shaved as well. His thick, long hair was now a distant memory.

“You heard him.”

The servants looked fearfully from Hadjar to their leader and back. After some hesitation, they carefully pulled the greasy cloth out of Einen’s mouth.

He stood up, wiped the blood away with the cloth, and then threw it in the face of the boy with the club. His face flushed with the indignity and his hand trembled, but the old man stopped him in time.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll deal with them myself…”

“And what will you do?” Hadjar asked impudently. At the moment, he felt like a desert bandit. “Will you send us to meet our forefathers?”

“Meet your forefathers? Oh no, stranger, you won’t get off that easily.”

Hadjar pushed the needle in even harder.

“Then what’s supposed to stop me from killing you?”

“What difference would it make?” The old man asked calmly in return. “They won’t take your collars off and they won’t release you. You can slit my throat right now and it won’t change your fate.”

Einen gave the arrogant youth a look so haughty that the servant choked with humiliation. The islander could really assert his superiority when he wanted to.

“Then we’re in a stalemate,” he said, probing his bleeding forehead with his fingers, inspecting the cut.

“There is no stalemate, strangers.” Hadjar couldn’t see it, but Salif must have rolled his eyes. “I’m only talking to you now because I haven’t been so entertained for a long time. You’re both Inheritors. You arrived here through a spatial rift. One of you has two amulets of the Sage. By the Evening Stars, if I’d heard the tale from anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?”

“I suggest you lower your weapons and come with me. Toward your destiny. Whichever one you end up choosing.”

“Demons and Gods!” Hadjar couldn’t resist cursing in Lidish, even though no one here understood it. “What do you mean by us choosing our destiny?”

Salif, scratching his own neck on the stone needle, turned his head to Hadjar.

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Hadjar mulled it over for a while. The islander waited. He understood perfectly that their escape attempt had been doomed from the start. However, as has already been mentioned, hope was everything to captives.

“On one condition.”

“Condition?” Salif’s laugh was like the rustle of cheap paper. “Well then, tell us your condition.”

“Make that one,” Hadjar nodded at the arrogant boy, “hit himself on the head with his club.”

“What-”

The boy stopped talking. The old man’s imperious look froze the words in his throat. Even as a hostage, he had complete control over his subordinates. It was worthy of respect.

“He’ll never forgive you,” Salif whispered so that only Hadjar could hear him.

“I don’t care.”

The old man thought about it for a couple of seconds and then waved his hand imperiously. The boy protested for a long time, but Salif didn’t change his mind.

“May the Evening Stars curse me if I don’t kill you both one day!” With these words, the boy swung and hit his nose and lips. His blood fountained out as Einen’s had a minute ago.

As they’d agreed, Hadjar moved the needle away. The instant he did so, Salif staggered back and pulled out a whip he had at his belt. He nodded to the servants, who then turned the handles of the rods. Hadjar and Einen immediately fell to the ground. Their bodies writhed in terrible agony while blue sparks of lightning danced across their skin. Only this time, Salif’s sharp whip strikes accompanied the torture. It lasted for about five minutes, no longer than that. Then the weakened, bloodied, and burnt captives rose to their feet and were dragged down the corridor.

It seemed like they’d made a mistake. However, they had actually achieved their goal: they’d found out that they weren’t going to be killed in the near future. They wanted them alive and relatively intact. A small but vital piece of information that had dramatically changed things. In addition, Einen had managed to get rid of his gag. Winking at each other, the injured strangers continued on their way.

Chapter 337

Behind the third turn was... more of the same long stone corridor. Stumbling with every step, Hadjar regretted losing his things, such as the spatial ring and the sword. He’d already forgotten the last time he’d spent so long without his blade. He’d had no idea how much he had grown used to the weight on his belt and how comforting the scabbard bouncing against his thigh while he walked had become.

He would be able to get back everything he’d lost if he had a good sword in his hands and the wind in his hair. However, he currently had neither. So, his plan was to remove the slave collar around his neck and get a hold of any blade. The rest would just be a matter of time and effort.

A mere half an hour later, the darkness of the corridors was replaced by the light of a wide hall. It was semicircular and illuminated by the same green cracks in the ceiling and white torches.

Hadjar paused to stare at this miracle and was struck in the side by a club. He almost didn’t feel the pain, as it was blocked out by another, sharper one: all this time, they had been walking barefoot across the stones. By the end of their ‘journey’, their feet had been almost ground down to the bone. Then Hadjar noticed a group of about seventy people in plain white cloaks. It dawned on him that the clothes the servants now wore had been the same as these robes, long ago.

In front of the group stood a woman who resembled a watchdog. She was as taut with tension as the bowstring of a bow. She wasn’t beautiful, but sharp and ferocious. She had the same aura that the paunchy man and Serra had. She was clearly a witch as well.

“Karissa,” Salif bowed.

“You’re late, Salif.” She held a thick book bound in iron. The old, yellowed pages glittered slightly in the light of the torches, fastened to the book with chains. “Why is the material damaged? You and your people don’t look good either...”

“We had some problems along the way, Karissa, but it was nothing serious.”

Her expression made it clear that she didn’t want to hear any excuses. Karissa pointed at an empty spot at the side of the crowd. Salif bowed again and nodded to the servants. They dragged the strangers to the indicated spot and turned the handles of the rods.

Hadjar and Einen tensed reflexively, but instead of pain, they heard mechanical clicks. The rods separated from the collars in some strange way. However, this alone didn’t give them any false hope or delusions of escape being possible. They were still prisoners and attempting to escape would be absolutely pointless.

“Well.” Karissa gave the audience an appreciative look. Hadjar, accustomed to it after years of traveling with the freak show, wasn’t insulted. However, Einen gritted his teeth. “All of you ended up here by the will of the Evening Stars. Some by accident, while others have been looking for our city for many decades to find out if there is any truth behind the myth, or to look for treasures and secret Techniques, or to beg for a grain of the Sage’s wisdom.”

The crowd kept silent. Hadjar also had nothing to say, as he didn’t understand what was happening. The crowd gathered here was very ragtag: there were men and women both, young and old. Bronze-skinned desert dwellers, swarthy southerners, tanned northerners. Everything from strong practitioners in slave collars to those who were considered so harmless that they’d never even been collared.

“You all went through a month and a half of acclimatization,” the witch continued. Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. So that was what their imprisonment was called — ‘acclimatization’. “The atmosphere in our city is harmful to those who come from the surface. The same principle applies in reverse as well. We couldn’t let you into our city until everything you brought with you was destroyed.”

The people nodded, listening to the witch attentively. Hadjar couldn’t stop examining the surrounding area. Against his will, his mind continued to search for escape routes. It failed repeatedly, but didn’t give up and kept trying.

“We might not be the most hospitable hosts in the world, but the laws of cordiality aren’t alien to us either.” Karissa looked at the crowd like an appraiser looked at goods in a warehouse. “We didn’t invite you, but you are still here, and we must do something with you. We can’t just let you go. Each of you has seen the entrance to Underworld City, and this alone is enough for many of my fellow citizens to want to send you to meet your forefathers.”

A wave of whispers passed through the crowd, but as soon as the chains on the witch’s book rattled, it immediately stopped.

“So, we will give you all a choice.” Karissa waved her hand and various amulets flew out of her caftan and hovered in the air. There were three types of them. “Each of you will voluntarily come up here and choose an amulet. Red ones will make you servants. You will wear energy-limiting collars. After working for Underworld City for 35 years, you’ll become a full citizen...”

The witch wasn’t even finished speaking before several dozen people took a step forward. Each of them received a red amulet and an order to follow one of the servants (there were still several other ‘head servants’ there, in addition to Salif). The people who’d elected to wait watched them with contempt, especially the ones who wore slave collars.

What was 35 years at the very beginning of one’s path of cultivation? It was like a whole lifetime. Those who voluntarily sacrificed this period, even if they received unique resources and knowledge later, would probably never be able to catch up. They would have no strong inner core that would allow them to reach the higher levels of cultivation.

“The next amulets are the black ones. After receiving these, all restrictions will be removed and you’ll be sent to the lower levels of the city. There, under strict surveillance, you’ll mine Blue Stone Ore. You’ll serve for five years. After that, you’ll also receive the status of a citizen.”

This time, only seven or nine people stepped forward. All of them had collars. They were also given the same judgmental looks, full of contempt and condemnation. Not for their choice, but for their hastiness. After all, if they’d done the same after listening to all the options, then no one would’ve said a word about it. Indeed, in addition to cultivating, one had to survive, and to do so, you had to assess your opportunities soberly and with great care.

“And the last color is blue. After you take these, all your restrictions will also be removed and you’ll even get your property back. In exchange for your citizenship and freedom, you’ll be at the disposal of the Research Chamber for a period of one year. I’ll warn you right now: nine out of ten servants receive citizenship; four out of ten miners earn their freedom; but only one out of ten that choose the Research Chamber do the same. You’ll have an hour to think it over. I’ll assign amulets at my discretion to anyone who refuses to make a choice by the time your deadline is up.”

As soon as the witch finished speaking, two men separated from the group: the tall and broad-shouldered northerner, whose bald head  glistened ridiculously with pinkish-white skin, and the islander, easily recognizable thanks to his people’s characteristic eyes. They both simultaneously chose a blue amulet.

Chapter 338

The people who chose the blue amulets had to follow Karissa, so she waited for everyone to make their choice. Hadjar and Einen observed the final result: most of the strangers had chosen the red amulets — about fifty of them. About twenty people had chosen black amulets, and only five people had decided to take the blue ones. Therefore, after everyone had dispersed, only six people remained in the hall.

“I don’t like wasting time. I’ll bring you up to speed immediately.”

Karissa ran her fingers over her book. It soared into the air obediently. Its chains rattled, then the pages rustled and froze on the information they needed. There was a short flash and the amulets turned into long strands of something akin to rope that wound around their hands like tourniquets, looking almost like bracelets. They were still blue and glowed slightly while squeezing their wrists hard.

“Those aren’t slave collars,” the witch said, “you’ll still be able to use your power, but as soon as you think about harming a citizen...”

Hadjar suddenly felt a terrible pain assault him like the worst migraine imaginable. Unable to stand it, he howled and struck the floor. Since he’d only gotten his energy back recently, he didn’t hold back and ended up punching a hole in the floor. The ground shook and long cracks spread out from the point of impact. Only Einen watched Hadjar’s actions with a calm expression on his face. The rest grimaced or shouted. Even Karissa raised her right eyebrow slightly.

“…you’ll immediately feel a most unpleasant sensation,” she finished. “Thanks for the demonstration, Northerner.”

The captives spent a while trying to get used to their new ‘decorations’. Everyone suspected that the witch hadn’t told them everything the rope bracelets were capable of, but nobody said anything.

These supposedly ‘not very hospitable hosts’ were actually ruthless exploiters. They most likely had to choose their amulets voluntarily for a reason — such a powerful spell probably couldn’t be cast on someone against their will... Hadjar didn’t understand the ‘true’ path of cultivation, but he suspected that if he hadn’t chosen the amulet himself, it wouldn’t have been able to attach itself to his arm.

“Now that we’ve sorted out the most important thing, let’s move along. I don’t like wasting time. By the way, you’d better remember that. From this day onward, I’m your highest authority. If you have any questions, ask me. Actually, all your problems will most likely also involve me in one way or another. Remember, I dislike problems just as much as I dislike wasting time.”

As if to confirm what she’d just said, the witch held her hand out over the book again. The pages rustled, and then a spear made out of golden and green light appeared in Karissa’s hands. Power equal to the might of a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage emanated from it.

Everyone got the hint. It was better to not cause trouble and thus avoid getting struck in the back or chest by the spear. There were at least two people among the five of them who could’ve dealt with this Technique — Hadjar and Einen — but they were powerless to do so because of the bracelets.

Karissa, without saying a word, turned and walked toward one of the seven stone doors. Apparently, not every group of strangers was honored with a choice. The city must’ve replenished its ‘reserves’ according to what was needed.  Only time would tell whether this was good for them or not.

After walking through the next corridor, the group, still silent, arrived at a wide parapet. Everyone reacted with surprise, defeat, and admiration. The witch eyed the strangers with a triumphant look and kept going.

Hadjar tried to keep up, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the view that had appeared before him. Until that moment, he’d always believed Underworld City was just a beautiful and poetic name. Like the Sea of Sand being a fairly ordinary desert in reality. Instead, it turned out that it really was a city: wide streets full of people hurrying about their business, merchant stalls, stores, libraries, and other features common to any city. Carts and carriages drove down wide avenues. Bodyguards dressed in heavy armor escorted some of them. People tried to avoid those vehicles.

Some wore caftans and trousers while others wore robes more familiar to the northerner.

Brick houses stood in long rows and the various areas of the city were separated by rivers and canals. One of the captives — a desert dweller — realized something shocking: he hadn’t seen so much water in one place in his entire life. Most surprisingly, boats sailed along these canals and rivers. They were either large, loaded with crates, barrels, and goods, or small, used for pleasure cruises.

Streams of black and white smoke curled up from the chimneys. Climbing up to the top of the cavern that was so distant it looked more like a green sky, they disappeared and dissolved, leaving no trace behind.

In the center, there was a building with round roofs and an observatory. The sight gave Hadjar hope. The huge telescope was directed somewhere toward the ceiling. This meant that there was at least one more exit from Underworld City.

“Keep up,” Einen whispered.

They went down the huge stairs and found themselves in the midst of the bustling city. It was probably daytime, as the people were fussing about, settling their urgent affairs. According to Hadjar’s estimates, up to ten million people could live in such a big city. Ten million people living in a gigantic cave! Now he understood why Serra had never talked about her homeland: Nero and Hadjar would’ve laughed at her, unable to believe such a thing could ever exist.

Passing through a few streets and avenues, where Einen was almost run over by a real horse, Karissa brought the group to the river. It was wide enough for two loaded barges to spread out comfortably.

A ferryman stood at the pier. Like many others in the city, he didn’t look as fit and slender as most people on the surface, but Hadjar wouldn’t judge him by his appearance. However, the ferryman wasn’t emanating any energy.

After paying him a few coins, Karissa waited until everyone came aboard.

“Take us to the Research Chamber,” she told the ferryman. He pushed off from the bottom with a stick. The witch turned to the strangers. “You’ll have time to settle down in your barracks today. In addition to you, about a hundred other strangers live there. In the evening, you’ll get your belongings back. I would advise you to rest up tonight, because you start work in the morning.”

Einen raised his hand.

“Yes, Islander?”

“What will we be doing?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I don’t like wasting time, and not all of you will survive tomorrow. But… I suppose it can’t hurt. Once dawn comes, you have to go down to the Pit. Our hunters will bring in rare creatures that aren’t in our catalog. Your task is to fight them until you are told to finish them off.”

Hadjar didn’t quite understand what was happening. The only thing he’d learned was that he would have to fight against some monster tomorrow. He wouldn’t be surprised to see the red-haired witch among the hunters, the girl who was his late friend’s sister. May the forefathers be kind to her.

It was a pity that he didn’t have a whole year to become friends with her. Somewhere out there, under the Evening Stars, a little girl, Serra, was waiting for him. And even if the entire Sunshine Army, with Sankesh at its head, stood against him, his sword wouldn’t waver. After all, he’d given his word. Hadjar Darkhan had his sword, which was as reliable as his word, and his word, which was as strong as his sword.

Chapter 339

The ferry docked at the stone pier and Karissa was the first to climb up the embankment. Despite knowing perfectly well what kind of thoughts were swarming in the prisoners’ minds, she defiantly turned her back to them.

Hadjar exchanged a glance with the others. What choice did they really have? Try to dive into the underground river and somehow survive? They’d been given their power and free will back, but no one among them knew how to get out of Underworld City. The river could potentially go on for many miles. Even if there were air bubbles to be found along the way, only the gods knew where it would bring them once they reached its end.

Einen followed right after Karissa. He brushed off his torn slave robes as if they were the best and worthiest armor.

“You made the right choice,” the witch nodded. “As you might’ve guessed, the amulets don’t just protect the citizens from you... They have many other properties. For example, they protect you from the citizens as well.”

After hearing these words, which had clearly been addressed to Hadjar, the northerner felt relieved.

“I hope you don’t have to find out about the rest of the functions.”

Following the islander, Hadjar also left the ferry. The first thing that caught his eyes was the fact that there wasn’t a single living soul on this embankment. In comparison to the left, much busier bank of the river, where the streets were full of scurrying people, this area looked abandoned and slightly intimidating.

The tall, imposing buildings, the sparse lighting provided by flickering white lights, the pavement covered in strange purple moss and light hoarfrost all combined into quite an unnerving display. Hadjar had already seen something similar in one of the Lidish cities. However, that had been an abandoned port and river dock.

“We’re in the territory of the Researcher’s Guild. You can only get here if you have special passes. In your case, your amulets act as your passes.”

Karissa nodded to the strangers’ bracelets, once again confirming that they really had a lot of additional properties.

“Can we really walk around Underworld City freely?” One of the youngest ‘suicidal strangers’ asked. That’s what the rest of the prisoners had called the ones who had chosen the blue amulets and the fate of becoming ‘guinea pigs’.

“Those of you who survive tomorrow will be able to walk around wherever and whenever you want,” the witch nodded.

Judging by how all of their eyes flashed, many new questions had come to mind. Alas, Karissa really didn’t like wasting time. She made it clear with everything from her posture to her frown that she wouldn’t be answering any more questions and proceeded to walk down to a row of narrow streets.

For a moment, Hadjar felt like he’d returned to his former world, Earth.

They saw narrow paths paved with round, heavy stones; silent granite walls on either side; very rare window slits, somewhere very high above them. Only sometimes was the grave silence of the area disturbed by the lone cry of an unknown animal or a human. Whenever that happened, Karissa stopped and ran her fingers over the pages of her book for some reason.

When they rounded the next corner, which led from the alleys into the street, Einen nudged his friend’s shoulder. He silently pointed at the crimson stain on the sidewalk. None of the other prisoners paid attention to it, and the witch was diligently pretending that it didn’t exist. Hadjar had seen a lot of blood in his life and immediately recognized it.

The shape and size of the bloodstain clearly hinted that a murdered creature had died in a less than peaceful manner. The creature had most likely been tortured or even torn apart by someone or something powerful and large.

“Maybe it was Azrea,” Einen said in his native language.

“She could’ve done it for sure,” Hadjar smiled broadly.

“A group of our best hunters has been sent after your tigress,” suddenly, surprising both of them, Karissa inserted herself into their conversation. “I think she’ll be delivered to the Pit soon. Who knows, maybe you’ll have to fight her to the death, Northerner.”

His icy calmness cost Hadjar greatly. His body tingled with a slight pain. His knuckles crunched as he clenched his fists. He wanted to stick a sword into the witch’s heart, and the hearts of the hunters who were now tracking Azrea.

“Honorable Karissa,” Einen even bowed slightly as he spoke, “I’ve seen Azrea in action, so I can only wish for one thing — that your hunters find her as soon as possible. I hope their screams will help me sleep better during the cold nights that plague this city.”

Hadjar, whose virtues didn’t include eloquence, couldn’t have said it better himself. Karissa’s gaze snapped toward them like the tip of a whip soaked in oil.

“Follow me,” she said in the desert language.

They stopped in front of a massive building made from some animal’s bones that had been yellowed by the passage of time, and massive gates supported by vertical shutters buried in the ground. There was no fence or guards.

The gates opened and a golden light poured out. Cheerful conversations and the general noise of a party could be heard. It seemed like a celebration was in progress inside the building.

“Strangers,” Karissa grimaced.

Throwing a quick glance at her mysterious flying book, she resolutely marched inside. This time, Hadjar was the first to follow the witch. Suddenly, he felt a breath of fresh, native air. He found himself in what appeared to be a cheap tavern on the outskirts of a Lidish border town. People scurried between tables and chairs, carrying drinks on trays. After setting them down on the table, they would sit and join in the fun. Some of them were fighting. Utensils and chairs soared through the air. Hadjar saw someone’s tooth fly past him and pierce the bone wall. In the left corner of the room was a bar counter, and a woman was beating two drunk men to death not three feet from it. In the distance, he spotted bunk beds. Most were empty, but people were meditating or sleeping on some of them.

Hadjar smiled slightly. By the Evening Stars, if the barracks of the Moon Army had looked like this, Nero wouldn’t have lived in an officer’s tent.

No one paid any attention to Karissa. Everyone continued minding their own business, sharing only one distinguishing feature —their blue bracelets.

“Glen!” The witch shouted, trying to overpower the noise in the room.

A minute later, after breaking through the crowd, a mug half-filled with beer in his hand, a short man with watery eyes and a bump on his nose appeared in front of Karissa. At his waist was a short saber and a long dagger.

“Yes, beacon of my eyes,” Glen parodied the desert accent. “Honorable Karissa, mistress of all our worthless lives.”

“If you don’t want your worthless life to end today, take care of the newbies.”

Glen gave the five of them an appraising look. Hadjar realized he was merely pretending to be a slacker and overly amiable. Glen’s eyes emanated power. Hadjar even considered whether he could beat him without it costing him a great deal. It was easy to guess that this warrior, despite looking like a moneylender, was one of the most important people in the barracks.

“As you command, queen of this eternal night,” Glen bowed.

Karissa, completely ignoring the strange compliment yet again, turned around and went over to the door. Once she was almost out of the hut, she stopped, turned around, glanced toward Einen and Hadjar quickly, and then disappeared.

“You are her favorites, aren’t you?” Glen asked.

“I truly hope so,” the islander nodded.

“I would advise you to stop doing that,” Glen shrugged, putting his mug down right on the floor. “Karissa’s favorites don’t usually survive past their first week. Now let’s go, we need to find you beds and make a plan for how we’ll get your things back from the quartermasters. Those blasted demons will fight to keep them like a mama bear fights for her cubs.”

Hadjar knew very well how greedy quartermasters could be.

Chapter 340

As Hadjar had suspected, the bean counters were the bearers of the red amulets who wore white robes. They were in the same barracks as them, but in the farthest corner. Even the light couldn’t reach that far, leaving their sheltered room in the grip of an acrid gloom.

The three servants, who had evidently left their youth behind long ago, were scribbling something in huge granary books with ink and sticks. To Hadjar, this was quite normal, but Einen was surprised. They still wrote with quills on the islands.

“These five,” Glen said, waving behind him without turning around, “want their things back.”

There was silence. Several moments later, the most meticulous of the servants looked up from his book. It was clear from his gaze alone that he had at least a tiny bit of power and clearly loved using it.

“Not until noon tomorrow,” he said, and went back to his work. He continued to write in his greasy, stained book, dismissing them.

“Let it be so,” Glen said.

Turning to the newcomers, he made a face that said: ‘Sorry, I tried my best’.

“That’s that,” Glen continued, “there’s nothing we can do about it. You’ll get everything back tomorrow.”

“But we have to fight the beasts in the Pit tomorrow morning!” One of the youngest newbies objected.

“Really?” The cunning barracks leader scratched his head thoughtfully. “It’s unlikely that you’ll have to fight against strong creatures on your first day... You’ll definitely be able to deal with them using just your bare hands!”

With those words, he patted Hadjar on the shoulder, made a mocking bow, and, sipping from his glass, went over to the centre of the barracks, where the merriment was still in full swing. The three other newcomers, huddling together in a small alliance of sorts, started discussing what they should do.

“It’s a tricky situation,” Einen said thoughtfully in the language of the islands. “I don’t think we’re the first ones they’ve cheated.”

“Can’t say I blame them.”

“Me neither.”

After exchanging amused glances, they simply jumped over the counter and went over to the racks of boxes.

“Hey!” The servant shouted. “What are you doing, you damned demons?”

A gust of power surging out of Hadjar’s hand prevented him from saying anything else. Turning into a barely perceptible blade, it easily sliced through the man’s book and the counter as well. They crashed to the floor, kicking up clouds of bone dust.

The servant didn’t really understand what had just happened, but the three newcomers momentarily held their breaths in disbelief.

“Wielder,” they whispered in a discordant chorus, and took a few steps back.

Hadjar flexed his wrist and continued searching for his belongings. He had no doubt that their things had been brought down here long before they’d arrived. It was unlikely that there were so many strangers in Underworld City that they would simply send them to get slaughtered without even giving them a chance... If they wanted to just kill people, they could always buy slaves from the Bedouins.

“Found it,” Einen said.

Their very large boxes, sealed with glowing hieroglyphs, were at the bottom. Einen recognized them by the designations written on the tops of the boxes in the desert language: ‘Islander’ and ‘Northerner’.

Pulling them out of the rack, the friends thought about what they should do next. Then it dawned on Hadjar and he simply touched the hieroglyph. His blue bracelet flashed, and then the seal disappeared, melting away like a slight haze.

The sword lying inside the box soothed his tense nerves better than any herbal tincture ever could. As soon as Mountain Wind was back in his calloused hand, confidence welled up in Hadjar’s soul: no obstacle in his path could stop him or even slow him down.

The old leather wallet with his friends’ wedding bracelets reassured his aching heart. ‘The Black Gates’ Patriarch’s ring, the fairy’s tears, and little Serra’s gift were almost insignificant compared to those two most important things. Although, after looking at the sword, Hadjar tied the wallet to his belt first. There were many swords in this world after all...

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do what you want here,” someone behind him said.

Hadjar turned around. He realized that he’d been lost in his own thoughts for a while. The sounds of merriment had long since subsided. The central hall, which had resembled a tavern and a brothel at the same time, was now empty. All the practitioners wearing blue amulets had bared their weapons and crowded behind Glen. He was still lazily sipping from his mug, but his gaze was tenacious. The leader of the fifty ‘guinea pigs’, selected by Karissa, was ready to fight. To the death.

Einen, who’d somehow managed to put his people’s traditional outfit on, stood next to Hadjar. In his hand, the spear-staff, which hadn’t exposed its deadly stinger yet, swayed dangerously.

“Put those things back and go to bed,” Glen said bossily. “You shouldn’t steal from people who’ve sheltered you.”

“We haven’t stolen anything,” Einen snapped in reply, “we’ve just taken back our things.”

“There’s nothing of yours here.”

“The names on the boxes beg to differ,” Hadjar stated calmly.

They met Glen’s eyes. By the Evening Stars, the undersized rogue was one of the few people who could withstand Hadjar’s gaze.

“It seems that children from the north and the islands can’t count,” Glen said more forcefully. “I’ll give you one more chance. Put-”

“Put a dog’s reproductive organ down your throat,” Einen spat on the floor. His friend’s cursing made Hadjar open his mouth in surprise. Apparently, the stress of the recent weeks had really affected the usually calm islander. “How many newbies have you cheated like this so far? You make them think that they can’t take their things back, and then you send them to their deaths.”

“Shut up, fish-fucker,” somebody shouted from the crowd. “Nobody sends them to their deaths!”

“Yeah,” another voice added, “we give them weapons.”

“Rusty weapons...”

There was laughter that sounded like the squealing of dogs.

“Those who survive earn our respect and a place at the common table,” Glen continued. “This is a very ancient tradition, and you won’t be defying it.”

Hadjar had suspected something like this was going on as soon as Karissa had kept her gaze on him. The witch had clearly wanted to hint at something, perhaps the fact that they should be ten times more careful around those who wear the ‘amulets’ than around the city’s residents. The witch had also said that someone who wore the amulet couldn’t do harm to a resident of Underworld City, as well as vice versa. However, Karissa hadn’t said a word about them fighting each other.

“Dear Einen,” Hadjar said, “do you think that maybe these gentlemen don’t understand who they’re talking to?”

“You’re right, barbarian.”

Exhaling, Einen turned the handle of his staff, and the iron stinger shot out from the top. At the same time, a tornado of energy soared up around the islander, filled with darkness and shadows. The shadows, behaving as if they were alive, pooled from the walls and floor to converge into the silhouette of a huge, grinning ape’s mouth. Its soundless roar affected the light itself, which became dimmer.

Hadjar, supporting his friend, grabbed his blade from its scabbard and swung it. A second tornado of energy, blue streaked with black, began to swirl in the barracks. It bent and wriggled, taking the shape of a curled up dragon lying at Hadjar’s feet. At the same time, everyone felt an invisible blade poised at their throats, as if an invisible army had appeared behind the northerner.

“A Wielder...” The whisper surged through the crowd.

“Demons and Gods, he wields the Sword!”

“I’ve never seen anyone like this before...”

“By the Evening Stars, they’re equal to cultivators...”

“Shut up!” Glen murmured. Even as they panicked, this cunning warrior still possessed undeniable authority among the locals. “There’s fifty of us, and we aren’t as weak as we appear to be.”

“We’ll test your might,” Einen nodded, “and many will die in that battle. Not even the Great Turtle knows who exactly. Maybe it’ll even be you.”

To confirm his friend’s words, Hadjar turned his blade slightly. A flurry of power fell from the blade. It left a long, deep cut across the floor, stopping once it reached Glen’s feet.

“Well,” Glen muttered through clenched teeth, “then you are on your own. Don’t you dare sit at the common table or take our food. If you’re so brave, then survive on your own in this damned hellhole.”

After spitting on the floor, he turned around and, pushing his people out of the way, stormed off. He wasn’t a coward, but he understood perfectly well that Einen was right. A lot of people would die in their battle, and nobody could be sure of who exactly would be among the ones who wouldn’t live until the dawn. Even if there was no real dawn to be had down here.

Following their leader, the remaining ‘guinea pigs’ left as well. Soon, only the servants, trembling with fear, remained at the broken counter.

Chapter 341

“Thank you.” The other newbies tried to thank Hadjar and Einen, but they left without even a nod. The trio stood around for a while, and then rushed over to look for their own boxes. In the practitioners’ world, this wasn’t considered impolite. Their paths had simply crossed for a short time, and they weren’t destined to travel down it together. Neither Hadjar nor Einen had thought about helping their three ‘companions in misfortune’. It was just a coincidence, simple as that.

As they were walking toward the unoccupied beds, they both noticed the dangerous, dagger-sharp glances they were getting. The locals were used to getting new things from the weakest newbies. Strong newbies really could handle weak animals with the help of rusty weapons. Those who violated this tradition were hated by anyone who had taken part in it. Alas, thanks to mutual responsibility, all of the inhabitants of the barracks had done so. The servants were also partly to blame.

“You know, at first, I’d thought we’d been enslaved,” Einen said thoughtfully, climbing up onto the upper bunk bed. They’d decided to use the farthest one. It stood in the corner, and two of its four sides were against the walls, so it would be difficult for them to be surrounded by a large number of foes. And neither of them doubted that most, if not all, of those present were their foes now.

“Believe me,” Hadjar smiled a little sadly, “our situation is nothing like slavery.”

“Believe me,” the islander mimicked him, which was completely uncharacteristic for him, “it’s like being in prison.”

Throwing an annoyed glance at the rest of the inhabitants of the barracks, Einen sat down in a lotus position and plunged into a deep meditation. Hadjar, after making his bed as best he could, hung a small bell up on a string.

He hadn’t needed these kinds of tricks since that time long ago, back when he’d just ascended to the Transformation level. However, old habits (especially if they’d saved him a couple of times already) were sometimes so deeply ingrained that it was impossible to get rid of them.

After immersing himself in the World River and absorbing the longed-for energy, Hadjar had expected to be taken to the world of the endless green meadow. He figured that, since he’d broken through to the ‘Wielder of the Sword’ level, he deserved to meet with Traves once again. Apparently, his Master thought differently.

In addition to that, Hadjar now understood quite clearly that the third step along the Way of the Sword wasn’t the last one. Gods and demons, how long and winding the path of cultivation was!

Karissa interrupted his thoughts. Without any ceremony, the witch pulled Hadjar and Einen out of their meditation.

“I approve,” she said, glancing at the uniform of her new ‘wards’.

Saying nothing more, she headed for the exit. Along the way, she ignored Glen, who was giving her compliments, and kicked a drunkard that was sleeping on the floor. Einen and Hadjar nodded to each other and followed the witch.

They left the barracks in silence, ignoring the angry glances aimed at their backs. Maintaining that same silence, they went outside. During the ‘night’ (or whatever it was), nothing had really changed: it was the same stone burial ground immersed in twilight. The only difference was that the screams had stopped and the bloodstain had become a little smaller.

They followed Karissa down a bunch of alleys again, many of which led to dead ends. This ‘labyrinth’ had clearly been built without a clear plan. New buildings had been erected as needed. Some of them were so tall that they could’ve easily competed with skyscrapers back on Earth.

Hadjar wondered what was being stored in them. He noticed a trio of people in pink caftans and yellow turbans once. Whispering, they hurried to one of the stone buildings, going straight... through the walls. Hadjar had to rub his eyes and look around to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“I saw them too,” Einen whispered.

Passing several deserted squares and a dilapidated bridge over a dry canal, Karissa led them to an oval building. For the first time, Hadjar saw something that resembled ordinary floors and glass windows so much it pained him.

“What the fuck?” The islander swore. For him, the glass was still something that was way too abnormal.

The witch walked over to a door made from the same stone as everything else around them. She ran her fingers over her book, symbols flashed, hieroglyphs spun in the air, and the door soon opened. The corridors smelled of something bitter. They rarely came across other people. They were hurrying along, tending to their own business, nodding to the witch and ignoring the foreigners.

After going up and down several times, Karissa brought the men to a door on the lower level. That was what the sign above the entrance read. All of this got on Hadjar’s nerves slightly because it resembled the layout of earthly buildings and contrasted sharply with a world where gunpowder still hadn’t reached all the corners of the vast lands.

“Wait for them to call your name,” the witch instructed shortly. “There will be bars. When your name is called, stand up and go. You’ll get further instructions when you enter the Pit. May the Evening Stars illuminate your path.”

Opening the door in the same, strange magical way as before, she turned around and disappeared. She didn’t even check whether the two ‘guinea pigs’ had really gone down the curved spiral staircase. She didn’t have to. They had no choice.

Out of curiosity, Hadjar decided to count the steps as they went down. After he made a mistake around three hundred, he realized that they were descending really deep down, even without being able to assess the thickness of the walls. The atmosphere they created made them feel like they were being held captive in stone.

Almost a quarter of an hour later, they arrived at a small room with benches attached to the walls. There was only a lantern, swaying grimly over the ventilation, and a small pipe, which was probably how they’d be called on.

Sitting down, Einen immediately closed his eyes and plunged into meditation. Hadjar stood next to the bars. He wanted to chat and laugh, but the silent islander wasn’t suitable for such things. His hand involuntarily reached for the leather wallet with the two bracelets.

“Northerner,” a muffled voice came from the pipe.

With a heavy creak, the bars rose, revealing a passage into a long, dark corridor. Without looking back, Hadjar went inside. After about a hundred yards, he heard the bars lower back down. Another hundred yards later, he listened to the second set of bars rising in front of him.

Unsheathing his blade, he boldly walked forward. The darkness didn’t scare him. He had already seen a darkness that was hundreds of times worse than the absence of light could ever be.

Soon, a bright light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Hadjar grinned at this metaphor. The humor of the situation calmed his soul, and his hand moved away from the wallet.

Entering the place where the light was coming from, Hadjar closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he saw that he was in a kind of arena. It was a huge, sandy place with a diameter of at least two hundred and twenty yards. It had thick walls that smoothly curved into a dome, the center of which had a huge hieroglyph, emitting light, circling around it.

The heavy bars lowered behind him. Runes and magic symbols flashed across them immediately.

“Listen carefully, Northerner,” the voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, “since it’s your first time, your task is very simple. We’ll release a beast, and you need to defeat it. Nothing that any other practitioner couldn’t handle.”

No further explanation was given. What was the point of this? What did they gain from it? When was lunch? All the answers remained behind the stone walls and within the heads of the local researchers.

Ahead of him, the shutters rose slowly. The entrance was large enough that the huge beast, which Nero and Hadjar had killed during the war with ‘The Black Gates’ sect, could’ve easily passed through it.

Hadjar assumed a low fighting stance and prepared to meet whatever enemy fate decided to send against him.

With a roar, without waiting for the shutters to open completely, a huge, 25ft creature jumped into the arena. Waves of sand surged up when it roared. Its fangs were capable of tearing apart steel armor, and its claws could’ve cut through a battering ram.

However, Hadjar just smiled. The gods really had a good sense of humor. It was an emerald wolf. The very first monster that Hadjar had ever defeated. This time, the beast was in the middle of the King Stage, which was equivalent to a strong Heaven Soldier.

“Let’s do this.” Hadjar took a deep breath and grabbed his sword tighter. If they wanted him to fight, he would fight so hard that this damned Pit would be left in ruins!

Chapter 342

The beast’s fur fluttered slightly, as if ruffled by a nonexistent wind. Shifting from paw to paw, the emerald wolf lowered its face to the ground and sniffed. Its green gemstone-eyes gazed steadily into the blue eyes of the human standing before it. Then it growled menacingly.

Hadjar lowered his blade, pointing the tip toward the ground. He stood in a relaxed and calm stance. The wolf, still growling, moved around him in a wide arc. Its huge paws, despite supporting several tons of meat and bones, didn’t leave any tracks in the sand, just a thin, emerald fog.

The beast growled even louder. In the wake of its breath, thin emerald needles sprouted from the sand, immediately scattering into dust that sparkled in the light. Hadjar remained still. Moreover, there was no whirlwind of energy around him; power didn’t flow across the ground, and no Sword Spirit could be felt, as if Hadjar was sleeping while standing and with his eyes still open.

The wolf didn’t dare pounce. The beast had once run free through endless forests and had gotten accustomed to even the most dangerous of predators scattering before it. For thousands of years, it had fought for the right to become stronger. And now it was strong. It was at the King Stage and possessed a mind comparable to a human child’s. It simply didn’t understand what was going on. It saw only a small bug standing there, one that it could crush with a single swipe of its claws.

Nevertheless, its instincts stopped it from charging in and sticking its fangs into its enemy’s body. Those same instincts screamed about the danger emanating from the creature which had the scent of the north wind about it.

Green light flashed across the beast’s back. Its mouth opened, and, with a roar, a green mist burst out from it. Surging forward in a wide cone, it covered the sand of the arena, leaving behind an emerald crust.

Hadjar stood still. The nearby pipe rattled, but no warning or order came from it.

Closing his eyes, Hadjar extended his left arm forward. He now understood a little more and could see a little farther. This was enough for the stream of power that surged out from his palm to take on the shape of a barely perceptible blade. It plunged into the ground right in front of Hadjar, and the cone, upon hitting it, broke around it like a wave crashing into a tall stone jutting out of the ground.

Two smaller waves of power rushed past Hadjar. They covered the entire arena, hitting the walls, but didn’t even touch the edges of his clothes.

The beast growled louder still. Drops of saliva fell from its jaws, hissing as they burned and melted the sand. Rising up on its hind legs, the wolf crashed back down on its front paws with great force. The ground shook from the impact and the walls cracked. Stone crumbled down from the distant ceiling.

As the attack landed, emerald needles began to burst out of the ground. They were long and sharp, like spears. They blew up the arena floor, scattering the sand and whistling through the air. Hadjar didn’t so much as blink.

He moved his blade behind his back, adjusted his frayed, old clothes, and, mimicking the wolf, kicked the sand hard. The stream of sword energy entered the ground, and then almost invisible blades appeared out of the sand and rushed toward the emerald spears. Colliding in the center, they clashed against each other. The wolf growled, pushing its paws into the sand. Its fur shone brighter and the number of the spears increased sharply.

Hadjar only grinned and, after tracing a figure eight in the air, thrust his blade into the sand. Now there were more of his swords than the wolf’s spears. Hadjar’s eyes lit up slightly, the sleeping dragon within them unfolded its wings slowly, and a stream of blue energy swirled at Hadjar’s feet. The World River’s power added to the Sword’s power. The blades bursting from the ground immediately became more distinct. They easily cut through the emerald spears. The wolf, a beast with a child’s mind, jumped to the side.

Landing a couple of yards away from the place where the sand had been pierced by the blades, it looked at its right paw. A trickle of flickering, greenish blood was flowing down it. For the first time in decades, someone had managed to injure it. The beast’s eyes were clouded with the bloody veil of the hunting instincts it had inherited from its ancestors. It opened its mouth to release a horizontal tornado of green flame.

“Calm Wind,” Hadjar said, assuming the second stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Sword Technique.

A stream of wind came down around Hadjar like a wall. The sand was compacted by it, becoming denser than paving stones. The stream of green fire struck the wall of wind and crumbled, making the wall hiss and melt. Apparently, it wasn’t a fire, but a type of acid.

The wolf didn’t stop. It slashed forward several times, hurling dozens of green crescents from its claws. Cutting through the space between them, they rained down upon Hadjar’s defenses. The warrior didn’t change his stance and calmly watched the wall of wind cracking and crumbling. He had wondered how much stronger he’d gotten after the battle for the caravan. With every second he spent battling the beast, he understood that he had to become even stronger.

Hadjar swung his blade with an inhuman roar and cried out: “Strong Wind!”

A tsunami burst forth from behind Hadjar as he swung, and in its depths, a ghostly dragon danced back and forth restlessly. A wave of cutting wind smashed through and scattered the emerald crescents and then struck the wolf. It threw back its head, howled, and a green sphere flashed into existence around it. It shook and crumpled, but withstood the Technique’s might.

The wolf, after spending almost all its energy on defending itself, was too exhausted to notice that its foe had turned into the Six Ravens’ shadow. Disappearing in a blur of movement, he reappeared next to the beast a moment later. Compared to this mountain of muscles and fur, Mountain Wind looked like a toothpick. However, it was all Hadjar needed to end this.

By the time the tsunami finally spent itself against the green dome and the wolf tried to locate its enemy, it was already too late. Swirling patches of black fog appeared around his blade and Hadjar attacked, crying out: “Spring Wind!”

His lunge, reinforced several times over by Traves’ Technique, turned into a long, black ribbon that seemed to surge through the air and then pierced the wolf’s chest.

Turning into the Ravens’ shadow again, Hadjar put some distance between him and the wolf and returned to the spot where he’d been at the beginning of the battle. It took him less time than it took an average person to clench their fist.

The beast, which didn’t yet realize what had happened, decided to try and beat Hadjar in melee. It tensed its hind legs and blurred into an emerald thread, jumping forward, but fell to the ground with a roar.

Its body, driven by sheer inertia, leaving a trail of green blood behind, slid across the floor until it was stopped by Hadjar’s foot. He looked into the beast’s glassy eyes. The wolf was dead, but not even the barest hint of regret could be seen in its eyes. It had devoted its whole life to the struggle and then died in battle. It was the destiny of anyone who followed the path of cultivation and power.

Hadjar didn’t think about cutting out the beast’s core, although he wouldn’t have refused a King’s core. A few months had passed since he’d found something like this in Brom’s hidden casket and he’d been mad with joy at the time. Back in those ‘distant’ times, it had seemed like something unattainable to him. Admittedly, Brom had had the core of a King at the high point of the Stage, which was equal in power to a Heaven Knight.

“Good work, Northerner,” came from the huge arch from which the beast had entered.

A group of people wearing scarlet caftans and yellow turbans stepped out onto the sand of the arena. They hurried to clear away the sand and collect blood, emerald dust, fangs, and fur from the wolf and store them in test tubes and bottles.

Among the Scholars, or whatever they were, stood Karissa. Armed with a long, curved dagger, she climbed up the beast’s side and began to cut out its core.

A man came up to Hadjar. He was tall and slim, with multicolored eyes, brown and gray, a little crooked nose, and an equally crooked smile. A large topaz glittered in his yellow turban.

“Principal Researcher Paris,” he introduced himself and saluted in the local manner.

“Hadjar Darkhan.”

“Desert Wind Blowing from the North,” the Scholar said, looking at the Bedouin tattoo on Hadjar’s arm. “A good name. Ancient.”

“I’ve already heard that,” Hadjar answered without rudeness.

“Of course,” the Scholar nodded. He looked around, gave several orders, and turned back to Hadjar. “Follow me, Northerner. I need to measure the level of your talent.”

“Measure the level of my talent?”

Hadjar drew back in hesitation at the wording.

“Don’t worry,” Paris waved his hand dismissively, “it’s an absolutely painless and quick procedure. It’s done in every school, clan, or sect in the Empire. Besides, you’ll have to wait a long time for your friend. The servants have to clean up here, then prepare the next beast... Let’s go do something productive.”

Hadjar, after glancing at the arch he’d come from, followed Paris.

Chapter 343

The tunnel that the monsters came out of looked like a city sewer after a week of artillery bombardment, if there’d been claws, fangs, needles, and acid sacs tied to the shells. The aura left behind by the animals had accumulated in the stones and would’ve made any weak practitioner tremble and cover, drenched in icy sweat.

Hadjar didn’t feel anything like that, but Paris was clearly warding such a feeling off with the help of an amulet glowing with a faint light. These kinds of artifacts looked like strips of red paper with magical signs, runes, and hieroglyphs written on them in black ink.

“I still don’t understand why they had to build the entrance to the laboratory here,” the Principal Researcher shrugged.

They’d just started walking through the tunnel, but sweat was already flowing down Paris’ forehead. At the same time, Hadjar felt the Scholar emanating power that was no less than a true cultivator’s might. Such a contrast immediately intrigued him and made him wonder what this so-called ‘true path’ of cultivation was... and if it was even ‘true’ to begin with?

They climbed up a spiral staircase for a quarter of an hour. During the climb, Paris began to look even worse and was out of breath by the end! Hadjar couldn’t understand it. Even the weakest practitioner could’ve run up and down these stairs for at least an hour before they felt the first signs of fatigue. Knowing that, even if he asked his question, he still wouldn’t get an answer, Hadjar continued to walk in silence.

Finally, they reached a very busy floor. People were scurrying from room to room, holding huge scrolls or tablets in their hands. Someone was screaming and giving orders. Most of the people present were wearing glasses. That was also weird: practitioners’ eyesight always improved. Over the course of his entire life in this world, Hadjar had never met people who wore glasses before now.

“Is all of this new to you, Northerner?” Paris spoke with great difficulty, breathing heavily and rubbing his face with a handkerchief. “I’ve heard that the northern kingdoms have forgotten the true path of cultivation.”

“And, of course, you won’t tell me anything about it.”

Paris just spread his hands helplessly.

“Don’t think that I don’t want to. Don’t you dare think that I intend to treat you like a slave. In our city, that kind of infection was removed a long time ago. Alas, only the Sage can teach you properly.”

Paris put his hand on Hadjar’s shoulder so that he wouldn’t try to turn in the wrong direction. Apparently, Paris didn’t want to say things out loud. Or maybe this was also knowledge that only the Sage could provide. Right now, even someone mouthing the words ‘the true path’ could’ve driven Hadjar crazy.

“If there is no slavery down here, then what is this?” Hadjar pointed at his blue amulet.

“A precaution,” Paris shrugged. “Our city is hidden for a reason, Northerner. By the way, for a stranger, your mastery of the desert language is very impressive. Do you have a good ear for music by any chance?”

Hadjar realized that the Researcher wanted to change the subject. The northerner still wanted to find out some things about this place, but didn’t press the issue.

“Once upon a time, I made a living by playing the Ron’Jah.”

“The Ron’Jah? That’s a string instrument from the northern kingdoms, isn’t it? I only heard it played once when I traveled through the Sea of Sand and ran into a caravan.” Paris suddenly rummaged through his pockets and fished out a simple stone die. “Here you are. This is a pass to my area. Come visit me tonight. I have a collection of musical instruments, and among them is an old Ron’Jah. We’ll drink tea or wine, smoke a hookah, listen to music, and talk.”

As befits a desert dweller, after extending his invitation, Paris saluted: he put two fingers to his lips, then to his heart, then to his forehead, and finally, he ‘sent’ a kiss to the sky. Or rather, to the stars.

“Wait, Karissa said that we could go wherever we wished,” Hadjar said, but he still took the die.

“Sure you can, but you won’t be let in everywhere,” the Researcher almost winked as he said it. “Follow me.”

They arrived at a darkened room, the entrance to which was covered by a mat that served as a door. Hadjar suddenly realized that it was much stuffier and hotter here than in the rest of the building. There was a low stela inside, made from red, monolithic stone covered in hieroglyphs that Hadjar had never seen before. At first, it seemed like it was just a simple inscription, but the more he peered at the letters, the more clearly he understood that he might get lost in them, so complex and skillfully arranged they were. The man who’d created this had definitely been at a much higher level than a mere Spirit Knight.

“Just don’t try to look too closely at its energy,” Paris warned, “unless, of course, you want to suffer from a terrible migraine for the next couple of weeks.”

Hadjar just nodded abruptly. He’d once looked at the spatial ring and was no longer eager to repeat that kind of unpleasant experience.

“What is it?”

Paris went over to the stone and pulled out a small, golden bowl. Apparently, he had been in here so often that the artifact didn’t make him feel much trepidation or admiration.

“It’s a Soul Stone. It helps us measure a person’s talent. Not flawlessly, of course, but it’s quite commonly used, even the Imperial legions accept new recruits only after they’ve been checked by one.”

“But where does it come from? Who creates these stones for the Empire?”

“Well, certainly not the Imperials themselves,” Paris snorted. “Even if Lords do roam their lands, they can’t create such splendor with just their power.”

“Lords?” Hadjar asked.

Paris turned to him and tilted his head curiously.

“Well, you didn’t think that the level of Spirit Knight was the finish line of the cultivation path, did you?”

Hadjar didn’t answer. To be completely honest, he’d believed that, after the Spirit Knight level was reached, by employing some insanely complex and difficult method, a person could then become an Immortal. He’d never even heard about the Lord level.

Demons and gods! Evening Stars!

He looked at the stone again and gulped nervously. How vast this world truly was and how long the path of cultivation!

“Now look.” Paris went over to Hadjar. He had the golden cup in his left hand and a long needle in his right. “I’ll take a bit of your blood, mix it with a special solution, and then mold it on the stone. I can understand the direction and depth of your talent according to the color of the hieroglyphs that appear. However, I need your consent.”

Hadjar looked at the stela, then at the Researcher, and then at the stela again. Over the years he’d spent wandering, serving in the army, and traveling through the desert, he’d learned to read people quite well (although he’d failed with Ilmena). Hadjar believed that Paris didn’t wish him any harm. Right now, at least.

“I agr-”

Even before Hadjar finished speaking, the Researcher thrust the needle into his palm, and then dripped the blood into the bowl. He added the solution, mixed them up, and then really splashed the contents onto the red stone vigorously. The scarlet liquid spread out, filling the furrows which formed the hieroglyphs.

“Do you see it?” Paris pointed a finger at what was happening. Contrary to the laws of physics, the liquid filled the hieroglyphs unevenly. It skirted some of them, and all the trickles sought out a single symbol, the lowest hieroglyph. “It’s a pretty entertaining sight, isn’t it?”

“What does that symbol mean?” Hadjar asked after almost the entire solution had gathered in one of the hieroglyphs, leaving a few drops behind here and there or bypassing some of the others completely.

“You see,” Paris was clearly puzzled by what was happening, “we don’t know their exact meaning. We got the stone after an imperial caravan fell into quicksand. We don’t know where they were bringing it.”

Hadjar could take a guess, but said nothing.

“In all honesty, this particular hieroglyph can mean a sword, a saber, or war, or music, or dancing, or fishing. Or maybe nothing at all.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“We don’t know how to determine the direction of the talent, but can see its depth...” Paris’ smile was a little dodgy. “Watch carefully, Northerner, and observe how it shines.”

Hadjar really did witness a show that he’d never seen before.

The monolithic stone suddenly became like a glass vessel with transparent walls that had a whirlwind of unknown power inside it. This whirlwind swirled and raged, trying to break out, but failed. The vessel began to shine as it emitted energy. Hadjar had to squint at the glare. Then darkness came again.

“Well, not bad,” Paris issued his verdict. “In the Empire, this level is classified as yellow.”

“Yellow?”

“Yes. There are several levels of talent: white is the simplest, lowest one. The vast majority of people have it. Then gray, which is a little better. Those who have it are faster on the path of cultivation. Then yellow. That’s yours. Then orange, blue, and rainbow. They say that the people who have a rainbow talent are geniuses who are blessed by the Heavens themselves. According to the legends, someone with a rainbow talent founded the Empire of Darnassus, and by the age of nine, he reached the level of Spirit Knight, and by the end of his first century of life, he became an Immortal.”

He became a Spirit Knight at nine...

“But don’t despair. With a yellow talent, you will be welcomed with open arms in most of the schools and sects of the Empire.”

Hadjar didn’t understand why he was so surprised by the words at first.

“Why did you say ‘you will be’?”

“I’ve lived long enough in this world, Northerner. I understand where you are going and why. I wish you success on your journey. It came to pass that our roads crossed and we’ll be working together for some time, but then we’ll part. I like to leave friends, not enemies, in my wake.”

Paris smiled broadly, put the bowl back, and handed Hadjar three square emerald coins with holes in the middle.

“Three emerald imperial coins. They’ll be enough for you to buy something. I would advise you to attend the weekly merchants’ auction which will begin in a few hours. Your friend will be free by then and you’ll be able to go together. Believe me, the sight will greatly... change you.”

Three emerald imperial coins... In Lidus, you can build a castle with this kind of money! And Paris had given them to him as casually as if they were nothing.

“Oh, don’t think that’s charity on my part. The Research Chamber takes care of its employees. It’s an investment in our future collaboration. Everyone who chooses a blue amulet receives this amount regularly. Now leave. Any citizen will be able to tell you how to get to the House of the Hundred Coins.”

Chapter 344

After leaving the building, Hadjar sat on the pavement. He toyed with the coins in his hands and thought about what had happened to him over the past two months. Of course, he’d spent most of that time in the liquid prison, but, even after that, he was still in a cell, albeit a more convenient and far larger one.

The blue bracelet on his arm only confirmed his thoughts. These coins were just handouts. Surely, if Hadjar had died today, Glen would’ve gotten them. The maintenance of the prisoners... Einen had been right when he’d said that they were in a prison. Which was worse — being a slave or a prisoner — he didn’t know.

About half an hour later, the islander left the building as well. He hobbled slightly and his right leg was bandaged.

“What injured you like that?” Hadjar asked, noticing the three coins tucked into his friend’s belt. There were no pockets on Einen’s clothes.

“A giant dung beetle,” Einen said. “Don’t look at me like that, barbarian. That monstrosity was the size of my father’s best frigate!”

“I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You haven’t seen the sea, either.”

“I’m talking about the bug.” Hadjar could hardly keep from laughing.

Einen looked at his friend and saw the mark left behind by Paris’ needle.

“What color?” The islander asked simply.

“Yellow,” Hadjar answered.

Einen nodded, “Me too,” he said, “but I don’t believe in the trustworthiness of all these stones from unknown countries. I’ve heard from travelers that they are easy to fool, and that it often happens in the Empire.”

“Nothing is perfect,” Hadjar shrugged. “Anyway, you seem to be feeling unusually talkative.”

For some reason, a spark of resentment appeared in Einen’s eyes, but it quickly went out and was replaced by understanding.

“Barbarian,” he explained patiently, “in my homeland, it isn’t customary to talk idly with strangers. Demons can hide under very convincing masks, and they will pull out one’s soul through lips that are too loose.”

Hadjar understood the hint and didn’t press further.

Together, they first went over to the barracks. The light was still spilling out through the open door and the sounds of merrymaking could be heard coming from within. Apparently, when its residents didn’t need to do any tasks for the Chamber, they drank and had fun, relieving stress.

Hadjar suspected that he and Einen had fought against the weakest monsters they had and that the ones that came next would be much more dangerous. When a person straddled the line between life and death every day... Well, Hadjar wasn’t going to drink alcohol, but he would probably become addicted to deep meditation.

They went to the pier. When the ferryman informed them that getting ferried across the river would cost them a coin, the friends glanced at each other, silently pulled off their caftans, and dived into the water. The ferryman looked at them with a mixture of disgust and surprise, but they didn’t care.

After crossing the river, pleasantly refreshed by the icy water, they climbed directly onto the embankment of a busy avenue. Wet, bald, barefoot, and with their caftans folded over their arms, they stood out in even the most motely of crowds. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that children pointed at them and adults cast displeased and condemning glances at them. It was difficult for them to find someone who would talk to them and give them directions to the House of the Hundred Coins.

“Turn when you get to Fountain Street,” a drunkard muttered. Hadjar had also never seen drunkards among practitioners in his entire life. This damned city was so unusual in its... usualness that it drove him crazy. “You’ll see a street there, at the end of which is a large building. That’s the House of the Hundred Coins.”

Having thanked the man, Einen and Hadjar set off along the indicated route. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of people were scurrying around, going about their business. Merchants were shouting about their goods, the stores were overcrowded, and there were a lot of items that Hadjar had never seen before on their shelves. Carts, harnessed by a wide variety of animals, rushed along the avenue. The drivers sometimes yelled angrily at the gaping pedestrians, and they hurried to get out of the way. Apparently, even the simplest of carts wasn’t accessible to everyone in Underworld City.

The street was full of fountains that could’ve stirred up a storm of emotions in any desert dweller, but Hadjar and Einen passed by them without a second glance. They soon found the House of the Hundred Coins. At the entrance stood a servant/barker. The young boy was working off his term of service.

“The weekly auction is about to begin!” He shouted, looking each of the passers-by right in the eye. “If you’re looking for the juice of a millennial ginger, the Seven Stars herb, the bones of a horned python, or any other rare artifact, come on in! If you want to sell or get something appraised, please, come in! The weekly auction is about to begin...”

Hadjar and Einen climbed the stairs, and the boy interrupted his spiel for a moment.

“May the Evening Stars shine down upon you.”

The boy had started to bow, but then he saw the friends’ blue bracelets. His tone and mannerisms immediately changed.

“The entrance for non-citizens is on the other side of the building,” he said, or more accurately, spat out, and then immediately went back to what he’d been doing.

Hadjar and Einen exchanged meaningful glances. That certainly didn’t sound like ‘go wherever you wish’ and ‘we don’t practice slavery here’. They didn’t bother making a fuss — when in Rome, do as the Romans do — and they didn’t give a damn about how the Underworld City dwellers treated them. They were here temporarily and would devote that time to their cultivation, not making friends.

Skirting the building and turning into smelly, damp yards, they found an inconspicuous, rickety door. Going through it, they walked along a narrow corridor until they found themselves at the farthest end of a semioval hall.

A most diverse crowd of people had already gathered here, and all of them wore the amulets. Hadjar even saw a couple of the inhabitants of the ‘blue’ barracks, but they pretended not to notice him.

Downstairs, on the ground floor, was where the citizens had gathered. They differed greatly in social status and power. Among them, Hadjar even sensed the presence of several Heaven Soldiers. However, their auras were somewhat different from the norm. As if they were cultivators, but not the kind that Hadjar was used to. Damned true path of cultivation...

Soon, an auctioneer climbed up onto the stage. He was a pompous man in an embroidered gold and silver caftan. His brocade shoes shuffled slightly on the wooden boards of the pedestal.

“Let’s start our weekly auction. Today, we are going to present a few lots that will surely arouse your interest, and there will be a little surprise at the end.”

The crowd greeted his words with halfhearted applause.

“We’ll start with...” Several servants carried out a long halberd with a blade so wide that it looked more like an oar. “The Halberd of Merry Iron. An Earth level artifact. The opening bid is half an emerald imperial coin.”

The Halberd of Merry Iron... The artifactor that had forged this weapon didn’t have any imagination. The bargaining wasn’t very lively, and the artifact was soon sold for two coins. It was an average amount to the locals, but to the people of Lidus, it would’ve been a real fortune.

“Pill of the Blooming River.” Again, the servants carried the lot up to the stage. It was a ball the size of a nut, resting on a velvet pad. “This is a great ingredient for your cultivation. A person that takes this pill will feel like they’ve spent a hundred days in continuous meditation. The opening bid is ten coins!”

This time, the bargaining was very competitive, but only six people were involved. In the end, the alchemical pill was sold for eighteen coins. Eighteen! Hadjar was sure that even the Palace in the capital of Lidus cost, at most, three times that amount. So, it was worth three of those pills.

Then they brought out a scroll with some meditation Technique that allowed someone to reach the peak of the Spirit Knight level. The opening bid was twenty coins. It was bought immediately by one of the people who’d bid on the pill before.

With each new item, Hadjar understood that he still knew very little about the outside world. His journey through the desert had only moved the blinders before his eyes a bit, but hadn’t even come close to taking them off.

“A Petal of the Blue Cherry Tree. The tree is twenty thousand years old. It’s an ideal ingredient for use in alchemy. Opening bid is fifteen coins!”

Fifteen coins for one petal! In the end, somebody paid even more for it than for the pill — almost twenty-six coins.

“Now, may I have your attention, dear patrons! Our auction can boast quite a rare find! A tablet obtained in a remote oasis by the valiant hunters of the Research Chamber. It contains instructions on how to learn the ‘Three Sword Slashes of the Thunder God’ Technique. It’s ideal for those who have devoted themselves to the Spirits of the Sword or the Saber. The opening bid is four imperial coins.”

Hadjar almost growled in frustration.

“Take it,” Einen held out his three coins, “we got into this mess together, and we’ll get out of it together. To do so, we both need to become stronger. Don’t even think about refusing. I know you would’ve done the same if they’d had something useful for me.”

Hadjar nodded and was about to call out his bid when a familiar voice spoke up from below. “Seven coins!”

The red-haired witch turned her gaze upward, toward the area reserved for the non-citizens.

Chapter 345

“I don’t like the look of this,” Einen whispered, his eyes fixed on Tilis.

Hadjar smiled sadly. What would Serra have said if she saw her sister blaming one of her few friends for her death? Although... the red-haired girl wasn’t completely wrong when she accused him of having a part in it.

Damn it, he was letting stress get the better of him. The only man that could be blamed for Serra’s death was someone she’d already taken with her to the forefathers. And Hadjar hadn’t found those who were to blame for everything that had happened in Lidus yet.

“Let’s leave,” Hadjar answered loudly.

Giving the three coins back to the islander, he was the first to leave the overcrowded non-citizen area.

After walking along the cramped, dirty corridor, they went back out into the street. Einen started toward the avenue, but Hadjar circled the building and approached the servant again.

“...sell or get something appraised?” The servant was still shouting. Noticing Hadjar, he grimaced discontentedly. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have enough money? I don’t have time for you and-”

“I need to see an appraiser,” Hadjar interrupted him. He wasn’t hurt by the boy’s attitude toward him. He couldn’t pay attention to every stray dog that barked at him.

“I can appraise you myself.”

Instead of replying verbally, Hadjar simply put his hand on the hilt of his sword. That was enough for the stones around the boy’s feet to crack.

“Wielder...” the servant swallowed. “Please, forgive my ignorance,” he bowed. “Despite wanting to do so, I can’t let you through this passage. It’s only for citizens.”

“Bring an appraiser out here, then.”

“I can’t! I have to work.”

“We’ll cover for you,” Einen waved him off. “Hurry up, boy, we have a lot to do today.”

After hesitating for a while, the servant nodded and disappeared behind the heavy doors. While he was absent, Hadjar and Einen honestly carried out their part of the agreement. They invited people to visit the House of the Hundred Coins diligently. Some people even came closer to make sure that they weren’t seeing things and that the owners of blue amulets were, indeed, doing this kind of work.

“Why am I not surprised?” came from behind them.

Tilis came out, shaking her luxurious hair and hips. She held the ‘Three Sword Slashes of the Thunder God’ Technique tablet.

“Are you pleased with your purchase, honorable lady?” Hadjar bowed. “You may need some help understanding it. I‘ll be glad to help you out.”

“The Evening Stars will fade before I ask you for anything, barbarian.” Tilis said this with a smile, but it was clear that only the amulet around his wrist was keeping her from immediately attempting to send Hadjar to the forefathers.

“Did you buy the tablet for your collection?” Einen asked.

The witch turned to the islander and looked at him like he was the filthiest and most vile creature she’d ever encountered.

“The fact that I can’t harm you physically doesn’t mean that I can’t cause you many other kinds of problems.”

Hadjar sighed wearily and rubbed his nose.

“Is it still useless to try to convince you that I am not the one behind your sister’s death?”

Tilis jerked back as if she’d been slapped in the face.

“I don’t care what you try to convince me of, barbarian,” she hissed, erasing the polite mask from her face in an instant. “I only know that she left here alive, and only her bracelet returned. In your hands, a stranger’s hands.”

Hadjar didn’t get to comment on this. Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of an old man in expensive clothes. His aura was at a slightly lower level than that of a Heaven Soldier and he looked strong in both spirit and body. His blue eyes radiated wisdom.

“Honorable Arkis,” Tilis bowed, “To what do I owe the honor?”

Arkis waved his hand imperiously and the witch fell silent. Apparently, the old man possessed considerable authority, since he could so easily silence such a quick and sharp tongue.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” Arkis said, carefully examining the northerner’s blue amulet. Was his name also written on it? “The servant told me that a Wielder has asked for an audience with me. When I asked why he’d dared to keep such a guest waiting outside, he replied that he had no right to lead him inside. Now I see why.”

“Wielder…” Tilis shuddered and looked at Hadjar a bit differently... With a lot more hatred and with an even greater thirst for blood. Perhaps this remark had only made the girl more certain of his guilt.

“Could you, honorable Hadjar, demonstrate your skills?” Arkis asked. “Over the course of my life, I’ve only met one other Wielder.”

Hadjar looked at the old man. Only a fool wouldn’t have understood that he simply wanted to make sure his servant hadn’t been mistaken.

Stretching out his hand, Hadjar cut the urn standing nearby in half with a bit of effort. There was a clear cut across the stone, left behind by a sword, although Mountain Wind hadn’t even left its scabbard.

“That’s amazing...” Arkis drawled, stroking his long, gray beard. “If you survive this upcoming year, our city will benefit greatly. It’s a pity that you didn’t acquire the ‘Three Sword Slashes of the Thunder God’ Technique tablet... Oh, please forgive my tactlessness, I was also devoted to the Sword Spirit, once.”

The old man adjusted his caftan, showing off a simple sheath and an equally simple sword. The sight made Hadjar respect him, even if just a little. At his advanced age, almost no one was able to progress along the path of cultivation. People preferred to live in comfort and prosperity. For those people, weapons lost their intended meaning and turned into luxury items. But not for Arkis. He still wore a real blade at his hip. Perhaps it was his old friend and companion, with whom he’d fought in many battles.

“Let’s get to the point,” Einen urged them. “Please forgive my tactlessness.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the old man waved his hands amiably. “Young people are supposed to be in a hurry, and we old people are supposed to hold you back and share our wisdom with you. However, let’s get down to business. What do you want me to appraise, Hadjar?”

“Here you are, honorable Arkis. Could you appraise this for me?”

Hadjar took out a small stone from his wallet, which shimmered in a variety of colors when bathed in the light of the torches. It was hard to discern its true color.

Putting the stone on Arkis’ palm, Hadjar waited. The old man, after taking a closer look, swallowed. With trembling hands, he pulled a small talisman out of his pocket and laid the stone on it. The moment he did so, the talisman flared up and scattered, turning into ashes.

“Evening Stars!” The man wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, “I hadn’t thought that I would ever get to see such a thing. Take it back immediately, Hadjar, lest greed and envy overcome me.”

Arkis put the stone back into Hadjar’s wallet.

“It’s a pity that we have to conduct our business like this,” the old man apologized, “and that we’ll be heard by unwanted ears and seen by unwanted eyes.” He was clearly hinting at the servant and Tilis there. “You’ve got an Energy Stone.”

Nothing happened. None of those present, except the auctioneer himself, were amazed by this information.

“I’ve already heard a similar name,” Hadjar recalled what the spirit of Kurkhadan had told him, “but I don’t know anything about Energy Stones.”

“Well, young man, I’m not surprised. This knowledge is as rare as water in the Sea of Sand. Imperial artifacts are made from these kinds of stones.”

His response had the impact of a bomb going off.

“How much would such a stone cost?” Einen asked.

“In our city?” Arkis smiled and spread his hands. “It’s priceless. Collectors wouldn’t want to take such a great risk, and you won’t find a blacksmith who deals in them. You might have some luck in the heart of Darnassus. To use one effectively, a person needs to possess not just power, but knowledge as well.”

“And in the Empire?” The islander didn’t give up.

“Well, given its small size, the paltry amount of energy it has by the standards of its kind, and the cracks, the quality of the stone isn’t the best. Hmm... ”Arkis thought about it and frowned. He was obviously calculating something very carefully. “One thousand and five hundred, plus or minus fifty coins.”

Hadjar almost sat down in shock, right there on the pavement. Fifteen hundred imperial coins! With that kind of money, the issue of advancing to the level of Heaven Soldier would seem like a casual stroll on a fine day.

“I must leave you now.” Arkis bowed. “I would guess that fruitful cooperation awaits us in the future, but for now, forgive me, but the law is the law — until your year is up, you won’t be able to use this entrance.”

The old man left.

Chapter 346

The servant, Hadjar, Einen, and the enraged red-haired witch remained on the street. Realizing that it was dangerous to hang around the trio, the boy moved to the center of the street and continued his work.

“Who did you steal that treasure from, barbarian?” Tilis almost growled the words out. “Regardless, it makes no difference to me. I just want to say that, if you think that the protection of your amulets will stop me, you are sorely mistaken. Make sure to enjoy your last few days... if you can.”

With that, she slammed the tablet down on the pavement. It cracked with a bang and scattered into hundreds of small pieces. The people scurrying past them froze for a moment, saw what was happening, and hastened to get out of there. The witch stared at Hadjar, turned around, and started walking toward the embankment.

“Tilis!” Hadjar called out to her. “I loved your sister as a true friend, which she was to me. By the gods, if I could’ve prevented her death, I would’ve given everything...”

The witch stopped for a moment. She wrestled with her desire to turn around, but, unfortunately for Hadjar, she managed to drown out this impulse. Tilis quickened her pace and soon disappeared into the crowd.

“The last thing a wounded heart needs is words of comfort.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and headed toward the area where Paris lived.

“And what does a wounded heart need?” Hadjar asked.

“Time,” the islander said over his shoulder, “and maybe the blood of the one who wounded it.”

Hadjar muttered a curse and followed his friend. They walked in silence. Each of them pondered his own problems. Hadjar thought about how he often felt like he needed guidance in the Way of the Sword. The lessons he’d received from Traves and the Shadow of the Immortal had been good, but not relevant. Now, after becoming a Wielder, he understood that he possessed very fragmented and incomplete knowledge.

Hadjar guessed that he could move forward eventually, but he had a long way to go and he didn’t even know the direction he should go in. The dragon hadn’t visited him for a long time, and it was unlikely that the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique could help him with any further cultivation. The remaining three stances only deepened what he’d mastered already, without helping him discover anything new.

Traves hadn’t lied when he’d said that the sword was alien to him and that the knowledge he possessed was superficial. Fifteen years ago, that knowledge had seemed like a dream to Hadjar, but now... He longed for more, but didn’t know where he could find someone or something to learn from.

By the gods, he was ready to join a sect or school. Heh! Hadjar mentally laughed at himself. He was ready to do so... Many hundreds of thousands of practitioners dreamed of becoming disciples in such organizations. They would even be happy to lead the semi-enslaved life of an ordinary disciple. And he, a barbarian from a northern kingdom, was ready! If these practitioners had heard his thoughts just then, they would’ve died in shock at his insolence and arrogance. However, that was Hadjar in a nutshell — freedom-loving and restless, like a spring wind passing through the tall grass.

Paris’ domain turned out to be a walled fortress. Several guards stood at the gate. Instead of weapons, they held books like Karissa’s in their hands, or staffs like Ramukhan’s. Talismans danced in the air around them.

“I think you are lost,” the bravest and, apparently, the guard who was in charge of the rest, said. A strong practitioner’s aura emanated from him. Hadjar and Einen didn’t hide their auras, either. Therefore, the man had to have remarkable willpower to go up against two strong practitioners like them. “The entrance to this part of Underworld City is forbidden to non-citizens. I would advise you to turn around, or we’ll be forced to make you do so.”

Hadjar was about to pull out the invitation he’d gotten, but Einen stopped him.

“But don’t our blue amulets protect us from citizens who want to harm us?”

“There are exceptions to any rule,” one of the guards replied.

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. That damned Karissa had really not told them everything.

“Then here is our invitation.” Hadjar held out the die.

The head guard took it from him and placed it on one of his talismans. It glowed red, then wrapped itself around the die, and finally straightened. Not even a grain of sand remained on its surface.

“Honorable Paris is already waiting you.” The guard nodded to his subordinates and they opened the gate.

“Why didn’t you just let us pass right away?” Einen asked.

“It’s boring here,” the guard shrugged, “besides, you’re strangers. And we, the citizens, should always treat you with prejudice.”

“Well then,” Hadjar nodded.

The tall, broad-shouldered guard seemed to like him.

“Try not to linger in the red-light district,” he said. “At this time of day, there are too many people who’d wish you ill around there.”

Hadjar was sure that if he’d come here with Nero, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to have a laugh at the topic of ‘red lights’, but...

Thanking the guard for his advice, Hadjar and Einen went to Paris’ house, using the signs along the way to orient themselves. The man lived close to the walls of the area, in a small house with two rooms, surrounded by a stone fence and a little garden full of white-red flowers.

Paris opened the door before Hadjar even knocked.

“Come in,” the Researcher smiled.

Being a hospitable man, he seated Hadjar and Einen on his best wooden chairs, used porcelain dishes, and uncorked a jug of tart wine. A hookah was already puffing slightly in the corner, letting smoke through and making it so that a light, sweet smog hung in the room.

“Do you mind?” Hadjar asked, gesturing to his own tobacco and pipe.

“Of course not,” Paris waved his hand dismissively.

For a while, Einen and Hadjar, like real guests, entertained their host with small talk focused around their past and their native countries. Hadjar told him almost everything. He even joked about being the Mad General once.

“It’s probably difficult to command an army.”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Hadjar answered honestly. “Sometimes, there is only one phrase, ‘You have to’, and that’s all there is to it.”

“You have to...” Paris repeated. “Only a few of the young people respect that kind of sentiment. Most of them want to follow the path of cultivation, become true adepts as quickly as possible, and then plunge headfirst into the eternal wars.”

There was silence. Hadjar had forgotten when the last time he’d just sat around like this, without any urgency, had been. Although, even now, he was pondering hundreds of ways to quickly leave Underworld City. Somewhere out there, above his head, the small, frightened girl who had such a familiar name was waiting for him. He would not let little Serra down.

“Well.” Paris slapped his knees, rose from the pillow he’d been sitting on, and disappeared into the next room. He soon returned with an old, battered Ron’Jah.

“Please play, Hadjar, and then we can discuss our business.”

No one doubted that Paris had invited them to his home for a reason.

Hadjar carefully touched the strings. He tuned them by ear — such a forgotten and alien movement. He moved his fingers along the leather-covered, oval base of the instrument. He sat down so that he could lay the Ron’Jah across his knee. It seemed like the last time he’d played one was in a past life...

“Alas, I’ve forgotten almost all the songs,” Hadjar said apologetically.

It was the truth. Back when his neural network had still worked, he hadn’t bothered to memorize lyrics and notes. Now, after so many years, he could barely remember the music and the words that accompanied it.

Computing module is currently rebooting…

Approximate time until completion is...

“‘Almost’ is a good word,” Paris said. “Play the ones you remember.”

Hadjar nodded and began to play. It was strange, but he could only clearly remember the song his mother had used to sing to him in his childhood. The song about the Black General. About how the Black General had been killed by the God of War because he’d wanted to help a person become a god, and how he came back from the dead to plunge half the world into darkness. He killed demons and gods alike, he was the enemy of the Jasper Emperor, and the death of all things.

Hadjar liked this song. It exuded a nobility that he thought was sometimes lacking under the Evening Stars.

Chapter 347

The song ended and Hadjar put the Ron’Jah away. He regretted doing so: ten minutes of playing music had aroused a half-forgotten sensation in him. He’d enjoyed playing the instrument as much as he enjoyed fighting.

“A good song,” Paris nodded, pouring another glass of wine. “I’ve never heard about the Black General.”

“We don’t mention him often on the islands, either,” Einen agreed, “only in children’s horror stories, or as an example of what not to do.”

“My mother often sang it to me during my childhood,” Hadjar shrugged.

“Oh, well, that explains a lot,” Einen nodded, and, not giving Hadjar a chance to get outraged, turned to their host. “Honorable Paris, I don’t mean to reject your hospitality, but why did you invite us here?”

Apparently, the islander, just like Karissa, didn’t like wasting time on idle politeness. Hadjar, on the contrary, enjoyed small talk. He got to experience it far too rarely for his liking.

Paris, without finishing his wine, set the glass aside. He wiped his lips clean with the edge of his sleeve and waved his hand to close the door and shutters. It was a simple gesture for him, but Hadjar nearly choked on his wine. No one in Lidus was capable of such a feat!

“To begin with, it was I who immersed you in the Green Prison solution,” Paris admitted instantly.

Hadjar and Einen tensed. Their hands involuntarily reached for their weapons, but the law of hospitality stayed their hand. Harming a welcoming host meant cursing oneself and one’s family with a mark of dishonor. Only a beast, not a human being, would be capable of biting a hand extended in generosity.

“During that time, I had to examine your bodies. Frankly, I’ve never seen such... strong practitioners. You are as mighty as Heaven Soldiers at the middle stage in terms of power. Such an achievement obviously inspires respect, and even a bit of fear. I don’t think that there are any monsters in the Pit that can truly threaten your lives.”

“Which means the upcoming year won’t be that difficult,” Einen summed up. It was obvious that he no longer liked the welcoming Researcher.

“Of course,” Paris agreed, handing the hookah’s mouthpiece to the islander. He hesitated a bit, but then accepted it. “You can freely spend the year engaging in meaningless battles against weak opponents, gaining nothing from them.”

“Life has taught me something…” Hadjar looked into the Researcher’s eyes, “Such words are usually followed by a ‘but’.”

“You’re right,” Paris nodded. “I advised you to visit the auction for a reason.”

“The experience really expanded our horizons and-”

“No, no, no,” the Researcher cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t do that, Hadjar. Don’t try to seem stupid. You saw everything with your own eyes.”

Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. They’d both heard about the hunters of the Research Chamber. Besides, where did all the artifacts that were brought to the House of the Hundred Coins come from? Where did the animals in the Pit, which couldn’t just spring up from beneath very thick stone and sand, come from? Obviously, someone had brought them all here.

“What are you hinting at, honorable Paris?” Hadjar asked a little officially.

“You have a choice.” The Researcher took the hookah out of his mouth and exhaled a thick cloud of sweet smoke. “You can live an empty and boring year, or you can test yourselves against the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand, facing the kinds of dangers and trials that hundreds of songs and legends are composed about.”

Einen and Hadjar thought about it. Hadjar had already experienced what it was like to be the inspiration for songs and legends. He hadn’t gotten anything out of his fame, and he never sought it, which, probably, greatly distinguished him from most of the other practitioners and cultivators. Therefore, he didn’t care about fame.

He was more interested in an opportunity to escape. This would give him at least a slim chance to leave Underworld City before his year was up. Moreover, the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand appealed to him as well. Previously, when he’d been the Mad General, Hadjar could easily disregard all resources and ingredients. However, the further he moved along the path of cultivation, the more clearly he realized that just talent wasn’t enough. The pace of his cultivation had slowed down, not quickened.

He had to get involved in the race for resources. Without them, he would never be able to contend with those who’d been fortunate enough to be born in the Empire or in the country whose residents were capable of creating the stele that tested a practitioner’s level of talent.

Paris, of course, hadn’t made this proposal out of altruism. He definitely had his own angle for this enterprise, both as a person and as a researcher. So, there wasn’t any need to delude oneself about his kindness. It would be a mutually beneficial deal, nothing more. What could Hadjar lose, besides his life? Nothing. Thus, it wasn’t even really a choice for him.

“I agree,” Hadjar and Einen said simultaneously.

Each step of a practitioner walking along the path of cultivation was an endless struggle of life against death. If a person was afraid of the latter, then they should never take up arms. Only those willing to risk everything could truly succeed.

“I was sure you’d accept,” Paris smiled. “In about a month, the group currently exploring the sands will return. I’ll recommend you for the vacant spots.”

“Why are you so sure-”

Hadjar abruptly stopped talking. Paris’ significant look clearly conveyed that there would certainly be spots to fill. Apparently, there always were.

For the next half hour, they talked about the little things again. However, Paris did share some important information about the city with them: where they mustn’t go, where they could get things cheaply or calmly meditate; where they were welcome and where they should avoid going, even under the threat of death.

After saying their goodbyes, Hadjar and Einen hurried back to the barracks — the lanterns had started turning red, which meant that night would come soon. The friends weren’t afraid, but didn’t intend to actively seek out trouble.

This time, the ferryman wasn’t even surprised when the two of them, after stripping down to the waist, jumped into the water. Once they’d crossed the river and brushed off their clothes, they moved on and quickly reached the barracks. Light, music, and shouting were still pouring out from the open door.

“Don’t you want to join me?” Hadjar pointed to the high ledge which they’d noticed that morning. It was ideal for deep meditation, as no one would disturb them there.

“No,” Einen shook his head. “I don’t think today is the best day for me to meditate. I’ll probably just go to bed. There’s a lot to think about.”

Hadjar looked toward the barracks.

“Don’t worry, Northerner,” the islander smiled widely for the first time in many months. “I’m a warrior, not a little kid. I can take care of myself and be on my own for a bit. You are my friend, not my nanny. I’ll handle anything that comes up myself, if I have to.”

Hadjar nodded and saluted in the manner of the islands: he pressed his palms together in the shape of a boat and nodded slightly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“That’s okay.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and went over to the barracks. “You’re a barbarian, there’s no helping that.”

They parted. Hadjar climbed up to the ledge and spent about three hours in deep meditation. Then he spent another hour or so trying to whistle Azrea’s favorite tune. He had no idea how, but every time the tigress had gone off for a walk on her own before, she’d immediately returned as soon as she’d heard that tune. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen this time.

Hadjar wished the tiger cub good luck with her hunt. Maybe his fluffy friend had already grown up and could now truly live on her own and would only return when she wanted to. As with any other woman, he shouldn’t try to force her to stay with him. Nero had used to repeat that advice endlessly.

As he walked back to the barracks, Hadjar didn’t immediately realize why he was so alarmed. Then it hit him. It was too quiet... No one was singing or dancing. No shouts could be heard.

When he entered the building, Hadjar immediately drew his blade.

On the wall, nailed to it by daggers, Einen hung, crucified. He was sighing heavily and constantly spitting out blood. A slave collar was around his neck, covered in frozen blood. How else would these bastards have been able to defeat the islander?

“It would seem it’s time for us to talk, Northerner,” Glen grinned wryly, toying with a second collar in his hands.

A dozen men surrounded Hadjar. Emboldened by their own numerical superiority, they didn’t immediately notice the dragon awakening in his blue eyes. By the time they saw it, it was already too late.

A moment ago, they’d been standing around a tall man, but now they were facing a dangerous beast. Many of them turned pale when they couldn’t comprehend whether this creature had drawn a sword or fangs against them.

“Time to talk?” Hadjar’s voice was inhuman. “No, it’s time to die.”

A column of blue energy erupted around him, and miniature black sparks could clearly be seen floating in the energy.

Chapter 348

Three men attacked Hadjar simultaneously. They wielded heavy, massive axes that were capable of chopping through even the strongest armor. Surrounded by multicolored streams of energies, each of them was a strong practitioner at the Transformation level. Like shooting stars, they rained down, right on their enemy. Hadjar didn’t move. He extended his right hand calmly, using his sword like a shield. When the three axes hit the blade, it didn’t even twitch. A streak of light that resembled the gleam of a sword being swung flashed outward from Mountain Wind.

That light easily passed through the other fighters’ multicolored energy. Cutting through their ax blades, it first touched the attackers’ wrists, then grazed their chests, seemingly harmless.

The trio didn’t even have time to cry out. First, their chopped off hands fell to the ground. Still clenched into fists, they rolled across the floor. A millisecond later, their bodies collapsed next to them. A fountain of blood shot up, plugging a wide gap in the ceiling, which had been left behind by the strip of light, for a moment.

“No retreat!” Glen shouted.

After fastening the slave collar to his belt, he bared a dagger and a narrow saber. Accompanied by hooting, and howling eerily similar to a jackal’s, his attack rushed forward. Like a pack of dogs, his Technique circled around Hadjar, standing in the bloody rain.

Suddenly, a bowstring sang. A female practitioner, down on one knee on the table, sent an arrow flying. It turned into the beak of a bird of prey. Closing the distance in less than a second, to the accompaniment of joyful cries, it touched Hadjar’s chest... but then, with a sharp zipping noise, it pierced the wall. Motes of energy sank to the floor like black feathers. Hadjar, turning into a shadow of the Six Ravens, pressed the attack.

Everything around him slowed down. Drops of blood, previously falling like rain, now seemed to crawl through the air, like paint gliding along silk threads.

Grabbing a boy standing nearby, Hadjar threw him at the archer. After blocking the girl’s line of sight, he slashed down swiftly. He added a bit of energy to it, but didn’t even pause to observe how a semitransparent blade, seemingly conjured from thin air, first cut through the boy, and then the archer. Another fountain of blood struck the gap in the ceiling, but Hadjar didn’t care. He continued his flight of death.

The ravens’ shadow flashed among fifty attackers. Every time Hadjar slowed down enough to take on a human form, Mountain Wind shone, and two, or even three, attackers would fall.

While an enemy was swinging, Hadjar managed to cut into him multiple times, then, pushing himself off the floor, he used the Ten Ravens Technique to move to another attacker. Like the spirit of death itself, he rushed around the barracks, culling the weakest foes so that they wouldn’t interfere in the fight later.

“Guram!” Glen cried out, driving his saber into the floor in front of him. A golden protective sphere sprang up around him, occasionally getting hit by the echoes of Hadjar’s attacks.

“On it!” An obese, pot-bellied practitioner answered.

He wielded a mace and looked like an elephant. Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar paid close attention to this warrior. He looked a bit like the Heaven Soldier whom Hadjar had had to fight beneath the walls of Kurkhadan.

As if to confirm this impression, the man brandished his mace, sending out an attack that assumed the form of an elephant’s head. The pressure of his power was so great that the floor cracked and the walls shook like they were being buffeted by a strong wind. Those unlucky enough to find themselves in the way were swept away. Their crumpled bodies were swept aside by the elephant’s tusks as the attack charged its target.

Hadjar, realizing that he could neither dodge nor stop the attack while running, froze. Again, black ‘feathers’ of energy fell to the floor around him. In recent months, Hadjar had managed to reach the sixth level of the Technique, but now he understood that he couldn’t progress any further without special resources.

The elephant rushed toward Hadjar, scattering the furniture and people in its path. Bone chips and blood scattered all around it.

“Arch!” Hadjar cried out, gathering the streams of his energy around him. They soared around him like a column, and a moment later, flew into his body.

Hadjar extended his left palm forward. Glen and Guram watched in disbelief as Hadjar, just like that — with his bare hand — stopped the elephant. The pressure of the Technique only managed to move him a foot or so, but did nothing else.

Making a fist with his hand, Hadjar made the Technique disappear. There was a pop, a light whirlwind of energy, and nothing was left of the attack that had taken the lives of three of Glen’s allies, but hadn’t harmed Hadjar in the slightest.

Shaking off his palm, Hadjar gripped Mountain Wind with both hands. The blade, several times heavier than its counterparts, felt pleasantly balanced in his grip. Hadjar had only recently gotten fully used to his new ‘comrade’.

Energy soared around his legs. Miniature black sparks dancing across blue reflections could be seen in it. Mentally, Hadjar attached the imaginary black blade, located somewhere in the depths of his soul, to his real one. That very instant, wisps of black fog began to emanate from Mountain Wind.

He imagined two leaves falling on Guram’s and Glen’s necks. His two swings were so quick it appeared as if Hadjar had only swung his blade once.

“Falling Leaf!”

The sword, so heavy that it could’ve crushed the chest of a weak practitioner with ease, created a stream of wind that launched the attackers away from Hadjar. They scattered several yards away. The weakest ones landed in puddles of their own blood as long, deep wounds, inflicted by invisible blades, spread across their bodies.

Hadjar’s swings turned into two ghostly black dragons. Opening their fanged maws, their blue eyes shining menacingly, they charged their prey, swaying and dancing around each other.

Guram set his mace in front of him. He shouted something, and armor flared into being around him, resembling the armor of a war elephant. The first dragon crashed into the protective Technique. Multicolored sparks fell to the floor and covered the walls. The man was dragged a few yards across the ground, and every second, his defenses grew duller. His armor was covered in cracks, which originated from where the dragon had struck him and spread out to the very edges of his armor.

At some point, Guram couldn’t stand the pressure. With a cry, he brandished his mace, trying to repel the attack, but his formidable, bulky weapon couldn’t match the quick sword.

First, his cut off hand fell to the floor. Guram staggered for a while, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but then fell to his knees. There was a hole in his chest the size of a child’s fist. Through it, a similar hole in the bone wall of the barracks was visible.

“Damn it!” Glen shouted.

Whispering something, he broke a stone die that he’d pulled out of his pocket. Transparent steel threads enveloped his golden sphere. Whirling around in a crazy dance, they turned Hadjar’s attack into dust as they collided. However, as soon as they repulsed the attack, they disappeared as well, turning into a haze.

“That seal cost me two coins!” Glen shouted. “Gods and demons, I’ll rip your heart out, Northerner!”

Gods and dDemons... it had been a long time since Hadjar had heard the Balium dialect.

“Remember your ancestors’ names,” Hadjar answered in Glen’s native language.

The man flinched and rushed in to launch a crazy attack. His saber flashed with golden energy and the air thickened behind him, forming dozens of the same blades. Just like with Guram, this was a rather familiar Technique as well.

Hadjar, grabbing his blade with both hands, was about to respond with his best trick — a symbiosis of the ‘Falling Leaf’ and ‘Spring Wind’ stances.

“What’s going on here?” Karissa’s voice cut through the air.

At the same time, all those present in the barracks, those who were still alive and conscious anyway, collapsed from terrible pain. Glen swayed, fighting against it, but then fell to his knees. He clutched his head and howled like a wounded dog.

Hadjar tried to resist. It felt like every cell in his body was being immolated in the fires of the abyss, and then pierced by needles. And yet, he stayed on his feet. Blood flowed from his nose and ears as he fought against the amulet.

Slowly, he turned toward the entrance. There, on the threshold of the wide-open door, stood Karissa. The pages of her book were rustling, and red shadows in ragged, hooded robes were flying around the witch. She emanated power that was beyond just the initial stages of the Heaven Soldier level.

Damned true path…

Chapter 349

The torture continued for about five more seconds. Five very long seconds, filled with agony. Throughout all of it, Hadjar remained upright. His back didn’t bend, his hands didn’t flinch. Only blood flowed down his face, merging with the drops of his foes’ blood. It landed on the floor in loud, echoing splats.

“I’ll ask again.” Karissa then obviously did something, because the pain disappeared. The cries of despair were replaced by moans and occasional sobs. “What’s going on here?”

Glen slowly rose to his feet. His face was bleeding too, but much less than Hadjar’s. Their damned blue amulets seemingly weren’t as harsh to those who submitted to the will of their overseer.

The instigator of the fight looked at Hadjar, and then turned to the witch.

“Nothing, honorable lady,” he answered, bowing slightly. “A small misunderstanding, a minor brawl, nothing more.”

“Nothing?”

Karissa carefully examined the barracks: the broken furniture and utensils; the corpses lying on the floor; the body parts strewn everywhere; the blood covering the floor; Einen, crucified to the wall, who had, unexpectedly, been spared the torture of the amulet. It was unlikely that he would’ve survived it in his current state.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I have nothing to say, except that you need to clean everything up before the morning.”

“Of course, honorable lady.” Glen bowed once more.

This time, he didn’t dare flirt with the witch. Apparently, the situation was more than serious enough for him to hold back.

Karissa once again looked around the room and then went outside. The shadows followed her faithfully. Their robes dragged along the pavement, leaving behind a black scorch mark. It was easy to imagine what would happen to a person’s flesh if they so much as touched it.

“Take care of your friend and I’ll do the rest.” Glen said it calmly, as if they hadn’t been trying to kill each other mere moments ago. However, in the world of martial arts, that was to be expected. One second, you might be fighting against each other, and the next — you were calmly discussing things. Such was the nature of this mad world.

Hadjar nodded, scabbarded his sword, and walked over to Einen. In a single leap, along with a wave of his hand, he cut the chains and, catching his friend, placed him on the floor. After carrying the heavily breathing islander over to their bunk, Hadjar carefully removed the slave collar around the man’s neck. He knew very well what sort of pain any unnecessary movement could cause during this process. The poisoned spike, if it touched one’s nerves, tortured them worse than the blue amulet.

As soon as the poison left Einen’s body, he started breathing more evenly. His bleeding stopped and his wounds began to close. Hadjar felt the healing processes start up in the islander’s body. Fortunately, Einen hadn’t spared any time or resources when he’d studied the Technique for Strengthening the Body. This was unusual for practitioners. It took a lot of time and energy, and it brought almost no benefit during the initial steps of one’s cultivation path. Armor was more than enough protection in those early stages.

Turning to the bedside table, Hadjar took out a small box with various bottles and flasks. He did something with powders and ointments, and then even poured a potion down his friend’s throat.

A few hours later, Einen was sleeping. Hadjar had bandaged him up and now he looked a bit like a mummy. That was actually how the desert dwellers buried their dead — swaddled in white cloth and buried beneath the sand. They never burned them. Fuel for a fire was as valuable around here as water.

Hadjar spent the night immersed in light meditation. He sat in a lotus position at the foot of Einen’s bed. Mountain Wind lay across his lap.

Part of Hadjar’s mind was in the World River, from where it scooped up energy and poured it into his body. Another, smaller, but nonetheless attentive part observed what was happening. It listened to the other residents as they cleaned the floor, patching up the walls and their wounded comrades. The strongest practitioners quarreled, trying to distribute the belongings left behind by the dead. As a result, Glen always ended up mediating these disputes, taking a share of everyone’s belongings as his due.

The barracks really was like a prison. At any rate, Hadjar had always imagined it like this, because he’d never been in prison before, only locked up in dungeons where there were no other cellmates, just rats and darkness. They’d answered with silence to every single one of his attempts to converse with them, even the stupidest ones.

“It’s rather ironic, isn’t it?” Einen asked when he woke up.

“It could’ve happened to anyone,” Hadjar remarked philosophically.

“I was too arrogant.” With great difficulty, the islander sat up. Sniffing, he took a pre-prepared cup of medicine and drank it in one gulp. “I looked down on them, and the Great Turtle punished me for it. While I was meditating, these chekhars managed to put the collar on me. If not for the horror that followed, I would even admire their dexterity. They’d placed it around the head of an arrow... Apparently, I’m not the first they’ve caught like that. I managed to feel it happening, but couldn’t react in time.”

“And then they only cut into you with knives,” Hadjar guessed from his wounds.

“To prevent disturbances in the World River,” Einen nodded. “And they kept me conscious with some drug.”

“What did they want?

“That’s the weirdest thing about all of this, they wanted nothing. I would’ve told them everything. I don’t like to endure pain and I would always have time to get my revenge on them later.”

Torture for the sake of torture... From personal experience, Hadjar knew that nothing could be worse than that. When you were tortured so someone could extract information from you, there was always the hope that the pain and torment would eventually end. When it was just for pleasure... He didn’t want to remember that...

Emerging from his meditation, Hadjar opened his eyes and looked at his friend. He didn’t look good, but he wasn’t feeling much discomfort, either. However, there was no doubt that the people who’d tortured him were still scurrying around. Hadjar hadn’t killed all of them, he’d slain no more than eight people.

“You’re too calm.”

“Well,” Einen answered, wiping the elixir from his lips. “I want to believe that I’ve learned my lesson and appeased the Great Turtle. She rubbed my nose in my failure, reminding me that I am not omnipotent. Now, hopefully, when real danger comes, I’ll be fully prepared to meet it.”

Hadjar nodded, agreeing with such an outlook.

They talked until nightfall, recalling how and when they’d managed to get in trouble. Then they slept in shifts. However, no one attacked them that night. Apparently, Glen had decided that he should calm down for a while.

That’s how they spent their next three days. Then Karissa came and ordered them to the Pit.

Hadjar fought a giant bird that was a mixture of a vulture, a seagull, and a pelican. Its long, sharpened claws could barely scratch Hadjar’s chest, but he quickly separated its ugly head from its equally ugly body.

Einen fought a sand cat. It was a pretty unpleasant adversary. It was as large as a big dog, and able to use the same Techniques as Shakh’s sand dogs. It would hide in the sand and then emerge from the most unexpected places. Hadjar didn’t know how the islander managed to deal with it.

The following week was more of the same: they talked about the cultivation path, explored the busy city, sparred, and participated in endless fights against different creatures.

Sometimes, their conversation briefly touched on the caravan’s fate. The friends hoped that Shakar and Shakh were searching for Serra, or at least trying to bring the survivors to the Empire. That would’ve been the fair thing to do. Of course, the contract had been nullified by Rahaim’s death, but still...

The weeks went by in a blur.

Two months passed imperceptibly. At the end of each month, Einen and Hadjar received three coins. Paris, who’d promised them that they’d get spots in the hunter squad in just a month, only shrugged at their questions. He said that he hadn’t received news from the hunters for a very long time, and that if they didn’t return in the near future, he would assemble a new squad.

Over the course of their eternal sparring and battles against the beasts, Hadjar grew stronger and his understanding deepened. He was more certain than ever that neither Traves, nor the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique, or any amount of training he did on his own would help him anymore. Hadjar needed to find a place where he could progress. He needed the Empire and its numerous schools, sects, and clans.

Everything changed when Paris himself came to the barracks.

Chapter 350

Paris sat at the centre table, quietly sipping his brew. His gold-embroidered velvet coat lay on the dusty floor. The jewel in his silk turban glowed faintly. He was the only person in the barracks, the other residents of it had disappeared.

“I didn’t think we needed extra eyes and ears,” Paris said, pointing to the vacant chairs at the table.

The Chief Researcher looked a little out of place here. He was an eastern man, but the barracks was furnished in a more western style. There were chairs, but no pillows, and there were only ordinary cups to drink from, not the bowls that desert dwellers preferred.

Hadjar and Einen sat opposite each other at the far end of the table. It would be easier for them to mount a defense and cover each other’s back that way.

“Before the other members of the squad join us, I’d like to hear what you know about Mage City.”

Hadjar and Einen were dumbstruck. Does everything that happens in the Sea of Sand revolve around this myth?

“I see you know enough,” Paris said. “That both simplifies and complicates the task, because you probably don’t know everything.”

“I hope you’ll tell us more, honorable Paris,” Hadjar said.

“Don’t doubt it for a second, Northerner.” The Researcher smiled slightly and sipped his brew. “It’s a strange drink: it has no taste, but intoxicates you quickly.”

They heard very familiar footsteps, followed by the sense of an equally familiar aura. Glen sat down at the table a little stiffly. He placed the scabbard of his sword in front of him and thrust his dagger into the table. Dirt covered his leather boots.

“It’s a drink from the Northern kingdoms,” Glen said, winking at Hadjar. “In our countries, the most important thing is for a drink to warm you up quickly, savoring the bewitching taste of an exquisite bouquet is a distant second.”

The way he said that last sentence was a clear mockery of someone’s tone.

“I really don’t know why mead even exists, then,” Paris said. “I certainly can’t forget its taste.”

Glen had no comeback for that, and Hadjar, smiling at the Researcher, took out his pipe and filled it. There was clearly something interesting going on here, so he decided to just be an observer for now.

Karissa came next. The witch, dressed in light, local female attire — which resembled both a dress and a caftan — held her hand close to her chained book. Hadjar had noticed long ago that she and Paris had a strained relationship.

“Did you call for me, honorable Researcher?” She bowed.

When talking to Paris, the witch always maintained a formal tone.

“Please sit down, honorable Karissa. You can pour yourself some brew,” he said, shaking the bubbling jug at her, “but I’m not sure you’ll like it. I don’t like it at all.”

Karissa’s eyes flashed and she poured herself a full glass of it, but didn’t drink. Women... The man who finally manages to understand them will easily become the ruler of the world.

Karissa was followed by someone Hadjar hadn’t expected to see: Salif limped in, leaning on a staff, followed by the servant boy who’d sworn vengeance on them. It was a strange choice for Paris to make, since he was clearly aware of the relationship between them.

“Honorable Researchers,” the old servant bowed. The boy did the same. He held a huge pile of scrolls and clay tablets.

The servants placed it all on the table and Paris nodded. Salif and the boy began to arrange them in a special order: first the maps, then some scrolls, then a few figures. Once they finished, they asked for Paris’ permission and then sat down.

The boy went to pour himself some brew, but Salif slapped his hand with his staff. The boy became even more sullen and glared at Hadjar and Einen.

However, now that they weren’t wearing their slave collars, these glances only made them fell a bit uneasy. They both remembered how, two months ago, Einen had suffered greatly because of his arrogance.

“They’re late,” Paris sighed.

As if on cue, another pair entered the room. This time, Einen and Hadjar couldn’t help themselves. Springing to their feet, they grabbed their weapons and unleashed their energy, taking up defensive stances. Over the past few months, they’d learned that their amulets only punished a desire to harm a citizen. There was no penalty for demonstrating one’s power or the use of protective Techniques.

Ramukhan and Tilis, dressed in red caftans and turbans, entered the barracks. Both of them looked like they were ready for a good fight, not like they’d come there to talk.

“What does the Research Chamber need from the defenders of the city, Paris?” Ramukhan asked, not even approaching the table.

“What are those bastards doing here?” Tilis added.

Their staves were oozing energy, and the stones in their pommels shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow.

“I would advise you to calm yourself, Ramukhan.”

“If it hadn’t been for the Sage’s orders, I wouldn’t have even come here at all,” the city’s chief of security grimaced.

Over the past couple of months, Hadjar had become familiar with the local hierarchy. If one ‘translated’ it into Lidish, Ramukhan and Paris were the local Dukes. The Sage was the local King. Tilis and Karissa were nobles, with no less authority than proper Lords, and they belonged to one of the two warring factions.

The city had only one budget, but a lot of people wanted to get a few coins from it. The two biggest players on the field were the City Defenders and the Researchers. That’s why they disliked each other greatly.

“But the order was given, and that’s why you’re here. I repeat, calm yourself and your subordinate.”

“Or what?”

Paris’ eyes flashed with menace. A stone slab appeared in his hands. Neither Hadjar nor Einen could’ve predicted what happened next. The glow of their blue amulets faded.

“Or you’ll see what the two best warriors in my squad are capable of.”

There was utter silence.

“There’s no need to spill the blood of citizens in a battle with strangers,” Ramukhan nodded.

“But-”

“Shut up, Tilis, this isn’t the time to pursue your blood feud.” The Chief of Security stowed his staff.

To Hadjar’s chagrin, Paris put the slab away as well, and their amulets once again glowed with life and energy.

As the two Defenders sat down at the table, Paris glanced at the friends and asked them to sheathe their weapons and drop their protective Techniques. Hadjar and Einen hesitated for a moment, but fulfilled his request.

Paris had done right by them in these past two months: he’d fed them and treated them to evenings of small talk where they’d sometimes learned useful information as well. So, they were obliged to show him respect.

“Now that we’re all here, I’ll begin.” Paris smiled amiably. “You are all here because of your unique abilities.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Tilis interrupted him, “but I’d like you to get to the point.”

Paris gave her a slightly mocking look. Tilis blushed and grabbed her staff, but she was stopped by Ramukhan’s imperious gesture.

“Alright then. How do you feel about going on an expedition to search for the lost library in Mage City?”

Chapter 351

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to hear what Paris was suggesting. Surely, the rest of the strong organizations in the desert were also thinking about the same thing right now. Moreover, it would be reasonable to expect they’d run into several expeditions from the Empire. After all, it was rare you got a chance to explore a place where a god-making elixir could be found. Einen seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him. He and Hadjar looked at each other and nodded. When the Researcher had asked what they knew about Mage City, they’d assumed that the conversation would be about the library.

“You’ve read too many scrolls, Paris. Mage City is just a fairy tale.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that we live atop their remnants?”

That shocked Einen and Hadjar. Underworld City used the remains of Mage City somehow. How was that possible?

“Remnants,” the Chief of Security snarled. “Some old warehouses and the menagerie you’re trying to rebuild. I’m sure that won’t do us any good.”

“Aren’t you interested in learning the secrets of the ancient times?” Paris narrowed his eyes.

“Do you want an honest answer? I’m far more concerned with sending expeditions to the Empire! I don’t understand how you bookworms, for some reason, always think everything old is somehow better than something new.”

“New Techniques,” Paris said. “Maybe there’s something valuable to be found in the Land of the Immortals, but I believe far more in the existence of the library of Mage City than I do in the Immortals.”

Hadjar said nothing. He’d spent a year in the Black Mountains as a disciple of the Shadow of the Immortal. He’d listened to stories about the distant land nestled among white clouds. It was hard to imagine — a whole country floating in the sky. A person that saw such a thing probably wouldn’t be afraid of death any more.

“But we’re not talking about that,” the Researcher continued. “I have orders from the Sage-”

“I don’t know what your orders were,” Ramukhan interrupted him. “The Sage only asked me to come to this meeting. I will decide whether I join this expedition or not.”

“Then I hope you’ll like this.”

Paris placed a small leather bag in the center of the table.

“And… what now?”

“Open it,” the Researcher said, “then we’ll talk more about this.”

Ramukhan fumbled for a moment, then, resting his belly on the edge of the table, leaned over and picked up the bag. He untied its strings and peered inside. He stared at it for a moment, then handed it to Tilis with trembling hands. The witch, after assessing the contents, turned pale and almost fainted. She put the bag back on the table and leaned back in her chair. The expressions on both Defenders’ faces showed how amazed they were.

Hadjar couldn’t resist his natural curiosity and peered inside the bag as well. He’d been prepared for anything: from an Energy Stone, all the way to a bone that was millions of years old. To his disappointment, only a fragment of a jade seal lay inside. It was certainly old, gray with age, but it radiated no energy and caused no disturbance in the currents of the World River.

“How do I know that’s not a fake?” Ramukhan asked.

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweaty forehead.

“I think,” Paris chuckled, “the Sage’s word will be enough to convince you.”

This argument appealed to Ramukhan and Tilis as much a bucket of cold water did. Both Defenders shuddered and fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

“Could anyone explain to us, the stupid barbarians, what’s going on?” Hadjar asked, annoyed at his own ignorance.

“There is an ancient map in the Sage’s chambers,” Karissa said, studying the jade fragment. “It covers such a vast territory that even a Spirit Knight wouldn’t be able to traverse all the lands on it in their allotted ten thousand years of life. This map, according to the legends, is a remnant from Mage City. In its upper right corner is the seal of the city. This shard resembles a part of it.”

“It doesn’t just resemble it. It is a part of it.” Paris shook his head. “The Sage compared the patterns for a month, until he confirmed my assumptions. That jade fragment is really from the city. Just like the map.”

South Wind had told Hadjar about this map. The Scholar had claimed it was no smaller than the one in the Royal Palace of Lidus, but had been made on a scale that was a hundred times larger, covering a lot more territory than the map in Lidus.

He now understood how the Sea of Sand, which wasn’t considered a very enlightened region, had such a treasure. Them having access to relics from Mage City was a logical explanation.

“Is this why the last group of hunters disappeared?”  Karissa put the jade aside.

Paris nodded a little stiffly.

“I lost contact with them two months ago,” he said sadly. “I’d hoped it was because of the anomalies of the region they were in, but... I know better now. All of them most likely died by Sankesh’s men’s swords, or fell victim to traps, or the animals that dwell there killed them.”

“Animals?” Tilis asked.

Paris nodded.

“Mage City is an ancient land. It’s older than both Lascan and Darnassus. Mages and practitioners who lived there bent the streams of the World River, gathering and storing up its energy. Over millions of years, these changes must’ve somehow transformed the environment in that area, making it more violent and dangerous. And the animals that lived there most likely transformed along with their surroundings.”

“In other words...” Ramukhan said, his gaze hardening, “You’re saying we might encounter monsters we don’t know about out there.”

“Or ones you’re familiar with, but they’ll be far more powerful than their unchanged counterparts. Or you might come across creatures you’ve never even heard about. Or maybe you won’t find anything. There is not enough information, even in myths and tales, to say anything with certainty…”

Einen suddenly slammed his hand down on the table so hard it cracked.

“What area are you even talking about? Nobody knows where the city is!”

“They don’t?” For the first time in the last quarter of an hour, a faint smile touched Paris’ lips. “We know where it is... approximately.”

He picked up his pointer and traced an area on the map that was roughly six times as large as Lidus, with about half of Balium added for good measure.

“Somewhere around here.”

“Somewhere around here,” Glen repeated. “Honorable Researcher, it’ll take ten lifetimes to examine that entire area in search of the entrance.”

“That’s why everyone is waiting for the two red comets to cross the sky,” Paris said, toying with his pointer between his fingers. “At that very moment, the final race for the knowledge of Mage City will begin. But many people already started searching for the entrance a few years ago. For example, Sankesh.”

“That means we don’t need to search in the regions where there are traces of human activity,” Ramukhan nodded. He’d already forgotten about his skepticism and joined the discussion. Greed was a part of everyone, even the most worthy…

Hadjar waved his hands around in frustration. “So, in addition to all the anomalies, traps, and beasts, there will also be an army of other relic hunters waiting for us there?”

“Quite right,” Paris nodded. “Isn’t this an amazing adventure?”

Chapter 352

“I’m not against fighting,” Einen crossed his arms over his chest and frowned slightly, “but only when I know why I’m doing it.”

The situation reminded Hadjar of what had happened in Rahaim’s caravan. During his brief speech, Einen winked at Hadjar. It was time to bargain.

“If you successfully complete your mission, your amulets will be removed,” Paris answered.

“Honorable Researcher,” Hadjar said, “You asked us not to pretend to be fools, so don’t insult us with those kinds of statements. Our amulets will be removed in less than ten months.”

“And during that time, nothing around here will endanger our lives,” Einen nodded. “But out there in the Sea of Sand, there are beasts and unknown practitioners, not to mention true cultivators. You’re asking for far too much.”

Paris made a theatrical pause.

“And that goes for you too,” he said, turning to Salif and the boy, “if you agree, you’ll become full citizens. For you, Salif, that means a calm and peaceful retirement. For you, boy, it’ll be an opportunity to study at the Sage’s School and choose your future path.”

The old man’s eyes didn’t even spark with interest, but the boy almost jumped up. He could hardly remained seated, wishing instead to rush over to the Researcher and shout with joy.

For someone so young, the amulet of a servant meant the loss of their most precious period of life. In fact, Paris had offered him not just a full citizenship, but a whole new future.

“My eyes haven’t seen the sun for a quarter of a century,” the old man sighed. “Your words, honorable Paris, don’t touch my soul. My death is already approaching. I will soon face the forefathers’ court... I’d like to greet it beneath the rays of a scarlet sunset, and not here, shoveling slop... I agree.”

“I agree!” The boy cried out right away.

“That makes two,” a pleased Paris smiled.

Hadjar didn’t understand why Paris needed the servants, but he was sure that the Researcher had his own plan, one which would benefit him.

“I hear your order, honorable Paris,” Karissa bowed, “and my honor dictates that I have to obey it.”

Three people had already fallen into the Researcher’s trap. For some reason, Hadjar realized right then that this man wasn’t a good-natured bookworm, but a dangerous serpent. After opening its mouth, it was calmly waiting for the gullible monkeys to step into it. The worst thing was that everyone was aware of it, but they still obeyed. It was the power of the mind, not a weapon. Hadjar didn’t consider himself an idiot, but he doubted that he’d ever, even with the help of the neuronet, be capable of something like that.

“Go ahead, convince me and Tilis,” Ramukhan’s eyes flashed.

They bargained hotly. Ramukhan insisted that he couldn’t leave his post as Chief of Security. Paris kept mentioning the Sage and the secrets of the library.

According to him, there were no Masters around who were more skillful than the ones that lived in the flying towers of Mage City. While the debate was going on, Hadjar pondered why the gods had struck down the mages who’d challenged their laws, but hadn’t even touched the Immortals? After all, their country also flew... Or maybe it wasn’t a matter of flight at all? It seemed to Hadjar like the truth of the matter would either be inaccessible to his current level of understanding of the world, or too dangerous to even think about.

Finally, Paris and Ramukhan reached an agreement with very punishing terms.

“Your Chamber will give my people one fifth of your share of the funds over the course of the next fifteen years,” Ramukhan listed. “In case we find the library, I will be the first in line for the translations you’ll be making. I’ll get full access to all of your studies regarding the true path. In addition, you’ll give me a bottle of the best wine from your collection and ten monster cores at the King Stage.”

Half of Lidus would’ve gone off to search for the lost city in exchange for all of that. Not so long ago, Hadjar himself would have rushed headlong into any adventure for such wealth.

Surprisingly, Tilis had remained silent throughout the bargaining. Apparently, her share of the remuneration depended on Ramukhan’s decision.

“Okay, we’ve dealt with that,” Paris nodded. “Now on to you, Glen.”

Glen turned out to be a fairly modest guy. He asked for ten cores and some special resources that he needed to develop his Techniques. He didn’t even mention removing his amulet — Glen’s term ended the following month.

“And now...” Paris turned to Hadjar and Einen.

The islander spoke first. Following Glen’s example, he asked for cores. Even the weakest core of a monster at the King Stage cost from two to four imperial coins, simply because these beasts didn’t exactly run around in the streets. They had to be tracked among crowds of weaker animals. Not everyone wanted to spend their precious time hunting. Those who did that sort of thing professionally could spend up to one month on one trip, looking for such a monster.

In addition to the cores and his amulet being removed, Einen also asked for access to the Artifact Department of the Research Chamber.

Hadjar and the islander now understood why Paris had mentioned that they had a staff at the Heaven stage last week. The Chief Researcher had skillfully woven his web, and, to be honest, they’d all gotten trapped in it.

“Hadjar,” Paris said, “what about you?”

Hadjar thought about it for a moment. What did he need the most? Obviously, he couldn’t progress any further along the cultivation path without resources, but resources were simply a matter of time. He still had the fairy’s tears and the Energy Stone in his wallet. Even if he never found a use for them, he could always sell them.

He wouldn’t need a lot of money in the future. And as for beast cores… Along the way, they would surely encounter many strong monsters. Therefore, it wouldn’t be a problem to acquire cores. Strangely, the rest hadn’t really thought about that. Perhaps that was why Paris had so easily parted with nearly fifty precious items.

Therefore, resources and money weren’t a pressing issue. Knowledge, on the other hand... According to Rahaim, one of the Techniques of the God of War was stored in the library, but was it useful to a swordsman? On the other hand, South Wind had said that he’d personally seen the Sage teach a swordsman. Moreover, only the Sage could finally tell him about the true path of cultivation.

“I need an audience with the Sage and for my amulet to be removed, of course.”

There was utter silence in the barracks.

“Who do you think you are, stranger-” Salif’s disapproving gaze interrupted the outraged boy’s tirade.

Servants occupied the lowest social stratum in the city. In fact, since they were slaves in all but name, they couldn’t speak openly with their betters. Especially using that kind of tone. On top of that, some of the most important people in the city were showing respect to this stranger: the Chief Researcher and the Chief of Security.

In addition, the city was gossiping about a Wielder of the Sword being among the strangers, something that was much rarer than Heaven Soldiers.

“It can perhaps be arranged,” Paris answered thoughtfully.

“Perhaps?” Hadjar’s voice was as steely as Ramukhan’s look had been.

For a while, he and Paris stared each other down. That’s when Hadjar clearly saw Paris’ true essence. He wasn’t altruistic, or your ‘buddy’. He was a cold and prudent fanatic of his craft. He considered Hadjar and Einen useful tools to be used, nothing more. It was similar to how a chess grandmaster looked at strong pieces on the board. They appreciated them, but if the need arose, they were always ready to sacrifice them to ensure victory.

“I’ll arrange it,” Paris finally nodded.

Chapter 353

“Well, since we’ve agreed on the price of your participation in this enterprise, which is certainly important to our city, let me tell you more about the plan.”

Which is certainly important to our city… the man had said just a few words, but he’d invested so much meaning into them. Hadjar shook his head. No, verbal manipulation and intrigue had never been his strong suit. A good sword, the wind, and the horizon stretching out before him — that was all he needed. He’d leave plotting to others, since they were good at it anyway.

“As I’ve said before,” Paris continued, “I’ve chosen each of you because of your special skills and talents. Let’s start with Salif.”

Everyone turned to the old servant. After Hadjar had held a stone needle to the old man’s throat, he’d seen him several additional times in various institutions. For example, he’d seen him in the auction house that Hadjar had visited to expand his horizons.

“None of you are aware of this, but Salif has a unique gift.” Paris smiled and nodded toward the old man. “He’s able to remember everything he has ever seen or heard.”

“Is it a gift, though?” Glen shrugged. “Any Spirit Knight is capable of that.”

“Do you see any spare Knights around here?” Karissa arched an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Karissa,” the Chief Researcher nodded. “By the way, speaking of Karissa, her mastery over the element of fire is above my understanding. The spells she uses can contend with a Heaven Soldier’s at the peak stage.”

The peak stage was the fourth stage of the Heaven Soldier level. Hadjar had learned that from Paris. After one became a Heaven Soldier, the steps along the path of cultivation were divided into four stages: the initial, middle, advanced, and peak stage. Paris claimed that a Soldier at the initial stage couldn’t hope for victory against a Soldier at the middle stage, so huge was the gap between these separate stages in what was supposedly just one of many levels of cultivation.

“And the boy?” Glen was the most talkative of them all apparently.

“Him?” Paris asked, looking at the young boy next to Salif. “Oh, I’m already used to seeing them together, so I didn’t hesitate to invite him here, along with Salif. I think he’ll prove himself and help Salif make the upcoming journey, which, of course, will help facilitate your work.”

No one argued with that. Only the boy blushed and looked down — his pride had clearly been wounded. Nevertheless, no one doubted that the old man would need help. He wasn’t strong enough to make such a trip on his own.

“Glen isn’t just very talkative.” The warrior bowed low to each of those present. “In the past, he was one of the best trackers of Balium. For twenty years, he’s traveled with caravans across the Sea of Sand and knows it even better than the Bedouins do. Without him, the enterprise at hand will be much more difficult.”

Wow, who would’ve thought that Glen had been a tracker! It was now clear that he’d been the one to come up with the idea of hanging the slave collar on the tip of an arrow two months ago.

“We also have to talk about Ramukhan and Tilis. Their knowledge of spells and seals is so deep that the Sage himself recognizes them as his best disciples.”

“Some of his best disciples,” Tilis growled, eyeing Hadjar hatefully.

“And as for our sword and spear…” Paris turned to Hadjar and Einen. “Honorable Einen knows the ‘Moonless Shadows’ Technique. It makes him indispensable for traversing even the most inaccessible terrain. His Technique will allow you to avoid many traps, and where it doesn’t help, Hadjar will. The ‘Wielder of the Sword’ will allow you to survive in places where the world energy is inaccessible.”

There was silence in the barracks again.

“Inaccessible?” Glen asked.

“That’s right,” Paris nodded. “According to the reports of the last hunter squad that explored the area and came back, they often came across zones where they couldn’t use their Techniques. The turbulence in the World River was so high that it didn’t allow them to concentrate their energy outside of their bodies. If not for their Techniques for Strengthening the Body, they wouldn’t have survived.”

Everyone, without exception, cursed. Tilis did a better job than anyone else. It wasn’t surprising, Hadjar remembered her elder sister.

After they all learned more about each other, they had a discussion about the plan. They considered the maps, argued about who would do what, and discussed places where they could rest. They decided not to take the maps along for security reasons. Instead, Salif (or rather, the boy who was supposed to carry the old man’s bags) would take a roll of special paper and an inkwell with a stylus. The old man would draw the necessary part of the maps as needed, and Glen would then read them.

Hadjar had presumed it would take him a lot of time, but the old man surprised him: he could draw with both hands at once and at such a high speed that any musician would’ve envied the dexterity of his fingers. Apparently, Paris hadn’t picked him without a great deal of forethought.

A few hours, and two jugs of brew, later, they managed to iron out all the details of the plan. They agreed to leave at dawn the next day.

That way, everyone would have time to prepare, and Paris would be able to collect all the equipment, amulets, and artifacts they’d need. They decided to give them to Ramukhan for safekeeping.

After everyone left, only Einen, Hadjar, and Glen remained in the barracks.

“Well, I never expected for things to pan out like this,” the Baliumian shook his head, drinking some more brew from a jug. “Not so long ago, you and I were trying to cut each other’s throats.”

“If you make one wrong move, we’ll finish what we started.”

The islander’s tone was very casual, but his gaze was sharper than any dagger.

“Calm down,” Glen grinned, “Only an idiot would harm a companion in the Sea of Sand. You served as guards for a caravan, so you must understand that, in the desert, a person’s survival depends on mutual assistance.”

“And yet,” Hadjar rested his hand on the hilt of Mountain Wind, “We aren’t stupid enough to blindly trust you.”

Glen put the jug down on the table, got up, and adjusted the saber and dagger on his belt. As he walked away, he muttered over his shoulder: “You’re not wrong.”

For a moment, tension thickened the air between them, which usually occurred when two opponents had decided to duel. It didn’t last long, and everyone soon went to bed.

Einen immediately plunged into deep meditation. Hadjar, certain that no one would attempt to endanger their lives (Paris and Karissa had probably made sure that nothing would threaten their ‘sword and spear’ in the near future), left the barracks.

After running across the roofs of the nearest buildings, he wound up on his favorite ledge. From atop it, he saw a stunning view of Underworld City, flooded with colorful lights. He’d wanted to come here for so long. And yet, now he was looking forward to the day when he left the walls of the majestic city that wasn’t very welcoming to strangers.

Another fairy tale had turned out to just be the forgotten past.

“Meow,” came suddenly from around his feet.

Hadjar looked down and saw the little tigress peacefully licking her paw.

“Just in time,” he smiled.

Azrea rubbed against his knees, climbed up onto his shoulders, and then settled down inside his turban.

“Will you at least tell me where you were?” Hadjar asked.

He heard only a sleepy ‘Purr-purr’ in reply.

Hadjar spent all the time he had before they began their expedition meditating on the ledge.

He couldn’t possibly know that, as they were standing in the elevator leading to the surface, hundreds of people were already scouring the desert. Among them was Sankesh, leading a girl in a tattered robe on a leash. By the Evening Stars, the entrance to Mage City would exact a great toll in blood before it was found.

Chapter 354

On the morning of their departure, all the members of the small squad gathered near the elevator leading to the surface. Hadjar looked at the bustling Underworld City spread out beneath him. Serra’s stories had been greatly sugarcoated. He didn’t think there was anything special about it, except for its location beneath the ground.

“Take these,” Paris handed everyone something resembling black, convex glasses that had ‘lenses’ made from two stone plates with a thin slot across the middle. “Don’t take them off during your first week outside, or your eyes will get damaged by the sunlight.”

They all carried bags stuffed full of various dried food. Only Ramukhan carried two bags — one was full of food, while the other was overflowing with different amulets and talismans.

“May the Evening Stars illuminate your path.”

With these parting words, Paris once more lowered the bars that covered the entrance to the wide platform. Huge runes and hieroglyphs flashed along the edges of the iron disk that the squad of hunters was standing on. An invisible force pulled the platform up, leaving Underworld City behind. Hadjar put his palm on the hilt of his blade and looked at the distant white dot at the top of the black well. They rode the elevator up in absolute silence. Only the nervous sniffling of Salif’s boy could be heard. Hadjar hadn’t bothered to learn his name.

After about ten minutes, Hadjar closed his eyes and smiled. A dry, but pleasant wind blew across his face. The surface was already close.

In another ten minutes, the platform stopped and the runes went out.

“Come on,” Ramukhan said.

He pushed forward, past the shutters made of translucent mica that let light come through. The wind immediately rushed into the elevator. It played with the Bedouin amulets hanging in Hadjar’s hair, which had grown slightly over the past two months.

This time, Hadjar didn’t feel the same enthusiasm as before while standing atop the mountain hidden by the clouds. He saw white, motionless, fluffy clouds, nearby mountains piercing through the clouds as well, and the blue-black sky and the stars, both of which seemed like they were so close... Due to the new atmosphere, he felt slightly dizzy, but that was it. The inhabitants of Underworld City felt a lot worse. Ramukhan handed out wide, red strips of fabric to everyone. Once they’d covered their noses with them, the underworld dwellers started breathing much more freely. To Einen, what was happening was quite logical, but Hadjar once again found he had a poor understanding of things.

“Apparently, you don’t know about the true path of cultivation either,” Glen said, standing next to him.

“Do you want to tell me anything about it?”

His former enemy, and now a member of the squad he was on, arched his eyebrow and grunted arrogantly. “The knowledge I gained cost me too much to share with you. But I believe this supposedly ‘true path’ wouldn’t have been forgotten in our kingdoms if it had actually been true.”

Hadjar looked at the witches and sorcerers who were trying to catch their breath. Indeed, while he couldn’t do what they could, and while he didn’t understand Shakar’s and the others’ Techniques, he was, at the very least, in harmony with his own body, which they clearly weren’t.

“I wonder,” Einen went over to the edge of the cliff and peered through the bottomless abyss of clouds, “how are we supposed to get down from here?”

Karissa just smiled. She approached the entrance to Underworld City and touched the stone ledge. With a dull echo, a part of the wall moved aside, exposing a niche filled with balls of some kind. Ramukhan helped the witch pull enough out. The balls turned out to be multicolored rags, each three feet in diameter.

“Are you kidding me?” Hadjar was unable to hide his shock at what he was expecting to happen next.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Tilis’ lips stretched into a bloodthirsty grin.

Ramukhan handed everyone a ball.

“Direct a stream of your energy into it and hold on tight.”

Leading by example, Ramukhan wrapped one of the rags around his wrist. After making sure that everything was firmly in place, he released a stream of reddish energy. Like water to a jug, it flowed into the ball, making it bigger and bigger, until Ramukhan was lifted off the ground and the wind carried him toward the clouds.

“Hurry up!” His voice came from underneath the clouds.

With the same bloodthirsty grin, Tilis grabbed her ball and jumped off the cliff, bumping Hadjar with her shoulder as she passed by him. Karissa followed after her. She took the boy along with her, as he simply didn’t have enough energy to power the artifact.

Salif took a nervous Glen with him, since he also had no problems flying among the clouds using the rag ball.

“You know,” Einen unwound his turban and wrapped it around his belt, clutching it as tightly as a drowning man might clutch floating debris. “I sometimes think that it would’ve been better if I’d spent all of my savings and just bought a ticket to join a noble caravan.”

Hadjar looked at the bottomless abyss again and swallowed noisily. He kicked a pebble off the cliff, not to hear the echo, but just to calm his nerves. That had been Nero’s advice on the day they’d climbed the Blue Wind pass.

“W-wait for me,” Hadjar asked, stuttering a little.

He didn’t make a whole show of it like Einen had, but simply wrapped the rag around his wrist. It cut into his wrist, but this pain was a welcome one. It soothed him and allowed him to distract himself from his other frightening thoughts.

“On three,” Einen suggested.

Hadjar nodded and shouted, “Three!”

Grabbing his friend by the shoulder, he jumped down. Expecting the usual pull of gravity, Hadjar was very surprised when he ‘went’ through the clouds. There was no shaking, or a howling wind in his ears, nothing that would indicate that they were falling rapidly.

The ball of fabric was handling its task quite well. It lowered them slowly.

Cold, moist clouds licked his heels. This sensation was much more realistic than the dream in which Hadjar had fought against either Traves’ shadow, or his own Self… Or his Dragon Self? It was still a bit confusing.

Soon, the dampness of the clouds gave way to a hot wind. Even at such a height, a scorching, hellish heat still reigned in the Sea of Sand, but, of course, it wasn’t as unbearable as the heat on the ground was.

In addition, the view that Hadjar was now seeing had been worth spending two months beneath the ground for. The vast expanses of the desert really looked like a shimmering, golden sea from above. The dunes were like waves. The beautiful sight could’ve deceived anyone not familiar with the place with its veneer of serenity. However, Hadjar was all too aware of the perils of this region.

Turning to Einen, Hadjar started to ask him something, but realized that, at the moment, it was better not to annoy the islander. He was clutching his rag with both hands and whispering softly. Apparently, he was praying to the Great Tortoise, or his forefathers.

They descended the mountain in about fifteen minutes. The artifacts weren’t as simple as they’d seemed at first glance.

At the foot of the mountain, the rest of the squad was already waiting for Hadjar and Einen. They were loading up camels at the Alpha Stage, which had been prepared in advance. The animals were tall, strong, and capable of crossing the entire desert several times over without breaking a sweat. There were fourteen of them. Tied together in a long row, they were calmly grazing... sand. It was amazing.

“Choose whichever one you like,” Ramukhan threw a rag saddle to Hadjar and returned to his business.

Hadjar would’ve preferred to use his own legs, but he realized that that would’ve made things take an impossibly long time. Finally, he chose the smallest and frailest camel. He did so because Hadjar felt like he could deal with it easily.

“Hello.” Hadjar stroked the animal’s hard, rough nostrils.

The camel head-butted Hadjar in the shoulder so hard that he barely stayed upright.

“Let’s go!” Ramukhan commanded, mounting the mighty beast walking at the forefront of the column.

Hadjar cursed, quickly threw his saddle between the unruly beast’s humps, and climbed up onto the camel’s broad back. The sun was just beginning to set when their group set off to search for the mythical library.

Chapter 355

Nothing significant happened during the first week of their journey. Well, apart from the fact that they’d stopped wearing the glasses and Hadjar could now sort of look at the sandy expanses surrounding him. The white bandage around his face didn’t allow him to see much. It covered his nose, mouth, and even went down under his caftan’s collar.

The sandstorms had become more frequent, kicking up waves of dust. They couldn’t harm a practitioner’s strong body, but having to constantly cough wasn’t exactly a prospect anyone relished.

The squad traveled in almost complete silence. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts. Only occasionally would Glen consult with Salif, and then they’d talk to Ramukhan, and then the unofficial, but obvious leader of the squad would either keep them going in the same direction or tell them where to turn.

The desert responded to their silence with its own. They saw hundreds of magnificent, huge dunes, and even small oases sometimes, ones that were no bigger than a village square. They encountered neither caravans nor Bedouins around them. That was because oases like these could succor a traveler with cold water and vegetation one day, and then another sand dune would appear in its place tomorrow. The desert was truly unpredictable. And so was Einen.

“By the Great Turtle, I already miss Underworld City,” the islander sighed.

“Until recently, you were missing the desert.”

Einen was riding ahead of him and so Hadjar didn’t get to see his reaction, but he was sure that the islander rolled his eyes in response.

“A man always misses what he doesn’t have at the moment,” Einen answered and then fell silent.

The whole squad stayed silent until nightfall. Ramukhan and Glen consulted the map drawn by Salif. The boy was talking to Tilis about something. They had quickly found common ground. Judging by their sidelong glances, they were united by a common hatred for the same pair of people.

Karissa sunbathed. The witch, who had come up to the surface for the first time in her life, had almost stripped naked, wearing only a light loincloth made from a translucent fabric. Leaning against the hump of her camel, she reveled in the sunlight. Despite the merciless, scorching sun, her skin was only bronzed, tanning evenly and not burning at all. Surely, this was due to her closeness with the Fire Spirit or something like that.

At first, everyone had stared at her, even Ramukhan and Salif, but no one was paying her any attention now.

To Hadjar’s and Einen’s delight, since they felt like they would soon die of boredom, by the end of the eighth day, the squad reached the most dangerous region of the Sea of Sand. According to Salif, who’d lived long enough to be considered wise, this place was called the Demon’s Heart. It was a very droll name, but it fit the area perfectly.

Hadjar, who’d already witnessed several wonders of nature, once again couldn’t hold back his exclamation of surprise. They stood on the crest of a dune and looked ahead.

Behind them, the desert seemed to go on forever. The waves of dunes overflew around them. Bathed in the light of the stars and moon, they flickered slightly and created the illusion of mountains of treasure.

Ahead of them, the same types of dunes were visible, but they didn’t shine or flicker. It was as if they’d completely absorbed what little light the night could provide, and as a result, they were pitch black. Lightning bolts flashed in the sky, unceasing. Red, like blood, they snaked around the sky, leaving behind an unpleasant smell of something getting singed, as if they were burning something in the sky.

“What a-”

The boy, who had been leaning down to pick up a bit of black sand, was stopped by Ramukhan’s kick. The boy flew through the air from the force of the kick, even spinning a few times. A clear separation between the white and black sand served as an indicator of where the Sea of Sand ended and the Demon’s Heart began.

“Do you want to die?” Ramukhan growled out, looming over the prone boy.

No one, not even Salif, was going to hold the head of the squad back.

“No, I don’t!” The boy gritted through clenched teeth.

“You almost left Salif without an assistant!” Ramukhan shouted. “Or do you think that we should be the ones to carry the old man’s bag and help him relieve himself?”

The mention of his ignoble duties left the boy’s cheeks red, not with shame, but with impotent anger.

“Ramukhan,” Tilis jumped off her camel and went over to man. “I don’t think he understands what you mean. And neither do the others.”

She gave Hadjar a look full of contempt and anger.

“I’ll provide a demonstration, then.” Ramukhan pulled the boy’s turban off and threw it toward the black sand.

As soon as the fabric crossed the invisible border separating the two areas, a red lightning bolt descended from the sky. It turned the turban into a handful of ash in less than a moment.

Hadjar was more amazed by the fact that the sand it had struck didn’t even melt. On the contrary, like a hungry beast, it had ‘opened its mouth’ and absorbed the lightning, becoming a little bit darker.

“What the fuck?” Glen swore in Baliumian.

Hadjar couldn’t blame him. He was also mentally cursing in almost all the languages he knew.

“We’ll be camping here, at the foot of the dune,” Ramukhan commanded. “Salif, you’ll go with me, the others can rest up. By morning, I’ll have made us a passage, and we’ll be able to begin our assignment. I hope everyone is ready for what awaits us on the other side of the veil.”

“The veil,” Einen repeated.

Hadjar looked at his friend curiously. Einen shook his head.

Following the man’s order, they set up camp. The boy, who, in addition to helping the old man, was their collective squire, cook, and fire tender, first made a fire, then began to cook. Even the common soldiers of the Moon Army would’ve refused to eat the porridge that he made, and they’d sometimes eaten cooked grass. The hunters had left the city almost empty-handed and therefore didn’t have a lot of provisions.

When everyone settled down on their sleeping bags and started eating dinner, Hadjar whispered to Einen: “What do you know about these veils?”

The islander blew on his spoon, tried the porridge, grimaced, but still swallowed it. It’s not like he had a choice.

“I only know that they aren’t a natural occurrence.”

“What do you mean?”

Einen glanced at his friend.

“I mean,” he answered, “That someone conjures these veils, and they’re usually meant to protect treasuries or secret libraries. To enter one, you must either understand the art of seals and break the veil, or have a key.”

Hadjar looked at the top of the dune. Strong disturbances in the flows of the World River could be felt coming from there. Multicolored flashes were visible and Ramukhan’s cursing could sometimes be heard as well. Apparently, their hacking wasn’t producing the best results.

“Wait,” it suddenly dawned on Hadjar. “In order to cover such a large area with a veil...”

“Exactly,” Einen nodded. “I don’t know who did it, but the veil encompasses a huge territory. And the fact that Ramukhan is getting through it...”

“Means that he has special artifacts,” Hadjar nodded, “like everyone else who’s already inside. It would hardly be possible to break through such a defense on your own.”

“Well, that, or your cultivation would need to be at least one level higher than a Spirit Knight’s,” Einen confirmed.

For a while, they looked at the top of the dune together. For some reason, it seemed like they were being deceived.

Damned intrigues!

“What are you two chatting about?”

Tilis sat down between Einen and Hadjar. She was smiling, but her eyes were as sharp as daggers.

“Maybe you want to kill us all while we sleep?”

Tilis had a new theory about how Hadjar had killed Serra. She believed that her sister had foolishly trusted the northerner, who had then treacherously killed her in her sleep to steal her pass to Underworld City.

“Tilis,” Hadjar sighed wearily, “I’ve already told you that I’m not responsible for your sister’s death. I loved her like my own sister.”

The witch jerked back and looked into Hadjar’s eyes. Her green eyes flashed.

“Can you swear it on your blood?”

Hadjar remained silent.

“What? Can you swear it or not?”

She didn’t notice she was crying. Everyone was quiet. All eyes were turned toward them. Tilis was still screaming, and Hadjar was staring blankly at the fire.

“Tilis!” Karissa rose to her feet sharply when Tilis’ rod started burning with bright, white energy.

For a couple of seconds, the witches stared each other down, until Tilis got up and went back to her sleeping bag.

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered. “I swear, northerner, even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you one day.”

Hadjar just kept looking into the fire. He hadn’t been able to swear that he was a human once, and now he couldn’t swear that he wasn’t to blame for Serra’s death. He didn’t even believe it himself...

Looking at the fire, Hadjar remembered the day when the three of them had sat around and chatted about something. The next day, their final battle had awaited them.

It was almost similar to what was going on right now...

Touching the wallet the bracelets were in, Hadjar sighed, poured his porridge out on the sand, wrapped himself in his blanket, and plunged into deep meditation. It was the only thing that could give him some peace these days.

Chapter 356

After five hours of meditation, Hadjar opened his eyes and looked around. Everyone was asleep. They didn’t need to take turns guarding the camp, Karissa’s spells surrounding it were enough to warn them about any surprise attacks.

Wrapped in his blanket, Hadjar stood up and climbed to the top of the dune. Ramukhan and Salif had already finished their work. A slightly flickering arch was visible in the air, and he spotted it without even needing to view it through the World River. A wind blew out from it. It was alien and evil. It promised danger. Hadjar met it with a childish joy. His heart yearned for adventure, and his body ached for a fight.

“I have one question for you, Northerner,” someone nearby spoke.

Einen stepped out of the shadows. He did it casually, like someone stepping over the threshold of their home. The Technique had used to unnerve Hadjar once, but now he’d even learned to anticipate his friend’s arrival.

“What?”

The islander sat down next to him. He held out his hand and Azrea jumped on it with a joyful meow. She really liked the bald lover of philosophy and mysteries.

“What are you hoping to find in the library of Mage City?”

Hadjar wasn’t shocked by the question, if anything, he’d been expecting it. Einen wasn’t stupid or naive, and even Nehen could’ve envied his sagacity.

“From the very beginning, as soon as you heard Rahaim’s story,” Einen continued, “you did your best to join the search. I’m certain that, even if Paris hadn’t offered you any rewards, you would’ve still gone on this journey.”

Hadjar looked at the islander, and then back over to the shimmering arch. Next to him, Mountain Wind lay on the sand.

“I think there is information about the gods and the Seventh Heaven in that library,” Hadjar answered.

Einen sighed and shook his head.

“Mortals mustn’t seek the divine, my friend. It never leads to anything good.”

“I can’t say that I’m looking for something good, necessarily,” Hadjar admitted honestly. “I’m looking for justice.”

“Justice and the gods.” Einen’s lips trembled slightly and he grinned. “I’m not sure that those words can coexist in one sentence in this world. And even if other worlds exist, it’s the same thing there, surely. It sometimes seems to me like people came up with the concept of justice in order to find an excuse for the gods’ cruelty.”

“They also came up with,” Hadjar’s palm was now on his sword, “the concept of upholding justice.”

Einen opened his inhuman, violet eyes wide.

“Well said, Northerner,” his hand touched his staff-spear, “Well said, indeed.”

“And what are you looking for?”

“Nothing specific,” Einen answered. “This is simply a new test for me, which will either kill me or make me stronger. Staying weak is certain death. So, I really have no other choice. ”

“You could’ve sought your test in Underworld City, couldn’t you?”

“Yeah, I could have,” the islander agreed and scratched Azrea behind the ear. She purred and began to rub against his arm. “But my friend is going to Mage City, and that means that I’m going there as well, to keep an eye on him.”

They said nothing more. They sat there for a bit longer, then went down to the squad. Hadjar had listened to the thunder all night. Surprisingly, the dune seemed to have shielded them from the storm raging in the sky of the Demon’s Heart. Not a single flash had erupted above their camp.

That morning, even before the sun rose, Ramukhan woke everyone and lined them up.

“Everyone knows their tasks,” he said, sitting in the saddle of his mighty camel. “I hope we’ll all get to come back here together.”

Judging by Tilis’ look, she was hoping for something else entirely — that their squad would be short at least one member by the end of this.

“Let’s begin,” Ramukhan commanded.

Karissa grabbed a long, narrow, red talisman. Holding it between her index and ring fingers, she whispered something. The talisman burst into flames. It spun around Karissa’s palm. She whispered something into it again, and a ball of fire coalesced above her head.

Gradually, wings began to emerge from it, then a body appeared, and soon after, after flying in a circle over the hunters’ heads a couple of times, a fire swallow shot toward Underworld City. Now it was clear how Paris had been receiving updates from the previous groups.

“That was amazing,” Hadjar whispered as Karissa caught up to him.

The witch looked at the northerner and muttered, “Barbarian.”

To the rest of them, even Glen, it had looked as casual as sending a letter by carrier pigeon.

After climbing the dune, the hunters moved through the veil. As soon as they crossed the invisible border between the Sea and the Heart, the pressure of the local atmosphere began to weigh down on them.

Hadjar felt like he was carrying a dozen logs on his back, similar to when he’d been one of Dogar’s officers, may his ancestors be favorable to him.

The camels were noticeably nervous. Even the small and frail one that Hadjar rode was trying to buck him off and run. Fortunately, Hadjar’s strength was enough to pacify the animal. However, Salif and the boy couldn’t deal with their camels and needed help, which Glen provided. The fear was clear in his expression. And there really was something to be afraid of.

The black sand was almost alive, licking the camels’ hooves, caressing them with the tenderness of an experienced lover. As soon as something was dropped, it absorbed it easily. Perhaps this explained the pure emptiness of the surrounding area. The low, heavy sky pressed down on their shoulders. The red lightning, arcing through it sometimes, seemed like the eyes of a monster, one that was gazing steadily at the ground, looking for a victim that it could grab. The feeling of a hungry predator staring at them filled the squad members with unease and dread.

They abruptly slowed down. Salif and Glen talked to Ramukhan, and echoes of their conversation came to Hadjar. They were moving northward, toward the spot where the last report of the previous hunters had come from.

It wouldn’t take them long to get there, about three days at most. But that didn’t mean that they could relax. This fact was confirmed in the second hour of their journey.

“Danger!” Ramukhan roared.

He threw his rod out in front of him, whispered something, and the whole squad was covered in a gray dome. At its top glowed a hieroglyph swirling around its own axis. Karissa, still in the saddle, opened her book. Two fiery shadows flew out from the pages. Their long robes touched the black sand and, frightened, it parted for them.

The group stood on the crest of a dune, and right below them, a battle between creatures raged. Hadjar didn’t even know the monsters’ names. A huge red bird, announcing its presence with a piercing ‘Kya!’, was fighting against a giant snake. The bird’s claws were so large that they could’ve torn apart castle walls. Its wingspan would’ve been able to cover the whole of Kurkhadan with its shadow. The snake, however, could’ve easily coiled around the entirety of Lidus’ Palace, completely covering it with its body. The bird’s feathers turned into pillars of fire as they fell. The snake’s scales looked like they were made of steel, and its mystical pattern radiated a hypnotic, mesmerizing energy.

Both of the monsters were at the peak of the Alpha Stage, which meant they were as powerful as a Spirit Knight.

“I don’t like snakes.” Hadjar grabbed his blade and jumped out of the saddle. “The bird is mine.”

Einen and Hadjar charged the monsters. Glen looked from the monsters to the rest of the squad, cursed, and rushed in after them.

Chapter 357

Blurring into the shadow of the Six Ravens, Hadjar covered the distance between his group and the clashing giants in an instant. He had to dodge the fiery feathers falling from the sky as he did so.

The closer Hadjar got to the monsters, the more clearly he felt the pressure of their power. The huge creatures covered the sky and the distant horizon with their enormous bodies. Compared to them, a simple human looked like a windblown grain of sand, nothing more. However, after his battle against the dragon’s Shadow, the size difference no longer frightened Hadjar. On the contrary, the flames of excitement flared up even brighter in his heart.

The six ravens suddenly melded together, forming a human figure. His caftan fluttered in the wind, and the blade of his classic sword flashed brightly. A feather enveloped in flames dropped from above. Its heat was so intense that the air around it resembled a disturbed silk canvas: it was shimmering and vibrating slightly. The black sand parted, trying to swallow the fire feather. The man stood unafraid, his back straight. He stared at the feather, and the instant before it touched his turban, the man swung his sword.

Hadjar shouted: “Spring Wind!” putting more than half his energy into the attack.

Attaching his inner black blade to Mountain Wind, he aimed the strike right at the center of the feather. The long, blue crescent that surged out of his blade contained the silhouette of a dragon and several black lightning bolts. Hitting the feather, it easily cut it into many pieces. They rained down on the sand, which greedily consumed them.

Even after being weakened a little, the crescent still pierced the fire bird’s left wing. It flapped its wings as it cried out, conjuring up more than just air vortices. Its power produced fiery ones as well. Seeking the snake, they scattered across the black sand. The snake reached out with its sandy tentacles to capture a piece of the heat.

“Divide and conquer,” Hadjar smiled at Einen, who was rushing past him.

The islander sunk into the shadows as he ran and jumped out of them right behind the giant snake’s head. The steel spear’s tip popped out from his staff. The islander swung his weapon a couple of times, and the familiar ‘Boulder Storm” Technique came down on the monster’s head.

The two beasts, who had simply been fighting each other until recently, were now puzzled by their new foes.

Unfortunately, Hadjar could no longer afford to watch his friend’s fight. Glen was also hurrying over to help him. Apparently, he didn’t particularly like fire birds.

The winged monster hovered thirty feet above Hadjar. Each flap of its wings created fiery whirlwinds. As soon as they got close to Hadjar, they disintegrated into motes of fire that were then immediately devoured by the black sand.

Behind them, the battle between the two practitioners and the serpent raged, but relative calm reigned here.

Hadjar looked into the bird’s orange eyes, trying to understand what had attracted his attention. When the monster, flapping its wings desperately, rose higher, Hadjar realized that he’d allowed himself to get distracted. Hovering over Hadjar, the bird shook its wings violently and made its feathers rain down on him. Unlike the feathers from before, they didn’t just turn into pillars of fire, but became miniature copies of their owner.

“Fried Sparrow,” Hadjar smiled, recognizing the likely inspiration for the 'Scorched Falcon’ Technique.

Who would’ve thought that, after so many years, he would get to meet the bird that was the reason why Balium and Lidus had that Sword Technique?

The scorched falcon, as if realizing that the man had recognized it, flapped its wings even more furiously. As a result, hundreds of its copies rained down on Hadjar. Anyone else would have used a protective Technique, tried to dodge, or at least assumed a defensive stance. But not Hadjar.

He wanted to test the limits of his power. Moreover, he’d guessed that there was another, higher level beyond the level of ‘Wielder’. And now Hadjar was passionately hunting for it.

His sword whistled through the air at a speed that even most fencers at the Heaven Soldier level couldn’t have matched. Where a human’s gaze could spot two slashes, Hadjar was actually making four. Thanks to his understanding of the Sword Spirit, ghostly silhouettes of Mountain Wind were conjured by each swing.

Like two raging mountain streams, the fiery falcons collided with the ghostly blades. They tore at each other viciously. Shards of ghostly steel and bits of the fiery feathers fell to the black sand.

After sending about a dozen more blades toward his foe, Hadjar suddenly sheathed his sword. Crouching, he put his hand on the hilt and imagined a leaf falling onto the scorched falcon’s wing.

“Falling Leaf!” He shouted, ripping the blade out of its scabbard at the same time.

The attack that followed had once used to assume the form of a barely distinguishable dragon. However, the past two months of constant battles hadn’t been a waste of time for Hadjar. Although he hadn’t encountered any truly dangerous opponents in the Pit, his understanding of his level of swordsmanship had deepened and strengthened.

Like Traves, he could now use the full potential of the fourth stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.

Forcing everyone in the area to freeze for an instant, the powerful roar of a Lord of the Heavens filled the air. A black dragon with scales shrouded in miniature lightning bolts fell from the sky. Its body leaned downward like a dangerous blade.

The falcon, its head tilted up, met the dragon-blade with another ‘Kya!’ However, this time, the piercing scream seemed to go on indefinitely, and then it turned into a huge, roaring, fiery tornado.

The ‘Falling Leaf’ that fell into the funnel of flame and power didn’t last long. The stream of fire tore away bits of its essence and lightning from the dragon, exposing its true body — a sharp sword. The dragon, having barely managed to leave behind a shallow cut on the bird’s wing, melted away and disappeared within the stream of flame.

Hadjar was preparing to charge the beast head on, but he didn’t realize that the falcon hadn’t finished its attack yet.

The bird, squinting at the insect that had injured it, opened its beak, and the fiery tornado turned into a gigantic ribbon. It soared through the air toward Hadjar, who hadn’t expected it at all.

His conditioned body and mind, hardened by thousands of battles, reacted with blinding speed. It was quite difficult to catch Hadjar unawares, and this time was no exception.

The ‘Calm Wind’ stance, which conjured a powerful stream of descending wind, didn’t manage to fully stop the beast’s attack, but it did slow down the fire ribbon, despite it being as wide as a city street. The time it bought him was enough for him to saturate his blade with almost a quarter of his energy supply.

The falcon’s attack clashed with Mountain Wind, which was shining with a blue light. The force behind the collision was so great that Hadjar was torn off the ground and, after flying a dozen yards through the air, landed hard on the black sand. The falcon, sensing he was weakened, licked Hadjar’s chest, which had streams of blood flowing down it. A burn blackened his solar plexus, and a long laceration ran down the length of his torso.

Jumping to his feet, Hadjar saw Einen and Glen standing in the distance out of the corner of his eye. Breathing heavily, they were leaning against each other, and the huge snake’s corpse lay behind them.

“Are you gloating right now?” Hadjar growled out. “There’s two of you, and I’m doing this on my own.”

The wound on the falcon’s wing was small, but still bleeding. Surprisingly, red-hot lava was what the fiery bird had for blood. As it fell across the sand, the lava made it hiss and turn into glass. It was a terrifying sight. But not as terrifying as an infuriated Hadjar.

Mentally, he plunged into the depths of his soul. There, in the pitch darkness, a miniature dragon slept on a disk made of blue light. As soon as Hadjar called out to him, the tattoo on his chest flashed.

A cloak of black fog, ragged and wispy, appeared across his shoulders, and the same exact fog began emanating from Mountain Wind. Hadjar could use the Call of Blood for only a few seconds, but even that was enough to deal with the monster.

Where Hadjar had stood until a second ago, a funnel of energy formed. Then a loud clap was heard. In an instant, he appeared on the back of the fiery bird.

Since it was much stronger than a mere mortal, it managed to perceive Hadjar’s movements, but to the spectators, he looked like a black streak that had simply crossed the distance in an instant.

Even though the scorched falcon managed to see its enemy move, it didn’t have time to do anything. By the time Hadjar, standing on the bird’s back, had already brought his blade down for a finishing strike, a frightening roar swept across the sky. The residents of Underworld City, feeling true fear for a moment, looked around in a panic.

Hadjar, who’d had time to stick his blade into the bird’s skull and pierce it with a blue-black crescent, recognized the roar. Einen did as well.

They looked at each other and whispered in unison, “Dragon.”

Chapter 358

The roar that swept through the distant clouds was much livelier and a lot fiercer than the one the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance had produced.

Hadjar — the black cloak had already disappeared from his shoulders — rode his dead foe’s body down to the ground. The scorched falcon, whose feathers let out the last sparks of its flame, turned into a simple, but very large bird. With a cry, it rolled over onto the black sand. A congealing lava was flowing from its beak, getting slowly devoured by the sand. Under normal circumstances, Hadjar wouldn’t have hesitated to cut out the monster’s core, but now...

With a cry of “Put up some defenses!” Hadjar rushed over to the others.

The pale Einen, dragging Glen along, followed him. Hadjar noticed that the former head of their barracks was favoring his right leg. There was no blood, so the snake must’ve broken his bones. For a strong practitioner, that wasn’t a serious injury, but, by the Evening Stars, this wasn’t the time for it!

“What’s the matter?” Ramukhan scoffed. “Don’t you want to collect the cores? It’s your loot, after all...”

Apparently, the look in Hadjar’s eyes, which contained his own, awakened dragon and the fear of a stronger predator, brought the sorcerer to his senses. No, Hadjar wasn’t very afraid of the dragon, but still...

“Put up the shields!” Hadjar shouted, rolling his camel onto its side. “It’s best if we play dead.”

None of the residents of Underworld City understood what was happening. They only saw a trio of fighters that had just defeated two powerful monsters burrow into the black sand, hiding behind their camels.

“Hurry up! Gods and demons!” Hadjar yelled. “Hurry up or we’re all dead-”

The second mad roar drowned out the rest. Now Salif turned pale as well. Apparently, his unique memory had clicked and he understood what was happening.

“Do what the barbarian says,” he croaked out, slipping out of the saddle.

Soon, the entire squad lay in the sand, hiding behind the camels. Fortunately, even though the animals were nervous, they were being kept from panicking by the released energy of Ramukhan, Tilis, and Karissa. Their total power was stronger than the horror of a Lord of the Heavens.

Faint hieroglyphs flickered above their heads. Hadjar had already seen them before — Serra had used them as well. They created a good disguise.

Hadjar hoped that the creature wasn’t coming here for their souls and wouldn’t peer at them too closely. Hadjar guessed that the spell, even one cast by powerful magic users, would easily be seen through by the Lord of the Heavens.

Moving slightly away from his camel, Hadjar looked at the sky. There, among the black clouds, he saw only red flashes of lightning. However, with each subsequent flash, a silhouette grew clearer. A silhouette that often visited Hadjar in his nightmares. This was the reason why he spent all his free time in deep meditation.

After the battle against the dragon on the last day of his time with Rahaim’s caravan, his body hadn’t been injured, but his soul... A deep scar remained across its surface. A scar that had yet to heal. After all, it wasn’t every day you came across a foe who looked at you like you looked at an ant, or at a speck of dust.

The two huge, leathery wings swept the clouds aside. Covering the black sand with its shadow, the huge dragon flew through the sky.

Hadjar breathed a sigh of relief.

The monster that was currently hovering in the sky belonged to the same tribe as the one that had destroyed Rahaim’s caravan, but it was smaller. Instead of four wings, it only had two. Its color wasn’t so saturated, and it didn’t cause him to panic. Of course, the monster’s power was still far beyond the understanding of anyone there, but this dragon was far weaker than the one he’d encountered before.

“By the Great Turtle,” Einen, who was lying nearby, breathed out. “Its tail... look at its tail...”

Hadjar looked closer and cursed. Why hadn’t he noticed that the dragon was missing a tail? It had a bleeding stump where its tail should’ve been. The cut was so even and smooth that neither teeth nor claws could’ve caused it. Hadjar felt even worse when he spotted that.

He suddenly realized that the Lord of the Heavens wasn’t hunting, or flying through the air for the simple pleasure of it, or even just surveying its domain, it was fleeing! The roar which it had let out hadn’t been a hunter’s exclamation of triumph, but a prey animal’s cry of fear. The dragon was calling for help from its older relatives. However, help wasn’t coming.

The wounded dragon, soaring through the clouds at a breakneck speed, was fleeing from danger, and, by the gods, Hadjar didn’t want to find out what kind of creature was capable of injuring it.

Alas, he had no choice in the matter.

No one in the squad could contain their exclamation of surprise and admiration when a huge pillar burst out of the sand right in the dragon’s path. It was as big as a mountain. Suddenly, the pillar trembled, and, like a roll of fabric, began to unfold. Gradually, outlines of a gigantic face with a mouth appeared in it.

Out of this toothless, sandy hole, a stream of golden energy surged forward, eventually forming an equally huge staff. It struck the dragon that was trying its best to protect itself. However, the staff easily broke through the sphere of white energy that had enveloped the body of the Lord of the Heavens. The staff shattered the dragon’s wings, sending it plummeting to the ground. Another roar, full of agony and horror, swept through the sky, and then everything stilled. Apparently, this was the end of the battle, because there were already numerous wounds and bruises on the gasping monster. Its crystal skin had been punctured by its own bones sticking out of its body. Some had even broken off, which looked creepy.

“The sand,” Karissa whispered suddenly.

Hadjar looked down and leapt to his feet in surprise. The black sand was rapidly turning into the yellow, ‘native’, and ‘familiar’ kind of sand.

The same thing was happening to the sky. The black clouds were gradually turning white and gold. They parted, blowing the red lightning away and exposing the endless azure. The sun, which so rarely showed its face in the Demon’s Heart, was now gently caressing the vast territory. That was the last thing the dragon saw.

The hunters were enveloped in a wave of incredible power. It was so potent that they couldn’t move or even get up. Each breath they took was painful. Salif and the boy began to choke.

With a trembling hand, Ramukhan pulled a red cloth talisman from his pocket. He threw it toward the servants, and the strip of fabric, after splitting in half in midair, wrapped itself around their heads, making them look like mummies. They were obviously breathing more freely now, but it was still difficult for them.

“This is impossible,” Hadjar whispered, “it’s impossible.”

He’d already felt a similar power before. It had happened so long ago that he’d almost been convinced it had just been a dream.

With great difficulty, using his willpower and obstinacy, having to lean on his sword, he rose and turned around.

An old man was flying over the sand. In his right hand, he held a staff with a round, golden globe at the top. The staff touched the sand lightly, kicking up golden sparks which painted the desert in its usual shades of yellow and, once they reached the sky, dispersed the black clouds as well.

His gold and red caftan fluttered slightly in the wind. A simple turban covered his gray hair. His bronze skin couldn’t hide his deep wrinkles. The old man’s calm eyes gazed steadily at the vast area stretching out before him.

An orange sphere was flying ahead of him, followed by a cheetah. One glance at the beast was enough for them to see that it was a much stronger monster than the fiery bird and the snake had been.

“I don’t like the Demon’s Heart.” The old man’s voice sounded pretty normal, there was no power or the echo of time in it. “If this dragon hadn’t been such a coward, I would’ve never even come here.”

As soon as Hadjar looked into the old man’s eyes, he shuddered. Eternity looked back at him. It was akin to how looking into the eyes of the Bedouin’s boy shaman had felt. However, the old man’s eyes also contained a whole ocean of power.

“Immortal,” Ramukhan said breathlessly.

The old man turned his head toward him. Nothing happened. No surge in the streams of the World River, nor any other external manifestations of power, but the sorcerer’s eyes still glazed over. The same thing happened to the rest of them.

“Don’t worry, young man,” the old man smiled as he looked at Hadjar, “Nothing terrible has happened to them. I’ve just erased the last few minutes from their memory. I’ll do the same to you.”

Hadjar raised his left hand suddenly. He straightened his palm and tilted it to the right. He traced the index finger of his right hand over his left palm, and then struck that same palm with a fist. Bowing low, he uttered a ritual phrase. He’d never thought that this knowledge would prove useful to him so soon in his life.

“The one who has seen the glory of the House of Blade Fury greets you, Wiseman!”

By the Gods, for the first time in a thousand years, someone had managed to truly surprise the old man.

Chapter 359

“Do you want me to tell you about the Immortals?” The Shadow of the Immortal laughed.

It was the sixth month of Hadjar’s training in the underground tomb. His concern about Nero’s fate, who was struggling against the terrible poison of ‘The Black Gates’ sect at that very moment, hadn’t disappeared. But the Mad General believed that the Shadow had indeed altered the current of time.

The power he felt in this place would’ve driven anyone mad. So, he was happy about the fact that, according to most people, Hadjar was already mad.

“Yes, Master,” Hadjar bowed, “Please tell me about them.”

“If it wasn’t for all of your hard work, I’d think you were shirking your training.” The Shadow glanced at the worn stone that Hadjar was practicing his swordsmanship on. “Let’s make a deal — you accept my power and become my heir in exchange for my knowledge?”

Hadjar shook his head.

“With all due respect, honorable-”

“Wiseman,” the Shadow interrupted him and sighed, then sat down opposite Hadjar. They were sitting on a small hill covered with grass that had a great view of the Palace of indescribable beauty. “I know you came here for the flower. It’s a stupid decision that I still respect immensely. Tell me, little warrior, will you regret your decision if your friend dies?”

“I’m here to save him.”

“No, I don’t mean from the poison. If he dies in a year, or two, or ten, hell, even a hundred. If he encounters a foe he can’t overcome. When he inevitably dies, will you regret your decision?”

Nero? Die? A foe he can’t overcome? Hadjar thought this was a foolish thing to ask. Whatever danger threatened his friend, he would always have Hadjar at his side. He and Hadjar would face any enemy together, even the whole world!

“In the Land of the Immortals, it is customary to address someone as being ‘wise’ if you want to be respectful.” The Shadow popped a blade of grass in his mouth and stretched out on his back. “What use is honor or power to those who live forever? Time is of no importance to us. Honor and power are important only to those who are waiting to die.”

“But you can be killed,” Hadjar said.

“That’s right.” The Shadow smiled a little sadly. “That’s why, in the Land of the Immortals, there are criminals who are despised and heroes who are praised. There are beings full of honor, and there are those who have forgotten about it.”

Hadjar didn’t ask what the Shadow meant by ‘beings’. Instead, he was all ears.

“The Immortals value knowledge most of all, as knowledge is power. And what do you think is the pinnacle of knowledge? Wisdom. Knowledge without wisdom is like a sword without a scabbard: it wounds both the enemy and its owner.”

Then the Shadow’s lengthy tale about his country began. He said that those who were born in the Land of the Immortals couldn’t be compared to the practitioners of other countries. He said that they were already at the level of a Heaven Soldier at birth.

Hadjar listened to the story with a faint smile. Could a baby really be a true cultivator? It was impossible, surely.

The Shadow told him about their cities of unprecedented size and heart-stopping beauty. About the people who lived, learned, fought, reconciled, loved, made friends, wove intrigues and conspiracies, celebrated, and died in battles there. According to him, his country was almost no different from any other. Well, apart from the fact its warriors could cut mountains in half with a casual wave of their hands. Hadjar still didn’t believe that was possible.

“I lived in the House of Blade Fury,” the Shadow continued. “I began as a mere servant, then became a disciple of the outer circle, then a full-fledged disciple. Alas, the rank of a disciple of the inner circle and the knowledge that would’ve come with it was something I could never attain.”

“You trained in a House?” Hadjar asked.

“Yes,” the Shadow nodded. “It’s a sort of sect.”

“What’s the difference?”

The Shadow of the Immortal thought about it for a moment, then laughed.

“There probably isn’t one. Our sects are just called Houses instead.”

Suddenly, the Shadow rose to his feet and made some gestures that Hadjar didn’t understand.

“If you ever find yourself in my homeland, visit my House and go to the stele of the Furious Blade, then greet it with these words: ‘The one who has seen the glory of the House of Blade Fury greets you!’ Then, perhaps, the forefathers will be kind to me and let me move on to the circle of rebirth. And if you ever meet an Immortal, call them ‘wise’. There’s a chance your meeting will end well if you do…”

***

The old man looked at Hadjar.

“You’re not even a true cultivator yet,” he said at last. “How did you, a worthless worm, ever meet someone who taught you how to use the House of Blade Fury’s greeting?”

Hadjar felt a power so intense that his heart nearly stopped beating press down on him. By the gods, if he’d been a mortal, Hadjar would’ve died on the spot. Worst of all, the old man hadn’t actually used any energy. He’d just been a little indignant, and because of this superficial emotion, Hadjar had almost died.

“Don’t be angry, oh wise Immortal,” Hadjar said, his back still bent. “Please, listen to my story first.”

Apparently, after becoming an Immortal, a person acquired truly divine patience. The old man listened to Hadjar’s story from beginning to end without interrupting, and sometimes even asked questions in order to clarify some details. Hadjar told him everything that had happened to him from Nero’s poisoning in the battle with ‘The Black Gates’ sect to when Hadjar left the Immortal’s tomb.

“My House of the Golden Heavens has never been on good terms with the House of Blade Fury,” the old man sighed. “But to simply deny an Inheritance... Apparently, this young man had had a worthy talent. I grieve his death with you.”

The old man turned to the rising sun, put down his staff, and fell to his knees. As Hadjar looked on in disbelief, he bowed three times to the giant star, touching the sand with his forehead. The Immortal who could easily destroy a dragon was bowing... It seemed to Hadjar like all the wonders he’d seen before paled in comparison to this.

Once he was done, the old man rose to his feet and picked his staff back up. This seemingly ordinary weapon emanated a powerful energy.

Suddenly, something occurred to Hadjar.

“You said ‘his death’. But he was already dead. His Shadow taught me.”

“That’s right,” the old man said. “But if he taught you, he must’ve chosen you to be his heir. After you refused to accept his Inheritance, he couldn’t pass it on to anyone else. So, with you gone, the tomb was destroyed, and the Inheritance along with it, and the Shadow then returned to his owner to face the judgment of his forefathers.”

The old man looked slightly reproachful.

“But that means…”

“That’s right,” the Immortal said. “You abandoned your Master’s life’s work. By the Evening Stars, the judgment of his forefathers will be severe.”

Hadjar remembered the Shadow’s request for him to bow to the stele in his House.

“What if I bow to his House’s stele in his name?”

“Then your achievements will be linked to his name and his forefathers will be pleased,” the old man nodded.

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. It turned out that, for all these years, he’d been wearing the stigma of dishonor. The Shadow, which could’ve easily destroyed him, had preferred to disappear after giving him the flower and sharing a piece of his knowledge. Thus, he’d both saved his brother, Nero, and also helped Hadjar survive the battles that had followed. He’d turned his back on someone who’d been so kind to him. By the gods, what he’d done, though he hadn’t known about the consequences, had been the height of dishonor!

Without hesitation, Hadjar plunged his blade into the sand in front of him. Dropping to his knees, he bowed to the sword three times. Then, after running his hand over it, he summoned his own power and said:

“I swear that I’ll bow to the stele in the House of Blade Fury one day to ensure that my Master can rest in peace.”

The blood on Hadjar’s palm flashed with a blue light, and then slid back into the wound. A faint scar remained on his hand, one that wouldn’t disappear until Hadjar fulfilled his vow. And if he didn’t, his soul would be destroyed and he would disappear in the World River.

“What you just did was quite honorable,” the old man said. “I’m glad to see that my countryman made the right choice. Perhaps you’re even more worthless than the sand beneath our feet right now, but I believe that we’ll meet again someday. So, let me tell you my name. I’m Harlim.”

Just like that. The Immortal named Harlim. Nothing else.

“Now, you must excuse me, I need to get back to my work. Your friends will wake up in about two hours. Try not to reveal that you remember something that they don’t.”

With those parting words, the old man was about to leave, but then Hadjar bowed low again.

“I know I’m asking a lot, but would you let me take a look at your trophy?”

“My trophy?”

“The dragon’s body.”

"Oh, that. I want nothing from that coward but its first fang and core. You can keep the rest. Consider it a gift.”

Hadjar eyed the carcass and immediately refused. All he wanted to do was examine the dead dragon carefully, in the hope that, when the neural network finished rebooting, it would be able to use this new data to finally discern what kind of changes Traves’ heart had made to his body and energy.

Computing module is currently rebooting…

Approximate time until completion is…

“Since we’re going to be spending a bit more time together,” the old man began as his cheetah bit into the dragon’s body, “Could you tell me where you’re going in this accursed place, forgotten by the Evening Stars, and why?”

Chapter 360

Azrea popped up from beneath Hadjar’s turban. She stretched, slid down to his shoulder, licked his stubbly cheek, and then ran across the sand. When she caught up with the cheetah that was clawing the core out of the monster’s carcass, she meowed.

The spotted animal was distracted from his grisly work and looked down. At the foot of the mountain-sized body, a small, white lump of wool stood on the yellow sand. The cheetah snorted and went back to his business, but Azrea persisted. She meowed once again. This time, it was an angry meow. The cheetah looked up from his work once again, and Hadjar could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. After this, the happy cub pounced on the fallen dragon like white lightning and joined in.

It was probably inadvisable for such a little creature to taste the dragon’s blood. Hadjar was about to get up from the sand to retrieve his furry companion when Harlim stopped him. The old man, who was smoking a long, spiral pipe, smiled and said: “Leave her be. Despite the fact that she’s a beast, she knows how to live better than we do. Animals, in general, always know better than us.”

Hadjar looked at the Immortal, then at the dead dragon, and sat back down. They were sitting on the crest of a small dune and watching the sun fighting for every inch of space. It was fighting against the black clouds and the lightning that flashed through them.

“So,” Harlim continued, “You’re looking for Mage City.”

“Have you heard of it?”

“Of course I have,” the old man nodded. “As you might’ve guessed, I once lived here. It was so long ago that your Kingdom…”

Seeing that the old man was deliberately pretending not to remember the name, Hadjar prompted him with a quick “Lidus.”

“That’s right, Lidus.” There was a gleam of amusement in his eternal eyes. Once a cultivator became a Spirit Knight, they acquired an absolute memory, let alone an Immortal. “Anyway, Lidus didn’t exist yet. But there were already legends about Mage City. It would seem that, shortly before I was born, two red comets streaked across the sky and thousands of adventurers went off in search of it.”

Harlim’s eyes were looking at the past. Fragrant smoke swirled above his head and graying hair. Hadjar wondered if he could have changed his appearance, or if he was stuck in an old man’s body forever.

“No one came back,” Harlim finished.

“Soon, the comets will once again converge on the horizon,” Hadjar said. He lit his pipe, too. He didn’t ask for some of Harlim’s tobacco, though he was curious about what the Immortal was smoking. However, the old man didn’t offer him any. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Curious?” Harlim asked in surprise, then laughed. “I’m sorry, young man, I forgot you aren’t from my country. Curious... Mage City can’t provide me with anything that would help me understand the Laws better.”

It was Hadjar’s turn to look surprised. “The Laws?”

Harlim just smiled and shook his head:

“Some knowledge should only come in due time. It’s too early for you to be thinking about the Laws. “

They sat in silence for a while. Hadjar watched Azrea eagerly tearing into the huge, dead dragon with her tiny claws. She did it without even thinking about it. Nearby, watching the tigress, lay the mighty cheetah. The power it radiated was beyond Hadjar’s comprehension.

By the gods, that beast was much stronger than Azrea’s mother had been.

“What about the elixir of the gods?” Hadjar inquired, to break the silence.

“I’m in no hurry to become a god,” Harlim answered. “I don’t believe there’s anything in this world you can get for nothing in return. Everything comes at a price, young man. The more valuable the thing you desire, the higher the price.”

Surprisingly, his words plunged Hadjar into the past. He saw the Royal Palace of Lidus, and Primus, covered in blood, standing in front of him. For decades, all he’d wanted was revenge on his parents’ killer. By the demons, the price had been higher than he’d been willing to pay.

“You have cracks in your heart, young man,” Harlim said, his voice sounding as if it were coming from underwater, “Try to heal them, or you’ll stumble on the path of cultivation. Your search for Mage City would be more fruitful if you started at the Stone Trees oasis.”

Hadjar emerged from his painful memories. He turned to thank the old man, but he wasn’t there. There was only a small, plain leather bag where he’d sat.

The yellow sand was slowly turning black once more, and the sun was hidden behind thick clouds. At the foot of the dune, the black sand devoured the dragon’s carcass. The body sank deeper and deeper into the sand. Hadjar watched in disgust as the sand tore chunks of flesh from the dragon’s bones and then crushed them.

Azrea, whose white nose was now red, snorted angrily and tottered toward Hadjar. When she reached her friend, she rubbed up against his legs, then jumped onto his shoulder and hid in his turban.

Five minutes later, there was no sign of the Immortal’s recent appearance: the titanic face in the middle of the desert was gone, the dragon’s body devoured, the sun was no longer visible, and the yellow sand had reverted to being black. It was now the same eerie Demon’s Heart with its red lightning bolts, black sand, and sky.

Only the small leather bag had remained on the sand. Hadjar picked it up and untied the strings. Inside, as he’d expected, were dried tobacco leaves rolled into several tight bundles. The smell of them made Hadjar dizzy and his chest ached. Apparently, this stuff was stronger than anything Hadjar had ever smoked. Tucking the gift into his belt, he stood up and looked at his palm. The thin scar was still there, a reminder of his oath.

Hadjar clenched his fist and headed for the rest of the squad. The other hunters had remained in the same positions they’d been in when they’d been overwhelmed by Harlim’s power. Hadjar doubted that the old man had used any special Technique. He’d just... wanted it to happen, and it had happened. His power defied reason but excited the imagination, showing Hadjar what he should strive for.

Hadjar lay down beside his camel and waited. Half an hour later, the other hunters came to their senses as abruptly as they’d fallen into the stupor.

“Are you kidding, strangers?” Tilis snarled as she sprang to her feet. “Are you afraid of some thunder?”

Apparently, the old man hadn’t removed their memories of the dragon’s roar.

“Explain your behavior, Northerner.” Ramukhan’s eyes glinted dangerously.

“Let’s stay calm.” Einen answered instead of Hadjar, standing up. “If you’d lived through what Hadjar and I have lived through, you would be afraid of thunder, too. By the Evening Stars, I don’t want to encounter another Lord of the Heavens.”

The islander’s words were rather convincing. Hadjar watched in amazement as the sand, which had devoured the dragon in an instant, sucked in the carcasses of the scorched falcon and the snake slowly. He wondered whether this was due to the local anomalies or because of something the Immortal had done.

I’m in no hurry to become a god, Hadjar recalled. What had Harlim meant by that? That an Immortal could indeed become a god, or was it something to do with religion in his country? Was it just a religious phrase of sorts, like ‘the Evening Stars’ or ‘the Great Turtle’?

“If you don’t hurry, the Demon’s Heart will take your prey,” Ramukhan rumbled, brushing sand dust off the map.

Glen was the first to reach the bodies. As he drew his carving dagger, he radiated greed and excitement. It was understandable — the core of a beast at the King Stage wasn’t common prey.

“I just remembered something-”

“I don’t care about your remembrances, Northerner,” Ramukhan said, beckoning Salif over. “Shut up.”

“Don’t forget, Ramukhan,” Karis stood near Hadjar, “We’re all here on equal terms. The fact that we let you command doesn’t put you above anyone else.”

They looked at each other until Ramukhan turned to Hadjar.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I remembered Rahaim’s plan. He was Sankesh’s Teacher. He planned to start his search at the Stone Trees oasis.”

Salif started.

“Paris said that was one of the most dangerous regions of the Demon’s Heart…”

Ramukhan pondered this, and nodded to Hadjar.

“Your prey is disappearing, Northerner.”

Realizing that they wouldn’t listen to him if he said anything else, Hadjar turned and started walking toward the huge bird. Einen joined him along the way. Apparently, he would let Glen cut out the snake’s core.

“What’s going on here, barbarian?” Einen whispered to Hadjar.

Chapter 361

“What do you mean?” Hadjar’s intonation emphasized his faked confusion.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Einen looked back, making sure that no one was paying attention to them. Glen was hobbling over to the squad with his core, and the rest were crowding around the map. Even Tilis was completely absorbed in the discussion. “One of the features of my Inheritance is that it’s very difficult to mess with my mind. And now I feel like someone’s done it so subtly and skillfully that the Beast’s blood couldn’t counter their prowess.”

Hadjar climbed onto the back of the giant bird, took the dagger from his belt, and started cutting. Einen stood nearby. Some customs were respected in all nations. For example, the one who had killed a beast was expected to carve out its core.

Hadjar had butchered his first beast at the age of four during a royal hunt — he’d killed a rabbit by throwing a stone at it. His father had been proud and his mother had complained about him getting his hunting outfit dirty. Hadjar had stood over the dead rabbit for almost an hour, carving away. Some would’ve presumed it had been traumatic for him, and they would’ve been wrong. Everyone who followed the path of cultivation experienced such things eventually.

“An Immortal was here.” Hadjar didn’t see the point in lying to the only person he could call a friend.

“An Immortal,” Einen repeated. He swayed and leaned on his staff-spear for support. “By the Great Turtle, it sounds so absurd that it can’t be anything but true.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’d wanted to lie to me, you would’ve come up with something more believable. Now, Northerner, tell me everything.”

Turning his back to the others as he carved up the beast’s carcass, Hadjar told Einen what had happened. The islander listened in silence. During the course of the story, he gradually got paler. At the end of the story, he cursed vehemently. At first, Hadjar didn’t understand the reason for such ‘eloquence’ or Einen’s anger about losing two hours of his life.

“This Harlim just stole a piece of my life!” The islander hissed.

“Two hours of it.”

“Regardless! The life of Einen from Rainbow Bridge Island is only controlled by Einen from Rainbow Bridge Island!”

Such a credo was worthy of respect.

The bird’s core was a small, ginger-colored stone, no larger than the phalanx of an index finger. He put it in the bag where the Energy Stone and the fairy’s tears lay. Hadjar couldn’t even imagine what he should do with the latter. However, if he was lucky enough to reach the Empire, he would definitely find out.

Jumping down off the bird, Hadjar didn’t have time to lament the loss of its valuable veins and feathers, as the black sand had begun eagerly devouring the bird’s body.

That was good to know. Apparently, the desert didn’t eat creatures that still had cores. Maybe that was why the huge, sandy dunes hadn’t devoured the hunters yet.

“If the Immortal advised us to go to the oasis, then,” Einen sighed and looked at the black sky, “by the Great Turtle, we’ll find our deaths there.”

“Why are you so pessimistic?” Hadjar, after wiping Mountain Wind off on the feathers of the carcass disappearing into the sand, went back to the squad. The islander followed him. He was looking at something in the dark clouds, his violet eyes slightly unfocused.

“Because it’s either a perverted trap, or a stupid joke, or, even worse, the truth. And honestly, northerner, I’m hoping it’s one of the first two options. Because otherwise, we’ll run the risk of facing a huge number of adventurers, as well as Sankesh himself.”

“Someone recently told me that he went on this journey because his friend had decided to go.”

“But that doesn’t mean that I wish my friend success in his endeavor. By the Great Turtle, I want to go to the Empire, not to perish for the sake of other people’s weird fantasies.”

Hadjar looked at the bald man walking next to him.

“Then why are you still here?”

“As you said,” Einen’s lips trembled slightly, “I’m still here because my friend is still here.”

Sometimes, Einen’s logic seemed as unyielding as his staff to Hadjar.

When they reached the camels, they split up. Einen went over to Glen to discuss how exactly they would share the snake’s core. It turned out that the islander needed everything related to snakes to cultivate some kind of Technique. So, the Baliumian bargained for two imperial coins and the promise that, after their next encounter, Glen, regardless of the circumstances, would get to pay for the core which he would then keep for himself.

After petting and calming his camel down (although it was unclear which one of them should’ve been more nervous about the prospect of another camelback ride), Hadjar climbed into his saddle.

“I guess I must be crazy,” Ramukhan began casually, once everyone had gotten back in their saddles and the squad was once again ready to head out, “but I’ve decided to trust the northerner’s instincts once again.”

“Instincts that have just let us down so far,” Tilis interjected.

Ramukhan deliberately paused, letting the hunters feel the moment stretch out, and then continued:

“We’re going to the Stone Trees oasis. That’s quite far from here. It’ll take us at least a week, but I hope the trip will prove beneficial to our common cause.”

Right... Hadjar figured that at least three of the eight people present didn’t have a common cause.

Karissa sent out another fire sparrow, and the hunters set off toward the northwest. The journey, which was supposed to take a week, dragged on for ten days.

Along the way, they encountered all sorts of animals and monsters. They even saw a shadow that made Hadjar think it was a Lord of the Heavens flying over them once. Einen and Hadjar weren’t even the first to fall to the ground and take cover, but Ramukhan and Tilis, who’d noticed the shadow as well. Fortunately, the shadow passed by them. Hadjar didn’t know whether it had been a relative of the deceased dragon or not. He was glad that he didn’t get a chance to find out.

The practitioners — Hadjar, Einen, and Glen — had to cross blades with fangs, horns, and claws three more times over the course of their journey. Once, Hadjar overestimated his capabilities and fought against a monster at the peak of the King Stage on his own.

As a result, a white bandage was now wrapped around his chest. He now had another scar, but this time, only his own stupidity was to blame. Nevertheless, the creature, which had looked like a mixture of a beetle, rhino, and a meatball, had moved on to the fields of eternal hunting or wherever the animals of the Sea of Sand went after their death.

The Stone Trees oasis came into view on the eleventh day after their encounter with the Immortal. Given that their camels could cover a distance of two thousand miles in ten hours with ease, the distance they’d travelled was terrifying to imagine.

The oasis itself, or rather, the contrast when they transitioned to it from the black desert, was amazing. Once again, Hadjar realized just how many more miracles he had yet to witness in this vast world.

Behind the nearest crest of a dune was a small fragment of Paradise — a gorge filled with the murmur of streams and the sound of falling water. It was turquoise, beckoning the hunters with the promise of longed-for coolness. Their bodies had gotten covered in a layer of dust and solidified sweat during their journey. The trees provided shade for the green meadows, and their rustle awakened Hadjar’s distant memories of the years he’d lived in Lidus.

“I can feel a native wind,” Glen breathed in deeply.

For him, this was indeed a replica of his homeland: mountains, waterfalls, and forests. What else did a man from Balium need from life? Only a bit of snow and some strong brew.

As for the mountains, Hadjar would’ve rather called the oasis Stone Fingers, not the Stone Trees. However, no one had asked for his opinion.

Dozens, even hundreds of rocky peaks pierced endless streams and lakes, stretching toward the sky, which had a familiar azure hue here. The oasis stood beneath a funnel of black clouds, but the sun was managing to break through in the center, surrounded by fluffy, serene white clouds.

“Let’s dismount here,” Ramukhan commanded.

Chapter 362

They decided to camp near the edge of a waterfall that had an ancient wooden arch over it. Unknown hieroglyphs flashed across the connecting beam of the arch.

Ramukhan went to join Tilis and Karissa in studying it at first, but then he left them to it. His duties as the head of the squad (a title he’d given himself) demanded that he help with the planning and with setting up the camp, which meant he couldn’t rush over to study the unknown hieroglyphs.

“These symbols are no less than half a million years old,” Karissa said admiringly.

It became abundantly clear that the witches would be busy researching the wooden arch for a while. Salif’s boy was already cooking something, the old man was mumbling something to himself (he always did that when delving into his bottomless memory), and Einen and Glen were tying the camels down. The animals looked very strange in the oasis, like alien intruders almost.

“Northerner.” Ramukhan went over to Hadjar and sat down next to him on the grass.

“Yeah?”

Hadjar, having cut off the branch of a tree with his sword, was now stripping off its wet fibers. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Ramukhan looked at this with slight surprise and contempt. Apparently, doing this sort of work wasn’t considered honorable in Underworld City. Only servants did that sort of thing.

“What else did you hear from old Rahaim?”

Hadjar noticed the man’s hesitation and glanced at him. He tried to avert his eyes, but didn’t succeed. There was no doubt that he...

“You knew Rahaim,” Hadjar didn’t ask, but stated.

“Many people knew him,” the sorcerer nodded. “He was one of the few people who did honest work, never deceiving anyone... Well, no more than the customs of our people demanded. He brought everyone who paid him to the Empire safe and sound, whenever he could.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

Hadjar deliberately emphasized the last word, making it clear that he was referring to Underworld City.

“Do you think, barbarian, that Underworld City doesn’t have any of its own people in the Empire?” Ramukhan grunted and smugly scratched his plump belly. “Otherwise, we would’ve grown stagnant long ago and disappeared.”

Well, this explained how Underworld City had knowledge and artifacts that couldn’t be found by hunters. They traded with Darnassus. It was quite clever.

“Besides,” Ramukhan continued, “It’s hard not to know the former sultan of the Pearl of the Sands.”

Hadjar almost cut himself with his dagger. Even he’d heard about the Pearl of the Sands in the first week of his journey through the territories bordering the Sea of Sand. They said that the Pearl was the largest city in the Sea of Sand. Surrounded by huge dunes, it boasted seven million inhabitants and was considered to be the capital of the desert. And if that was the case, then Hadjar had traveled in the caravan of the former king of the Sea of Sand for almost half a year. That was also why the sheikh of Kurkhadan and Sankesh knew Rahaim and why everyone had respected the old man so much.

“If it hadn’t been for Sankesh’s betrayal, Rahaim and his son wouldn’t have had to flee the city. I feel sorry for his granddaughter, little Serra. I saw her once. She was cheerful, like a flower that had somehow sprouted from the sand...”

This time, Hadjar was unable to avoid cutting himself. A myriad of thoughts flashed through his head. They clumped together, rushed around, took sharp turns, and rammed themselves against the walls of his skull, giving him a headache.

Emerging from a whirlpool of his wild theories, Hadjar clung to the only sure knowledge he had — Serra wasn’t human. She was the key to the library of Mage City.

“Rahaim raved about Mage City his entire life.” Ramukhan put a blade of grass in his mouth. He chewed it, grimaced, and then spat it out. “In the Pearl, thousands of books and scrolls about the topic were collected. It’s a pity that he died...”

Hadjar almost opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. Gods and demons! He’d almost been played. Damn it! He hated intrigue, and his hand was already holding the hilt of his blade. Alas, the blue amulet was still protecting Ramukhan.

Thanks to his mother — may the forefathers be kind to her, and may her rebirth ensure a happy life — Hadjar could sense intrigues and avoid them. Ramukhan was apparently trying to get any information he could out of him.

“What do you want from me, sorcerer?” Hadjar almost growled.

Ramukhan instantly dropped the pretense of amiability. The good humor and gentleness disappeared from his tone. He now understood that using the ‘honesty begets honesty’ principle and ‘sentimentality’ wouldn’t get him anything from Hadjar.

“You aren’t as simple as you appear to be, barbarian,” the Chief of Security of Underworld City said dryly. People didn’t reach such high positions easily. It was equivalent to the head of the General staff at the Royal court in Lidus. During the reign of Primus, at least five people had assumed the role. All of them had passed away against their will due to complications unrelated to old age.

Hadjar finished weaving his hat and, touching the surface with his palm, released his power. A little more than strictly necessary. The tree fibers dried up immediately, giving the item a finished look. The grass around them had also been cut. As a result, Hadjar and Ramukhan sat in the center of a neatly mowed lawn.

“I’m going to meditate now,” Hadjar said, restraining his anger, “If you have nothing else to say, leave me alone.”

“Don’t think for a second, Northerner, that I’ll treat you any better than Tilis would,” Ramukhan’s gaze could’ve bent nails, “Serra was dear to us all.”

“Leave,” Hadjar said, and felt a slight prick of pain coming from his amulet.

Ramukhan got up and went over to the boy who was cooking the porridge and eavesdropping on them. As he walked, he stopped and, without turning around, said: “I see that South Wind found his Prince... and his doom. You already have two worthy inhabitants of Underworld City on your conscience, don’t think that you’ll be able to add a third one to the list.”

So, Ramukhan had known Hadjar’s first Teacher. Damn it... Damn it! He was obviously trying to lure Hadjar into bargaining with him, but, by the gods, Hadjar would’ve rather eaten a live scorpion than bargained with Ramukhan or Tilis.

Putting his hat on his head, Hadjar set off toward the thicket of the jungle. He was going to find a place where he could meditate for a couple of hours. He believed that it was safe enough here. Karissa’s spells would detect any major threats, and he would be able to handle the minor ones without anyone else’s help.

After about twenty minutes of cutting through thick foliage, Hadjar came across a tree with many branches that he didn’t recognize.

Taking a seat at its roots, he plunged into deep meditation. Once he was inside the World River, he felt his exhausted body gradually heal up and recover. His proximity to cool, refreshing water only reinforced the sensation.

Over the past few months, after his many battles in the Pit, and after he’d purchased various pills and elixirs at the auction, Hadjar felt ready to dash to the final stage of the Transformation level. He felt like he understood the essence of his new soul.

He understood Traves’ ‘Path through the Clouds’ meditation Technique better now. Initially, the words ‘acquiring one’s true, but also one’s new soul…’ had seemed like utter nonsense to Hadjar, but now...

Hadjar dived even deeper, seeking the place where the energy of the world flowed through the meridians and gates of his body, where the little dragon slumbered and the black blade waited patiently. It was the deepest part of his soul. The place where the core of his power was gradually forming, not like a beast’s, not a physical thing, but something more ephemeral, something stronger.

Hadjar...

Interrupting a deep meditation was always accompanied by a second of disorientation. That was why it was such a dangerous prospect at times, because in that moment, even a true cultivator was no more dangerous than a baby.

Hadjar didn’t think that anyone could’ve approached him unnoticed, even if he’d been in a deep trance. Well, for the second time this month, he’d turned out to be overconfident. Still, nobody learned from other people’s mistakes, and he’d try to at least learn from his own.

Cold steel tickled his throat, and someone tried to pull Mountain Wind from its sheath. Realizing that they couldn’t do so, they simply cut through the strap holding the sheath attached to the belt.

Einen’s capture and subsequent torture had apparently taught Hadjar nothing.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” someone whispered into his ear.

Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw a sand dog in front of him.

“Shakh?”

Chapter 363

“Be quiet, Northerner,” Shakh hissed.

He’d changed a lot in the past few months: he’d grown his hair out and woven tinkling steel leaves — pieces of daggers and swords — into it. A fresh scar crisscrossed his face. His cheekbones stood out sharply above his pointed goatee. His gaze had become heavy and intense. His sandy dogs had grown larger, more defined, and there was a lot of fury and power in their bestial growls.

Only a few months had passed, but Hadjar could hardly recognize the silly, jovial boy who’d held a grudge against him. Shakh was holding a long dagger at his throat. Hadjar was certain that the boy wouldn’t hesitate to use the weapon.

“Stand up.”

Still standing behind him, and holding the dagger too close to his neck, Shakh forced Hadjar to his feet and dragged him toward the bushes. The jungle wasn’t the kind of place Hadjar was used to. If it had been a simple forest, he would’ve found a way out, but as things stood…

“I’m not alone,” Hadjar said as he walked through the long vines. Like snakes, they hung from unfamiliar kinds of trees, scratching his face and hands. “My companions will look for me.”

“I doubt it.” Even Shakh’s voice sounded different, it was far sterner now. “I’ve been watching you since you came to the oasis. You’re not welcome in your group. Then again... what else can you expect from a traitor?”

Hadjar nearly tripped over a root. Realizing just in time that it was a beast that looked like a cross between a python and a caterpillar, he kicked it aside. This latest accusation of treachery amused him a little, but then it made him think.

“Where’s the bald man?” Shakh asked, pressing the dagger a little harder into Hadjar’s neck.

A trickle of blood ran down the blade. The drops, as they fell to the grass, created a slight echo. Well, maybe he’d changed over the past months, but some skills could only be acquired with enough experience.

“He’s busy setting up the camp,” Hadjar said, squinting at the blood behind him. How long would it take Einen to notice his absence and follow the trail?

“That’s good. I’ll kill him after you.”

“If you’re going to kill me, why draw things out?”

“I don’t know,” Shakh said, almost laughing, “Maybe I want to savor the pleasure.”

“You’d better go see the healers about that. They have special herbs-”

The dagger jerked again and more blood covered the ground. Some skills could definitely only be acquired through years of practice.

“Shut up and keep walking, traitor.”

They moved slowly through the dense undergrowth until they came to a cluster of boulders. Hadjar stopped. Cold and slightly damp, the stones lay in a mound, right in the middle of a wide clearing that was on the very border with another lake.

Even without knowing what to look for, it was easy to spot the spell cast over this landscape. It had been put up in a hurry, not particularly thought out, and very cheap. The talisman that had been used to cast it cost less than a quarter of an imperial coin and was very popular with the Bedouins. These kinds of stones looked more natural in the desert than in the centre of an oasis.

Without looking into the World River, Hadjar touched the surface of the stones with his palm. Instead of a rough surface, he only felt slightly condensed air.

Smiling at the fact his hunch had been correct, Hadjar stepped forward. He passed through the spell and came to the edge of a camp. Either the gods were mocking them or Ramukhan was an idiot, because they’d stopped just a quarter of an hour away from another group of hunters.

No wonder Shakh had ambushed him so easily. There was a stunning view of the slope they’d recently used to get to the oasis from this camp. And all the while, they’d been watched like naïve, bumbling schoolchildren.

“It’s nice to see some familiar faces,” Hadjar grinned.

By the fire sat a group of men with whom he’d had several perilous adventures. However, not one of them looked the same as they had three months ago.

Kharad, the caravan’s former head scout, had lost his arrogant demeanor. He looked tired. He fidgeted with his scarf and a necklace made from a Desert Raven’s claws. His Desert Raven’s claws…

Sular was the only other scout sitting around the fire. He was silent, as always. His falcon would most likely not be able to fly in the near future. It was sitting on a log, cleaning its bandaged, broken wing. There were other caravan guards there was well, ones whose names Hadjar couldn’t remember.

“Sit down,” Shakh ordered, kicking Hadjar in the back of both knees.

His legs buckled and he fell to the warm ground. He could’ve tolerated that kind of treatment, but the slap that Shakh gave him as he passed him… Hadjar’s eyes flashed, and the grass around him, as if being reaped by a huge scythe, was cut down and began to whirl around dangerously. Shakh had barely enough time to react, and so did the others, when grass blades rushed toward their chests. A few inches from the boy’s flesh, the grass sword was stopped by a glowing wall of golden energy.

“Calm down, Northerner, we mean you no harm” came a coughing, hoarse whisper.

“Speak for yourself, uncle,” Shakh spat out.

He was ready to fight. Not two, but three sand dogs prowled around him. Each of them had a dagger in its mouth instead of a tongue. He held two more daggers in his hands. He’d obviously changed a lot. In his eyes, there was neither fear, nor the desire to show off, only cold calculation. He looked like a desert wolf.

“I agree with Shakh,” Kharad said hoarsely. “This is the only way we can honor Rahaim.”

“Idiots!” Shakar shouted, then coughed wetly.

“Uncle!”

Shakh rushed over to his uncle and Hadjar could now see the man lying on the other side of the fire. Gods and demons, what had these past months done to the Heaven Soldier who’d once been able to send Hadjar flying back a dozen paces with a single swing of his saber? He was so weak now that he could hardly speak. He was lying on a makeshift stretcher. Shakh helped him get up to a semi-sitting position. Shakar covered his mouth with his hand, but dirty blood spurted through his fingers with every cough. And it was just that, dirty — red, but with black, oily stains.

Covered with a blanket, he tried to hide the stumps of his left arm and leg from Hadjar. Yellow bandages were wrapped around his once broad and powerful chest. Now he looked like a skeleton.

“It’s all right, Shakh,” Shakar whispered, settling back into his pillows. “Let the Northerner come closer.”

Shakh looked at Hadjar with hatred, jerked his head in his uncle’s direction, and walked away. Hadjar took a couple of deep breaths, calmed his inner dragon, and walked over to the former chief of security.

“Bend down so I can see you,” Shakar said.

Hadjar noticed that the cultivator’s left eye was missing. Instead, a black, scorched eye socket gaped open in its place. His right eye, which he still had, looked lifeless. It was almost a milky white.

“Just as I thought,” the cultivator said. “Hadjar didn’t betray the Contract.”

“He could have done it a thousand other ways-”

“Shakh,” his uncle interrupted him. “I understand your desire to take it out on someone, but the northerner isn’t the one to do it on.”

Hadjar felt a faint breath on the wind and saw the darkness thicken behind Shakh. As he’d expected, Einen hadn’t kept him waiting for long.

“Tell me, boy,” the islander hissed, pressing the boy’s own dagger, deftly drawn from its scabbard, to Shakh’s throat. “Does it feel good to have a dagger held to your throat?”

Kharad, Sular, and the other guards sprang to their feet, but Einen only pressed the dagger harder against Shakh’s throat. The first drops of blood fell to the ground.

“Another step and-”

Suddenly, Shakh turned into sand and vanished into thin air, only to reform a moment later behind the islander. The situation had turned upside down: now the young man was holding a dagger to Einen’s throat.

“You can answer your own question, baldy.”

Before Shakh managed to do anything, Hadjar blurred into the shadow of the Six Ravens. He snatched up Mountain Wind, which had fallen from Shakh’s hand when he’d done his sand trick. Standing behind Shakh, Hadjar held his blade above the boy’s head.

Utter silence fell over the clearing.

“Well, this is a rather familiar situation, isn’t it?” Shakh asked with a hint of amusement.

“We’re just missing Ilmena,” Einen nodded.

Shakh dropped his weapon first.

“You don’t have a mark on you either,” he breathed out slowly, showing his deep disappointment. “Damned Sankesh…”

“What happened to all of you?” Hadjar asked.

Chapter 364

“Tell them, nephew,” Shakar croaked.

He leaned back against his pillows. Surprisingly, Kharad sat back down as well. The former head scout said nothing. That was very unusual for him. Before, it had been hard for him to keep his mouth shut and not get involved in disputes at every opportunity. Shakh gestured for them to take a seat. Einen and Hadjar exchanged glances and accepted the invitation.

Once they were all seated around the fire, they were offered some very meagre food. Though times were hard for the caravaneers, the laws of hospitality were still respected.

“Ilmena...” Shakh whispered. “We found her body in one of the wagons. Sankesh’s daughter hadn’t even bothered to hide the body. She’d just kept it in her own coach, I mean, in Ilmena’s.”

“No wonder she never let anyone go in,” Hadjar said

One of the caravaneers rose and took a skin out of a bag. The guard shook it slightly and checked its contents, then passed it around. Each of them, after first spilling a little of the tart wine on the ground, took a sip. When the alcohol reached Shakar, they helped him complete the ritual of remembrance and tribute to the fallen.

“To be honest,” Shakh continued the story, “we didn’t understand what had happened. A strange black spirit fought in the sky against the dragon. The echoes of their battle killed not only the bandits and Sankesh’s men, but most of the caravan’s passengers as well.”

A shadow of fear could be seen in his eyes. The boy had changed in these past three months, but somewhere deep down, he still remembered the days when he could afford to be carefree. Now, apparently, he had to take care of the rest of Rahaim’s caravan.

Hadjar, after hearing that particular bit, got upset for a couple of seconds. After all, if he hadn’t used the fairy’s body and summoned the demon spirit who’d manifested in the form of the Black General, everyone would’ve died. It sounded cynical, but that was how the world worked. He couldn’t help everyone, only those who were ready to fight for their own lives.

“Old Zurkh,” Shakh sighed. “I’d had no idea he was hiding the power of a Spirit Knight.”

Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. They’d always suspected that Serra’s ‘father’ hadn’t been what he had tried to pretend he was. But it was still unbelievable that they’d travelled for six months alongside a Spirit Knight and hadn’t felt it… Although, now it was clear why he’d been keeping an eye on the ‘key’ to the library. Zurkh hadn’t been her father, but her bodyguard. Well, her key-keeper, to be more precise.

“After Rahaim died, he told us the true purpose of the journey…”

Then the long tale began. Hadjar had recently learned some parts of it from Ramukhan. For example, the fact that the inconspicuous, except for his strange Techniques, old caravaneer had once been the sultan of the Pearl of the Sands. Well, as far as it was possible to rule in this region. Serra had served as a sort of talisman for the Pearl of the Sands. She’d always stayed at court, from time immemorial. She kept the young princes company when they were children, then looked after their offspring, and so on, repeated endlessly for centuries, millenniums even.

Until she’d had to take care of Rahaim. He’d been unlucky enough to be born in an era of change. His whole family had been killed. First his father and mother, then his uncle and aunt, and then his grandparents. It was only thanks to his Teacher that he was able to unravel the web of conspiracies and find the group of nobles who’d staged the massacre. As a result, young Rahaim had been left all alone and his only ‘relative’ had been Serra. She’d been his mother, then his friend, then his daughter. She was always near him…

Zurkh was still young when Rahaim began to collect tablets, books, and scrolls from all over the Sea of Sand. He’d been looking for something in them. He opened the ‘Ways of Sand’ school. There, he taught all who came the secrets that the previous sultan had revealed to him, absolutely free of charge. The only condition he imposed was that, at the end of their training, the students would bring five books to the library that it didn’t have yet.

So, over the course of hundreds of years, his library grew from a small room to a separate palace. Sankesh razed it to the ground last year, when he captured the Pearl. Fortunately, by that time, Rahaim had abdicated his throne and assumed the role of a simple caravaneer. Zurkh, who’d remained faithful to his master, had accompanied him all this time. And Serra had as well…

For two centuries, they searched for the entrance to Mage City, because that was the only place where Rahaim could find a way to make Serra truly alive. Zurkh didn’t know why they were searching for the lost city. He simply followed his Teacher’s instructions and asked no questions. He served as a bodyguard, and in public, acted as her father. It was a cruel joke of fate that the ‘key’ looked like his daughter who’d been slain by Sankesh’s halberd.

“He’d wanted to pursue Sankesh’s daughter immediately, but...” Shakh poked the fire with a stick sadly, adjusting the logs. He was using wood for fuel so easily... A fortune was being burnt before him, and Shakh was as uncaring about it as any northerner. “The contract bound us. We continued on to the Empire, and a month later, we came upon one of Sankesh’s patrols. Within an hour, that monster arrived personally. He’d come for Zurkh. My uncle fought alongside him, but Sankesh…”

Shakh shook his head, broke a stick in half, and threw it into the fire.

“Do you remember that Knight, Hadjar, against whom we fought in the battle for Kurkhadan?”

Hadjar nodded. He would’ve been hard to forget. The bandit’s power had exceeded all reasonable limits.

“Compared to Sankesh, he seems insignificant.” Fear flashed in Shakh’s eyes. Demons and gods, he feared Sankesh even more than he feared the dragon! However, it was understandable. The dragon was like a natural disaster, but Sankesh… “We could do nothing. For just a moment, Zurkh was left alone with Sankesh. My uncle had been pushed aside, and that alone saved him from certain death. The Technique that monster used… I’ll never forget it. The terror... the sheer power... Even if that black spirit had been there, I’m not sure he could’ve defeated the King of the Desert.”

Hadjar had to admit he wasn’t wrong. Perhaps the spirit summoned by the fairy’s body could’ve delayed Sankesh for a while, but no more.

“How did you get here? To the Stone Trees oasis?” Einen asked, leaning his cheek against his staff-spear.

“Where else could we go?” Shakh snapped. “After the battle with Sankesh, the only survivors of the caravan were the people you see before you. Zurkh left us a map that has this place marked on it. And Rahaim’s letter…”

“A letter?” Hadjar looked away from the fire. “Who is it addressed to?”

There was utter silence again. It was obvious that Shakh wasn’t eager to answer that question.

“Show them...” Shakar gasped out.

“With all due respect, Shakar,” Kharad interjected, “We can’t be sure that these two aren’t traitors. Besides, they haven’t even told us where they went after the battle, or where they’ve been all this time.”

“Uncle, I agree with Kharad. We shouldn’t show them the letter.”

Shakar’s single white eye swept over the figures of Einen and Hadjar.

“Look at the blue amulets around their wrists. In Underworld City, those are worn by people who came to them uninvited.”

A wave of shouts filled with disbelief swept through the camp.

“Underworld City?”

“That’s a fairy tale…”

“Shakar is delirious.”

“I can hardly even believe Mage City exists, let alone Underworld City…”

Only Hadjar and Einen remained silent. Once the shouting subsided, Einen asked Shakar: “How do you know that?”

Everyone around them looked from the islander to Shakar in disbelief.

“From Rahaim,” the former chief of security replied. “He traded with their researchers. Panis… Papis…”

“Paris,” Hadjar said quietly.

“Yes, that’s it. The Evening Stars rob me of my memory…”

Hadjar was lost in his own thoughts. It turned out that Paris had been aware of the existence of Rahaim and his caravan from the start. It was impossible for him to not have known that his two ‘best fighters’ had served as guards for the caravan. Trade and research isn’t a quick business. Based on trust, such an enterprise has to be built up over decades, if not centuries.

Damned intrigues…

Hadjar tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. He sighed and told the others the story of their last few months: how they’d been thrown in the tub-prison, how they’d fought in the Pit, and how they’d made a deal with Paris. Their tale took a lot less time to tell.

“So,” the haughty youth in Shakh awoke. “You are their slaves?”

“If that’s how you wanna think of it,” Hadjar brushed him off. “But that’s not the point. We will soon be missed and the search for us will begin. By the Evening Stars, something tells me these fucking amulets will greatly facilitate the task.”

“We have to decide what we’re going to do next,” Einen supported him.

“We?” Kharad asked mockingly, joining the conversation. “We’ve done well enough without you two until now, and we can keep going without your help. You can go wherever you want.”

“Exactly,” Shakh said. “We don’t trust you. A slave can’t be devoted to two purposes and two masters.”

Einen sprang to his feet and raised his spear-staff threateningly.

“Say that again, boy,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Say that again, if you remember the names of all your ancestors.”

Shakh stood up as well. His blades slid out from his sleeves and his sand dogs rose from the ground around him. Before Hadjar could join the fight that was brewing, Shakar coughed loudly.

“Northerner is right, we must decide what to do next.” He said the words with a lot of difficulty. “You must decide what to do next. My time is at an end. The light of the Evening Stars is showing me the way…”

“Uncle,” Shakh breathed out, losing his fighting spirit. “What are you talking about?”

“My moment is coming, nephew.”

Chapter 365

“Come closer, Shakh.” Shakar could barely speak. His gray lips hardly moved, and his hand trembled. “Come closer... so I can see... your eyes.”

Hadjar and Einen, without saying a word, put their weapons away. They would lose all self-respect if they didn’t allow Shakh to take his relative on the last journey. The boy seemed to love Shakar more than his own father.

Shakh, his legs wobbly, went to his uncle. He bent down toward him, almost holding his ear to the dying man’s mouth. Hadjar didn’t think he had to listen to their conversation. Moreover, it wouldn’t be an honorable deed.

Turning his back to Sular and Kharad without an ounce of fear, he motioned for Einen to come closer.

“I think there’s something they aren’t telling us,” he said to his friend.

The islander nodded. “I agree. Look at their scars, Northerner, they are clearly newer than they want us to believe.”

“Do you think they’re looking for the entrance to the library?”

“They most likely are,” Einen nodded again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our squad wasn’t the first one they encountered along the way. I don’t trust them. Why are you grinning?”

“You said ‘our squad’,” Hadjar noted. “Do you trust the Underworld dwellers?”

“More than I trust these people. At least Paris doesn’t hide the fact that he wants to use us.”

That much was true.

“By the way, do you think we are still fettered by the terms of the contract?”

Hadjar looked around. He didn’t see any of the passengers of the caravan in the clearing. Rahaim’s caravan, once so popular among the common folk, had been completely destroyed.

“Hardly,” Hadjar shook his head. “Who are we supposed to lead to the Empire now? Ourselves?”

“That’s what I thought,” Einen nodded. “I just wanted you to confirm my assumptions.”

Shakh and his uncle were still whispering about something. There were tears rolling down the young man’s face. His daggers lay discarded in the damp earth.

“Ramukhan will soon notice our absence,” Hadjar said, tying his scabbard back to his belt.

“Yeah...”

Einen’s expression indicated that the islander wasn’t eager to continue their conversation. He had a difficult, antisocial personality. Perhaps that was why they’d become friends — they were two people who felt more comfortable alone than in someone else’s company.

“Uncle... Uncle!” Shakh shouted, but it was too late.

Shakar’s hand grew limp and hung like a piece of rope. His remaining eye was glazed over. The caravaneer had set off on his last journey. The light of the Evening Stars shone down on the silver road in front of him, the path that would lead him to the home of his ancestors.

Shakh, wiping away his tears, waved his hand. Coils of sand burst from the earth. They wrapped around Shakar’s body like a golden shroud, lifted it above the stretcher, and a moment later, they buried the body underground. Such was the custom in Shakh’s town — they buried their dead in the ground.

Getting back up, Shakh secured his uncle’s scabbard to his back.

“Here is Rahaim’s letter.” He held out a scroll to Hadjar.

“My condolences for your loss.” Hadjar said sincerely.

He really did sympathize with Shakh. From personal experience, he knew how difficult it was to lose your loved ones and relatives.

Taking the scroll, he nodded to Einen. The islander came over to him, and they began to read the letter together. They didn’t learn anything new. It told them the same story about Rahaim’s childhood and his research into Mage City. It said that the living key served as a kind of map. As soon as Serra was brought to the city gates, she would instantly turn into a helpful guide, doorman, and a master key for all the doors.

The wizards had left her to their heirs so that they could restore the former glory of the city. Alas, for millions of years, those same heirs had never appeared, but Serra, frozen in the form of a ten-year-old girl, had wandered the Sea of Sand, fulfilling her mission. Well, at least she was never tormented by the question of what the meaning of her life... or rather, existence, was. She already knew.

“By the Great Turtle,” Einen whispered, “I haven’t seen anything like this in a long time.”

“What do you mean?” Hadjar asked. “It’s a simple letter, even if a bit personal and extremely lyrical.”

“It isn’t a letter at all, my barbaric friend,” Einen was barely moving his lips, trying not to let anyone else hear him, “it’s a map.”

“A map?”

“Exactly. Look at how the hieroglyphs are written.”

Hadjar took a closer look: wavy lines, solid flourishes, sweeping handwriting, and wide gaps between the words. It was a typical hieroglyphic script of the desert language. Admittedly, some lines were too long, and others, in contrast, abruptly cut off, and the same word was sometimes repeated in several lines in a row.

“If you fold it correctly, then these lines will form a map.” Einen, pretending to read it, waved his finger over the letter. “I haven’t seen anything like this since my childhood.”

“And where-”

“Pirates,” the islander interrupted him. “My father sometimes traded with them. They always sent these kinds of letter-maps to indicate where the meeting would take place. Even if the lawmen were able to intercept one of them, they would understand nothing.”

“Well,” Hadjar continued, “Rahaim did hunt for knowledge his entire life, so it’s safe to assume that he was familiar with this trick.”

“And all his disciples were as well,” Einen nodded. “This letter is meant for someone who attended his ‘Sand Way’ school.”

Hadjar looked up from Rahaim’s letter and glanced around the clearing. How many of these people could belong to that school? Shakh’s sandy dogs raised some concerns, as well as Sular’s falcon, not to mention Kharad’s skills...

Damned mysteries and intrigues! Hadjar wasn’t good at them.

“Are you finished?” Shakh urged, holding out his hand to take the letter back. “I don’t think you learned anything new from that letter.”

Hadjar waited for Einen’s barely noticeable nod and then returned the scroll.

“We have to go,” he said. “With every second that passes, we run the risk of being found out.”

“Found out,” Kharad snorted. “Who are this ‘we’ you speak of? Even if your companions,” he said the word mockingly, “find us, I don’t mind. I can’t wait to test the power of the mythical sorcerers of Underworld City.”

“Believe me,” Einen’s voice was quiet but stern, “that isn’t what you want. Unless, of course, you want to follow Shakar, may the forefathers be merciful to him.”

“Stop it.” Shakh didn’t let Kharad continue bickering. “I don’t trust them either, but my uncle was right, there are no traitor marks on them. So, at least they didn’t violate the contract and didn’t want to harm us. We parted for a long time, and this took us down different paths, but now we are once again united by a common goal.”

Hadjar doubted that. He’d heard about this fabled ‘common goal’ from Rahaim, Paris, Ramukhan, Glen, and now from Shakh as well. And yet, their goals had never been the same. All Hadjar wanted was to save a little girl from the insane monster that was Sankesh. If luck smiled upon him along the way, he would also learn something about the Seventh Heaven and the gods.

“We are all preoccupied with searching for Mage City,” Shakh continued, “so I suggest we make peace for a while.”

The young warrior held out his hand. Hadjar looked him up and down and then grabbed his wrist.

“We aren’t enemies,” he said, responding to the gesture. “Now let’s make a plan.”

They discussed the plan for a quarter of an hour. After finally agreeing on something that suited everyone present, Hadjar and Einen went back to the camp. Along the way, they came up with a story that they would stick to if they were asked about their absence.

Surprisingly, none of the Underworld City residents had noticed their absence. Apparently, after their grueling journey through the Demon’s Heart, the illusory serenity of the oasis had made them inattentive.

“It’s a pity we didn’t get to copy the letter,” Hadjar sighed as he and Einen sat down by the fire and ate the porridge that the boy had prepared.

“I may not be Salif, but I can’t complain about my memory,” Einen said.

By the gods, the islander was full of surprises.

Hadjar was about to ask him to draw the map, but then changed his mind. He’d gone into the jungle to try and break through to the next stage of the Transformation level, and he was going to do so now. Everything that had happened meant he had to become stronger.

Chapter 366

Hadjar immediately dived into the darkness of his subconscious. A sword, the vague haze of an awakened spirit, and a miniature dragon, curled up in a dim light, were waiting for him there.

After touching the scales of his new inner companion, Hadjar went over to the haze. Swirling streams of whitish smoke that had mystical outlines inside them — that was what his power looked like, allowing him to fight against Heaven Soldiers at the initial stages of their level. It wasn’t pathetic, or overly horrific.

Sitting down in a lotus position, Hadjar mentally reached for the haze. When a practitioner advanced, they almost always needed something to help them along: rare ingredients, alchemical potions and pills, or, if a practitioner was crazy, the core of a monster. Hadjar could’ve written a whole book about the pain and danger that accompanied advancement using a core. Right now, as he was on the ‘verge of becoming more’, all of these could certainly help, but they were no longer the main ingredient in his cultivation.

Hadjar saw the path lying in front of him. Long and thorny, it would lead him to a goal so distant that most practitioners had never even considered striving for it. That was why he needed a lot more power than others.

What was a new soul? It was simply a clearer outline of your own power. How you shaped your ‘soul’ would determine what kind of Heaven Soldier you would become. If you had enough power to break through to the level of a true cultivator, that is.

The haze of his awakened spirit resisted Hadjar’s manipulations. It refused to condense and absorb the knowledge and experience that Hadjar had acquired during the years he’d wandered the world. The true essence of any person strived for comfort and consistency, and Hadjar, at the moment, was committing violence against himself. He was forcing his subconscious, his ‘Self’, to change according to his own preferences and aspirations. This battle of willpower and essence was much worse and far more dangerous than any real battle.

Gritting his teeth, Hadjar sent a stream of his will at the haze, causing it to thicken and condense. It responded with fierce resistance. Harnesses the color of steel and sky rushed toward Hadjar. They tightened around him, binding him.

There was neither time nor air in this world, but nonetheless, it was becoming harder for Hadjar to breathe with every passing second. The haze was crushing him, forcing him to retreat and accept defeat. It whispered to him, telling him that it would be so easy to take a step back and remain a strong practitioner, one able to fight weak cultivators — an accomplishment that many nations and peoples would sing songs and tell legends about.

Hadjar responded to its whispers with a new stream of his will. It continued to grind down and torment the haze, and Hadjar felt a muffled pain. In this struggle, only one person was suffering — Hadjar himself. Some would’ve said that this was a stupid way to go about things. However, such a person would forever remain at a practitioner’s level, and new horizons would forever be unattainable for them. Losing such a battle meant eternal stagnation and being stuck in place.

The path of cultivation didn’t tolerate people who stumbled about aimlessly, only those who could walk resolutely forward, step by step, in spite of any dangers and threats in their way.

The haze increased its resistance. The harnesses that had entangled Hadjar began to assume the form of elastic swords. They cut into his flesh, causing red blood to spill out into the vast darkness, looking like falling stars.

Back in the real world, vortices of energy circled Hadjar as he sat in the lotus position. This caused a commotion in the camp.

“Karissa, hide this idiot,” Ramukhan ordered. “Because of him, other hunters will come here. Tilis, put a spell up.”

Tilis, nodding to her boss, began to whisper a spell. Her staff shone softly, and a wall of flickering air rose up around the camp. Her spell was much stronger than what Shakh’s squad had put up. From the outside, the clearing now looked like a swamp teeming with snakes and vile toads.

Karissa walked up to Hadjar, but stumbled at Einen’s warning glare.

“The amulet,” she reminded him, “doesn’t just protect us from strangers, but also vice versa.”

The islander glanced at the blue amulet on his hand and stepped aside.

“If something happens to him, I’ll know who to blame,” Einen said, slightly pushing the tip of his spear out from his staff.

Karissa just rolled her eyes.

“I have no reason to harm him, nor do I want to.”

She took out a long, red amulet from her book and, holding it between her index and ring finger, whispered something. A whirlwind of her own energy made her clothes flutter. Dozens of smaller amulets began to fly out of the red amulet. They whirled in a scarlet dance around Hadjar, gradually turning into a red dome that kept his energy contained inside of it.

“I trust you more than them,” Karissa added, after she was convinced that the barrier was reliable. It covered Hadjar with a dome of energy, and hid his attempts to advance to the next stage from the outside world.

“Why?”

“Because you have the amulets, but they don’t.”

With these parting words, the witch returned to the fire. Einen noticed how closely Salif’s boy was watching what was happening. Once, in his childhood, the islander had fallen into the lair of poisonous snakes. He’d felt safer there than during these recent months. Looking at the scarlet dome, he whispered:

“Good luck.”

At that moment, Hadjar, who was still meditating deeply, couldn’t hear his friend’s well-wishes, but for a moment, it became easier for him to breathe. As if a bit of some foreign power had slightly loosened the harnesses, allowing the unequal battle to continue.

Using his most secret reserves, Hadjar formed a colorless wave of his will for the second time. It, once again covering the haze, made it contract for a couple of seconds, but then the haze responded with tenfold resistance.

The haze threw Hadjar back. He seemed to fly an almost infinite distance through the infinite void, and then finally skidded along the ‘ground’. The harnesses had left deep cuts along his body. The blood flowing out of them was actually the energy of his own soul. It was a paradox — by trying to advance further, he was killing himself by forcing his willpower to fight against his subconscious.

“Well then.” Wiping away the red moisture on his lips, Hadjar stood up.

He straightened up and extended his hand in front of him. The darkness surrounding him began to tremble slowly, creating waves that looked like the surface of a disturbed lake.

Gathering together all of his remaining power, will, and knowledge, Hadjar formed a sword in front of him. It didn’t look like Moon Beam or Mountain Wind. It resembled the old, shabby wooden sword that he’d used on a makeshift dummy in his own chambers when he’d been a child growing up in the Palace. It was then that a burning desire had arisen in him, an irresistible need to go forward. Beyond the horizon. This need was why he’d come here, to the darkness of his subconscious, to force himself to do what he desired. Not everyone, whether they were a practitioner or a simple peasant, were capable of such a feat.

The sword that formed in front of Hadjar, though wooden, still emitted a terrifying aura. It felt like an army was imprisoned within it. There was a drumbeat, a clang of metal hitting shields, the neighing of horses, and the cries of people. They were eager for battle and ready to fight to break through to their shared dream.

The haze sent out more harnesses. This time, however, they didn’t reach for Hadjar, but formed the exact same sword. The drumming was replaced by the weeping of widowed spouses. The neighing of horses — by the howling of parents whose children hadn’t come back from a war. The cries of the people were no longer filled with passion, but with the agony of death.

With a loud ‘Ha!’ Hadjar directed his blade at the haze. It responded with its own attack.

The two swords crossed in the middle of the darkness. Hadjar felt guilty for all the soldiers he’d led to their deaths. The guilt bore down on him like a mountain, forcing his knees to bend and his shoulders to lower. His wooden sword weakened beneath the onslaught of its copy made from dust. When the wooden sword cracked, Hadjar’s eyes flashed a bright azure.

“No,” he growled, clenching his fists, “they all chose their own path. Like I chose mine.”

Slowly, he rose, straightening his back and unbending his legs. His wooden sword got stronger and filled with power. With each exhalation, it became more defined. The wood disappeared, exposing the sharp steel beneath, which had black dragons painted along its length.

“I see my path.” His every word was like a hammer striking an anvil. “I know who I am. I’m Hadjar Darkhan. Desert Wind Blowing from the North. Regardless of whoever or whatever stands in my way — mountains and rivers, seas and oceans, empires and legions, gods or demons alike — I’ll reach my goal. Because that is how I choose to live my life.”

His palm merged with the steel sword. Together, they stabbed the haze and got lost in it. A whirlwind of energy raged inside the dark world.

Opening its eyes, the little dragon stretched lazily and, grabbing the black blade, rushed into the white whirlwind.

Chapter 367

“Damn it,” Karissa swore.

Sitting in front of the red dome, she opened her book and began to chant something. With every word she uttered, new scarlet hieroglyphs flew out from the pages. They fastened themselves to the spots on the dome where long cuts gaped. Through them, energy the color of steel kept pouring out. Taking the form of blades, it was cutting through everything around it.

There were leaves cut down from trees scattered about everywhere, along with pieces of bark and wood chips. The grass had also been almost completely mowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Ramukhan came up to them.

A stream of the energy, having cut through the dome, struck directly at the sorcerer. He lazily waved his staff at it. The ghostly blade split apart and turned into flickering dust that disappeared before it touched the ground.

“The barbarian is moving on to the next stage,” Karissa explained and then resumed trying to suppress the steel energy.

She commanded the talismans tirelessly. They kept attaching themselves to the dome, but new gaps were appearing just as quickly.

“Do practitioners normally produce such a whirlwind of power?” Ramukhan asked.

“No,” Einen answered.

Tilis was also intrigued by what was happening. She got up and came closer. She was met with the same thing Ramukhan had been greeted by —an attack from a transparent blade.

“By the Evening Stars,” Salif gasped. “I’ve only seen something like this once before, when one of the Sage’s disciples advanced to the level of a true cultivator.”

Silence filled the clearing. Everyone, even the boy, watched Karissa struggle against a whirlwind of energy being emitted by a simple practitioner. However, his power still exceeded the might of practitioners that were breaking through to the level of a Heaven Soldier.

Hadjar was lost in a timeless void. Scenes from his past flew by before him. He saw himself back in the distant world he’d been born in. The children from the orphanage were mocking him.

He saw the hospital on the hilltop. People came to him only to use him as a silent listener. Only one guy, who’d recently emerged from a coma, was an exception. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten his name.

He saw South Wind’s and the Master’s faces. He heard his mother’s songs and his father’s laughter. He looked into his sister’s eyes, sat on uncle Primus’ shoulders... Then he was holding his dying mother in his arms, and Primus stood above them, gripping her still beating heart.

Like the fragments of a broken kaleidoscope, they danced around him until Hadjar, gritting his teeth, swung at them with his blade. Enraged, he crushed his own past, allowing his old soul to shed its too tight skin and slip into a new, more convenient one, like a snake.

He didn’t know how much time had passed during this struggle. The fragments of the past cut him even deeper than the haze’s harnesses had as they carved into his very soul.

Suddenly, after his attack, Hadjar fell. He fell for ten heartbeats. Despite the fact he’d been expecting some profound changes, he found himself in the same darkness, and saw all the same objects: the curled up dragon, the blade hanging in emptiness, and... The haze. Except now it wasn’t formless.

It was still difficult to say what form it would take, but its outlines were clearer now. Hadjar managed to discern the mystical images lurking within it. It had become denser. The space that it had previously occupied was now empty.

Hadjar emerged from his deep meditation and found himself in the World River. Drawing power from it, he nourished his ‘new soul’, which, in fact, turned out to just be a new skin for his old shell. The old one didn’t suit him anymore. It had interfered with everything, constraining his movements and thoughts, had made him look at things the old way, even hold his blade the same way as when he’d been just a child. Now that he was an adult warrior who’d survived hundreds of battles and seen something that many never got to experience in their entire lifetime, he needed a new... new Hadjar. Not one created by his past, parents, or country, but forged by his own will and desires in the crucible of the dangers that he’d faced, in the millstone of the fate that he’d chosen for himself, in the shadow of the mistakes he’d made, hardened by the successes, anxieties, and experiences he’d gone through, boldly overcoming all obstacles and difficulties.

In the outside world, the whirlwind of power subsided, and when the next amulet took its place on the scarlet dome, no other gaps appeared.

Karissa, wiping away the sweat on her forehead, moved aside. She leaned back against a tree that had been torn into by ghostly blades, and, closing her book, hung it back on her belt.

“Where did this barbarian come from?” She asked breathlessly. “Gods and demons, I’ve never encountered anything like this before.”

Ramukhan and Tilis were about to answer something, when suddenly, a column of energy the color of steel soared into the sky from the center of the scarlet dome. Assuming the form of a giant blade, it cut the dome in half.

Hadjar stood with his back straight and looked ahead with free, unclouded blue eyes. A sword rested in his hand. It was a simple blade, but so heavy that each of its movements created small vortices of power which cut the grass, turning it into a green mess.

“Barbarian,” Tilis snorted and returned to her meditation by the fire.

“Next time,” Ramukhan said, stowing his staff and also returning to the fire, “Try to do your cultivation in a more peaceful place.”

Hadjar looked around and said: “I need some fresh air.”

He left the camp. This seemingly simple action made Tilis jump a little in surprise. Only three of the people present understood what Hadjar had just done. Without making the slightest bit of effort, he’d stepped over the spell. Of course, it was more a defensive barrier than an offensive spell, but it would’ve still been impossible for most practitioners who were on the verge of becoming a true cultivator to simply ignore it like that.

Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan chose not to comment on this, but they made a mental note about their companion’s power. Two of them reluctantly thanked the gods for the fact that this monster was on their side, and the third vowed to train harder. Until recently, she’d been confident in her abilities, but now...

Hadjar wasn’t aware of the concerns plaguing his fellow hunters. He only felt an urgent need to test his new power and, more importantly, his perception. Walking through the jungle, he felt that he... perceived the world around him more clearly. He could feel not just the presence of energy in every tree and every stone, but also how this energy flowed. In some places, it was like a roaring stream piercing mighty trunks, then disappearing back into the ground. In others, it was calm, as if crystallized, usually located inside boulders and stones.

Standing still, Hadjar closed his eyes. He ran his hand over Mountain Wind. Only now could he feel the difference between a simple sword and an artifact. It wasn’t anything to do with the sharpness of the blade, or what strength or power it possessed. The difference was in the energy it held inside.

Alas, Hadjar had nothing to compare it to. He felt a stream of energy inside Mountain Wind. Direct and simple, it thrummed inside the blade, creating a dissonance. Now Hadjar understood why his attacks had sometimes been weaker than he’d expected.

Hadjar unsheathed his sword. By sheer force of will, he directed his energy into the blade. An instant later, he got rid of the dissonance and swung his sword lightly. The attack that launched itself from the edge of his blade assumed the form of a visible crescent. After crossing a distance of eighty steps, it cut a tree and disappeared into the air.

According to South Wind’s stories, a Wielder was able to strike at a distance of fifty steps. Hadjar didn’t know exactly how, but Traves’ heart was clearly bearing fruit, which didn’t mean his own hard training and talent with the blade were useless. Unfortunately, his talent was limited.

Returning the sword to its scabbard, Hadjar went back to the camp.

Chapter 368

Compared to the Stone Trees oasis, Kurkhadan was like a small garden compared to a forest. For a week, the hunters of Underworld City explored the area, but didn’t come across anyone else.

Occasionally, they came across the traces of other seekers’ camps or even battlefields: felled trees, huge pits and ravines, scorched earth, and even disturbances in the streams of the World River.

Sitting near the fire, Ramukhan, Salif, and Glen discussed what they should do next.

“Perhaps we should return to the Demon’s Heart,” Glen complained, “We will find nothing but corpses here. Maybe we’re the only ones left in this place.”

“Why would we return to the black desert?” Ramukhan shrugged. “We will be like blind kittens there.”

“All will be decided by the red comets.” Salif tried to hide it, but he was very tired from the journey. Only the fact that the boy was now carrying the old man on his own back made the situation somewhat bearable.

The old servant was right. It would only be a month and a half before the two red comets soared through the sky. The entrance to Mage City would be where their paths intersected. Moreover, according to most legends, the entrance would also open at that exact moment. However, that hadn’t stopped a huge number of seekers from participating in this dangerous adventure already. That was probably why Sankesh needed the key to the library, little Serra. She could, apparently, interpret the writing on the gate and open the entrance before the comets arrived.

“Once again, we find ourselves in a stupid position because of the barbarian,” Tilis commented.

Hadjar wanted to make a joke about the witch, him, and a stupid position, but he managed to bite his tongue. There was no need to antagonize her even further. The witch was already eager to duel him regularly with sharp words and remarks.

“Perhaps I can help.” Einen, who’d only spoken once this week, suddenly joined the conversation.

“What do you propose, islander?” Ramukhan asked arrogantly.

Over the past week, Einen had managed to not only recall Rahaim’s letter, but also decrypt it. The map that had belonged to the former desert sultan didn’t indicate the way to the entrance itself, but the region where it was located.

The Immortal, who was from these parts, but didn’t want to get involved in the race for the legacy of the past, had pointed them in the right direction. The area Rahaim had singled out covered nearly five thousand acres and was located about four days’ journey to the southeast.

“I’d wanted to keep this a secret,” Einen sat down next to the sorcerer and took a piece of cloth out of his pocket, “but here it is. A while ago, I received a letter encrypted in a special way. It immediately seemed familiar to me as it was what we normally used in my homeland.”

Holding the piece of cloth in front of him, Einen drew a map on the ground, and then indicated the squad and the area marked by old Rahaim on it.

After a few seconds of silence, someone Hadjar hadn’t expected to interject laughed skeptically.

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Glen swung his saber over the marked area and looked at the people around him, “You, quite coincidentally, have had a map of this region all this time, and then you remembered you had it at the exact moment we decided to leave the route that leads toward the marked area.”

Glen stuck the saber in the center of the marked area, where, according to Rahaim, the entrance to the lost city was. It would seem that the Baliumian was rather quick-witted.

“Glen has a point,” Karissa nodded. “Of all those present, except for Hadjar, I know you better than anyone, Einen. Tell me, where did you get that map?”

“An old acquaintance gave it to me,” the islander shrugged. “He didn’t know that it’s a map. He still probably has no idea what it is.”

The residents of Underworld City looked at each other.

“Please tell me you don’t believe him,” Glen swore. “I’ve been able to smell bullshit from a mile away since the day I was born, and, by the gods, baldy’s little story reeks of it.”

“Do you perhaps have a fondness for it?” Hadjar couldn’t resist asking.

“Let me show you how much,” Glen growled, raising his saber.

“That’s enough,” Ramukhan stopped their argument. “I also can’t say I believe this map is legitimate.”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. If they failed to convince the squad of the map’s authenticity, the upcoming journey would get very complicated. Moreover, the map really was genuine. Rahaim had thought so, at least. And there wasn’t a single person who knew more about Mage City than the old man in the whole Sea of Sand.

“We can all sense a lie,” Hadjar said, “but no one can recognize it better than the World River.”

Einen nodded and pulled out his dagger.

“I swear,” he said, making a cut on his palm, “that this map is accurate. I got it from an acquaintance. I’m also not planning to do anything evil to the people gathered here by showing them the map.”

Einen’s blood flashed, and then the cut healed up, leaving a small scar behind. It would disappear in time or when they reached the marked area. One way or another, the World River had accepted Einen’s oath. It hadn’t turned his soul into a column of flame that had burned the islander to death from the inside, after all.

“Damn it,” Glen swore again. “Believe me, we’ll regret it if we listen to these two.”

“What other options do we have, Glen?” Ramukhan asked. These two had managed to become friends over the past couple of months. “Wander aimlessly through the Demon’s Heart while waiting for the comets? Thousands of other seekers are doing just that. Can you guarantee that we won’t come across someone we can’t handle? Or even Sankesh himself?”

“Can you guarantee that this map won’t lead us directly to him? Maybe Einen and Hadjar are his faithful dogs. Don’t forget that they served under Rahaim’s command. You said that he devoted his whole life to searching for the city. Don’t you find this coincidence a bit too... convenient?”

Ramukhan wanted to answer him, but stayed silent. He looked at Einen. The islander sighed tiredly, and ran the dagger across his hand a second time.

“I swear that I don’t serve Sankesh and I’m not a spy.”

Once again, the islander didn’t turn into a pillar of fire.

“We can quibble over his words for an eternity,” Hadjar decided it was time to put a little pressure on the others, “or we can pull ourselves together and keep going.”

They sat in the shadow of the jungle. It was so dark that the world around them had been plunged into a caustic twilight. In such an environment, many travelers could lose their nerve. Hadjar’s hint that the others were being cowardly worked.

Ramukhan rose and gave the signal for them to pack up.

“If we find nothing but trees and corpses there, then both of you won’t have the right to speak until the end of the campaign.”

That was fair. Neither Hadjar nor Einen argued with this condition.

They joined Glen in the vanguard, and the squad started moving farther into the depths of the oasis. They led their camels along, which got very nervous when they spotted a huge snake slithering along the branches above their heads, or when they heard a winged monster flying through the sky and singing a hunting song, its shadow covering a vast area.

They pushed on for about two more days, when suddenly, the jungle ended. Rather, it parted, revealing some ruins buried in golden sand.

“It seems we are on the right path,” Hadjar smiled.

He wanted to mock Glen a bit, but instead grabbed the hilt of Mountain Wind. His senses had alerted him to the presence of an enemy so powerful that even after advancing to a new stage, Hadjar didn’t think he could defeat them.

“The right path,” a vaguely familiar voice sounded.

A wind blew. It was making the sand whirl around them, which didn’t allow them to look around. It was no surprise that they didn’t immediately notice the figure standing on one of the small dunes.

It was a woman of medium height. Her body was hidden by a light steel breastplate. Her tattered caftan skirt fluttered in the wind. Her sharp facial features were emphasized by a tattoo that stretched from her left to her right ear. Around the warrior, leaving behind blurred trails, three purple spheres floated. She also had a broadsword in a scabbard at her waist.

“The King of the Desert invites you, Hadjar Darkhan, to negotiate with him,” Sankesh’s daughter said. “In an hour, six miles north of here. Come alone.”

The wind brought her last words to them, since Rahaim and Ilmena’s murderer had already disappeared among the sands.

Chapter 369

After a brief argument, Hadjar set out. He made Einen promise not to hide in the shadows. He was sure that Sankesh would easily detect the islander’s presence.

He also left Azrea back at the camp. The tigress, contrary to his expectations, didn’t try to resist. Poking her head out lazily, she’d sniffed at Tilis, snorted, and then jumped into Karissa’s lap.

Habitually checking whether his sword’s scabbard was tightly fastened to his belt, Hadjar went to the meeting place. Along the way, he examined the ruins. The ancient stone buildings, almost completely hidden within the sand dunes, weren’t all that amazing. This could’ve been a simple border city or fort. The only thing that really drew his attention was the obvious difference between these buildings and the architecture of the modern desert cities. However, they’d been here for many hundreds of thousands of years, forgotten by the gods, allowing the sands to slowly immerse them in eternal oblivion.

“I’m surprised you came.”

Sankesh’s daughter appeared out of the sand, almost copying how Einen did it. However, Hadjar easily sensed her approach in advance, unlike Einen’s. Or maybe his transition to a new stage of cultivation was why he’d been able to notice her. He hadn’t had enough time to determine the limits of his new abilities yet.

“You’ve gotten stronger since our last meeting,” the girl said. An unnatural power was emanating from the purple spheres floating around her. It was surely an artifact. “And dumber.”

“Courage is often confused with stupidity,” Hadjar shrugged.

“And vice versa,” the warrior agreed. “My father is quite fond of you. Every day, we discuss where to put your head in our palace back in the Pearl of the Sands.”

“In Rahaim’s palace, you mean,” Hadjar corrected.

He noticed how the girl’s eyes narrowed with an oddly casual indifference. She put her hand on the hilt of her broadsword, but didn’t draw it.

“If you talk to him like that, you certainly won’t live to see today’s sunset.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried about my safety.”

Suddenly, the girl’s lips widened in a predatory grin.

“Little Serra talks about you all the time. It’ll be a shame if she doesn’t get to see my father skin you alive and leave you to rot in the sun with her own eyes.”

Now Hadjar’s hand involuntarily reached for Mountain Wind, but his mind took control of his body just in time. He’d learned some important information right then: Serra wasn’t with Sankesh at the moment...

“I wouldn’t rot, I’d languish,” Hadjar corrected her.

They made the rest of the trip in silence. About fifteen minutes later, high, white tents appeared. Soldiers scurried between them, dressed in armor with the solar emblem. Hadjar had wondered how they withstood the heat while wearing so much steel, but now he could feel a stream of energy in their arms.

Sankesh was a wealthy and far-sighted general, who gave artifact armor to even his common soldiers. Admittedly, he probably didn’t have any ordinary and weak soldiers in his army.

Walking through the camp, Hadjar got a lot of sidelong glances. In his simple caftan, old shoes, and shabby turban, he stood out sharply against the backdrop of the military fortification. To be honest, he felt a bit of nostalgia. About three years had passed since he’d commanded his own military camp.

Without wasting any time, Hadjar counted the number of tents and weapon racks. According to his modest estimates (he was really missing the neural network’s help right then), there were at least six hundred soldiers in the camp. Each of them possessed an aura ranging from at least the highest stage of Formation to the Transformation level.

Computing module is currently rebooting…

Approximate time until completion is…

These six hundred soldiers were a very formidable army. With them alone, Hadjar could’ve captured the entirety of Balium in a week. He sensed the echo of the auras of several Heaven Soldiers, so it would’ve taken him even less time.

Soon, all his calculations stopped. Compared to their commander, everyone else seemed unimportant, like a smoldering coal in the presence of a forest fire.

Sankesh lived up to his reputation. He sat at a strong oak table. His tan arms were as thick as Hadjar’s thighs, and Hadjar wasn’t exactly flimsy.

As for armor, the King of the Desert wore only gold bracers, greaves, and a chainmail skirt. His winged helmet lay next to him. His long, black hair lay on his shoulders, which looked like boulders that had been torn from a cliff. Nearby, set against the table, was his halberd, clearly something he was proud of and flaunting. One glance at the weapon was enough to determine its titanic weight. Propping up his square jaw with his fist, Sankesh was indifferently observing the commotion in the camp.

“Father,” the female warrior fell to her right knee and looked down. “I’ve fulfilled your order. This is Hadjar Darkhan, with whom you’ve expressed a desire to talk.”

Hadjar didn’t know what a normal relationship between a father and daughter was like in the desert, but he suspected that it wasn’t this servile and official.

“You can go, Arliksha,” Sankesh nodded.

Well, Hadjar now knew the name of Ilmena’s and Rahaim’s murderer.

Arliksha, still not looking up, walked backwards for at least thirty feet. Only then did she turn around and disappear among the tents.

There were no guards around Sankesh. That immediately caught Hadjar’s eye because it was so unusual. Propriety, if nothing else, demanded that the head of the army went everywhere with his personal bodyguards.

“They’re in there,” Sankesh pointed behind him with his thumb. “They couldn’t bear the heat, and their religion forbids them from wearing my emblem.”

Hadjar looked at the huge tent embroidered with gold, amber, and diamond threads. At its entrance hung the skin of a desert lion, a creature so fierce that it was often mentioned in children’s horror stories.

Now it was clear what had made the scars that covered the Spirit Knight’s hands and that his powerful body couldn’t heal.

“Northerners,” Sankesh sighed again. He looked like a bored giant who couldn’t force himself to care about an ant making a fuss. “I miss their winters sometimes. The ones you get in Lidus, compared to their snowy months, are as hot as our midday.”

Hadjar had heard about the northern regions of the Empire, the countries that lay behind the Misty Mountains. People said that it’s so cold there that water turns into snow, and spilled blood turns to ice. The people there were so harsh that a sword could be broken against their souls. The area was simply too brutal and dead. Those who survived there had little in common with people and were more like animals. Of course, if South Wind’s stories were true.

“Sit down, Northerner.” Sankesh said his nickname with an undisguised grin.

Hadjar sat.

Following the laws of hospitality that the King of the Desert had showed him, Hadjar removed his sword and scabbard from his belt. He set them on the table, and then sat next to them.

“I’ve asked around about you, Hadjar Darkhan.” Sankesh’s almost black eyes were full of indifference. He didn’t care who was sitting in front of him — Hadjar or a stone. “The Mad General of Lidus, now presumed to be dead. The rebel, the criminal, and a kingslayer, whom Primus’ daughter killed. It’s such a beautiful, but oh so illogical tale. Tell me, is she your sister?”

Hadjar remained silent. Despite his huge, muscular frame (Sankesh was probably about six and a half feet tall), this monster possessed a keen intellect. He was a Spirit Knight after all.

“Perhaps when I become a god, I’ll visit your kingdom. I wonder what it’s like to take a dragon’s sister by force.”

If Hadjar had been susceptible to such a simple trick, he would’ve long ago met his forefathers in their house.

“I’m afraid that not all gods can boast about being very potent. I remember the story of the god of wine, who wasn’t able to… boast in front of the fertility goddess. Regardless of how hard she tried to help him...”

Well, one thing was certain. Hadjar had managed to get Sankesh’s attention. The indifference in his dark eyes gave way to anger, the way a person reacted when a mosquito suddenly bit them. It wasn’t painful, but still irritating.

They grabbed their weapons simultaneously. Their auras exploded and turned the nearby tents into shreds of rugged fabric.

Chapter 370

Hadjar, even after releasing his full power, still felt the pressure of an aura so immense that it was difficult for him to breathe. Sankesh, who’d looked like an ordinary man until a moment ago, turned into a wild monster. He radiated the same bestial aura that Azrea’s mother had once had.

Sankesh’s first and only instinct was to subdue and destroy. There were no deals or compromises to be made with him. The might of his halberd was the only law he obeyed.

This wasn’t a man, but a beast wearing the skin of a bronze giant. His power fell like an ocean bearing down on Hadjar. Fierce and unwavering, it pinned him to the ground, as immovable as a mountain. It thundered against Hadjar’s flimsy defenses, which hadn’t even reached the level of a true cultivator yet.

Sankesh’s elite warriors fled from the area where the two almost bestial auras raged. One of them was like a vast sky, and it was trying to crush a small flash of power that was akin to a tiny island compared to the former.

They, who were merely simple practitioners, would be destroyed by such a pressure. It wouldn’t just stop their hearts, but also turn them into bone dust and pulped mounds of flesh.

Hadjar felt like a brave ant stuck beneath the foot of a cruel child. A child with a beastly grin, bringing its foot down harder to try and smear the struggling bug across the sand.

Sankesh’s face didn’t so much as twitch. Only his dark eyes had stopped being human and turned into a beast’s. While blood trickled down Hadjar’s face and he shook like a leaf in the wind, the King of the Desert was still sitting quietly in his chair.

Deep cracks appeared along the length of the oak table due to the echo of the two auras. Splinters flew around like arrows. The warriors moved even farther away — no one wanted to inadvertently end up with a deadly thorn in their eye socket.

“Father!” Arliksha suddenly cried out. “Calm down, father.”

Sankesh turned to his daughter, who was on one knee. She was in the midst of their ‘battle’, but she was still at ease. It was as if her father’s monstrous aura didn’t affect her at all.

“You are right, daughter,” the King of the Desert said. “The laws of hospitality are on your side today, dragon.”

The pressure vanished, and Hadjar, like a drowning man who’d washed ashore, breathed in deeply. He wiped away the blood on his face and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. Sankesh, however, merely took his hand away from his halberd and continued to gaze lazily at the camp.

By the gods, if not for Arliksha’s intervention, Hadjar wouldn’t have lasted even a minute longer. Maybe if he’d used the Call, he could’ve endured for another minute and a half. In the presence of a strong Spirit Knight, his talent with the sword had been worth almost nothing. Admittedly, if it hadn’t been for his talent, he would have died the moment Sankesh had released his power.

“A dragon,” Sankesh snorted. “I am called the Executioner of Cities, the Terror of the Desert, the Demon of the Sands. But you are a ‘dragon’. This world isn’t very fair, is it, Hadjar Darkhan?”

Hadjar couldn’t believe his ears. Was this man’s negative attitude toward him based on... envy? Or his wounded pride? By the Evening Star! Sankesh no longer seemed like a man who didn’t care about anyone’s opinion but his own.

“You know, we’ve led similar lives,” Sankesh continued. “Both you and I were slaves and exiled from our own countries.”

Hadjar had heard rumors about Sankesh’s past from the caravan’s passengers. As a child, he’d been sold as a slave to the ‘real northerners’. To Darnassus. There, he’d grown up and become a warrior, and then a general. He’d even fought in the war for the throne of his tribe and... won. A slave from the desert then became one of the kings of the North! It was an unbelievable story, one told even in Darnassus itself.

“We both returned to our homeland and took what was rightfully ours by force.”

Hadjar wasn’t quite sure that the Pearl of the Sands had belonged to Sankesh. He had been Rahaim’s disciple, but not his son, after all.

“I can see you don’t agree with me.”

“I... didn’t...take anything.”  Hadjar was still struggling to speak.

However, there was no fear in his eyes. They still shone, radiating an indomitable will. Sankesh, be he a dragon, a demon, or a god — it didn’t matter, Hadjar wouldn’t run from anyone, even if the Jasper Emperor himself opposed him. If he did, he would never be able to take up his sword again. That was his way.

Sankesh noticed this spark of defiance, this steely willpower. For a moment, the King of the Desert felt like he wasn’t looking at a young man, nor at a young warrior who’d just begun to find his own way, but someone who had already become a Wielder of the Sword. It had taken Sankesh almost a century and a half to become the Wielder of the Halberd. And how old was this young man? About thirty? By the Evening Stars, it was like talking to a baby!

For a brief moment, Sankesh saw a prowling, angry dragon in the depths of his blue eyes. The vision vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. But Sankesh was certain that he would never forget the sight of that dragon inside this man. And he would never admit it, either.

Even after he flayed this ant alive, even after he stripped any memory of him from the history of the world, even after he became a god and burned this insolent man’s homeland to the ground, he wouldn’t forget the look in his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Sankesh?” Hadjar asked.

He’d recovered a little from the recent pressure. Still, that hadn’t even been a direct fight, but only a brief exchange of ‘slaps’.

“What makes you think I want anything from you?”

“We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Sankesh’s smile was more like a beast’s feral snarl, but Hadjar had often heard such things said about his own smile.

“Maybe I just wanted to meet her beloved Hadjar.” Sankesh was glad to see the other man deflate slightly. “Arliksha told me that you’d gotten attached to the key. Are you serious, Hadjar Darkhan? Is it really worth a dragon’s time to pay attention to a pathetic creature from an ancient civilization?”

“I can hear the contempt in your voice,” Hadjar said, trying to drive the image of little Serra suffering from his mind.

“By the Evening Stars, I wouldn’t have even remembered Mage City if it hadn’t been for their elixir. In my opinion, dragon, if they went extinct, then they were too weak to fight for their lives. The weak have no place under the sun!”

Sankesh uttered that last sentence with unprecedented ferocity. Hadjar had heard that this was the motto of Sankesh’s Army — ‘Death to the weak, honor to the strong’. However, the King of the Desert wasn’t the author of the phrase. It had been interpreted in various ways in the Empire of Darnassus for centuries.

“And yet…” Hadjar replied calmly.

Sankesh looked him over once again. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was today if he hadn’t torn apart everyone in his way like a wild beast (which many believed him to be). He would certainly skin the man-dragon alive. But it would give him a lot more pleasure if he used him for his own purposes first.

“Join me, Hadjar Darkhan.” Sankesh’s eyes flashed and he held out his hand. Hadjar would need both of his hands to wrap around the King’s wrist. “What are you even doing with those worms? They aren’t worth your time. Under me, you’ll see new horizons of power open up before you. In a month, you’ll be a Heaven Soldier. You’ll get to command a real army. When I’m a god, you’ll be among my Generals.”

“And what do you plan to do?”

“Reshape this world!” Sankesh clenched his fist. The gleam in his eyes caused a slight disturbance in the streams of the World River. “Death to the weak! It’ll be our new law! Anyone that can’t endure the struggle for life has no right to walk under the sun!”

Was it really that simple? Was a maniac wearing a king’s crown sitting in front of him? Hadjar had fought against all kinds of people: generals led by self-interest, cultists who’d sought power, a king hungry for dominance over all, but for the first time in his life, he’d encountered someone who sought destruction for the sake of... destruction. If Sankesh judged people by comparing them to himself, he would always find someone weaker, whom he would then kill for his ‘noble’ goal.

“Sorry, King, but we want different things.”

Sankesh narrowed his eyes.

“Are you refusing my offer, Darkhan? Or do you fear the bracelet on your arm? My Scholars will remove it faster than you can remember the name of the worm that dared to put a collar on a dragon!”

Admittedly, such a proposal still struck a rotten chord in Hadjar’s soul. The temptation to get rid of his amulet early was great. But no greater than…

“No,” Hadjar shook his head. “It’s because of my honor.”

“Honor?” Sankesh snorted. “Don’t be silly, dragon. There’s no such thing as honor in this world. Or valor. Or courage. There are only the strong and the weak! You must know that. We must know that! We who were slaves! Who fought their way to the top by ourselves!”

Hadjar looked into the man’s black eyes. What resided behind that beastly mask and the mountains of muscle? Hadjar suddenly realized that no matter how powerful Sankesh was, he would never be afraid of him, because the King was a man whose fate had been decided by others. The King of the Desert didn’t wear a slave collar, but he still kept one in his heart.

“That is the difference between us, Sankesh.” Hadjar’s voice was calm and his eyes were steady, “even while wearing a slave collar, I wasn’t a slave.”

The fury in the King of the Desert’s eyes could’ve burned entire cities to the ground.

“Olgerd!” An animalistic roar sounded. “Challenge this worm to a duel! I thought I was talking to a dragon, but all I see before me is a slug!”

According to the laws of hospitality, Sankesh couldn’t take Hadjar’s life himself, but he could give someone else a chance to do so through a duel.

A man of a breed that Hadjar had never encountered before emerged from the tent. He was a true northerner.

Chapter 371

A tall, broad-shouldered man came out of Sankesh’s tent, which hadn’t been touched by the recent clash between their two auras. Six and a half feet tall, he was clad in chainmail armor lined with the furs of animals Hadjar didn’t recognize.

Shading his eyes from the sun, he swung his long saber slightly. In his left hand, he held a round wooden shield with an iron centre. Despite their apparent simplicity, these were all artifacts at the Earth level, worse than Mountain Wind and Sankesh’s halberd, but still good weapons.

Olgerd had broad, ugly scars across his chest. On his fair skin, the red and pink streaks were repulsive and eerie.

His rugged face, also scarred and wrinkled, was covered in thick golden hair. It wasn’t blond, like people from Lidus had, but rather the color of rye. His beard and hair had been braided, and metal clip-on balls dangled from the tips of his braids. They were rune-painted and contained no energy, but they clearly had some sacred meaning.

The warrior exuded the aura of a Heaven Soldier at the lowest stage, but it was much... stronger and more complete than the auras of foes Hadjar had fought before. These kinds of details were much more obvious to him now.

Meeting Sankesh’s gaze, Olgerd slammed his fist against his shield.

“Konung Black Bear,” he said in a harsh, snarling language that was a kind of mixture of Lidish and... a more animalistic tongue. “I greet you.”

The Desert King nodded toward Hadjar.

“Hadjar Darkhan.” This time, the warrior from the north of the Empire spoke the desert language with a very strong accent and made some mistakes. “I challenge you to honor duel. You insult master. Have no honor.”

“Don’t break your tongue, Olgerd,” Hadjar replied in the warrior’s language. He remembered a little of it. “I can speak the language of the snowy mountains.”

Hadjar hoped he’d spoken correctly. May the ancestors be kind to South Wind and may his rebirth be simple.

Olgerd was a little surprised that the swarthy, short, and frail stranger knew the language of his people, and so was Sankesh.

“You insulted your generous host who gave you shelter in his house. In doing so, you violated the laws of hospitality and dishonored yourself. Will you accept my challenge and seize the chance to wash away your shame with blood?”

The ritual phrase of the challenge sounded different depending on the culture, but the meaning always remained the same. Hadjar didn’t bother trying to defend himself or appeal to Olgerd’s common sense. The warrior had received an order from his konung and, even if he hadn’t agreed with it, he would’ve still carried it out. Had he done anything else, Hadjar would’ve lost his respect for this ferocious man. By the Evening Star, he had no reason not to respect this man who had followed their leader to the other side of the world. Instead of answering him, Hadjar simply unsheathed Mountain Wind.

Olgerd nodded and, holding up his saber, which looked more like a huge cleaver, banged its hilt against his shield. Immediately, the spectators formed a ring around them with a diameter of at least seven yards. No one wanted to get hit by the random echoes of their skirmish. Only Sankesh sat down at his oak table and rested his jaw on his fist again.

Olgerd flexed his shoulders and neck as he circled his opponent. They crunched like millstones. Hadjar, as usual, stood absolutely motionless in the centre of the ring of bodies.

In a single smooth action, he pulled off his turban and wound it around the sleeves of his caftan, tying them down so that they didn’t hamper his movements. His black hair, which had grown back and was now loose around his shoulders, swayed slightly in the wind. The ornaments given to him by the Bedouin shaman tinkled melodiously.

Hadjar sensed Olgerd’s attack before the man even launched it. Hadjar could see the energy flowing through the northerner’s body, how it surged out from his core located in his solar plexus, going to his nodes and meridians, how it then flowed to his legs and arms, amplifying them, then rushed to his sword and shield.

The northerner, roaring like a beast, attacked him. He charged his foe like an angry bear. His movements were so swift he left a blurry afterimage behind him.

The saber’s powerful strike crashed into Hadjar. It was amazing. The Heaven Soldier’s attack was so powerful it could’ve broken the spine of a Terror Wolf.

Hadjar, his sword tucked behind his back so that the tip was only slightly visible, took... a slight half-step to the side. He watched as Olgerd’s saber came crashing down just a few inches from his nose like it was moving in slow motion. The crowd let out a frustrated sigh. It looked like he’d gotten lucky.

With another, identical growl, the northerner turned around, and before the waves of sand he’d kicked up even subsided, he made another slash. Hadjar sensed his movements again. This time, he didn’t even take a step. He simply leaned back to let the blow pass over his head, then straightened and swung his blade slightly.

It was as smooth as a leaf floating on a river, but at the same time, fast enough to leave behind a blurry, undulating trail. Olgerd, sensing the danger, immediately backed away. However, it was too late. The first drops of blood fell to the sand, and with them, the severed braids of his beard. The latter fact made the northerner angry at first, which was then immediately replaced by an icy calm.

“Sorry, warrior.” Olgerd struck his shield with the hilt of his saber.

Hadjar just nodded. He could’ve probably taken advantage of his foe’s arrogance and gone right for the throat. However, he’d come here today with two goals: to learn more about his enemy’s strength... and his own as well.

This time, Olgerd didn’t attack like a bear. His appearance seemed to have changed. He assumed a low stance. His steps were wide and smooth. He squinted slightly and kept moving his nose toward the wind.

Hadjar had seen this before. Once, in the mountains of Balium, he’d witnessed a three-tailed snow leopard hunt. This looked exactly the same. A second later, Hadjar understood his mistake. He’d been relying on his instincts and hadn’t been prepared for Olgerd to hide the flow of his energy from him.

The edge of his blade was encrusted with ice, and the attack he launched from a distance turned into five icy fangs. Hadjar reacted too late to deal with all of them. Moving smoothly but quickly, he managed to cut through three of them. They melted in the air, scattering like snow dust. The fourth only grazed his left shoulder, but the fifth bit into his thigh. If he hadn’t used a Technique for Strengthening the Body, such a blow would’ve simply severed Hadjar’s leg. As it was, it had lodged itself in his muscles.

With a snarl, Hadjar tore the bloody icicle out of his leg and threw it on the snowy ground. Now it was his turn to beat his fist against his heart and for Olgerd to nod.

Tornadoes of energy that were the color of steel, sky, and snow whirled around them. The real fight had begun.

Chapter 372

The northerner swung his saber, crouched abruptly, and thrust it into the ground. Waves of icy energy spread out from it. The sand gradually crusted over with ice. Copies of Olgerd’s saber shot out from it, looking like sharp spikes made of crystal-clear ice and each was as large as a young tree.

Unlike with the similar Technique that the emerald wolf had used, these sabers didn’t ripple, allowing one to predict where they’d attack from next. They simply popped out of the layer of ice with which Olgerd had covered their entire fighting area when they struck.

Each time a saber appeared, Hadjar barely managed to avoid the deadly ice at the last moment. Relying on his great reflexes, he dodged, sliding across the ice on his scuffed boots.

The northerner growled something menacing and pulled his saber out of the ice. Hadjar almost stumbled into an ice spike that appeared suddenly. He realized then that he’d never seen such a Technique before. A Technique capable of functioning and attacking even without being directly controlled by its owner.

Olgerd chuckled and shook his shoulders slightly. Taking a deep breath, he brushed the wet flakes of snow and ice out of his long hair.

Slamming his saber against his shield once again, he assumed a low stance. This time, his movements weren’t just fast, they were like lightning. He wasn’t running, he wasn’t flying, he was simply pushing off the ground and sliding across the ice.

Crossing the distance to his opponent in a split second, he slashed down. Hadjar blocked the attack above his head. The force of the blow buried his feet nearly ankle-deep in the cracked ice.

The northerner’s smile widened, and Hadjar guessed he’d made a mistake. Not wanting to find out what happens next, he blurred into a shadowy form as he used the Six Ravens Technique, and then leapt back. As he flew over the ice, he could feel another ice saber pop out from where he’d just been standing.

Hadjar had acted quickly. But not quickly enough.

His left leg hurt like it had been submerged in a frozen lake. The pain wasn’t severe, but when Hadjar landed and tried to move his injured leg, he could do so only after his third attempt. The wound left behind by the ice saber didn’t bleed like the wounds inflicted by the emerald wolf’s Technique had. There was a long cut just below his ankle. Its smooth edges, covered in ice, seemed to curl inward.

His Technique for Strengthening the Body was working overtime, using up a lot of his much-needed energy. However, Hadjar felt that if he stopped the regeneration process for even a moment, his left leg would turn into a lifeless ice statue.

Limping, he gradually regained control of his injured leg. The northerner’s Techniques were similar to a poison. An ice poison.

Olgerd wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. He charged in. This time, Hadjar was prepared for anything. The ice sabers were still popping out chaotically around him, and he also had to fight off the northerner’s attacks. His foe glided across the ice, attacking Hadjar with surprising agility and speed. Despite his massive constitution, he was a nimble and cunning fighter. Focusing on quick hit-and-run attacks, he often retreated after only a couple of swings, allowing his ice sabers to occupy Hadjar long enough for him to get some distance between them.

“Damn it!” Hadjar cursed.

Seeing a gap in the pattern of the ice sabers, he jumped, stumbling, to the side. He sheathed his sword and put his hand on its hilt.

“Strong Wind!” Putting almost a third of his energy into the Technique, Hadjar lunged forward sharply.

The energy of the New Soul stage merged with his Wielder energy. Now that Hadjar could sense the energy flows much more accurately, the appearance of this first stance had changed. If Traves had once been able to summon a torrent of cutting wind to grind a stone to dust, what Hadjar produced now was more like a tsunami.

A roaring wave of blue, steel-tinged wind swept across the icy wasteland. It crushed the ice sabers in its path. It tore up the layer of ice covering the ground, leaving deep cracks and holes behind, through which sand began to flow, freed from its ice prison.

Olgerd didn’t even flinch. He held up his shield and shouted: “Rogue Bear!”

The runes on the iron core of his shield flashed. The roar of the wind was drowned out by the roar of a bear awakened in the middle of winter. A huge brown mouth with icy eyes and fangs burst out from the northerner’s shield. It grabbed the wind, pinning it to the ground and tearing into it.

Hadjar didn’t keep the Technique going. He’d achieved his objective — cutting his way through the ice to Olgerd. Unfortunately, the path was thin and clearly visible. Hardened by a hundred battles, the northerner would easily guess where the next attack would come from. Hadjar managed to blur into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, but there was no groan or blood to accompany his attack, and only sparks fell to the sand.

Mountain Wind struck Olgerd’s shield with all its weight and force. The warrior staggered, took three steps back, and then assumed a defensive stance. Hadjar, moving so quickly that he turned into a bird’s shadow to most of the spectators, struck at all angles and from the most unexpected of directions. However, each time, instead of flesh, he hit only the shield or the saber.

“Stop playing with your food, Olgerd,” Sankesh’s voice overlapped with the noise of the battle.

“Yes, my konung,” the northerner said.

After he blocked a few more blows, he made a sudden movement with his shield. Hadjar, who’d just landed on his right leg, hadn’t had time to fully plant his feet on the ground. Besides, there was ice around them again. So he had to take the attack on his shoulder. He was flung aside like a speck of dust. After flying several feet through the air, he managed to shake it off and take control of his body. A saber that had shot out of the ice served as a perfect platform for his feet.

From the outside, it looked elegant and fascinating: a man spinning like a top in the air, standing on the tip of an ice saber. No one except Hadjar knew just how difficult it actually was. The northerner struck his shield three times with the hilt of his saber.

“Blizzard!” He plunged his weapon into the ice beneath his feet and struck it with his shield. A huge crack snaked across the icy wasteland. The ice saber Hadjar was standing turned into a mass of snowflakes. The ice cracked beneath him. Everything was drawn back to Olgerd, merging together and turning into a huge tornado. Gradually, it transformed from a funnel into a sphere. It grew with every breath until it covered the whole area they were fighting in. Hadjar, standing in the middle of the Blizzard, could barely see anything.

The warriors of Sankesh’s army, who had already seen this Technique before, expected to hear the terrible screams of the dying man, followed by seeing Olgerd towering over his foe’s body. So, they were surprised when there was no cry. Instead, they heard the clanging of metal on metal.

Olgerd got behind his opponent and launched his famous slashing attack. He had fought in hundreds of battles during the two centuries he’d lived in the north. However, Hadjar, who was only about thirty, had managed to survive thousands of them, and each of them had been to the death. His instincts had long surpassed Hadjar’s age and stage of cultivation.

Without even looking back, he placed his blade behind him, across his back, and blocked Olgerd’s strike. Turning on his heel, Hadjar launched a swift counterattack, but Mountain Wind didn’t cut Olgerd, destroying a snow sculpture instead. The northerner had disappeared once more.

Hadjar was alone in the middle of the howling wind and blizzard. Snow swirled around him, obscuring his view. All other sounds disappeared, and only the whistling of the wind and the beating of his heart remained. He could see nothing, so Hadjar closed his eyes and held the hilt of his sword in both hands.

Chapter 373

The battle dragged on. It had already lasted five minutes, which, for a fight between a cultivator and a practitioner, was something incredible. Such battles usually ended in a few seconds. What was going on now looked like a fight between two cultivators.

Most of the spectators weren’t able to see the battle through the sphere of the blizzard. Only a few warriors who were strong enough continued to observe the battle.

By closing his eyes, Hadjar hadn’t hindered his perception. He’d just gotten rid of all the distractions. His hearing, touch, and even his sense of smell had replaced his vision.

The blizzard hid what was happening around him perfectly. Hadjar was grateful to Einen for all the sparring they’d done. If not for the fact that he’d often fought a man who could disappear into the ground, Hadjar would’ve been in trouble.

His current state, similar to light meditation, allowed Hadjar to get rid of all unnecessary thoughts and react with lightning speed to changes in the environment.

Suddenly, a shooting star flashed in the darkness, somewhere to his left.

Olgerd, hiding in the snow like his totem — the snow leopard — was certain that his enemy couldn’t detect his presence. Moreover, many mid-stage Heaven Soldiers couldn’t have done so, either. No matter how talented this young man was, everyone had their limits.

The blizzard allowed Olgerd to move faster than many cultivators who followed the Way of Speed. So, he was fully confident that his next attack would succeed. Emerging from the snowy expanse, he made a quick thrust.

He was surprised when the young warrior easily sidestepped and his sword hissed like a snake through the snow, glancing off Olgerd’s shoulder. He growled more in frustration than in pain. Putting some distance between them once again, he disappeared into the snow.

Hadjar shook his head. Judging by the tactile feedback, his attack had probably struck the northerner’s clavicle, even though he’d been aiming at the man’s throat. He understood that the element of surprise had been completely lost and now Olgerd would be ten times more cautious.

Everything happened just as Hadjar had predicted. The next ten blows they exchanged followed the same pattern. The northerner attacked him with the savage intensity of a snow leopard, and Hadjar repelled his attacks, unable to counterattack.

When two stars flashed in the darkness at the same time, Hadjar figured that Olgerd was going to try and deceive him. After deflecting the brighter one, he suddenly felt a jolt of pain in his long-suffering left side.

Hadjar staggered back, opened his eyes, and saw not one, but two Olgerds in front of him! They were the same, absolutely identical, and stood before him, ready to strike.

“What the fu-”

Hadjar didn’t have time to finish cursing, as both Olgerds charged in to attack. Ice started to spread across Hadjar’s left side. It slowed him down and froze his blood. Only his Technique for Strengthening the Body saved him. If not for it, the shards of ice would’ve ripped his heart to pieces.

Hadjar parried the swing of one opponent and dived under the attack of the second.

Olgerd... The Olgerds continued their assault. They pressed Hadjar back, forcing him to give ground. More and more icy cuts appeared on his body, which made Hadjar slower and his swings weaker.

As he tried to block once more, Hadjar didn’t understand what was happening at first. Mountain Wind was heavier than the average sword, but not so much that it was difficult to hold it up. However, Hadjar suddenly realized that he might not have enough strength and power left to keep the Technique for Strengthening the Body going and also hold his blade properly in order to keep fighting.

He looked up and saw the exact same ice that was on his body spreading across the cutting edge of his sword.

The Olgerds’ blades radiated cold, and ice runes shone across their steel. Raising their shields in front of them, they began to advance on Hadjar, trying to box him in between them.

His desire to test his power was becoming a fatal one. Hadjar mentally called to his inner black blade and put it into his real one. To Olgerd’s shock, the ice enveloping his foe’s sword was then broken by wisps of black fog that it was radiating.

Hadjar, keeping only a quarter of his energy supply in reserve, used the Spring Wind stance.

Less than a year ago, Traves’ words about combining the energy of the Sword and the Wind had seemed to him like incomprehensible rambling. But now he understood the essence of the third stance more clearly. It allowed him to combine several flows of energy at once. It was easy for Hadjar to find a reflection of the Sword Spirit anywhere, even in a drop of water, so he could definitely use any other flow of energy with it as well.

Now the Spring Wind stance was as illusory and volatile as the very thing it had been named after.

“Spring Wind,” Hadjar said, simultaneously making three swift swings.

The first strike, using the snow circling around them, shot forward and assumed the form of a white dragon. The second strike, incorporating the wind, became a blue dragon. The third, using his own power, his will, and knowledge of the Way of the Sword, manifested as a black dragon.

They, intertwined around each other, fell upon the enemy with all their might and fury. The two Olgerds joined forces and created the image of a brown bear with their shields, keeping the raging dragons back. Hadjar was pushing hard. He felt the energy escaping through his fingers, but still pressed on. This was his final chance...

“You’ve fought gloriously, boy.”

...His final chance to lure the real Olgerd out!

Appearing out of the snow behind him, the real northerner slashed at Hadjar’s head with his saber. He brought the weapon down with the force of lightning arcing down from the sky. He buried his blade in Hadjar’s head, dug in and, not meeting any resistance, kept on going.

Hadjar, emerging from the shadow of the Seven Ravens, turned to the little dragon sleeping inside him. Together with the dragon and the black blade, he imagined an autumn leaf falling on the real Olgerd’s chest, who’d had no time to recover from the reversal.

Using the remainder of his energy, even allowing the ice to surge into his own body, Hadjar roared: “Falling Leaf!” He attacked with a vicious upward slash.

The three dragons disappeared and the fake Olgerds turned into snow dust.

The spectators watched as the blue and black flashes of a storm bloomed inside the snow sphere. Merging together, they tore apart the shackles of snowy captivity and shot out, assuming the form of a blade that had a sleeping dragon inside it.

Suddenly, everything disappeared. The blade dissolved in the air, the snow melted on the sand. Only two men remained.

Hadjar was leaning on his sword. He was breathing heavily. His wounds, which had recently been covered in ice, were now bleeding profusely.

“You’ve fought gloriously...” Olgerd, who was standing opposite him, whispered.

He put his hand to his bloody chest. The wound was so deep and horrific that his shattered ribcage and bisected heart could be seen through it. Already dying, the northerner turned to Sankesh and saluted him.

The King of the Desert stood nearby. Hadjar had expected him to react somehow — to nod, or close his eyes, to somehow acknowledge his subordinate’s deed. However, Sankesh only said “Worthless weakling!” and grabbed his blade.

Praise the gods, Olgerd died before he heard what the maniac had said.

“Fuck the laws of hospitality, I’ll kill you myself.”

Behind Sankesh, his monstrous aura spread out like a huge blanket. Hadjar had no doubt that he would be meeting his ancestors soon. Maybe if he’d been uninjured and well-rested, he could’ve tried to flee, but right now...

“Father!” Arliksha again knelt in front of Sankesh.

“Konung!” Eight mighty northerners stood up.

Hadjar cursed quietly. Each of them was much stronger than Olgerd had been. Their leader, a gray-haired old man who had awful scars across his face... Damn it all, he radiated an aura only slightly weaker than that of Sankesh himself.

The King of the Desert looked like an enraged beast that had suddenly found itself behind bars. With a loud roar, he drove his halberd into the ground, causing a huge pillar of sand to erupt toward the sky.

“Leave, you damned worm. Whine and howl impotently as you await your demise, for I, Sunshine Sankesh, will soon come for you.”

Chapter 374

Stumbling, Hadjar hobbled toward the camp. Despite using his sword as a crutch and watering the dunes with his blood, he kept walking forward. Suddenly, his sword bent and Hadjar fell down. But instead of finding himself sprawled out on the ground, he was leaning on his friend’s shoulder.

“They beat all the shit out of you,” Einen said as he emerged from the shadows.

“Why do you say that?” Hadjar grinned.

“You’re much lighter now.”

The islander helped Hadjar get to the camp. He’d been absent for only a few hours, but Ramukhan and the others had managed to move a great distance toward the east. If not for the camels they’d left behind for the two of them at their previous camp, Hadjar and Einen wouldn’t have caught up to them. It took Einen two and a half hours of frantic riding to move Hadjar’s unconscious body to the new camp. Einen jumped down and pulled Hadjar off the camel’s back.

“Evening Stars!” Ramukhan muttered through clenched teeth. “Quick, bring a stretcher for him! Salif, tell the boy to prepare some medicine.”

Turning to the boy, the sorcerer added: “Don’t put anything unsavory in the medicine. Otherwise, you’ll pray for death by the time I’m done with you.”

The boy swallowed and nodded. Having lived his entire life in Underworld City (he was the son of a servant), he knew very well what angry sorcerers and witches were capable of.

Hadjar was placed on the stretcher, near a merrily crackling fire. It reminded him of the evenings when the three of them — him, Nero, and Sera— had roasted meat on a fire, away from the main military camp. Nehen had never joined them. Hadjar should’ve understood then that the two of them had no future...

“What happened to him?” Karissa’s worried voice was muffled, as if she were speaking through a veil.

Hadjar didn’t see what was happening around him, just the blurry orange flame nearby.

“He’s an idiot, that’s what happened!” Ramukhan growled out. “We had to use our best concealment amulets, and now he’s exposed us-”

“They have about six hundred strong practitioners,” Hadjar muttered, interrupting him. “Sankesh’s daughter is very hard to read... she could be a Soldier or a Knight... Sankesh’s personal guards. Nine, no… eight people, now. Seven of them... are Heaven Soldiers. One... is a Knight. They’re very strong…”

“What about little Serra?” Einen asked.

Tilis, upon hearing the familiar name, flinched like she’d been whipped, but said nothing.

“She is... not with them,” Hadjar croaked. “She’s somewhere nearby... I don’t know... where. They are hiding her... She... can... probably… sense the entrance. The key... Compass ...”

“That explains how Sankesh knows where to go,” the islander nodded. “Now sleep, my friend. Leave the rest to us. Regain your strength and power. Let the Great Turtle cover you with its shell.”

Einen put his hand on Hadjar’s forehead, and he was carried off, far away. For a moment, it really felt like the shell of a huge turtle had fallen on him. As big as a whole mountain range, it sheltered him from all his troubles and worries. Just like his mother had, long ago...

Hadjar opened his eyes.

A bonfire was crackling nearby. Dry pine and aspen logs, folded into the shape of a pyramid, sparked slightly from time to time. The sparks stung him pleasantly and weren’t painful. There was a thick predawn fog lingering over the low grass. The sedge rustled. The full moon shone. It illuminated the wide lake and its banks, which Hadjar was sitting on. He watched a little fir tree swinging in the wind. Hadjar liked fir trees. They reminded him of his old dream world, where they would be decorated for a holiday with a funny name. New Year. He’d always liked that holiday.

“She’ll soon be here,” came from nearby.

Another man was sitting at the fire. He filled his pipe and offered a bag of tobacco to Hadjar. He nodded gratefully, accepted it, and filled his own pipe. It was the tobacco that little Eina from the brothel ‘Innocent Meadow’ had given him. It was amazing... Once, she’d been older than him, but now she would forever be younger...

“I like it here.” Nero took a drag and then let out a line of little smoke rings into the sky. He’d always done that better than Hadjar. “It’s so peaceful. Sometimes, I even want to stay here.”

“Well, then stay,” Hadjar answered, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.

Nero turned to him and smiled. That kind of smile usually meant trouble.

“You know that I can’t do that, brother,” Nero answered... Or Eren did... “I... We... We have to move on.”

Hadjar nodded.

Tonight was the night when Nero’s and Serra’s souls had to leave the home of their ancestors and move on to their rebirth. Their next lives would depend on how their forefathers had met them and their judgment.

“Am I dreaming?” Hadjar asked. “Or am I really... really…” the words were difficult to say, “…talking to you?”

Nero smiled again and exhaled some more smoke rings.

“I don’t know, brother, I don’t know. Does it really matter?”

Hadjar took a long drag from his pipe. The potent, fragrant smoke entered his lungs, causing him to cough. It was quite powerful.

Nero laughed and nudged Hadjar with his shoulder. It was such a familiar gesture, one that Hadjar missed so much that he involuntarily touched the sleeve of his caftan.

“I never said goodbye to you,” Hadjar sighed. “I didn’t take you... on your last journey, didn’t bring your body to the fire and honor it. I didn’t… save you, brother.”

The smile disappeared from Nero’s face. Putting his pipe aside, he peered into the flickering flames.

“But you kept your promise, Hadjar. You took us with you on your journey.”

In Hadjar’s hands, the leather wallet with the two wedding bracelets appeared. “But we should have-”

A warm, calloused palm rested on his shoulder.

“Stop it, brother,” Nero shook his head. “It was my choice to make. I don’t regret it for a second. By the gods, I don’t regret that I joined the army and became your friend. I don’t regret that the gods rewarded me with such an amazing brother. I don’t regret that I found my death close to you, side by side, as it had always been. So do me a favor and stop thinking of yourself as the center of the world. People die every day, regardless of your desires. Live, brother, and give all those who are in your way fucking hell. Don’t forget that we were going to find out if this world is truly boundless. Therefore, a very long journey still awaits you.”

Nero got up, brushed off his pants, and went over to the lake.

“I’ll watch over you.” He stopped. It looked like he wanted to turn around. But he didn’t. He quickly brushed something off his face. Probably an annoying insect. “If I see you moping around, I’ll send you a terrible nightmare. I have to go now.”

“We have to go,” another voice corrected him.

Serra came out of the mist. She was as beautiful as ever.

“Take care of my sister, Hadjar. She is stubborn... By the Evening Stars, how stubborn she is! But her heart is kind. Please save her, my friend.”

Nero and Serra hugged and went toward the lake.

Hadjar wanted to go after them, but his legs wouldn’t obey him. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t have the strength to open his lips. He could only sit and watch his most beloved people disappear beneath the light of this damned moon, vanishing into the fog...

“N...” Hadjar’s lips trembled. “N... N...”

His hands shook, reaching for his sword lying nearby. Suddenly, his blue eyes flashed so fiercely that, for a moment, they overshadowed the moonlight.

“No!” Hadjar roared.

He jumped to his feet, grabbed his sword, and rushed toward the lake. The fog creeping underfoot came to life and formed a wall. Hadjar punched it and was sent flying a good ten feet back. This didn’t stop him at all. Drawing his blade, he rained down his most powerful attacks on the wall. A black, torn cloak lay across his shoulders, wisps of darkness oozed out of Mountain Wind, but none of it was able to break through the fog wall.

Many hours, days, or even years passed as this meaningless battle raged on. The two figures had disappeared long ago. The ruthless moon was still shining. Hadjar, blinded by fury, continued to fight against the impregnable wall.

“Do you want me to bring them back?” Someone behind him asked.

Already knowing who it was, Hadjar turned to the sound. A few inches away from him, a little fairy floated in the air. It was a male. Tiny, no larger than his index finger, the messenger of the gods radiated an aura that made Sankesh’s seem insignificant by comparison.

“This is all just a silly dream,” Hadjar growled and returned to his work — trying to destroy the wall with his blade.

“A dream?” The fairy cooed. “Think, Desert Wind Blowing from the North, is it really a dream? Just one word from you and the error of the Magistrate will be corrected. You’ll... wake up on the same day that Primus brought you a sword for your birthday. Only this time, he’ll hug you and your mother lovingly. You’ll happily greet your brother and... your aunt. Just say the word, Mad General.”

During the fairy’s speech, Hadjar saw it all unfold: the celebration, Eren and him playing games. They even slept in beds that had been moved next to each other...

He struck the wall...

“Think about it, Hadjar.”

He hit it once more.

“Just imagine it.”

The sword paused before the next attack, which he never launched. Hadjar turned toward the messenger of the gods, the being who was the voice of the Seventh Heaven.

“What will it cost me?”

The fairy smiled and spread his tiny arms benevolently.

“Give up your ambitions. Promise me right now that you will abandon this path you’re on. Then I’ll erase your memory of this life, of all the misfortune and trouble you went through, of the many sorrows and hardships. You’ll start over from scratch. You only need to abandon the quest for Mage City and-”

Suddenly, the fairy went quiet. Hadjar had gripped him so tightly that he couldn’t speak.

“How impudent can you be, mortal?” The creature squeaked. “I’m the messenger of the Seventh Heaven! I’m a servant of the gods! I witnessed the births and deaths of stars while your people were still apes running around in forests!”

“Shut up!” A wild, unbridled roar sounded.

The fairy stopped talking. For the first time in his life, the ancient creature had fallen silent because of fear.

Two blue eyes looked at him. The fury that churned in them could’ve flooded the whole world, reached the farthest stars, and overshadowed the radiance of the sun itself.

Hadjar turned to the lake. There, Nero and Serra stood, embracing.

Smiling at him, Nero nodded and disappeared. Hadjar answered his friend with a smile of his own and turned to the fairy. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that this might’ve been their last conversation.

“This is my world, you bastard of the Seventh Heaven,” Hadjar growled out. He was almost certain that, in here, he was capable of anything. That he was currently inside his own soul. “I could kill you if I so desired, but I won’t. I won’t! Today, you’ll get to live! You’ll get to return to your masters.”

“You-”

Hadjar squeezed harder, and the fairy’s words turned into a squeak.

“You’ll fly back to them and tell them that you’ve seen the resoluteness of Hadjar Darkhan. You’ve heard my voice and seen my sword. It doesn’t matter when it happens. It doesn’t matter how much of my blood I spill along the way. It doesn’t matter who gets in my way. But I’ll get there! Do you hear me? I’ll climb all the way up to that damned Seventh Heaven! Let the Jasper Emperor send his armies against me. Let all the gods take up weapons and try to stop me. Let all the stars merge together and try to crush me, but I’ll get to the Emperor! I’ll make him answer for all his sins and mistakes! For all the tears that were shed because of his errors! For all the cries of mothers, fathers, and children whose hearts he crushed with his negligence!”

“You’re insane, mortal! Do you even understand what you’re saying? This is nonsense! There is no justice in this world, and even if...”

“...there were other worlds, there would be no justice there, either. I already heard that saying from the old forest healer. But even if that’s true,” Hadjar took his sword and thrust it into the ground in front of him, “then this will be the first world where justice will finally be allowed to exist! So tell them! Spread the word all over the Seventh Heaven! No matter what they throw at me, I’ll come! No matter how many tens, hundreds, thousands, millions of years pass, I’ll come! Tell them I’m coming. Hadjar Darkhan is coming for all of them!”

With these final words, Hadjar threw the messenger of the gods into the sky.

Who was Sankesh compared to the might of the gods? What was the Empire of Darnassus compared to the Seventh Heaven? Only short flashes in the night. He would overcome them easily. Drawing his sword, Hadjar looked forward. His gaze was clear and his hand was steady.

Hadjar opened his eyes. He was lying on a stretcher, bandaged, groaning from the terrible pain he was in.

“Be still, barbarian,” Einen whispered, preparing some medicine in a mortar, “you’ve already-”

Ignoring the pain, Hadjar rose to his feet, leaning on his blade. Everyone looked at him.

“I know where the entrance to Mage City is.”

Chapter 375

“Are you kidding me right now?” Glen jumped to his feet and threw his dagger to the ground. “Are we really going to listen to this barbarian again?”

“You yourself are from a barbarian kingdom,” Einen remarked in a calm tone.

“That’s why I don’t try to get involved in things I don’t know anything about!” Glen retorted angrily. “Just look at him!”

Hadjar guessed that he didn’t look all that good right now. After his battle with Olgerd, it was difficult to find a spot on his body that wasn’t bandaged or covered in odorous medicine. He stood with great difficulty, often leaning on his sword or his friend’s shoulder.

“Northerner,” Ramukhan rose from his seat, “I could believe you before, but now you’ve gone too far!”

“Even an idiot would see through your trap!” Tilis grabbed her staff and pointed it at Hadjar. “You went to the camp of the man who has been terrorizing the desert for almost half a century. You came back alive and now you’re saying that you know where the entrance to Mage City is! I would sooner believe that the gods themselves will show me the way, barbarian!”

Salif and the boy silently watched what was happening. Ordinary servants didn’t have a high enough rank to get involved in this kind of argument. Karissa was looking through her book. Apparently, she’d decided to stay neutral.

Hadjar initially wanted to cut off Glen’s tongue right then and there. He wouldn’t even need Mountain Wind to do so. It would’ve been enough to will the energy of the Sword to do it, since Glen was only thirty paces away. Apparently, no one had taught Glen to keep at least fifty steps between him and Wielders at all times.

“As you wish,” Hadjar breathed out.

Turning around, he limped off toward the jungle. Einen, only hesitating a little, picked up his folded bale and his staff, and followed his friend.

“Where are you going?” Ramukhan growled out.

At that moment, Hadjar cried out as pain engulfed him. It spread in waves throughout his body, coming from the blue amulet on his arm. With every step that Hadjar took, the pain grew stronger. It squeezed his heart and lungs and made it harder for him to breathe.

Leaning against the trunk of a strange tree, Hadjar turned to the sorcerer. The man had a wide, smug grin on his face, one that was almost as unpleasant as Sankesh’s had been. Well, the latter had possessed truly monstrous power and hadn’t relied on talismans created by someone else, which still made him far scarier. Damn, Hadjar wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Sankesh had forged his halberd himself.

“We aren’t slaves, huh?” Hadjar muttered.

An unkind gleam appeared in his blue eyes. The pain intensified. Ramukhan’s grin widened.

“When our goals align, you’re not,” the sorcerer nodded. “Now, if you don’t want to test the limits of your pain threshold, answer my question. How do you know where the entrance to Mage City is?”

Hadjar gritted his teeth. Waves of pain surged through him. They almost made him pass out. His vision blurred... If he’d fought Olgerd at least a week ago, then, no doubt, Hadjar would’ve really tried to find the limit of his endurance.

“I don’t know where the entrance is,” Hadjar answered.

“Ha!” Glen exclaimed. “I knew it! The barbarian has completely lost his mind from all the sun. Ramukhan, with all due respect, Paris sent us to find a needle in a haystack, one that is also sought by monsters like Sunshine Sankesh. We must go to-”

“But I know what to look for,” Hadjar interrupted him. He recalled his dream, in which he’d sat near a lake that he’d never seen before. He’d never had the time to just sit at a lake, and the Moon Army had usually washed themselves and their clothes in rivers. “We need to find the lake that gets foggy at night.”

“Do you believe that the entrance to Mage City is hidden in that lake?” Karissa joined the conversation. “Sorry, Hadjar, but even I think that sounds silly.”

“I don’t know, by the demons, I don’t know. Maybe it’s in the water. Maybe it’s somewhere nearby. Maybe it’s in the fog. I have no idea. I only know that we need to find this lake.”

“There are so many lakes here that we’ll need at least a century to check them all.”

This time, Ramukhan’s words were quite reasonable. Hadjar didn’t know what to say, and then he realized a truth that was so simple he smiled when it came to him.

“I’ll know it when I see it. But we need to search for it at night.”

Noticing that everyone seemed skeptical, even Einen, Hadjar drew Mountain Wind halfway. He ran his palm along its edge and said:

“I swear that I believe in what I’m saying.”

His blood glowed, then pulled back into his wound. The edges of the cut flesh came together again, leaving behind another thin, barely noticeable scar. A second passed. Then two, three… and Hadjar still didn’t turn into a living torch.

“Demons take me now,” Glen slapped himself, “my mother told me: ‘Stay in your father’s house, son. Don’t go beyond that gate, don’t look for trouble.’ I disobeyed my mother and this is what I get...”

“We should always listen to women,” Salif nodded, starting to pack up his belongings. “Men speak of clever deeds, women speak of wise ones. By the Evening Stars, the wise always get to live longer than those who are just clever.”

“You’ll see,” Tilis began to gather her things as well, “he’ll lead us into a trap. We’ll all die in this damned oasis.”

The pain receded, and Hadjar swayed with relief and almost fell again. Einen caught him in time.

“I believe you, my friend,” he whispered, “but I don’t understand how you found out about this.”

“My brother told me,” Hadjar answered, feeling like he was plunging into the void again.

“I thought he died long ago.”

Hadjar didn’t answer. Even after his death, Nero had managed to help him and take care of his brother. Even though Hadjar hadn’t been able to save him...

Something invisible, but rather strong, nudged Hadjar’s shoulder. He mistakenly turned toward the jungle. The answer to his unspoken question was the silence and the rustling of the wind that greeted him.

“Don’t forget that.” Einen nodded toward the wallet lying on the ground. It had fallen from Hadjar’s belt. One of the bracelets had almost fallen out of it, too.

“Thank you,” Hadjar mouthed and, after bending down painfully to pick it up, tied the wallet back onto his belt.

“Come, my friend,” Einen dragged him back to his camel, “Because of you, we now have a long way to go.”

The islander helped Hadjar climb onto the animal’s back. He clutched the camel’s hump and tried to stay conscious.

“By the gods, Einen,” Hadjar muttered, “you’ll regret staying by my side.”

“We all end up regretting something,” Einen shrugged. He tied Hadjar to his mount with wide straps. “The important thing is not what we regret, but what we desire. My father taught me that. May the forefathers be merciful to him and his rebirth be a happy one.”

Before the darkness claimed Hadjar again, he managed to notice a slight expression of grief on his friend’s face. Einen almost never spoke about his past. All that Hadjar knew was that the islander’s father was a rather successful slave trader, and his mother was a dancer. Only now, after this revelation, did it become clear why he’d rarely talked about them. His reason had been the same as Hadjar’s...

Darkness cut off Hadjar’s thoughts. He plunged into it, falling from the edge of reality. The flight was short and ended in the already familiar meadow. Fluffy clouds floated in the clear, blue sky. The wind created the illusion that the grass was an emerald-colored sea.

Hadjar stood on a low hill, without any bandages or pain, breathing freely and with his sword sheathed at his belt, wearing his old, simple clothes.

“You are progressing faster than I thought you would, disciple.”

Without hesitation, Hadjar knelt down and placed his forehead against the cold earth.

“Hello, Master.”

A tall, stately man was sitting on a stone wet with dew. His silk robes and long hair fluttered in the wind. The only thing that revealed his inhuman nature were the long horns on his head.

“Only two years have passed since we last met,” Traves continued. “And now you’ve come to see me once again.”

Chapter 376

“I have so many questions for you, Master.” Hadjar didn’t stop bowing. With every day he’d spent on the path of cultivation, he’d felt his respect for the ancient dragon increasing. What a strong will a person had to have to walk the same path Traves had taken! “Do you know anything about the true path of cultivation? What levels of sword mastery are there after the Wielder level? Can a person achieve true immortality? What is the essence of rebirth? Have you heard about Mage City, which once stood where the Sea of Sand is located now? How can I defeat a Spirit Knight? What can you tell me about the gods and the Seventh Hea-”

“Shut up, Hadjar.” Traves’ tone was so harsh that it could’ve split the stone he was sitting on in half. “I understand that each of our meetings doubles the number of questions that bother you. But you have to realize something: I’m not even a proper Shadow, just a tiny fragment of my consciousness left behind to tell you what your part of our deal is.”

Hadjar sighed and sat upright, assuming a lotus position. He understood perfectly that what Traves had just said was the truth. That was why he’d never asked the questions he’d voiced a moment ago until now. However, after so many trials, he’d hoped that he could find an easier way. The damned gods, apparently, loved to mess with him and he would have to keep struggling every step of the way.

“As for the gods,” Traves’ words made Hadjar’s heart stop and he became all ears, “you shouldn’t mention them. You shouldn’t even think about them, my disciple. Now, since we are at the junction of your soul and mine, they aren’t able to hear us, and I can safely tell you a little secret. Every time you mention them, whether in anger, or even just for the sake of a beautiful phrase, you attract their attention. You give them bits of your power and faith.”

“And when millions of entities do this, their power grows,” Hadjar concluded.

“Exactly,” Traves nodded. “Growing up in your little kingdom, you didn’t get a chance to see their priests. You won’t see them in Darnassus, either. You may get lucky enough to hear about them from the organization that stands behind the so-called ‘great power’ of Darnassus, but I doubt it. I saw a priest of the gods once.”

Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. By the Evening Stars and the Great Turtle! He’d seen fear in Traves’ amber eyes. The dragon who had killed a dozen soldiers of the Dragon Kingdom’s Army back when he’d been just a shepherd was actually afraid of someone.

“I saw the priest in the Land of Immortals,” Traves continued, “and their power, Hadjar... It’s different. It isn’t like ours. They don’t draw it from the spirits or the World River. It’s something completely different.”

“The true path of cultivation,” Hadjar nodded.

He’d wanted to say something else, but abruptly shut his mouth. Traves had burst into wild laughter and nearly fallen off the stone he was sitting on. However, he quickly pulled himself together.

“The true path of cultivation,” the Lord of the Heavens said amusedly, “Is nothing more than a joke made up by those who look down on the world. Once you find out the truth about this true path, you’ll laugh at your own naivety. No, Hadjar Darkhan, even the true path is still just a part of the World River. However, that priest’s power... it was beyond my comprehension. It didn’t come from the world, but from the gods themselves.”

“But aren’t the gods a part of this world?”

Traves looked at Hadjar and sighed wearily.

“Your questions become more dangerous by the second, my disciple. I live on the border of your soul and mine, and I can sometimes see echoes of your past. You’ve met Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares, haven’t you?”

Hadjar flinched. That had happened a very long time ago. Back when he and Nero had tried to infiltrate the castle of General Larvie, who had tried to become a Heaven Soldier with the help of an artifact that had belonged to a creature which was normally considered a scary bedtime story. The demon had come for his prey. Hadjar had been too weak to comprehend even the tiniest fragment of the demon’s power. He now knew... that he knew nothing. Helmer’s power had truly been beyond Hadjar’s ability to even perceive.

“Gods and demons, disciple, are simply two sides of the same coin. And it’s not possible for the likes of you or me to try and unravel their secrets.”

Something suddenly dawned on Hadjar!

“You’ve met Helmer too...”

Traves nodded.

“He is one of the entities called emissaries. The Prince of Demons often sends his most faithful subordinates to meet mortals. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. I don’t want to know! I would advise you not to think about it, disciple. In this world, there are monsters you’re better off forgetting about. If you do, your heart will be at ease and you will follow the path of cultivation without looking back.”

Hadjar immediately wanted to object and start arguing. How could he ignore the existence of monsters whose power was so great that even the dragon trembled in fear at their mere mention? How could he simply forget about a secret so ancient and deep that even the great ones avoided mentioning it? However, this impulse, more befitting a rash youth than an experienced warrior, passed.

“I can’t promise you that, Master,” Hadjar bowed.

“I know.”

Well, at least Traves had partially answered one of his questions. Hadjar still had no idea how successful his expedition to Mage City would be. The fairy had seemed terrified of Hadjar reaching it, but he didn’t know why.

He’d also learned about the priests and the fact that they could be found in the Land of Immortals. Now, in addition to the oath he’d made, Hadjar had one more reason to visit it. Of course, he had to find it first, not to mention discover a way to reach the continent that floated among the clouds.

“All of that is unimportant, my disciple,” Traves waved his questions off. “I’ve brought you here today so you can continue your studies. Your soul is strong enough and has been sufficiently tempered by the Sword Spirit, which means you can safely begin to study the fifth stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.”

“Safely?” Hadjar asked.

Traves was about to answer, but then smiled instead.

“By the Heavens! I sometimes forget how little you know about the path of cultivation!”

Hadjar frowned. He understood that his knowledge, compared to the knowledge of a drifter from the capital of the Empire, was pitiful. Even the drifter surely knew much more than he did. He urgently needed to find a suitable school or sect. If he didn’t, his promise to salute the stele at the House of Blade Fury would never be fulfilled, and Hadjar himself would perish in an abyss of dullness and oblivion.

“The further you progress along the path of cultivation, my disciple, the more difficult every next step becomes. Sometimes, it isn’t just difficult, but dangerous as well. Tell me, what would happen if you gave a small child a heavy sword?”

“They would kill themselves with it,” Hadjar replied instantly.

“The same thing would happen if you tried to study a Technique that is inaccessible to your current level of power and, more importantly, to your understanding of the world. I want to make it clear that you never cease to amaze me with your perseverance, zeal, and your talent for the Way of the Sword. That’s why you can now learn what others would only be able to master at the middle stage of the Heaven Soldier level.”

Traves grinned. His unnaturally long fangs made his smile look intimidating.

“I’m talking about people who have human hearts, of course, and not one with the heart of the last survivor of the Dark Storm tribe.”

Hadjar involuntarily reached for the tattoo on his chest.

“Well, let’s get started.” The dragon in human form got up and went over to the training site.

It looked the same as last time: a huge meadow with large stones scattered across it. However, they’d been arranged in a long row last time, and now they’d been organized into an even circle.

“It’s time for you to learn the secret of the fifth stance.”

Another difference was that Traves now held a real sword.

“The secret behind it is very simple: in the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique, there are no fifth, sixth, or seventh stances.”

“I haven’t been good at unraveling riddles and mysteries recently...”

“Don’t flatter yourself, disciple,” Traves interrupted him, “you’ve never been good at that. Let’s get back to training. You have to discover the remaining three stances yourself. I can only give you a hint.”

Traves assumed a relaxed stance, and then swung his sword casually. The attack he launched looked like a stream of cutting wind, like in the ‘Strong Wind’ stance, except it didn’t travel in a straight line, and instead flew out in a wide circle around him. With just one strike, Traves had been able to leave cuts on each of the stones surrounding them.

“I’ll show you the stance again.”

He ended up having to show it more than once…

Each time, Hadjar felt his understanding of the Technique growing stronger. After the hundredth demonstration, Hadjar was finally able to notice something that had eluded his gaze before. Traves’ attack wasn’t just similar to the ‘Strong Wind’, it was it. However, it was also the ‘Calm Wind’ stance.

“Master,” Hadjar interjected before Traves’ started another demonstration, “please aim your attack at me.”

Traves, instead of refusing, just smiled broadly.

“Finally,” he said. “As my own Master once said, a seeker of knowledge must understand the deepest truths on their own skin.”

The truth that Hadjar understood at that very moment was that, compared to Traves, Sankesh was a small, unruly puppy. If this hadn’t simply been an illusory world, no trace of Hadjar would’ve been left after the dragon’s attack. Not even his soul. His forefathers would never have gotten a chance to welcome him into their home.

Chapter 377

Hadjar sometimes doubted the soundness of his own mind. Only insanity could explain the fact that, at that very moment, he was meditating deeply on the border between his and the dragon’s soul, which looked like an endless meadow full of green grass. It sounded so ridiculous that if someone had told Hadjar this would be his destiny twenty years ago, he would’ve laughed at them, provided they weren’t a small, imaginative child.

He sometimes felt like the events of the past year had happened to someone else a few centuries ago, that’s how disconnected he was from them. However, after calming down, he examined his life, and it seemed like everything had happened far too quickly. It was as Traves had said: all of it was unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so dwelling on it wouldn’t do him any good.

Hadjar was currently meditating over the fifth stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique. He’d needed to see Traves’ two hundred demonstrations against the stones and then experience the one attack aimed at himself to understand the essence of Traves’ fifth stance. And it was undoubtedly Traves’ own stance, unique to him. From the very first moment he’d begun studying the Technique given to him by the dragon, Hadjar had realized that something was wrong with it. For example, the ‘Scorched Falcon’ Technique was fairly straightforward: every time someone made progress in it and their understanding of it deepened, the only outward sign of that progress was the bird itself growing larger. As for the three (‘Spring Wind’ was an exception) stances of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique, they changed depending on what Hadjar put into them. The first attacks he’d made with the ‘Strong Wind’ were very different to the ones he used with it now. It hadn’t conjured any dragons or a tsunami of cutting wind before. Why? Well, Hadjar hadn’t been privy to all its secrets back then. To understand them, he needed to have the knowledge and power that Traves had possessed when he’d created the Technique.

As for the stances, utilizing them was much simpler. Well, if one could ever call knowledge that required a person to reach the middle stage of the Heaven Soldier level simple.

The fifth stance, which Traves called ‘South Wind’, wasn’t actually... called that. Or rather, only Traves’ version was called that. Hadjar was going to give it another name, as well as a completely different form.

The truth was that the fifth, sixth, and seventh stances of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique were nothing more than different combinations of the first four stances. So, according to his simple estimates, there could only be a maximum of sixteen of them. Out of these sixteen, he needed to only choose three. Even then, two people who chose the same combination wouldn’t invent the same stances. After all, everyone had their own inner spirit, which affected the sword and Technique.

Hadjar continued to meditate on the fifth stance. He recalled his past battles. Not the times he’d slaughtered enemy troops by the dozen, but his fights against opponents whose power had seemed unthinkable. He recalled Shakar and Shakh, Ilmena and the Governor of the Empire, Primus and the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, his inner dragon and Coyote, the Bedouin tribe’s warrior, Karissa’s spells and his battles in the Pit, and, of course, Olgerd. Especially Olgerd.

What had Hadjar lacked in all these battles? The answer seemed simple enough — a second sword. The Master had once told Hadjar the legend of the swordsman who could wield a sword in both their left and right hand with equal skill.

Of course, Hadjar was very talented in the way of the Sword Spirit. However, his body, apart from the dragon’s heart, was very average, maybe a little above that, given the strength of the nodes and meridians in his body through which the energy of the World River flowed. Unfortunately, Hadjar couldn’t wield a sword equally well with both hands. Not because of his hands, mind you. As soon as they reached the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage, all practitioners became ambidextrous, but holding a spoon in both hands differed from wielding weapons with both of them.

If Hadjar couldn’t wield two swords at once, how should he solve the problem? The answer was in his last battle.

Hadjar still remembered how Olgerd had used the ‘Icy Wasteland’ Technique. The sabers that had appeared out of the ice had helped him a lot. They would’ve rendered any other opponents who were less experienced than Hadjar completely helpless. Olgerd had also had the ‘Blizzard’ Technique and his snow clones. So, Hadjar lacked Techniques similar to the northerner’s. Not ones based on ice, of course, but ones that could aid him in battle without his direct guidance.

Continuing to meditate, Hadjar, as if using a microscope, examined the stances of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique from all angles. He analyzed their energy flows, how the Sword Spirit and the energy of the World River interacted within them, their mutual vibrations, and both their synchronization and desynchronization. The process was insanely challenging and intense. It fundamentally differed from Hadjar’s attempts to break the protective seal on Brom’s box because he wasn’t trying to break anything this time, and was instead trying to merge things.

He didn’t know how long he spent immersed in the deep meditation. He didn’t know how many times he snapped out of it, took his sword, and tried to attack with it. He sometimes... couldn’t do anything. Such attempts were considered a form of progress as well. After all, some of his strikes hadn’t harmed the stones at all, only Hadjar. He’d even cut his own arm off once. If this hadn’t been an illusory world created by the overlap of their souls, Hadjar would’ve died.

Traves sometimes gave him a bit of advice. Hadjar wished his Master would stop doing that. To be a Master on the path of cultivation, it wasn’t enough for a person to have tremendous power and knowledge, they also needed to have a talent for teaching others. Alas, Traves didn’t have that. Most of his advice was more confusing than helpful.

“Leave it be for now, disciple,” Traves advised after Hadjar failed once again. “Your experience and power are still not enough to combine the Internal Energy Technique with your knowledge of the Sword Spirit.”

Hadjar didn’t know what the Internal Energy Technique was and, judging by Traves’ evasive refusal to go into more details, this concept had nothing to do with ‘internal’ and ‘external’ Techniques.

However, it was precisely this piece of advice that inspired Hadjar. Such a blunt reminder of his helplessness, coupled with his memories of the fog wall and Sankesh, infuriated Hadjar. And it was this fury that ignited the fire of insight in Hadjar. After all, he didn’t necessarily need to merge the energy with his knowledge of the Sword because the Sword Spirit was already present within it. After all, it was in everything that surrounded Hadjar. If he hadn’t been a Wielder of the Sword, he would’ve never been able to understand that.

After hundreds of unsuccessful attempts, Hadjar rose to his feet once more. The undisguised skepticism was clearly visible in Traves’ eyes.

“Maybe I overestimated his talent,” the dragon muttered to himself. “Even the most mediocre disciples of a sword school in Darnassus would only need a hundred attempts to learn such simple stances, but he-”

He abruptly stopped speaking.

Wind spun around Hadjar. It ruffled his robes and strummed the ornaments woven into his long hair.

Hadjar’s sword glided through the air more smoothly than a stork’s wing, almost like a piece of fluff floating through the air. Hadjar seemed like he was trying to caress someone’s cheek with his sword. At the same time, his actions were terrifyingly fast and sharp. He launched a swift, deadly attack.

“Rustle in the Treetops!”

Hadjar completed his fifth stance. To Traves’ surprise, not a single cut appeared on any of the stones. At the same time, however, the dragon clearly felt changes in the energy flows of the World River. They were immensely subtle, almost imperceptible, beyond the comprehension of even Spirit Knights and Lords, but they helped Traves realize that something had changed. He couldn’t understand what had changed, which both pleased him and... scared him.

“Master,” Hadjar, tired but happy, turned to Traves, “please try to attack me.”

Without getting up from his stone, Traves directed the will of a Wielder of the Sword at Hadjar. A blade of wind formed in the air. Swift and ruthless, it headed right for Hadjar. However, about twelve steps from its target, it froze, unable to keep going. It vibrated slightly, and then the silhouette of a black-and-blue dragon materialized around it, grasping the blade in its claws. Hadjar, still smiling, turned the hilt of his sword slightly. The dragon smashed the enemy’s blade to pieces and disappeared.

“You combined the ‘Spring wind’, ‘Calm wind’, and ‘Falling leaf’,” Traves understood immediately.

Hadjar nodded.

“Why should I bother deflecting an attack if I’ve already dealt with it?” Hadjar asked.

Traves looked at his disciple as he practiced his new stance.

By the Heavens! How wrong he’d been! Disciples of the Darnassus sword schools would’ve cried bloody tears in envy... Hadjar Darkhan was a true monster, someone capable of creating a stance that could stop Traves’ will while still at the pitiful level of a practitioner. Hadjar couldn’t see it, but the approving smile on Traves’ face became predatory.

Chapter 378

Hadjar felt the time he could spend on the border of their souls coming to an end. Before, he would’ve simply woken up, believing that it had all been just a dream.

“You’re getting stronger, my disciple.”

They were sitting at the top of the hill again. Hadjar was looking at Traves, who was looking up at the sky. It was strange, but he could’ve sworn he’d heard a slight note of sadness in the dragon’s voice.

“Is that bad?” Hadjar asked.

The dragon took a second to respond.

“The stronger you get, the closer the hour when I name the price of my heart becomes.”

Hadjar bowed low, pressing his forehead to the cold earth, and said:

“Whatever task you give me, Master, I’ll gladly carry it out. Everything I have I owe to your sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice,” Traves chuckled. “For hundreds of thousands of years, I lay in that cave, unable to even move. You helped me escape, disciple, from my own prison. And I made you pay to do so... There was no honor in what I did.”

“You died for me, Master.”

“Sometimes death is better than life.” The wind blew harder, ruffling the dragon’s hair and robes. “Your time has come, disciple. Leave me. Battle awaits you.”

Hadjar didn’t have time to answer before he disappeared.

Traves watched the even stronger gust of wind that followed turn the young man into fog, which it then carried up to the heavens. Traves was once more alone on the hill. He enjoyed the wind and the smell of grass.

Hundreds of thousands of years... It was a white lie he’d told Hadjar in order to not frighten his disciple. During the millions of years that Traves had spent imprisoned in the cave, he’d managed to go crazy and claw his way back to sanity dozens of times. He’d invented entire worlds within his mind and destroyed them. He’d talked to himself, inventing a host of diverse personalities. He’d relived his life over and over again, always ending up at the same spot. He hadn’t been alive. He had been dead for eons. In exchange for his freedom, he’d awarded Hadjar with a fate that would lead him to certain doom. No mortal, no matter how brilliant they were, could handle such an immense burden...

“Don’t be so certain he’ll fail, reptile.”

The sky, which had been blue and clear a moment ago, descended. It’d turned gray, and the clouds had become dark. The wind was now icy. A black bird flapped its wings right in front of Traves. It looked like a mix between a falcon and a crow, and it was seemingly grooming its sharp feathers, which looked like blades.

“You’ve gotten pretty brazen, Enemy,” Traves growled.

“Brazen?” The bird’s voice rang out like an alarm bell. “You’re only a guest here, nothing more. Don’t get ahead of yourself, reptile. While I do let you teach him, that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with your insolence.”

The dragon’s eyes flashed with fury. He slowly got up, and as he did so, his appearance changed: his green robes turned into frightening armor, his horns curled into a helmet, his nails turned into claws, and a massive halberd appeared in his hands.

“Begone, Enemy!” Traves’ lips didn’t move, but the sky nearly split in half from the force of his roar.

The bird made a sound that resembled a croaking laugh.

“Does a pathetic Lord dare to order me about?”

The bird didn’t even move, only its red eyes flashed. Traves bent under the pressure of an incredible power. His armor cracked. His horns broke off, and his halberd flew out of his grasp. He, a being that had rebelled against the Dragon Emperor, was now lying flat on the ground, unable to move. Perhaps if he’d assumed his true form, he could’ve resisted the shackles of this alien power. However…

“Let me hear a proper roar, beast! I want to see your power! Assume your true form,” the bird urged him.

Traves remained lying on the ground. He knew that if he used too much power, the resulting dissonance could harm Hadjar. He wouldn’t allow this to happen, and not just because the young man hadn’t completed his part of their deal...

“Know your place, reptile,” the black bird croaked out snidely.

The pressure disappeared, and Traves, breathing heavily, got back up and sat on the stone. Looking at the bird, he realized how enormous this world truly was. Residing on the border between his and Hadjar’s soul, he hadn’t immediately noticed the presence of anyone else. A few years had passed before the black spark regained consciousness. Even more time had passed before it had been able to free itself from the shackles that the laws of the Heavens and Earth had bound it in. Traves hadn’t paid attention to it at first. Then everything changed when Hadjar passed the test of the Tree of Life and accepted its gift. He’d taken that damned black sword... Traves hadn’t been able to believe his eyes. His mother had used to scare him with those old, stupid horror stories back when he’d been a child. Only after his death had Traves learned that those horror stories were all true.

How strong the Enemy must have been billions of years ago if even now, after his death, his remnant, which was just a billionth part of the smallest grain of his power, was able to influence someone else’s soul.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” Traves asked.

“You’re already dead.”

“You know what I mean.”

The bird looked at the dragon.

“You’re already strong enough to get rid of me,” Traves continued. “Then Hadjar won’t have to fulfill his part of our deal and you’ll be able to directly influence him and forge the boy into your ideal weapon.”

“The boy,” the bird repeated slowly. “Do you truly sympathize with his plight, oh fierce Lord of the Heavens?”

The bird said those last words with a grin.

“You don’t? He’s blood of your blood. Flesh of your flesh.”

“Flesh of my flesh,” the bird laughed. “Thousands of people just like him are scattered all over this world. People who have my blood flowing through their veins and my spirit sleeping within them.”

“But your spirit only awoke inside him.”

“For now, yes. But, even dead, you can sense that the winds of change have started blowing. Mage City will soon appear and the Magistrate of the Seventh Heaven is making more and more mistakes by the day. Mortals are fighting more often, animals are moving from place to place... Even your reptile brain, lacking though it may be, can surely comprehend that all of this is related.”

Traves didn’t answer. He really did feel like something was happening in the outside world. It was unlikely, however, that anyone besides the great Immortals could also notice these changes. So, proximity to the Enemy and being in a state of neither life nor death had its advantages.

“As for this lump of flesh,” it was clear that the bird was referring to Hadjar, “as you so eloquently put it, a child shouldn’t play with real weapons. Let him play with you in your little sandbox. You’re perfect for each other, you miserable jerks.”

“He’ll die trying to repay his debt to me.”

“If he does, that means he’s too weak!” The bird raised its voice only slightly, but black lightning flashed across the sky. “If he doesn’t, he’ll become stronger. Maybe I’ll pay more attention to him if that happens.”

Traves watched the flashing lightning disappear.

“Then why are you trying so hard to restrain yourself, Enemy? Assume your true form, break through the boundaries of his soul, and emerge into the real world once again.”

The bird’s red eyes flashed again.

“Stop teasing me, reptile. As soon as I do that, there will be nothing left of your precious piece of flesh, not even a memory.”

“Nor of you, Enemy,” Traves’ voice began to turn into a growl again, “and perhaps Hadjar would consider it an honor to die, if it meant locking you up for the next several billion years.”

“I’ll awaken in others.”

“While you are awake in him, the rest of your descendants won’t be able to awaken your pitiful remains. On top of that, you already presented your sword to this family.”

“The others also have some gifts.”

“But not the sword!” Traves rose again. His hair swayed, turning into scales. “So don’t pretend that you don’t care about his fate. You depend on him as much as he does on my heart! I’ll say it again, Enemy. Get out! Don’t show your face here again!”

The bird spread its wings and croaked menacingly, but then flapped its wings once, then a second time, and then it completely disappeared somewhere behind the clouds, becoming a distant, black dot.

Traves was about to immerse himself in meditation that would allow him to observe Hadjar’s life, when the wind brought the words: ‘Your time is nigh, reptile!’ along with loud laughter. It was hot, like steel that had recently seen battle.

Traves looked up at the sky. The clouds turned white again and the gray disappeared, returning to its original azure. The wind was light and warm again. By the High Heavens, every time he visited this place, with each new step he took along the cultivation path, Hadjar only got closer to his death.

“He’ll never be your slave, Enemy.”

The bird didn’t answer, and Traves finally plunged into meditation.

Chapter 379

Hadjar opened his eyes. His heart ached. He’d never felt like this after meeting with his Master. However, at that moment, he felt as if he’d fought himself. Shaking his head, Hadjar disregarded his musings and looked up at the sky. He read the stars, determining his approximate location and making simple calculations to discover that he had slept for...

“Three days of healthy, sound sleep,” Salif whispered, helping Hadjar sit up, “is the best medicine, in my opinion.”

So it had been three days, not eight.... He really missed the neural network sometimes!

Thanking the old man, Hadjar got up and stretched with relish. After a three-day sleep, he felt completely rested, but his body was numb. His muscles, deprived of any physical activity, had ‘gotten lazy’.

‘Where is everyone?” Hadjar asked.

A bonfire was crackling nearby. Hieroglyphs were flickering along the borders of their camp, erecting another veil. Only he, the old man, and the servant boy were near the fire.

“They left to look for your lake,” Salif answered, advising the boy on how to cook the porridge.

“Of course,” Hadjar nodded. “My lake.”

Recalling South Wind’s advice that only old people could argue with old people and he should thus try to avoid doing so himself, Hadjar looked around again, more attentively this time. However, nothing much had changed over the past few days.

The forest was the same, full of strange vegetation unknown to Hadjar — a mixture of palm trees, birches, and fir trees. They looked a little scary, but were quite harmless. Of course, if you confused a vine or a branch with a venomous snake, it wouldn’t end well for you.

There was a stone not far from the fire. It had a diameter of sixteen inches and was ideally suited for his purpose. Approaching it, Hadjar squatted down, grabbed the stone, and jerked it out of the ground. The whole stone, once revealed, was about twice as big as what he’d expected, but that only made it better.

Hadjar cut the stone perfectly in half with his sword. Placing them on their sides, he rolled under them and, after hoisting them on his back, began to push up. Each of the halves weighed at least eight hundred pounds. Such an immense weight would’ve been a considerable challenge for a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage, but not for Hadjar. Even if he was sweating and biting his lip, he still managed five sets of twenty repetitions each by the time the squad returned.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Einen shook his friend’s hand and patted his shoulder. “I see that, as always, you’ve gotten a little stronger after such a deep sleep.”

He uttered the last phrase in the language of the islands, using a very rare dialect he’d taught Hadjar how to use recently. They hadn’t been happy about Karissa being able to understand their conversations.

“Everyone has their own secret,” Hadjar winked at the islander.

“Secrets,” Einen corrected him.

“Barbarian,” Ramukhan nodded. “It’s good that you woke up. We have something to discuss.”

Judging by Tilis’ expression, she was against her boss’ plan. However, she had enough willpower to not object outright.

After a light dinner, they held a council. As always, Salif and the boy weren’t present. Salif was nothing more than a repository of information, and the boy served him. They didn’t have the right to take part in the council.

“Here and here.” Glen marked two spots on the map they’d drawn on the ground.

“These are lakes?” Hadjar asked.

“Exactly,” the Baliumian nodded. “Out of all the lakes we explored, those match your description the best.”

Hadjar thought about it for a moment. He had no idea which lake they were looking for. Moreover, he didn’t know how to find the entrance to the city. He just felt like the dream he’d had shouldn’t be ignored.

“Judging by your expressions,” Hadjar took his pipe out of his caftan’s pocket, “there are some difficulties.”

“Exactly.” Karissa, taking the stick from Glen, continued drawing. “On the way to the eastern lake, we spotted at least six groups of other seekers. Tilis’ divination spell confirmed it.”

“I don’t see a problem here.”

“The problem, barbarian, is” Ramukhan interrupted them, “that, besides the numerous weak bastards, there are also a few Heaven Soldiers among them.”

Hadjar looked at Einen, who shook his head imperceptibly. It was a good thing that they hadn’t detected Shakh’s group, otherwise one of Hadjar’s mad plans would’ve ended in complete disaster at the preparation stage.

“What about the other lake?” Hadjar pointed at the other mark.

It was west of the seekers.

“It’s hopeless,” Tilis shook her head as she suddenly joined the conversation. “There is an anomaly there that’s so potent not even Sankesh could deal with it easily.”

“By the way, since we’re talking about Sankesh,” Glen added, “He and his squad are heading directly for the west lake. I don’t know who his pathfinder is, but the man knows his business.”

“Why would you presume it’s a man?” Tilis asked indignantly, but was ignored. Her indignation was nothing more than a ploy meant to incite another quarrel or brawl. Now that they were so close to their goal, nobody wanted to waste time on such tricks.

“An anomaly,” Hadjar muttered.

After he mulled things over, he suddenly removed the leather wallet that held the two bracelets from his belt. Concentrating on something, Hadjar began to slowly move the wallet over the map.

“A divination amulet?” Karissa asked. “But I don’t feel any energy in it and-”

“And,” Ramukhan continued, “The barbarian wouldn’t have had enough money to afford one. We can’t even afford one. So stop this nonsense-”

The sorcerer abruptly closed his mouth. As Hadjar held it above the second mark, the wallet emitted a barely noticeable ringing.

“We should go here,” Hadjar nodded, tying the wallet back onto his belt. “Furthermore, it’s obvious that the entrance would be in the area where most of the dangers are.”

“Why would you think that?” Glen rolled his eyes. “Because of the ringing of your wallet?”

This time, no one supported the Baliumian.

“Demons and gods!” Glen exclaimed. “Are you serious? Why would you ever go along with this crazy plan? I can understand everything else: the dragon, the lake, Sankesh, but, damn it all, the ringing of a wallet! You’re all crazy! The barbarian is out of his mind, and you’re indulging him!”

“No,” Karissa shook her head, “we’re just waiting to hear your brilliant ideas.”

“Thanks a lot,” Glen gave her a mocking bow. “Listen to the voice of reason! Listen to me! We should go back to the Demon’s Heart, see where the comets will intersect, and set an ambush there. We’ll have enough time to set up traps that even Sunshine Sankesh won’t be able to overcome.”

“All of that sounds good,” Ramukhan agreed. Glen, hearing the squad leader praising his plan, exhaled in relief and snorted triumphantly at Hadjar. Alas, his happiness didn’t last long. “There’s just one small problem, Glen: there is an elixir of the gods in that city! Sankesh or someone else will come out of Mage City after becoming a god! Do you know what gods are capable of? I don’t. But I suspect that your obstacles will seem like child’s play to them.”

“Then we should go back to Underworld City,” Glen almost begged, “otherwise we’ll all die here.”

“I didn’t know that mothers raised cowards in the north,” Tilis grimaced, and then looked at Hadjar. “On second thought, I did. They raise cowards and traitors.”

Despite their best efforts, the fire of conflict began to reignite in the squad. Surprisingly, it was stopped by Salif’s boy this time:

“I think I know a way past the anomaly.”

These words made the screaming practitioners shut up instantly. Everyone turned to the boy. He tried to look brave, clutching a ladle in his hands like one would a sword, but he was clearly very afraid.

“Another brilliant idea,” Glen howled. “This godforsaken sun has roasted all of your brains!”

“Shut up,” Ramukhan waved him off and thought about it for a moment. “The boy is right. The anomaly that Tilis spotted has one feature we’d normally disregard, but it could prove useful now.”

“What feature?” Hadjar asked.

“It doesn’t react to mortals.”

“Even so, the boy isn’t a mortal,” Hadjar ignored the boy’s displeasure. “What level is he at? The Bodily Rivers?”

“That’s easy enough to fix,” Karissa opened her book and showed him another talisman, “I can seal his meridians for a short time, making him indistinguishable from a mere mortal.”

Ramukhan nodded and asked the boy:

“Are you ready?”

“I am,” the young man nodded, glancing smugly at Hadjar and Einen. They only sighed sadly. The boy was clearly destined to die.

Chapter 380

They decided to go to the lake in the morning. Everyone spent the rest of the night preparing. Tilis and Karissa created talismans. First, they took small pieces of red cloth and paper. Then, placing the future talismans in front of themselves, they whispered something. Energy lit up on the tips of their index fingers, and they used it to draw various hieroglyphs and symbols on the paper they’d prepared.

Hadjar felt flows of energy appear in the simple pieces of paper and cloth with every new word and gesture they made. Unlike everything else that surrounded Hadjar, these flows appeared to be... frozen. Everything under the sun had energy. It was vivid and quite noticeable. However, within the talismans, it was frozen, as if they’d submerged it in very thick ice.

Shaking his head in frustration at his own lack of knowledge, Hadjar returned to his training. After his dream, his mind knew every minute detail of the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ Technique, but his body didn’t. After finding a convenient site, Hadjar began to practice the Technique. Without using any energy or his knowledge of the Sword Spirit, he performed the same stance and strikes over and over, aiming to make his muscles ‘remember’ how and in what sequence they needed to move. This wasn’t overly complicated work, but it took hours.

The squad set off at dawn. They walked, leading the camels by their bridles. Einen was at the forefront. Using a long cleaver, he cut a road through the jungle.

They were delayed a couple of times. The first time, a gray panther attacked them. The beast was the size of a horse, and at the Alpha Stage. It strongly resembled its namesake, apart from its chitinous carapace. Glen quickly dealt with it. Hadjar and Einen didn’t interfere. They were certain that the Baliumian would be able to handle one Alpha. Glen cut out the animal’s core so eagerly that it was clear he didn’t want anyone else claiming his prey.

The second time, the squad almost lost its trump card — the boy. He’d managed to mistake a venomous snake for a root. Fortunately, Hadjar’s reaction time was excellent, and the snake had been within seventy steps of him. Hadjar waved his hand just in time, sending a ghostly blade flying. It killed the snake just a couple of inches from the boy’s palm. Karissa took the snake’s decapitated head with her, explaining that she needed its venom for a potion. No one else knew anything about alchemy, so they didn’t argue.

After three hours, they reached the lake. Hadjar had no doubts that this was exactly what they were looking for. It was almost the same as in his dream. The only difference was that, instead of a coniferous forest, a jungle spread out along the shore, and there was no fire or log lying near it.

“What is this anomaly like?” Hadjar asked.

“See for yourself.”

Tilis picked up a dry branch from the ground and threw it into the lake. It didn’t encounter any resistance at first. However, as soon as it was above the water, a sand cloud suddenly appeared in the air. Several tendrils of sand shot out from it and wrapped themselves around the branch for a moment, leaving behind... a void. The branch had simply disappeared. Hadjar felt such powerful flows of energy in the sand cloud that he suspected even Traves himself wouldn’t be able to withstand its pressure.

“By the Evening Stars,” Hadjar whispered.

Einen, after hearing him use the locals’ curse, glanced at his friend, but said nothing. Hadjar had wanted to say ‘demons and gods’, but after remembering his Master’s words, had decided that he would never again mention them unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Well,” Ramukhan began issuing orders, “everyone knows their duties. Let’s start. We don’t have much time.”

While Karissa was pinning all sorts of talismans on the boy, the others were also busy. Hadjar, Einen, and Glen stood in a triangle formation around the rest of the squad. Tilis placed amulets and talismans at their positions, creating a rather powerful veil. Salif was sitting with his eyes half-closed, rummaging through his bottomless memory.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Ramukhan instructed the boy. “Dive into the lake and see what’s down there. If you don’t find anything, immediately swim back up. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Got it,” the boy nodded.

Hadjar watched the boy who didn’t like him going to his death. Despite the fact that the feeling was mutual, Hadjar still felt like what was happening was wrong. The young boy shouldn’t have been risking his life in place of adult warriors.

“May the Great Turtle cover him with its carapace,” Einen whispered.

Once he stepped outside the veil’s boundaries, the boy stopped. He probably wanted to turn around, but didn’t. Instead, he took the same ladle from before in his hands. He probably thought that Hadjar hadn’t seen him watching his training and mimicking the sword’s movements with the ladle.

As the boy approached the edge of the lake, everyone’s breathing quieted. Tilis bit her lip. She wasn’t overly worried about the boy, but rather, about the outcome of their journey. What was Mage City’s library to a witch or sorcerer, after all? An immensely vast source of coveted knowledge and skills.

The boy walked up to the lake. Hadjar felt like he was practically the same as the branch the witch had thrown. He moved slowly, step by step. No sand cloud appeared over the lake. The boy stopped half a step from the water. Squeezing his ladle, he hesitantly looked at the water’s surface. Then, exhaling sharply, he took a bold step forward. As he did so, a sand cloud formed over the lake.

“Demons!” Glen roared and was about to rush over to the boy, but he was stopped by Ramukhan:

“Everyone, stay right where you are!”

The boy, unable to hear what was happening behind the veil, turned pale. Terrified, he froze in place and instinctively lifted the ladle in front of him. The seconds stretched out. They seemed so long that entire empires could’ve risen and fallen during them.

“Son of a bitch,” Salif smiled.

The boy opened his eyes, saw that the sand cloud wasn’t moving, and took a step forward. Then another, and another, and then, insolently waving his hand at the squad, he ducked beneath the water.

The wait was agonizing.

“Why didn’t we check if there’s anything under the water?” Glen asked.

This time, they didn’t tell him to shut up. The squad members looked at each other and almost sighed in unison. They hadn’t really thought to check if there was anything dangerous inside the lake... The sand cloud above the surface was inactive, but nobody knew what monsters might be lurking beneath the water.

“In any case, now we know how to get around the anomaly.”

Hadjar looked at Tilis and said nothing. He didn’t agree with her... He was convinced that the anomaly was just a trap.

“We need to decide who’s going in next,” Ramukhan had already turned to Hadjar when a splash sounded from the lake. The boy, with that same insolent smile still on his face, emerged from the lake and walked over to them. Once he was back under the veil, he sat down on the ground and stretched out his legs.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, boy,” Glen snapped. “What’s down there?”

“The lake,” the boy answered smugly, but, after seeing Ramukhan’s warning gaze, added, “There is no bottom.”

“What do you mean? How can it not have a bottom?”

“Well,” the boy shrugged. “It has a bottom, but it’s unusual. It’s something like a gap. There’s a desert under that gap. I think I even spotted mountains, but I’m not sure. The bottom was rippling.”

“There’s a desert,” Ramukhan repeated, “under the water. Instead of a bottom?”

The boy just nodded.

“Well, that means we’ve at least found the entrance.”

Hadjar didn’t ask why the sorcerer was so confident, but remembered his words.

“Now we need to figure out a way to get past the anomaly.”

The other squad members didn’t argue, and everyone was silent as they tried to come up with an idea. The solution came from an unexpected source.

“What’s the problem?” The boy asked. “If you could make me a mortal, then it’s surely possible to make all of you mortals as well.”

Karissa pulled out the snake’s head from her bag, looked at it pensively, and said:

“Perhaps I can make the poison I need with this.”

“Are you planning to poison us?” Glen nearly turned pale when he heard that.

“It’ll just be a small dose,” Karissa replied, “and for half an hour, we’ll lose contact with our sources and the World River.”

“In other words,” Hadjar sat down on the ground, “we’ll become mortal.”

Chapter 381

Three hours later, Karissa’s potion was ready. In a small, faded pot, a sandy, greenish brew bubbled. Its smell was very familiar to Hadjar. He even jerked back when he felt the familiar scent floating through the air. Einen grimaced as well. Only Glen looked from one practitioner to another confusedly.

“This is the poison they cover the thorns on a slave collar with,” Hadjar explained.

“You’re mostly right,” Karissa nodded. “I used completely different proportions and a different composition.”

“But the essence is the same?” Glen asked. “Are we going to have to drink slave swill?”

“You can stay behind,” Ramukhan cut him off angrily and was the first to scoop up the contents of the pot with a bowl. Before the first drops could fall on his lips, a thin female palm stopped his hand.

“Wait, Ramukhan.” Tilis squinted and looked around. “I suggest we all swear an oath first.”

Crickets and crackling firewood filled the air of the warm evening with noise. The squad members looked at the witch in surprise.

“What kind of oath?” Karissa tilted her head to one side slightly, and her hand slowly inched toward her book.

Tilis glanced at her compatriot and turned away. Underworld City seemed to have its fair share of problems. As in any other country, they also had their own factions, and these often resorted to betrayal, intrigue, and bribery. Maybe the fairy had been right when he’d said that justice didn’t exist in any of the worlds where people lived...

“You said drinking this potion will seal off all our abilities.” Tilis’ voice sounded calm and didn’t waver, but her eyes flashed. “We’re going to Mage City and we’ll clearly encounter not only dangers along the way, but also various temptations. I don’t want to end up with one of your spells hitting me in the back, Karissa, just because we both might end up liking the same scrolls.”

“Well, we won’t participate in your squabbles,” Glen grunted, pointing at himself, Hadjar, and Einen.

“Can you really trust the barbarian and islander?” Tilis arched her left eyebrow. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll find rare resources for cultivation in there, or even valuable weapons and artifacts?”

Glen was about to reply, but then just closed his mouth with a frown.

“That’s what I thought” Tilis nodded. “So, I propose that we all take an oath of blood that none of us will harm the others until our mission ends.”

The witch’s words sounded very reasonable. Up to this point, they’d been a single group, but not overly dependent on each other. They hadn’t encountered a situation where everyone had been in danger.

“I didn’t expect this from you, Tilis.” Karissa, showing her respect, saluted the witch in the desert manner. “I think we really should make such an oath.”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. The islander’s look screamed ‘Trap!’

“I don’t really like having to do this,” Tilis’ eyes narrowed, and she turned pointedly away from Hadjar, “but we have no other choice.”

She had no other choice... Even without Einen’s suspicions, Hadjar would’ve known that there must be some sort of ‘hidden layer’ to the suggestion. Nevertheless, this was one of those situations where, even if one knew it was a trap, they had to step right into it because there was simply no other choice.

Karissa took the dagger first. She ran her hand over it and said:

“I swear that, until we complete our mission, I won’t harm anyone here.”

It was a simple and not very lengthy oath, which actually limited one’s ability to set a trap. Judging by how Karissa passed the blade to Tilis, she also didn’t trust her. Tilis, snorting, grabbed the weapon and slashed her palm. She uttered the same words and handed the dagger over to Hadjar. Hesitating for a moment, he took the oath as well, using the exact same wording.

Soon, everyone except Salif and the boy had taken their oaths. They decided to leave the two servants behind in the camp. Karissa gave them a special talisman that controlled the veil and a report for Paris. If the squad didn’t return in five days, they would need to activate it and send a message to Underworld City.

“Well, I hope for success with the gods’ help,” Glen uttered a popular Baliumian saying and was the first to walk out from beneath the veil. He wasn’t brave, he’d just drawn the short straw.

When the Baliumian came to the edge of the lake, the sand cloud appeared above the surface. Glen, squinting in apprehension, dived into the water. No sand tendrils followed him.

“It’s your turn,” Tilis said maliciously, holding out the bowl of poison.

Hadjar silently took the poison and drank it in one gulp. He felt as if a red-hot branding iron had been shoved down his throat and the molten iron was now leaking into his body, causing such a storm of unpleasant sensations that it was difficult to stop himself from vomiting. After a moment, Hadjar felt his meridians and nodes become clogged. He instinctively tried to break these seals, but immediately realized that he couldn’t. The energy simply wasn’t moving through his body.

“Your Inheritance can help,” Einen whispered as he walked toward the lake.

Hadjar didn’t understand what the islander meant at first, but then he mentally reached for the little black dragon. It woke up and displayed its full readiness for battle. At the same time, the frozen energy in his meridians stirred. It struck the seals on the nodes and they cracked. Hadjar immediately halted his Call. The little dragon snorted in displeasure at the absence of battle and fell asleep again.

After unwinding his turban and handing the sleeping Azrea over to Salif, Hadjar followed his friend. Approaching the edge of the lake, Hadjar looked at the sand cloud. He felt tense, but he wasn’t afraid. His first step was quickly followed by the second and, finding himself waist deep in the water, Hadjar ducked down. After the stuffiness of the desert and the humidity of the jungle, the lake’s coolness was pleasant.

After swimming for about fifty yards, Hadjar understood why the boy hadn’t been able to clearly explain what was waiting for them inside the lake. First of all, the lake was unusual: it had no algae, no fish, no other living creatures at all. Only absolutely smooth, gentle slopes that looked like they’d been carved out of white marble.

Its bottom was sandy at first, but then turned into a huge circle of yellow light. The rest of the squad members looked like black dots floating over this gigantic ‘frying pan’. Swimming closer, Hadjar barely held back the cry of surprise that would’ve filled his lungs with water. The bottom really looked like the boy had described. It was like the other surface of the lake. Behind it, or perhaps under it, there was a desert with mountains and dunes. It was as if Hadjar wasn’t actually in the lake, but frozen in the sky about a hundred yards above the desert and ten yards above the nearest dune.

Hadjar looked at Einen, and the islander gestured for him to go ahead. With a nod, Hadjar was the first to dive in, or maybe jump down, or was it up? One way or another, the silence of the lake gave way to the whistling of the wind, and the underwater dusk was replaced by the midday desert sun.

Curling up, Hadjar landed on the very edge of the dune and slipped on it, then jumped and rolled down. Unable to control his inertia, Hadjar rolled for a few more yards, then stopped and lay on the sand.

He looked at the place from which he’d fallen, or emerged, but saw nothing besides the blue sky. The remaining members of the squad emerging in the desert simply appeared in midair and also ended up gliding along the dune.

Five minutes later, they all gathered at the foot of it.

Chapter 382

“Damn,” Glen rubbed his neck and looked up, “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Of course!” Tilis snapped.

Karissa looked reproachfully at the witch, but didn’t reprimand her. Instead, she said to the Baliumian:

“This is the land of the ancient civilization that was destroyed by the gods for violating the laws of the Heavens and Earth. I think we’re going to see a lot of things here than you’ve never seen before, Glen.”

“Thank you for explaining things to me, light of my eyes,” Glen said, bowing to Karissa in his usual manner.

“Let’s go.” Ramukhan got up and looked around.

“But where do we go?” Einen asked.

It was a good question. The landscape was the same as in the Sea of Sand. Except for the unfamiliar, brown stones sticking out of the dunes.

“Besides,” Tilis reminded him, “we’re still under the influence of the poison. Going anywhere right now would be suicide.”

“Tilis is right,” Ramukhan nodded. “We’ll wait until the poison wears off, and we’ll make a plan in the meanwhile. Don’t forget, we have three days before the comets converge in the sky and all the other searchers rush here.”

Hadjar and Einen exchanged glances and agreed not to break their seals using hand gestures. The Underworld citizens didn’t need to know that there were Inheritors among them. Still, both of them thought that the witches and sorcerer probably knew who they were regardless. Besides, Hadjar was sure that they had only gotten a small head start and that Sankesh would soon find one of the other entrances to this place. Hadjar presumed there were several of them, anyway.

During the twenty minutes before the potion’s effects wore off, they discussed their plan. It was difficult to come up with anything useful. There was no map of the region. All the legends Salif had told them had had only some fragmentary information, which had been hidden behind allegories, embellishments, and metaphors.

By the time the poison wore off, they decided to head toward the mountains. If they were lucky, they would find the city gates (unfortunately, they didn’t know how to open them without Serra) along the way. If not, they would at least get to observe the territory from the high vantage point.

“I don’t trust them,” Einen whispered as they marched at the rear of their formation. Glen was at the front, as usual.

They moved so slowly that the friends were now bored rather than hot. The witches and sorcerer could barely endure their exhaustion and the heat. By the Evening Stars, something was rotten about this true path of cultivation if a person on the edge of becoming a true cultivator was unable to withstand the scorching sun.

“We already know not to trust the magic users,” Hadjar said.

The islander shook his head. He was dressed all in white, like a mummy. He had brought the battle attire of his people with him. “I don’t trust any of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think the witches and the sorcerer are all united, and your countryman is part of their group as well.”

Einen didn’t say their names. No matter what languages a person did or didn’t speak, they would still be able to pick up on their own name being used.

“Why do they need us, then?”

“I don’t know,” Einen sighed and gripped his spear-staff tighter. “Maybe they want to use us as sacrifices or something else disgusting. I don’t trust them.”

Hadjar looked at the backs of the other squad members in front of them. On the one hand, the islander didn’t even trust his own reflection sometimes. On the other hand, there was always a grain of truth in his words. Einen’s suspicions had been proven true in one way or another every time.

“What are you suggesting?” Hadjar asked.

Einen made sure no one was looking at them and then held out his right hand. At first, Hadjar didn’t understand why he did so, but when he did, he lamented the fact that he couldn’t curse and mention the demons and gods. There was no scar on the islander’s skin.

“But I saw you take the oath with my own eyes!”

“It’s an old smugglers’ trick,” Einen said. Hadjar could’ve sworn he saw a smirk on his friend’s face, even though the islander’s face was always stony and expressionless. “You just need a little glue and a special combustible mixture.”

Hadjar remembered Einen mixing something up and going into the jungle to gather ingredients.

“Does the Stone Trees oasis look like your homeland?”

Einen said nothing, and Hadjar felt the urge to slap himself. Now it was clear why Einen had seemed so at ease in the oasis. It was as if he’d gone home.

“If I have to, I’ll be able to neutralize Glen,” the islander said. “Dealing with the rest of them will prove more difficult.”

They both looked at the shimmering blue bracelets on their arms. They’d had plenty of chances to see how quickly and effectively these amulets could stop any attempts to harm the citizens.

“Let’s deal with the problems as they come up,” Hadjar said. “Even if Glen isn’t a problem, we’re still in a two-against-three situation. The advantage is clearly not on our side.”

“The people who choose to only follow the true path of cultivation have strong Techniques but weak bodies,” Einen said, “so we’ll take advantage of that.”

He gave Hadjar a small bottle. Hadjar didn’t need an explanation.

“It’s an antidote to the poison.”

Well, okay, he did need an explanation.

“The effects of it have already worn off.”

“The effects of what I added haven’t.” He seemed to grin again. “I spent a lot of time around pirates, slave traders, smugglers, and thieves and I learned a couple of their tricks. The bowl from which everyone drank Karissa’s poison was coated in a special medicine.”

“Medicine?” Hadjar asked.

“Yes,” Einen nodded and pointed at his blue amulet. “It didn’t let me use anything poisonous. But medications are a different matter. The farther we walk, the more our companions will become thirsty, until their throats are so dry that they won’t be able to speak.”

Hadjar mentally twitched. What kind of medicine was this that made a person so thirsty?

“It’s a medicine meant for gastric cleansing,” Einen explained like he’d read his friend’s thoughts.

Barely stopping himself from laughing, Hadjar looked at his friend in a new light. This bald monk, prone to philosophizing and serene contemplation, was actually a rogue.

“Tell me what happened, Hadjar.”

“What do you mean?”

Einen turned to his interlocutor and made an incomprehensible hand gesture toward the sky.

“After you woke up, you stopped saying ‘gods and demons’. As far as I could tell, that used to be your favorite curse. So, tell me, what happened?”

Until recently, Hadjar would’ve been shocked to hear the usually silent Einen talking so much, but now he’d gotten used to it. In fact, the bald man was rather talkative if he was discussing an interesting topic.

“I recently found out that mentioning... those creatures makes them strong-”

Hadjar didn’t get to finish his explanation because a powerful explosion of energy and Glen’s cry interrupted him.

“Protection!” The Baliumian roared, unsheathing his saber that was glowing with golden light.

The waves of light radiating out from the blade created a dome of light in front of Glen. However, that didn’t help him. A pillar of sand struck his golden shield, shredding his protection like simple cloth. Glen was flung a dozen yards through the air and struck the ground hard. A trickle of blood ran down the Baliumian’s lips as he wheezed.

“Damn,” Hadjar muttered.

Glen was apparently out of the fight for the foreseeable future. With the internal injuries he’d received, he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

“Karissa!” Ramukhan shouted, brandishing his glowing staff in front of him.

Hadjar gripped the hilt of his blade as he witnessed something that he’d only heard about in the tales of the passengers back at Rahaim’s caravan. Right in front of their squad, a dune came to life. It rose as the sand moved as if it were alive. In some places, it condensed and absorbed the light from the sun and sky, turning blue, looking almost like silk and brocade, not sand.

Ten seconds later, a sand spirit stood in front of the squad on cloven feet, with its arms, which were clad in blue silk sleeves, spread out. It was something that couldn’t be described as a beast or a human. The first of its kind Hadjar had ever seen.

It wore a blue caftan and golden greaves. Beneath its hood, however, it had no face, nor even a body. Or rather, it didn’t have the usual kind of face and body. Instead, its flesh consisted of relentlessly shifting sand.

“Tar li’sah’oni burags baram!” Its voice, which was like the roar of a sandstorm, boomed out.

“What did it say?” Einen asked.

“I don’t know.” Hadjar shrugged and charged it.

Chapter 383

It was unlikely that a creature with friendly intentions had just tried to send one of them to his forefathers. Glen’s current condition clearly demonstrated the spirit’s hostility. Hadjar wasn’t going to try and negotiate with a creature that had almost killed a strong practitioner.

Blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, Hadjar appeared behind the creature. During this time, starting from an indistinct, sandy shape, it condensed into a huge, 6’6 monster. However, that didn’t make the spirit any weaker. Rather, this had the opposite effect. The power emanating from it before had been equal to the power of a cultivator on the verge of becoming a Spirit Knight. And now its aura was as mighty as a real Spirit Knight’s.

Rushing forward, Hadjar used the fifth stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.

“Rustle in the Treetops!” He said, using up nearly a quarter of his energy supply.

Stopping behind the creature, Hadjar slashed down with his sword. His blade left a trail of black fog behind. The blow, which had absorbed his energy and his knowledge of the Sword Spirit, was so strong that a blue crescent was launched from the edge of his blade. Merging with his real blade, it intensified the attack. The attack, which forced even the ones who weren’t its target to hold their breath, still couldn’t hurt the spirit. Moreover, the creature didn’t even turn around. Hadjar’s sword got stuck in a wall of sand that rose up from the ground. It was like the one Shakh had used. Except the spirit’s sand wall was so dense and strong that Hadjar’s attack not only got stuck in it, but was even partially reflected back at him.

Sensing that something was wrong, Hadjar dodged to the side. During the maneuver, he saw a crescent of sand fly out of the wall and, after cutting off some of his hair, strike a 30ft dune behind him and... cut it in half. Well, Hadjar had really gotten stronger.

The lull in the fight didn’t last long. The wall began to tremble and turned into a scorpion stinger, which tried to strike Hadjar directly in the chest. Its speed was so great that it turned into a brown lightning bolt. If not for the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ stance, an extra hole would’ve appeared in Hadjar’s body.

A dragon-sword formed in the air, blocking the stinger. It hit the stinger, but couldn’t slow it down, and instead just deflected it to the side, changing the stinger’s trajectory so it struck the same dune from before. The stinger drilled a hole three feet in diameter through the dune without any difficulty and kept going for another two hundred feet.

“Retreat!” Karissa cried.

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Turning into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, he hurried back, launching blue crescents at the spirit to delay it as he did so. The spirit simply ignored all his attacks. They dug into its ‘clothes’ but didn’t harm its sand flesh. Hadjar’s strikes were able to leave small cuts on the strange spirit’s clothes, but then they would simply disappear inside the sand body.

Karissa, uttering something in a language unknown to Hadjar, swung her hands over her flying book several times. The pair of shadows that wore fiery robes flew out of its pages. Flying over the sand, they left behind strips of glass due to how hot they were. They began to circle around the spirit, which obviously didn’t like this new development. Sand sabers appeared in the creature’s hands, which it used to carefully fight off the figures. Karissa grew paler with every blow that nearly struck her shadows. At some point, her nose started bleeding.

“Tilis, ice cage!” Ramukhan shouted.

He plunged his staff into the sand and began to chant something. Tilis moved her own staff through the air. The stone at the top of the magical weapon shone with energy. She used the same spell she’d employed when creating talismans. A streak of energy followed her every movement. Gradually, these streaks merged into certain hieroglyphs, which, in turn, formed a long series of inscriptions in the air. Suddenly, Tilis cried out loudly, and Hadjar felt a wave of energy emanating from her. It felt wrong and alien to him.

The hieroglyphs flashed, a white cloud appeared over the spirit’s head, and a huge cage made of white, dense ice materialized out of the cloud, falling on the creature. Once locked up, however, the creature was safe from Karissa’s spell. The fiery shadows recoiled from the ice cage and began to circle around it.

“Agnis’ Storm!” Ramukhan shouted in the desert language.

A yellow lightning bolt surged out from the top of his staff and struck the sky. It arced as it did so, branching out and becoming multiple smaller bolts, then fell upon the spirit. Hadjar felt like he could hear the creature scream as the yellow lightning bolts pierced it. They fused the sand, leaving behind glass scars on the spirit’s body.

“Dispel your cage, Tilis!” Karissa cried out. “I can’t use my Flame Shadows!”

“We can handle this thing without-”

However, Tilis was wrong. She and Ramukhan couldn’t deal with the spirit. The giant, throwing its head back, cried out, and the noise seemed to linger. The sand began to swell like the waves of the sea, and then a huge, wide pillar struck the sky. It became a tornado, crushing the ice cage. Tilis screamed and fell to her knees. Blood trickled down her lips. Ramukhan managed to stop his spell-Technique, and the sand tornado didn’t hurt him.

“It disappeared!” Einen cried out, holding his hand over his shadow.

Hadjar peered into the sand tornado, still whirling where the creature had once stood.

“Damn it all...”

Blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens once again, Hadjar managed to use his sword to block multiple sand sabers at the last second. The force of the impact was so immense that waves of sand surged out in all directions. Tilis sat behind Hadjar, cowering. She’d managed to feel the spirit’s approach as it formed right in the air, but there hadn’t been enough time for her to erect any defenses.

“Why-”

“Shut up!” Hadjar roared.

Not because he was angry at her, but simply because contending with the creature required his maximum concentration. The spirit loomed over him, bringing its sabers down with all its might. Hadjar peered into the space beneath the hood. There was no face there, but he did see something flickering inside. Hadjar guessed that this flicker was the spirit’s weak spot.

With a loud, inhuman growl, Hadjar maneuvered his body around and rammed the creature in the chest with his shoulder. He put his energy and his knowledge of the Sword Spirit into it. The attack looked as if a long, sharp blade had been fired out from Hadjar’s shoulder. It broke through the screaming spirit’s defenses and threw it a couple of yards back.

Grabbing Tilis by the hand, Hadjar dashed away. A moment later, a huge sand tornado appeared again, right where the witch had been sitting. Even a Heaven Soldier would’ve been killed by it. Stopping next to Einen, Hadjar lowered Tilis to the sand. Karissa and Ramukhan quickly got to them. Now all five of them stood nearby, shielding Glen, who was writhing in the sand.

“Great Turtle!” Hadjar shouted. “We’re only getting in each other’s way!”

“We must work together,” Einen nodded, “or we’ll die.”

Suddenly, the spirit’s arm began to grow. Despite standing thirty yards away, it was nevertheless able to bring down a hail of blows on them. It was so unexpected that almost no one managed to react to it. Apart from Einen. He twirled his staff-spear over his head.

“Stone Ape!” He cried out.

Shadows shot out from beneath the islanders’ feet. They touched his staff and scattered in a black mist, which immediately formed two ape paws that blocked the sabers.

“I can’t... hold it... for long,” Einen said through gritted teeth.

“Listen to me!” Hadjar growled. He used his General’s tone, so even Ramukhan obeyed. “Fire and lightning bolts can harm this creature, but my sword can’t. That’s why-”

As Hadjar was about to voice his plan, the spirit suddenly stopped its attacks. It froze, and then touched the neighboring dune.

“High Heavens,” Hadjar breathed.

There were two sand creatures in front of them now.

Chapter 384

Before both spirits managed to attack, Hadjar swung his blade. He imagined the black sword within his soul merging with the real one. Wisps of black fog began to emanate from Mountain Wind. Using a quarter of his energy, Hadjar imagined two autumn leaves landing on the chest of one of the sandy creatures wrapped in blue silk.

“Falling Leaf!”

Hadjar’s attacks were so fast that his hand and sword seemed to blur. Two ghostly, blue-black dragons surged out of his blade. A blade shone inside each of them — a copy of Mountain Wind.

“Tilis!” Hadjar shouted.

The witch was already moving before he’d even spoken. After their previous failure, everyone had let go of their pride. In the face of death, they only cared about survival, even if it meant not being the center of the universe.

Tilis swung her staff through the air, depicting a small, bright pattern. She shouted something in an unknown language and a blizzard flew out of the hieroglyph. Not like the one Olgerd had used, but more... cruel and cold. It enveloped the two dragon-swords, covering them in ice armor.

Before the blizzard solidified into the ice armor, Karissa and Ramukhan joined Tilis. The witch called forth her fire shadows once again. Only this time, there were six of them, and, instead of robes, they wore light leather armor. The shadows now looked like blurry human silhouettes.

Ramukhan, pointing his staff toward the sky, fell into a trance. His eyes rolled back and sparks shot out from the whites of his eyes. He summoned the ‘Agnis’ Storm’ once more. A normal cloud was turned into a thundercloud, and the lightning bolts that it let loose entwined into a huge spear.

“Ape’s Dance!”

Hadjar had never seen Einen use this Technique before. His ranged attack was normally the ‘Boulder Storm’, so what happened next was very surprising for Hadjar. A shadow slipped out from underneath the islander’s feet. It grew and then condensed, looking like the outline of an ape. In its paws, it held a copy of the islander’s staff.

Einen’s Technique moved with frightening speed. It managed to catch up to Ramukhan’s Technique. The shadow stopped right under the lightning bolt and... Caught it, attaching it to the staff and creating the tip of a spear. Einen turned pale, and Ramukhan’s nose began to bleed.

“Work together!” Hadjar snapped.

He twisted his wrist, and the dragons, opening their maws, charged in. They glared at one of the spirits. The ice armor slid into their fangs, and they fired ghostly blades from their gullets. The spirit screamed, making the sound of sand escaping a broken hourglass. At that moment, Einen’s ape came up. It jumped onto the dragons and drove the spear of lightning into the creature’s head.

With a roar, the shadow struck with all its might, splitting the spirit’s ‘skull’ in half. The melted sand, now enveloped in glass, tried to merge back together, but couldn’t. Karissa’s flame warriors flew in through the gap in the spirit’s defenses that had been left behind by the attack. They fused with the spirit. It screamed, trying to tear its silk clothes and sandy body to pieces. But instead, it only managed to remove some pieces of glass, and Karissa’s spell was already creeping close to its stone of consciousness. The flame warriors rained powerful blows down on the spirit, spreading a fiery echo across the sands. The sandy armor around the spirit’s heart melted, turning into glass.

“Now,” Hadjar whispered and, breaking the connection with his Technique, blurred into the shadow of the Seven Ravens. Finding himself above the luminous stone, he struck.

“Spring Wind!”

The attack turned into a steel beam that pierced through the glass barrier. It burrowed into the ground, leaving behind a hole several yards deep. An instant later, the spirit crumpled.

Catching the small stone that fell out of the sand on the fly, Hadjar pushed off the ground and, once again using the Seven Ravens Technique, retreated. He did so just in time. The second spirit, roaring furiously, launched a powerful attack with its sand sabers. It split the dune in half, despite standing several yards away.

Damn it. If Hadjar hadn’t avoided that strike, he wouldn’t have returned to Underworld City, but gone to his forefathers’ house instead.

Pocketing the stone, which was warm and emitting a raging energy, Hadjar looked at the rest of the squad. Karissa looked like she was on her last legs. She’d used up most of her power and was now staying upright only due to leaning on Einen’s shoulder. The islander, wiping away his sweat, was breathing heavily and leaning on his staff. Glen was wheezing slightly, still coughing up blood.

Ramukhan and Tilis looked a little better, but each of them had blood flowing down their faces — a sign of extreme exhaustion and strain on one’s body. Hadjar had only a tenth of his energy reserves left. Even if he used his Call, he still wouldn’t be able to compete with a creature that was at the level of a Spirit Knight.

The joint attack of the five strong practitioners had barely been able to kill one creature. The element of surprise had also aided them. The second spirit, given its defensive stance, was clearly ready for their attack. Its blue silk clothes were swaying in the wind. The entity relied on this cloth to hold it together. If it disappeared, the spirit would once again become a simple dune.

“If you have any trump cards left, it’s time to use them,” Hadjar hissed.

He and Einen looked at each other and silently agreed that it wasn’t the right time to demonstrate the abilities of their Inheritances.

While the citizens of Underworld City were pondering whether they should part with their artifacts, the spirit didn’t waste any time. It roared, and the sands around it began to move. Columns of sand burst out from its body. Curving, they intertwined around the spirit until it had six arms, each holding a huge saber.

“Fucking shit!” Hadjar cursed.

Extending to an incredible degree, the six arms attacked the squad.

“Calm Wind!” Hadjar shouted.

To power the stance, he used up all of his remaining energy. The spirit’s sand sabers hovered in the air, momentarily delayed, but Hadjar felt that he couldn’t hold them back for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll break through soon!”

“Evening Stars,” Ramukhan breathed out, taking a jade seal out of his pocket.

The hieroglyphs on it were painted in black and white, and the pattern was so complex that one glance at it made Hadjar’s head spin. The sorcerer whispered something as he held the seal in front of him, then threw it under the spirit’s feet. What came next blew all of Hadjar’s expectations out of the water.

A yellow lightning bolt shot out from the center of the cracked jade seal. It was as wide as the trunk of a young tree, and as sturdy as a stone wall. The feeling it gave off was that it could be grabbed with one’s bare hands and carried on your shoulder. Given the power roiling within it, the shoulder would have to belong to someone who was far beyond a Spirit Knight.

The sand creature didn’t even have time to cry out as the monstrous lightning bolt cut it in half. Without creating even the slightest echo, without wasting even an ounce of power, it just struck a single point. The attack was so powerful that no core stone fell to the sand afterward. It had simply evaporated along with the sand spirit itself.

“What was that?” Hadjar asked, dumbfounded.

“The Sage’s seal,” Ramukhan explained. “Paris gave us two, and we’ve just used one up. By the Evening Stars, now we only have one Lord level spell left for when we face Sankesh.”

Lord level? That meant the Sage, the master and mentor of Underworld City, was at the level superior to a Spirit Knight. However, if his memory wasn’t failing him, South Wind had also mentioned something similar to Hadjar before.

For a while, silence fell over the desert.

Chapter 385

“Would it have been better to die instead?” Karissa asked him. “The Sage gave these seals to all of us. Don’t act like you used your own personal spells!”

Ramukhan didn’t answer and turned away. Damned sorcerer! He most likely also had a personal seal given to him by the Sage. His mother had been right when she’d said that, in the world of cultivation, people sometimes did mean and stupid things to get precious resources.

“We’ll deal with that later,” Hadjar said. “Einen, can you treat their wounds? I’ll go check how Glen’s doing.”

“Okay,” the islander said.

He gently put Karissa down on the sand. Einen took several small bottles out of his bag. Seeing this, Hadjar began to wonder whether his mother’s words had been true.

While Einen treated Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan, who didn’t like being indebted to the stranger, Hadjar went over to Glen. The Baliumian was lying on his back, trembling slightly. There was a gash across his chest, from his left hip to his right shoulder. The ragged edges were several inches deep —it was a miracle that the attack hadn’t damaged his stomach or heart. Alas, his right lung, judging by the warrior’s breathing, had been torn to shreds, which explained all the blood he was coughing up.

Sitting down beside him, Hadjar took Glen’s wrist and closed his eyes, listening to the rhythm of the Baliumian’s heart and sensing the currents of his energy. Back when Dogar had taught him the basics of healing, Hadjar hadn’t really understood all the confusing talk about ‘the currents of power and energy’, but everything was now clear and even simple for him to gauge.

In the World River, Glen’s body looked like a terrifying tangle of energy currents. Even the thinnest threads formed an intricate pattern that Hadjar didn’t dare to try and comprehend. If he tried to understand this complicated pattern, his mind would simply dissolve into it. Instead, Hadjar singled out the largest threads, which looked more like rivers. These were Glen’s meridians. Most of them looked normal, but there were a few in his chest area that were damaged. They were no longer properly circulating the energy in his body, which meant that his entire energy system had dimmed and become lifeless. There was a presence of death about him. Unless he did something, Glen would die soon. Hadjar didn’t like the Baliumian, but he’d just seen that even five of them weren’t strong enough to survive in this region on their own.

Remembering the Moon Army’s officer’s instructions, Hadjar wished his neural network wasn’t still rebooting. There were a lot of scrolls and books from the Imperial library and ‘The Black Gates’ sect in its memory banks. The knowledge was fairly basic, but Hadjar would’ve been glad to have even that much.

He drank a potion with his eyes closed. Wincing at the unsettling taste, Hadjar felt the energy of the World River flowing into his own body much more quickly. This potion was called the ‘River’s Connection Enhancer’, and it had cost Hadjar a quarter of an Imperial coin in the Underworld City Auction House…

“If you live, you’ll owe me,” Hadjar grumbled.

Using his own energy, he ‘touched’ the torn meridians in Glen’s body. As he made contact, he sensed a sharp discord between their currents of power. Hadjar’s energy was like the wind, free and unbridled, while the Baliumian’s own power was calm, bright, and hot.

Suppressing an instinctive urge to recoil, Hadjar followed the instructions he could remember. He imagined picking up a needle. A blue thread appeared inside his mind, created from the energy that had separated from his core. With it, Hadjar, using Glen’s and his own energies, began to ‘sew up’ the torn meridians. They defied him, trying to tear away and spread out, but, bit by bit, inch by inch, they returned to their original state. For Hadjar, such delicate work was real torture. Oblivious to the outside world, he continued his work.

“I didn’t know your friend had talents outside his connection to the Sword Spirit.” Karissa’s voice trembled as she sipped her broth, shivering under the blanket.

Einen looked at his friend. Hadjar had been sitting next to Glen for four hours now, holding the wounded man’s wrist. There were waves of energy emanating from Hadjar, and blue sparks occasionally flickered across Glen’s wound. It gradually closed up, his breathing steadying. Moreover, thirty minutes ago, the Baliumian had stopped bleeding, though he was still very pale.

“Why don’t you give him some of that medicine?” Tilis asked accusingly.

“It wouldn’t make a difference.” Einen shrugged.

The stars were already illuminating the desert. They weren’t like the stars in the outside world, appearing far more bright and colorful, as if a merchant had thrown all their jewels down on a counter and then shone a torch on them.

“What do you mean?”

“If Hadjar doesn’t succeed and restore his meridians, no medicine will help Glen. Not the ones I have with me, anyway.”

Einen turned to Ramukhan. The sorcerer had the sack Paris had given him. It was full of artifacts, talismans, and elixirs the head of the Research Chamber had provided for their journey. Who knew how many of them Ramukhan had decided to keep for himself.

“Let’s wait and see what happens,” the sorcerer replied to his unspoken question, and calmly continued to drink Einen’s medicine.

At the moment, Hadjar was desperately struggling to repair Glen’s meridians. Finally, they reconnected. Hadjar’s work looked very rough to anyone watching: there were plainly visible, lingering tears everywhere, which would certainly affect the speed of Glen’s recovery. But when the choice was either life or death, such nuances really were insignificant.

When he finished with the meridians, Hadjar started healing the nodes — the gates through which the energy from the World River came in. During the time when the meridians had stopped circulating energy through Glen’s body, these nodes had begun to slowly crystallize the energy accumulated inside them. This phenomenon gave Hadjar certain ideas that he would’ve used if he’d had a few hundred thousand practitioners at Glen’s level and no honor, willing to become stronger by any means. Just like the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect.

Imagining the needle-thread changing into a small hammer, Hadjar slowly and methodically crushed the energy crystals, clearing up the nodes. This took a lot less time and soon came to an end.

Hadjar opened his eyes and looked at his handiwork. Glen’s wound had healed, turning into a hideous scar. His pulse was almost steady, and his breathing had calmed. The frozen red crust on his lips and cheeks indicated that blood was no longer flowing out of his mouth. His injured lung was probably still in bad shape, but his Technique for Strengthening the Body was working.

“Help me,” Einen said, appearing nearby.

Together, they lifted Glen’s head slightly and poured a potion into his mouth.

“How long will he need to recover?” Ramukhan asked as he approached.

“By morning, he’ll be back on his feet,” Hadjar replied, “but as for fighting... I don’t think he’ll be able to help us in battle anytime soon.”

“Then he’ll have to try his luck with the traps.”

The sorcerer said this with great confidence, as if he were certain that they would encounter various traps in the near future.

“I don’t think you have the right to make such a decision.”

Upon hearing Hadjar’s words, Ramukhan’s face flushed slightly, and his eyes flashed evilly.

“I don’t think you can do anything about it,” the sorcerer replied smugly. He nodded at the blue amulets on their arms. This was yet another example of how the assurance that they weren’t slaves was a blatant lie. Well, they weren’t slaves when things were going well, but as soon as they disagreed or something dangerous came up...

Ramukhan quieted down and returned to the fire.

Hadjar took the stone he’d snatched up in the battle against the sand spirit out of his pocket. Maybe the others had forgotten about it, or maybe they hadn’t noticed him grab it, but no one had reminded Hadjar to share the spoils with them.

“What’s that?” Einen asked him.

“I was just about to ask you the same question.”

Chapter 386

Einen took the stone and placed it in his palm, then froze. He meditated for a minute or so, peering at it through the World River. It was hard to tell what exactly he was doing.

“Hand me the Energy Stone, please,” the islander said suddenly.

Hadjar untied the strings of the wallet where he kept little Serra’s gift and the fairy’s tears. He placed the artifact in Einen’s other palm. The islander peered at it for a while as well, and then laid both stones down on the sand.

“Do these look similar to you?” He asked.

Hadjar thought about it for a moment, then slapped his forehead and peered at them through the World River. Just as he’d suspected, the stones looked almost identical when he did so. The only difference was that the stone given to him by little Serra contained ten times more energy than the one he’d extracted from the spirit.

Hadjar was now certain of two things: first, he knew where to get a much-needed resource in the future. If cores formed inside beasts, then Energy Stones formed in spirits. It was rather logical.

The youngsters of the Empire were probably taught such things at an early age, but to the rest of the world, such knowledge was quite valuable. Admittedly, people in Lidus wouldn’t need to know about Energy Stones and where to get them because they’d need to fight a creature at the Spirit Knight level to acquire them.

The second thing: Serra’s gift was even more potent than he’d thought.

“I guess,” Einen continued, “that these kinds of stones must form in spirits far above the Lord level.”

“Above the Lord level,” Hadjar repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t even know the name of the first level above the Lord level. And I don’t really want to imagine how powerful a creature that produces this sort of stone is.”

“I doubt that little Serra gave this to you... for no reason.”

“It was a gift,” Hadjar said.

“You know what I mean, barbarian.”

When Einen used the inoffensive term ‘barbarian’, it was clear that he was very annoyed. However, his annoyance was understandable. The situation was quite stressful and frightening, after all. They’d fallen through the bottom of a lake and landed in this strange region. They didn’t know whether they’d passed through a portal or ended up in a world inside their world. Or maybe it was an incredibly huge cave. Then they’d fought against two monsters that could’ve destroyed Lidus or Balium...

And now they’d learned that Serra had given Hadjar an Energy Stone of immense power. It wasn’t surprising that the head of the Auction House of Underworld City hadn’t been able to name its price. He most likely hadn’t been able to determine how valuable a resource it was.

“Maybe she gave you the key to Mage City,” Einen suggested hopefully.

Hadjar mulled that over for a moment. How easy things would be if that were true.

“I don’t think so,” Hadjar sighed. “Given everything we’ve learned, we can be certain that she’s the Key. She’s not a human being, not a living thing at all, but a mage-created golem.”

“I wonder why they didn’t make her strong enough to handle the likes of Sankesh.”

“We can try to figure out the motives of the extinct civilization later,” Hadjar grinned.

He agreed with Sankesh on one thing: if Mage City had been obliterated, it had deserved such a fate. If they’d really been as unique and omnipotent as the legends claimed, then marauders wouldn’t have been looking for the entrance to their city right now.

“You’re right, my friend, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.” Einen rolled up his blanket and put it under his head. Hugging his staff, he breathed calmly. “At the moment, we just know that we have an artifact that’s probably connected to Mage City somehow.”

The islander soon fell asleep. At their level of power, sleep was rarely needed, and in most cases, it could be replaced by deep meditation. However, when the need arose, a practitioner instinctively fell into a deep slumber. It probably wasn’t necessary at all after one advanced to the Heaven Soldier level, or after they reached the Spirit Knight level, surely. Hadjar had heard people say that Lords could go months without food or water and remain in seclusion for decades.

Hadjar cracked his aching neck and glanced at Karissa and Tilis. He wasn’t interested in either of them, but the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in… By the Evening Stars, it’s been far too long!

Parodying Nero’s tone in his head, Hadjar promised himself that, as soon as he got out of the desert, he would visit a brothel right away to soothe his soul, nerves, and sate his natural sexual needs. Smiling after he made the decision, Hadjar was about to follow his friend’s example, but as he lay down on the sand, he turned and the Patriarch’s ring pressed against his chest.

Pulling out the leather strap from underneath his clothes, Hadjar looked around. No one seemed to be watching him. It was unlikely that anyone but Einen would’ve been able to identify the ring anyway. It was too valuable by the standards of this land. Even in the Imperial capital, spatial rings weren’t exactly common, let alone in the Sea of Sand. Deep in thought, he sniffed.

A few years ago, Serra’s homeland had seemed to him like a huge world filled with strong cultivators and great danger. Now he looked down on this place. Then again, he’d earned the right to do so, as Hadjar was now able to fight on equal terms with Heaven Soldiers at the lower stages of the level.

If he were to face the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect now, he wouldn’t need the neural network to defeat the maniac. Perhaps he could even defeat him with less than ten attacks. Using the Call, he wouldn’t need more than three.

Steeling his resolve with such thoughts, he looked at the ring. The World River appeared before his eyes, and a complex pattern made up of threads of energy appeared. A year and a half ago, just a glimpse of it had given Hadjar a terrible headache, and he’d nearly lost his mind. Now, even though he had a headache, he could withstand the pressure of the pattern on his mind. After his impromptu practice using Glen, whose energy patterns had looked hundreds of times more complex than the ring’s, Hadjar decided to take a risk.

It was considered impossible to re-bind such an artifact if you weren’t a Heaven Soldier, but Hadjar had gotten used to proving that everything was possible if a person tried hard enough.

He pictured himself holding a needle, which formed much faster this time. Since he was still being affected by the drug he’d taken (it would certainly cause the most unpleasant side effects later but he didn’t care), his nodes were working like pumps.

Hadjar, biting his lip as he concentrated, began to gradually change the pattern. He easily singled out the piece responsible for binding the ring to the Patriarch. It looked like the emblem of ‘The Black Gates’ sect and, apparently, no one else could ‘open’ the ring because of it.

At first, everything progressed smoothly and Hadjar even had time to rejoice and relax, but then he suddenly felt a sharp prick near his temple. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know he’d just spat out some blood.

The accursed ring was resisting! The pattern seemed to bristle with sharp blades, which were trying to cut into Hadjar’s mind.

It was clear that trying to re-bind the ring could prove to be deadly, but Hadjar had a feeling that this artifact wouldn’t only help him get to Mage City, but would also save his life at some point.

Hadjar Darkhan won’t capitulate to a goddamned ring!

Hadjar continued to push onward.

Chapter 387

The seal resisted so desperately that it didn’t seem like just an artifact, but a cultivator fearing for their life. Hadjar was frowning as he kept spitting out blood. In the world of energies, he frantically fought against the shield that the seal had erected to turn him away.

A copy of Mountain Wind, replacing the needle in his hands, flashed with incredible speed. Hadjar kept hitting the energy shield with it. It trembled and sometimes even cracked, but the harder Hadjar attacked, the more effort he put in, the more the seal resisted. Sharp blades shot out from the shield, striking at Hadjar’s soul.

Hadjar didn’t give up. His eyes flared brighter with each new wound. An angry dragon raged within them, and it wasn’t clear what caused the shield to bend further — his insane rage or his sword.

“I defeated you in life,” Hadjar growled, battering the emblem of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, “I won’t lose to your remnant!”

Imagining the miniature black dragon waking up in his soul, Hadjar called on the black blade. He combined his two swords into one and, after adding his Call to the attack, delivered a powerful blow to the seal.

In the world of energies, the sword strike left a clearly visible trail behind, black lightning bolts wrapped around it. It made the seal’s shield bend and almost crack, but it quickly retaliated with a vengeance, shooting out long blades. They speared Hadjar, casting him into the depths of the endless World River.

Back in the physical world, Hadjar flinched, bent over, and vomited viscous, dark blood onto the sand. For a few seconds, he froze in this position, and then, after wiping his lips clean, sat down again in the lotus position. Fortunately, after their terrible battle against the desert spirits, the other squad members were all too exhausted to pay attention to Hadjar.

Emerging from the turbulent streams of the World River, Hadjar hovered over the seal again. As if mocking him, it flickered slightly like it was winking at the unsuccessful intruder. Hadjar realized that this construct couldn’t be opened by swift, brute force. Whoever had created the ring had foreseen a barbaric simpleton trying to break its defenses. As a result, the shield that had formed above the seal absorbed most of his attacks, and even used them to strike back. To overcome such a defense, Hadjar needed something that would bypass it without harming the shield itself, striking directly at the seal.

Mountain Wind was still in his hand, or rather, its mental copy was. It looked almost the same as the real blade, except that it had been created using a floating blue mist of energy.

Calming his fury and battle lust, Hadjar sat down opposite the shield and began to ponder. What could attack right through the shield without damaging it, and only break the seal? The answer was actually fairly obvious once he thought about it — the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance. Hadjar had never used stances inside the world of energies before. Still, what was a stance? No more than a special way to manipulate the energy within one’s body. The weapon served as little more than a guide, as a way to shape the energy more easily.

The Shadow of the Immortal, whose real power had been far beyond Hadjar’s comprehension, had once demonstrated this theory in practice. The shadow hadn’t even really moved its finger forward, let alone swung a sword, but a deep gouge had appeared on the opposite wall of the cave, about half a mile away. Hadjar hadn’t seen the Technique or the weapon that the Shadow had used. The Immortal had claimed that if it had used a suitable, strong sword, its attack could’ve gone right through the cave wall. Hadjar hadn’t believed it back then. Nowadays, he suspected this world didn’t even really understand the concept of something being ‘impossible’. So, if the stance could be used in the physical world, then it could be applied in the world of energies as well.

Cracking his neck again, Hadjar turned away from the seal. He completed all the necessary steps with his sword, energy, and ‘body’, then launched a short cutting wave, imagining an autumn leaf landing somewhere in the space in front of him.

A barely perceptible, ghostly blade soared through the air for about twenty paces before it melted away in midair. Such a weak attack reminded Hadjar of the past. That had been the height of power for him once and had even saved his life in battle several times.

The amount of energy that had to be spent on it baffled Hadjar. In the physical, ‘real’ world, the attack would’ve been ten times more powerful and required significantly less power to launch. Now, however, Hadjar had lost almost half of his energy supply.

The shield over the seal seemed to sense its impending defeat and darkened a little. Its radiance disappeared, and it lurked inside the intricacies of the energy strands as if it didn’t exist. It was a primitive trap that would only be useful against very desperate intruders. Nevertheless, Hadjar was almost tempted to believe that the power inside the seal had been drawn back and its protection had disappeared.

Raising his sword over his head, Hadjar almost brought down all his fury and power on the barrier, but then he suddenly froze. He looked at the copy of Mountain Wind in his hands. Suspicions crept into his soul. He’d just used the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance and the attack had travelled in a perfectly straight line. Of course, he’d directed it to do so, but he doubted it would be possible to change the attack’s trajectory because he seemed to be ten times weaker in this state. Hadjar had only recently learned how to strike from any angle with the help of this stance.

Lowering his sword, Hadjar looked at the seal. As if feeling its enemy’s hesitation, it flickered again defiantly. Whoever had created this construct had had a twisted and arrogant sense of humor.

Approaching the problem from a different angle, Hadjar tried to find a way to get around his weakened state in the world of energy by returning to ‘reality’ for less than a moment. That was all the time he needed to launch his attack properly. That way, he might not need to grow stronger in the world of energy.

After all, how could Hadjar grow stronger in it? Of course, if he’d had a couple of years to train and dozens of Heaven Soldiers ready to spar with him, it would’ve been a piece of cake. He would’ve probably been able to do it without using any special resources. They weren’t a requirement to reach the verge of becoming a true cultivator. However, Hadjar had no time. None at all.

Maybe he could use alchemical potions and pills? However, those weren’t available to him. Or rather, they were available in Underworld City, but they cost absurd amounts of money.

The only thing he could possibly use was a weapon. Where could Hadjar get a weapon powerful enough to influence the world of energy from the physical realm? Maybe Imperial level artifacts were capable of this, but according to rumors, they were rare even in the Darnassus Empire.

Suddenly, as if answering his question, the black blade separated from Mountain Wind. He’d gotten it from the Tree of Life, and it had always been nearby, but had somehow remained unnoticed.

Separating from Mountain Wind, the black blade swam toward Hadjar. It went farther and farther from the World River. Hadjar caught it. For the first time, Hadjar used this sword as more than an addition to his attacks. This time, he actually grabbed hold of it directly.

He was only holding it with the hand of his soul, but still. What had he expected from it? Maybe sudden enlightenment, or something surprising, perhaps even frightening, but no. He was holding the most ordinary of swords in his hand, one that truly wasn’t much different from any other. Apart from being made of black fog and located somewhere deep within his soul.

After dissolving the copy of Mountain Wind, Hadjar shifted the black blade into his right hand. He used it to attack with the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance once again. The instant his energy rushed into the weapon, Hadjar felt something. Something wild and unbridled. Dark and cruel. Something hardened by thousands or hundreds of thousands of battles. It was as if he wasn’t holding a sword, but the scythe of Death itself. It was as if the blade didn’t care who or what stood in front of it — it would gladly charge into any battle, even ones it knew it couldn’t survive.

Hadjar grinned. Such a sword suited him perfectly. It was a pity that the blade didn’t exist in the physical world.

Just as Hadjar had predicted, his attack flashed behind the shield, breaking the seal in half. The construct faded away, and at that very moment, Hadjar felt himself being pulled in by something.

Chapter 388

Hadjar’s consciousness was transported to a small space, one that was only about twenty square feet. Unlike with the World River or his own subconscious, Hadjar didn’t feel the presence of his body in here. He was only a bare mind  floating in space and looking at objects.

He immediately recognized some of them. For example, the two piles of Baliumian gold coins. Before, they would’ve been very valuable to him, but now... Hadjar was now eagerly staring at nine imperial coins instead, each of which was worth at least five thousand simple gold coins. In all honesty, the Patriarch hadn’t really been rich. There were only eleven imperial coins in here. But even that was a lot, given how ‘leaky’ Hadjar’s pockets were.

He also saw two flasks. One of them, made from an unknown, extremely hard glass, contained a substance that Hadjar instinctively recoiled from. The muddy brew beating against the walls like it was trying to break out was the poison that had nearly killed Nero. Remembering how the Patriarch had claimed that one drop was enough to poison a whole city... Well, this would be enough to exterminate the entirety of a small province in southern Lidus.

Nearby, in the other bottle, was a similar substance, except it was green. There were only three drops of it in the bottle. It was the antidote. The very thing that Hadjar had sacrificed the Inheritance of the Immortal’s Shadow for. However, he’d never regretted it.

The following two objects gave Hadjar pause.

A fair distance away from each other, a red pill and an incredibly ancient scroll seemed to dominate the space. The energy oozing from the cherry-sized pill made Hadjar want to vomit. It seemed as if so much pain, blood, and despair had been poured into it, into just this one, small pill, that it would be enough for several generations of people to endure. Hadjar heard the screams of the dying, their pleas and prayers to everyone: the gods, demons, spirits, the world, and their relatives. They begged them for help. But no one came. Their despair — the absolute loss of even the tiniest shred of hope — oozed from the pill. It emitted a sense of power, promising the ability to subdue all these cries, but Hadjar, without even touching the abomination, sensed the price that would have to be paid for such power. He remembered the Spirit Knight, Raven Wing, with whom the Patriarch had spoken before his death, and how skeptical he’d been about this kind of ‘medicine’. Hadjar now understood why. The one who took the pill would probably advance to the initial stage of the Spirit Knight level. However, the person would most likely not retain their sanity or be able to advance ever again. The red pill gave one terrible power, but it also limited them, trapping the cultivator at the level of a weak Knight until the end of their days. Many from the barbarian kingdoms, and perhaps the Empire itself, would’ve gladly agreed to this. After all, most cultivator’s chances of becoming a Spirit Knight, even after a thousand years, were extremely low. And on the other hand, how many geniuses were born in wealthy clans and families who reached this point by thirty? The envy and powerlessness of those who coveted others’ success weren’t the best advisers.

And yet, Hadjar overcame his urge to destroy the pill. Even in the face of imminent death, he wouldn’t use it, because death was better than losing his soul. Maybe he could find some other use for it, apart from selling it, of course. Hadjar wasn’t going to be responsible for creating a crazy demon that thirsted for the blood of others.

As for the scroll, that was the only thing that really interested Hadjar. It was old, shabby, not made out of paper or papyrus, but some kind of fabric instead, a silvery and slightly flickering one. However, it was difficult to estimate how magnificent the fabric had once been, because now it was covered in green spots. In some places, the threads had even torn loose.

Hadjar didn’t know how to take anything out of the ring, but as soon as he thought about it, he felt the cool fabric in his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw that his right hand really was clutching the scroll. It looked exactly the same as it had inside the ring now that it was in the physical world. By the Evening Stars, something inside Hadjar longed to read it. Hadjar was usually able to resist temptation. This was one of those rare moments where he gave in.

With a trembling hand, Hadjar unfurled the scroll. Inside, on the threads, he found the faded portrait of a man. He wore black armor with a blue belt, and held a black sword in his hands, the image depicting him swinging the sword down.

Hadjar looked at the image for only an instant, and then abruptly folded the scroll back up. Something inside Hadjar desperately wanted to see more, but his instincts were screaming at him that it would be dangerous. Gritting his teeth from a sudden, sharp pain in his chest area, he put his hand over it. When he moved it away, he saw that it was covered in blood.

On Hadjar’s chest, starting from his navel and going almost all the way up to his clavicle, was a cut. It was as if some invisible entity had struck him with a sword, grazing his flesh with only the tip of their blade. This had been caused by just a split-second glance at the portrait which now seemed to be carved into Hadjar’s memory. He could remember it easily, but he felt like he couldn’t ‘look at it’ for more than a few minutes. The level of Sword Spirit mastery concentrated in that single movement of the swordsman wasn’t just incredible, but left even the most powerful Techniques that the Shadow of the Immortal had been able to show him far in the dust.

“Where did the Patriarch find this?” Hadjar whispered, trying to figure out how to put the scroll back in the ring.

First, he put the ring on the scroll, then vice versa, then he tried saying:

“Go back.”

None of it worked. Hadjar, still holding his hand over his wound (more out of shock than pain), mentally slipped back into the ring. Immediately, he found himself back in the small space where the rest of the Patriarch’s things were stored. Now, after just thinking about returning the scroll, Hadjar saw it in front of him. Back in reality, his hand was once again empty.

Emerging from the ring, Hadjar looked at the destroyed steal. Well, he had to repair it now. Imaging the needle once more, Hadjar began to sew the seal back up. Only this time, using his own energy, he embroidered a completely different coat of arms on it.

He lacked neither the power nor the energy required, but just as before, he was too clumsy, so it was a very crude seal. The seams were visible to the naked eye, and energy was clearly leaking from them. The shield he’d made was weaker than the previous one. But even so, no one except Hadjar, at least on their first attempt, would be able to access the ring. That would be enough.

Opening his eyes, Hadjar sighed quietly. The simple but rather elegant gold ring now looked rusty and dented. He could easily put it on his finger now. No one would suspect it was a spatial artifact.

“I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“Damn it!” Hadjar jumped in surprise.

That damned islander... Because of his perpetually half-closed eyes, it was difficult to determine when he was sleeping, when he was meditating, and when he was carefully observing someone.

“It’s good that you were able to open it,” Einen almost yawned, “it might come in handy.”

“I thought so as well,” Hadjar nodded. “Get some sleep. We don’t know what kind of creatures we’ll have to fight tomorrow...”

Hadjar stopped talking. Judging by his even and slightly louder breathing, Einen had fallen asleep again.

“May the algae in the sea love you...”

“Barbarian.”

“Damn it!” Hadjar was startled again.

The damned islander hadn’t fallen asleep after all... Hadjar hated his friend sometimes.

Chapter 389

In the morning, everyone was woken up by a loud cry:

“Stay away from me, sand monster!”

Glen, suddenly jumping to his feet, swung his saber around wildly. A golden ribbon of energy streaked out from his blade. It cut through the air and disappeared into the nearest dune. Immediately after, the Baliumian clutched at his chest and began to choke. Einen rushed over to him and forcibly threw Glen’s head back, pouring the remains of the broth down his throat. The Baliumian coughed again, but after half a minute, he was able to breathe normally.

“Try not to overdo it in the near future.”

Einen patted Glen on the shoulder and then returned to his few belongings — the staff and blanket.

“What happened with the...” The Baliumian waved his hand vaguely.

“Spirit,” Karissa prompted.

“Yes,” Glen nodded.

“We destroyed them.” Ramukhan said, sounding like he alone had killed the sand monsters.

The Baliumian blinked a couple of times, rubbed his chest, was surprised to find a new scar there, and then exhaled with relief. After a moment, he grabbed his saber again and looked around frantically.

“Them?” He asked. “There was only one spirit. It climbed out of the sand with a saber and-”

“You missed a lot of things,” Hadjar interrupted him and turned to the sorcerer. “Where are we heading now, Ramukhan?”

Karissa and Tilis had already gathered their things and were carrying their small bags over their shoulders. The bags contained special potions, several artifacts, and a small amount of provisions. The residents of Underworld City travelled light.

“Let’s continue toward the mountains,” Ramukhan answered after some deliberation, “we have no other choice. After that battle, we lost a lot of time and, most likely, lost our lead. If Sankesh hasn’t found an entrance yet, he’ll probably fine one soon.”

“We must hurry,” Karissa added.

The witch, setting an example for the rest, was the first to start heading toward the mountains to the east. Soon, the squad stretched out like a snake, following after her. Karissa kept her book open. The runes and hieroglyphics on its pages glowed. Two fiery shadows in hoods moved in front of them. Acting as scouts under the witch’s strict guidance, they carefully checked the nearby dunes. After shooting a flurry of miniature fireballs at them, they made the squad stand still as they prepared for another battle. However, either luck was smiling down on them, or Sankesh had appeared somewhere in the desert, and the spirits guarding Mage City, sensing a more serious threat, were rushing toward him.

“Ramukhan said that you patched me up,” Glen came up to Hadjar and Einen after talking about something with the sorcerer.

Einen glanced at him with his usual, stony expression.

“Don’t mention it.”

“And yet,” the Baliumian looked more serious than ever, “I know we got off on the wrong foot. However, you need to see it from my perspective: I didn’t have a choice. It was a tradition, not something I could defy.”

Hadjar stayed silent. He doubted Ramukhan had been talking to Glen about this for three hours. Besides, even if deceiving the newcomers was a tradition, Einen’s crucifixion had clearly been Glen’s idea.

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t help you because I like you, but to maintain the strength of the squad. So, I helped myself more than you. You don’t owe me anything, and let’s leave it at that.”

For a while, Glen walked beside them silently. The mercilessly scorching sun had almost no effect on the practitioners, but the citizens walking ahead of them were only managing thanks to their amulets. Their pace was so slow that it was just an easy walk to Hadjar. A deadly one, mind you, along the crests of dunes that, at any moment, could come to life and send them to their forefathers.

“I understand,” Glen finally broke the silence, “and yet... I’ve heard about you, Mad General, and about what you did for my homeland...”

The Baliumian’s eyes dimmed as if he were looking not in front of him, but somewhere deep inside, into his past.

“I have a difficult relationship with Balium,” he continued. “We did a lot of evil things to each other.” Glen rolled up his left sleeve, showing a burn scar. Such marks were put on convicts in Balium. “But nobody gets to choose their homeland. In addition, I left my parents and brothers there. So, thank you for their sake, at least.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickened his pace and moved ahead of them once more.

“Do you believe him?” Einen asked his friend curiously.

Hadjar looked at Glen’s back.

“Not for a second.”

The friends didn’t say anything else after that. The desert, surprisingly, didn’t throw anything else at them. Hadjar, taking advantage of the lull, remembered the picture from the ancient scroll. For some reason, he felt like he’d already met the swordsman depicted there. He felt some vague kinship with him. However, it was unlikely that such a monster could be found among the ancestors of the Lidish royal family. It was difficult to imagine the power that the swordsman had possessed during his lifetime. If a simple picture of his attack could kill a strong practitioner such as Hadjar, what would his real life self been capable of?

Hadjar guessed that the portrait depicted a dead man. Given the age of the scroll, the man had died back when a true sea had stood in this region, instead of the Sea of Sand. Or maybe a forest. Or huge, snowcapped mountain ranges had filled the entire area, and eagles had soared in the sky. Regardless, it had happened so long ago that even an approximate time period was difficult to determine...

Karissa’s suddenly raised fist interrupted Hadjar’s thoughts. The squad stopped at the top of the dune, and the landscape behind it was visible only to the witch.

“Watch out,” she whispered. “We aren’t alone.”

Crouching, the rest of the squad crowded around on the crest of the dune. Below, at the foot of it, about one thousand feet down, there was a rather large group of practitioners and cultivators. Some of them were wrapped in cloaks and held staves in their hands. Slightly flickering stones shone atop them.

“I thought that sorcerers and witches only lived in Underworld City,” Hadjar whispered.

“Yes,” Ramukhan answered through clenched teeth, obviously angry. “But not everyone agrees with the Sage’s policy.”

“Not everyone wants to live underground,” Karissa explained, “many go up to the surface and... never return. They choose a life up above, among strangers, instead. Over time, these people are removed from the lists of citizens.”

“And some of them die here,” Tilis said with the same malicious anger Ramukhan had displayed.

In total, the enemy squad numbered no less than fifty people. They even had tents. Apparently, they hadn’t spent a lot of time in this desert.

“What should we do-”

Hadjar was cut off.

The ground shook underfoot. There was a rumble, low and rolling, like thunder, but coming from the ground. The people in the enemy camp screamed and scattered away from the center of their encampment, where the desert was bubbling. The flat surface rose up like a small hill, and a huge arm extended out from it. It was so large that it crushed six tents at once. The arm was followed by the main body. Encased in armor, it was as tall as the mountains to the east. The monstrous golem’s red eyes shone like two stars. Only the upper half of its body appeared above the sands, but its shadow still covered the squad from Underworld City.

Hadjar’s mouth opened slightly. This world kept proving that it could surprise him with its miracles, over and over. The golem opened its mouth, letting out a roar that sounded like an exploding volcano.

It struck, turning half of the enemy squad into a bloody mess in one fell swoop. In a panic, the people scattered everywhere, trying to get away, but they were caught by the living dunes that assumed the form of the same spirits Hadjar and his group had encountered. The spirits cut the people down with sand sabers. Scarlet rivers of blood drenched the golden sand.

Chapter 390

“Five... seven... twelve.” As Karissa counted the sand spirits emerging from the dunes, their faces darkened.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine what this horde of monsters could do to them. Just two sand spirits had been able to nearly end the lives of the seekers from Underworld City.

While the most cowardly of the practitioners were trying to escape and were caught by the sand sabers, some of them dared to fight against the golem. Despite its enormous physical strength and size, it didn’t radiate a strong aura. So, it wasn’t surprising that the rest of the practitioners and cultivators attacked it. However, they’d clearly chosen the wrong target.

Still waist-deep in the sands, the golem waved away the practitioners as if they were annoying insects. Their broken bodies, after flying no less than fifty five yards through the air, landed in the midst of the massacre that the spirits were committing. Their facial expressions were masks of horror and disbelief. The cultivators, upon realizing that, despite its lack of aura, the golem was still very powerful, began to use their best protective Techniques.

“Damn,” Glen swore, “how many are there? Five? ”

“Six,” Ramukhan corrected him, pointing to a Heaven Soldier hiding among the shadows.

Two cultivators who’d combined their powers created something like a pyramid above them. They were surely natives of the Sea of Sand. According to legends, once upon a time, rulers of the Pearl of the Sands had built something similar, and they’d been buried there. The top of the pyramid looked sharp and dangerous. Hadjar doubted that even Glen would’ve been able to break through such a defense without suffering any damage. The golem simply covered both the Technique and the cultivators with its palm. Neither a cry nor a groan of pain came from beneath the giant hand. When it slowly lifted its hand with a pleased hum, two scarlet spots quickly disappeared into its crumbling, sandy outline.

The sorcerers and witches who were standing behind the cultivators tried to give them orders, but the panicked fighters were no longer listening to them. They kept randomly launching their best offensive Techniques at the golem, which, grimacing, shielded itself with its forearm.

The giant’s heavy, slow movements created such powerful wind currents that the grains of sand became deadly. The practitioners who didn’t manage to run away and find their death at hands of the spirits were pulverized by the sand.

Shielding itself with its left hand, the giant clenched its right hand into a fist and struck out slowly. It had such a huge range that even the fastest of the cultivators couldn’t escape. Plunging its hand into the sand up to the elbow, the golem cackled triumphantly. It looked pretty creepy.

Behind it, the spirits were fighting the rest of the squad members, easily overwhelming them with their might. They circled the sorcerers. Several of them, sticking their staves into the sand, chanted something. Energy boiled and metal walls appeared around them, created from the air and compressed sand to serve as a frail, temporary shield. The spirits’ blows left deep cracks and cuts on their surface. However, this was enough to buy some time for the other sorcerers.

Seven people wearing hooded robes crossed their staves, their pommels angled toward the giant. They chanted something in a whistling language and almost died from their own spell. The combined power of seven witches and sorcerers was so great that its echo reached even the dune on which Hadjar and the rest lay. Raging wind currents nearly cut off the crest they were on and were stopped by a wave of Hadjar’s hand. He called forth very light, invisible blades that reflected the echo and directed it down, beneath the slope.

The attack of seven magic users working together was amazing. With a wild roar, a tornado of shimmering, white wind erupted into being. Condensing quickly, it took the shape of a huge spear that could probably harm even the giant golem.

Shooting out at a speed that Hadjar wouldn’t have been able to dodge or even block, the tornado drilled directly into the center of the golem. The attack created whirlwinds of terrifying power. This time, Einen had to erect a protective wall of shadows in front of the squad. The vortex was so strong that it created a real sandstorm. It hid the sorcerers, spirits, and golem from their sight. Everyone grabbed the hilts of their weapons. Being prepared never hurt.

“Do you think they killed it?” Glen asked.

The answer wasn’t long in coming. When the energy dissipated, the storm gradually subsided and rained down on the ground. What the squad members saw then was the best demonstration of what a dangerous place they were in.

Before them was the same deserted plain from before. There were no traces of the battle left, except for the abnormally high dune in the center. They saw no golem, no spirits, and, most horrifyingly, not a single body or drop of blood. No camels, no things left behind by the other group, no broken tents. Even the metal walls erected by the powerful spells had disappeared beneath the hungry sands.

“If you want to, you can go check things out,” Tilis grinned. “You can go and maraud, as barbarians are wont to do. Go, steal things from the dead.”

“If I’d killed them myself, I would definitely take your advice into consideration. After all, it’s the custom of the desert.”

“What are you-”

“That’s enough!” Ramukhan stopped them from bickering any further.

For a moment, silence permeated the crest of the dune. Everyone involuntarily imagined themselves in the place of the people who’d been unlucky enough to either trigger a trap or the come across a golem’s lair. None of them deludes themselves into thinking that they would’ve been able to escape. Even Sunshine Sankesh and his army wouldn’t have been able to handle such a monster, especially while it was being supported by a dozen spirits.

“I suggest we go around this place,” Einen said thoughtfully.

“Yes!”

“Of course!”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Agreeing with the islander, the squad quickly moved away from the awful place. In a minute, they were already a good distance away. About half an hour and four thousands yards later, they stropped gripping their weapons tightly, but it was a full five hours later before Karissa closed her book and put the talisman she’d been holding between her fingers back into it.

“I think I know why Serra gave you that stone.” As usual, Einen emerged from the shadows.

“You figured it out too?”

All this time, Hadjar had been thoughtfully toying with the blackened ring on his finger. He had stored his few valuable belongings — little Serra’s gift, the fairy’s tears, and two imperial coins — inside it. He’d left the wallet with the bracelets on his belt. Maybe it was stupid, but to him, it was something far too precious to risk on an artifact he wasn’t sure he could rely on yet. He still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that, at just his request, things would disappear into nowhere and appear out of nowhere. It seemed far too unnatural.

“I think if Glen hadn’t stepped on the spirit,” Einen grinned slightly, “it wouldn’t have attacked us.”

Hadjar was about to answer him, but, apparently, the desert wasn’t particularly inclined to let him finish speaking.

Ramukhan, who was walking at the head of their column, raised his fist into the air and shouted something. In all honesty, it wasn’t particularly important what he’d said. Everyone was already tense like the strings of a Ron’Jah right now.

Tilis and Karissa, without saying a word, immediately threw their spells ahead of Ramukhan. Karissa, as always, used fire shadows in hooded robes, and Tilis brought down a flurry of water that resembled a hammer striking the swirling, revitalized sand.

A roar mixed with hissing filled the air, and a huge, white snake emerged from the sand right in front of them. Its head was the size of an adult male, and its eye sockets and mouth radiated blue light.

“Cover me,” Einen whispered and ducked into his shadow.

Hadjar cursed and unsheathed his sword.

Chapter 391

Emerging in front of the snake, Einen twisted his staff and a spear shot out of its pommel, accompanied by a screech of steel. Dressed all in white, the islander held his spear-staff behind his back and faced the snake with his side toward it. When it spotted its enemy, the snake completely burst out of the sand.

Its huge, white body writhed and coiled around Einen. The snake’s head, which was emitting a bluish light, leaned down and hissed at the warrior, revealing curved fangs. The creature was more than one hundred and fifty feet long and could easily swallow a horse. Its hissing made the white bandages that comprised Einen’s traditional battle garb flutter, as if it were being buffeted by the wind.

The snake’s lunge was so swift that its white head blurred into a barely perceptible line. With its prey still encircled, the snake’s head passed within inches of Einen’s chest as he managed to dodge.

The islander stabbed it swiftly with his spear-staff. Its force was concentrated at a single point, unlike a sword’s, so it caused almost no echo. That was both its strength and weakness. Hadjar’s strikes would hit a wide area. This way, some of the energy dissipated, but at the same time, forced his foes to use a larger, more energy-consuming way to defend themselves.

Einen preferred targeted attacks. Because they were focused on just one point, they contained more power, but defending against them was much easier. That was why the islander always attacked his enemies with a barrage of swift strikes.

“Boulder Storm!” Einen shouted in his native language.

He jumped and hovered in the air. From behind him, a hail of sharp stones rained down on the snake, caressing its white scales like a pouring rain. Sparks fell to the sand, melting it into small puddles of glass. The islander hadn’t actually used stones to attack, but hundreds of sharp thrusts of his spear-staff.

The snake twisted and, unable to break through the barrage, swung its tail, which was the size of a battering ram. It lashed out toward Einen’s back, but the islander was ready. Halting his attack, he swung his staff behind him and dropped into the shadows. The snake’s tail ended up hitting itself, which only made the reptile angrier.

No one from the squad interfered. They were confident in the islander’s ability to deal with a creature at the initial King Stage, and they didn’t think this was a trap.

Einen fought alone, trying to draw out a potential ambush that the rest of the squad would then counter. Hadjar kept his sword unsheathed, watching not only the fight, but his surroundings as well.

The islander emerged from the shadows. He whirled his staff around him, and with each swing he made, the shadows rose and thickened until they formed the upper body of a huge, 9ft ape. It struck its chest with its paws, opened its fang-filled mouth, and with another thrust of the spear-staff, charged the snake. It tried to dodge, but it couldn’t evade the much faster Spear Technique.

The ape’s fangs bit into the same spot where the ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique had just struck. The broken scales of the snake’s armor couldn’t resist the shadow-ape.

The snake threw its head back, hissed, and began to writhe wildly. Thick, odorous, green blood spilled onto the sand. The sand snake opened its mouth and exhaled a cloud of blue light. It stretched out around Einen like a ribbon. It melted the sand it touched. Its poison breath was almost as strong as ‘The Black Gates’ sect’s poison.

Hadjar was about to join the fight when the cloud froze and then dissipated, cut into small flakes. The advantage of Einen’s weapon over an ordinary spear was in its small shaft and long blade. It allowed him to not only stab and cut, but also slash. Something he seemed like he was going to take advantage of.

Assuming a stance Hadjar was unfamiliar with, Einen began to concentrate his energy around himself. It was as if a maelstrom of power the color of a stormy sea was whirling around his feet, rising higher and higher into the air. Then, grasping the base of his spear-staff, Einen made a terrifying slash.

At the same time, a whirlwind of power travelled up from his legs to his chest and arms. After merging with his spear-staff, the energy moved on. Expanding, compacting, and growing in size, it took the form of an exact copy of the islander’s weapon, only it was shimmering, filled with energy, and no less than fifteen feet long. It struck the unprotected part of the snake’s body. A fountain of green blood erupted, and the creature hissed in agony. It twisted and lunged desperately at the islander, but instead of its enemy’s flesh, it once again struck only air.

Einen, emerging from the shadows, ran up the snake’s body and pushed off, soaring into the sky. Once he was directly over the reptile’s head, he thrust out his spear-staff and cried:

“Grand Boulder Storm.”

He launched an attack that made even Hadjar shudder.

Compared to the original ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique, this version differed in the frequency of strikes and their speed. The thrusts were so numerous and so rapid that they looked like black streaks instead of the usual chunks of rock.

A moment later, the reptile, which had been caught by surprise, said goodbye not only to its life, but also its head. Einen had turned it into an unrecognizable, horrible mess of flesh, scales, sand, and blood.

Landing in the same spot where the fight had begun, the islander swung his weapon into position on his back once again. The green blood flew from the blade, forming a crescent around Einen.

“It seems like a good night’s rest doesn’t just benefit me,” Hadjar whispered to his friend.

The islander didn’t answer. Activating the mechanism on his weapon, he slipped the spear tip back into its hidden compartment and, drawing his dagger, went to retrieve the monster’s core. For some reason, Einen really needed snakes’ cores. He hadn’t explained why, and Hadjar was smart and tactful enough not to ask.

While his friend was busy with the snake, Hadjar walked over to Ramukhan. He and Einen sometimes didn’t need words to understand each other’s intentions. It wasn’t just its core that had made the islander so eager to deal with the snake on his own. He wasn’t foolish enough to play the role of bait for a potential ambush. The speed at which Einen had dealt with the creature hadn’t just been due to the islander’s power, which had certainly increased greatly since their last spar. There was a simple answer to this — the stone given to him by little Serra.

“Ramukhan.”

Hadjar approached the sorcerer. The man looked a little strange. The stone embedded in the tip of his staff was glowing, and Ramukhan was looking through it at the mountains. Glen, seeing Hadjar approach their ‘leader’, rolled his eyes and waved his hand to indicate that he wouldn’t say a word this time.

“Do you have another great idea, barbarian?” The sorcerer asked without stopping what he was doing.

“Exactly,” Hadjar nodded. “I want to move to the head of the column.”

Ramukhan finally stopped his contemplation of the mountains. He gave Hadjar an appraising look and shook his head.

“You and Einen are our strongest melee fighters. If we are attacked from behind, you’ll be very useful. It doesn’t make sense to move you to the front.”

“It does,” Hadjar insisted. “I can’t tell you why, as I am bound by an oath, but if I lead the squad, we’ll reach the mountains without any further trouble.”

Glen only waved his hands around more vigorously, his whole being demonstrating that he disagreed with what was happening. Fortunately, he did so in silence.

Everyone now knew that they had to reach the mountains. First of all, nothing else stood out in the vast area, just those brown rocks. Their recent brush with the golem and spirits had severely undermined the squad’s confidence in their abilities. They were ready to seize even such a faint hope.

“You hold more secrets than the beard of an old man,” Ramukhan sighed.

Hadjar didn’t know much about Underworld City lingo, but that probably meant ‘a lot’.

“Fine, you can lead. But Einen stays in the back. Glen is in no condition to act as the rearguard.”

“I agree.”

Everyone, even Hadjar, was startled as the islander emerged from the shadows beside them. Drenched in the snake’s fragrant green blood, he was clutching a small but powerful turquoise core stone.

“By the Evening Stars!” Tilis cried, her staff shining dangerously in her hand. “Can’t you just walk like a normal human?”

Chapter 392

For the next two days, they made good time and encountered no obstacles, as if they weren’t in a perilous region full of deadly traps, but on a walk through a sandy park. Their only problems were the heat, their constant thirst, and Glen’s lamentations. The Baliumian’s scar began to ache and he immediately forgot his gratitude to Hadjar. He cursed the medical expertise of some abstract healers without making it personal. Only a fool would miss that his jibes were aimed at Hadjar, but he avoided getting into a verbal altercation.

They were still on edge, however. With every passing hour, the mountains were getting closer. The closer they got to them, the more clearly they could see that they weren’t separate formations, like in the Stone Trees oasis, but a real mountain range. One that had clearly been created by people.

Several high peaks served as makeshift columns with wide platforms at their tops. They were a bridge between the mountains, and in their centre was a zone completely hidden by dense blue fog. No matter how much Ramukhan looked at it through the prism of his ‘magic stone’, he couldn’t break through the barrier, and neither could Tilis’ and Karissa’s divination spells. Several times, both witches sent spells out, but each time, the answer was the same — the connection was severed and the witches received magical feedback. After her latest attempt, Karissa said that the feedback had gotten stronger, so they stopped their attempts. It would be silly if someone died because of their own stubborn stupidity just before the finish line. So, they approached the mountains blindly.

The squad members got more nervous by the minute. Hadjar and Einen were the only ones who remained calm. They had come to believe in the effectiveness of little Serra’s gift over the course of their journey.

“Do you think-”

“No!” Hadjar interrupted his friend, but it was too late.

As soon as Einen asked the question, the desert once again decided that pathetic mortals didn’t have the right to finish their quest. Directly in front of the squad, a huge stone wall appeared out of the sand, so tall that it disappeared into the sky. It was decorated with ornaments of insane complexity and beauty.

Everyone scattered, but three more walls soon appeared and closed in around them, forming a square. Although the roof never appeared, the walls were easily as tall as the highest of the mountain peaks, disappearing somewhere among the rare clouds.

“I warned you.” Hadjar sighed.

Einen just shrugged.

“Damn it.” With trembling hands, Glen tried frantically to draw his sword from its scabbard, but he failed.

Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan started to pour power into their spells, when a quite normal, slightly husky voice sounded:

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your pale imitation of spells won’t be able to break through these spells, and will instead reflect off the walls. I hope that your knowledge of the true path of cultivation is broad enough to understand what will happen then.”

Even Hadjar, who wasn’t that well informed, could easily imagine the consequences. The spells would bounce endlessly off the four walls in this fairly confined space and deal with them even faster than the spirits ever could.

“Who are you?” Ramukhan asked.

Silence and the sound of Glen’s chattering teeth answered him. Still, the Baliumian had been severely injured in their recent encounter with the golem, so his nervousness was understandable. The worst thing for a practitioner or cultivator wasn’t a wound inflicted on their body, but on the soul. While the body could heal, the soul rarely did... With such wounds, a person would find it insanely hard to regain their confidence, and without that, further cultivation was almost impossible. Who in their right mind would put their head in a lion’s mouth without the certainty of pulling it back out? That was what the path of cultivation looked like.

“Who are you?” The sorcerer repeated sternly.

There was silence again, and then the voice suddenly asked:

“Why are you silent, one who has a Name?”

Hadjar choked and looked around.

“Are you talking to me, honorable…?” He asked.

“I am, Desert Wind Blowing from the North. It’s a good name. You earned it, too. An ancient name. Almost as old as these Sands. In my time, it was given to those who were doomed to an eternity of wandering. A beautiful name. But sad.”

The stranger’s way of talking, whoever they were, was very peculiar — fragmentary and abrupt.

“Of course,” Ramukhan said, slamming his fist into his palm, “that’s what Paris meant when he said that we couldn’t do it without the barbarian.”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. They didn’t remember something like that coming up during the council. Apparently, the issues had been solved in advance, and then the well-acted spectacle had taken place. Or maybe the friends were paranoid.

“What are you seeking in these lands, Darkhan?”

Hadjar was about to lie, but stopped himself just in time. His intuition told him that if he lied, something horrific would happen. For example, he, or even all of them, would be killed. Hadjar had no doubt that the entity behind the voice was powerful enough to simply wish for the six of them to disappear. He should answered honestly. But…

“I came here for information about the gods and to save a little girl,” Hadjar replied, speaking in the dialect Einen had taught him.

The residents of Underworld City turned toward him. There was suspicion in their eyes, and Glen, as if by magic, suddenly stopped trembling and drew his sword.

“What’s more important to you, Darkhan?”

“Saving the girl,” Hadjar blurted out without a second’s hesitation.

Nothing happened. There was no terrible punishment because he hadn’t lied. Hadjar had spoken from the heart. No accursed god was worth the tears of a child. It didn’t matter that this specific child had probably seen stars that no longer even shone in the sky being born.

“A noble goal. Just. Very stupid. You’re a fool, Darkhan. Like everyone who bears your name. Since you are a fool, you’ll probably never see the Sacred Abode of Wisdom. Even so, I’ll administer the trial I’ve done before… I hope there’s a time when I don’t have to do this ever again.”

Ramukhan and the others frowned, trying to understand these words. Hadjar felt at ease because, after dealing with the Tree of Life, whose way of speaking could drive an unprepared person mad, this was refreshingly straightforward.

“I’m ready for your trial,” Hadjar said in the language of the desert.

“Hey, wait-” Ramukhan was interrupted by the voice, which had become lifeless and dry:

“They used to be called the servants of the earth. Who or what are they?”

Everyone, including Hadjar, was utterly astonished. The trial, which most likely led to Mage City, consisted of... ordinary riddles? Was it that simple? Admittedly, it was logical that one had to demonstrate their intellect, not their strength, to enter a house of knowledge.

“Worms,” Glen said suddenly, “the answer is worms.”

“Are the earth’s servants mere worms?” Tilis smiled. “Don’t be silly, barbarian.”

“That’s just it, I am a barbarian! I spent my whole childhood in the fields. Worms are servants of the earth! They can both harm and help it…”

“Close in…”

Only a few seconds had passed since the voice had posed its riddle when the walls began to move. With a jerk, they closed in by about four inches.

“Damn it,” Glen hissed. “Hadjar, please believe me, worms are the servants of the earth.”

Wishing his neural network was still working, Hadjar sighed and said:

“Worms.”

“Correct.” The seekers breathed a sigh of relief, and Einen even patted the Baliumian on the shoulder. “My next question is: there is a tribute which is paid by all, without exception. What is it?”

Hadjar started at the question. Who, if not him, would know what everyone and he himself would have to face one day?

“Death,” Hadjar said quickly.

The walls didn’t move, and the voice seemed to chuckle.

“One last question, North Wind. What doesn’t a person want but is also afraid to lose?”

Everyone had to think hard about the riddle, and the walls began to move without a moment’s delay.

“Damn it,” Glen wailed. “What doesn’t someone want…”

“But is also afraid to lose…”

Karissa tapped her teeth nervously with her fingernails. She didn’t look as powerful and haughty as before. Before the specter of death, all were equal, masters and servants alike.

Worms... servants… A thought came to Hadjar. The voice had recognized his Name and begun a trial that was somehow relevant to him, Hadjar.

“Maybe it’s work?” Tilis suggested. “Servants don’t usually want to work, but they’re afraid of losing their job...”

Servants and work... Hadjar had never worked a day in his life. He’d been born a Prince and served as a General, but had never truly worked.

The second question had been about the final tribute. With the first question, the voice had seemed to guide them toward something, with the second — remind them of something, and the third... had prompted them…

The walls narrowed even faster. Hadjar and the others clumped together, but they were already being squeezed from all sides. A little more and their bones would start to crack.

“Life,” Einen whispered in his ear. “Life is hard, my friend, and sometimes we get tired of it, but we are all afraid to die.”

Sometimes Einen said things that were so wise that it seemed weird to think of him as just a young man.

“Life,” Hadjar repeated.

The instant he did so, the walls vanished.

Chapter 393

The walls disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared. The stone monuments supporting the distant sky dissolved into the sands.

“Do my eyes fail me?” Glen grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

The squad had been intercepted at a considerable distance from the mountain range, at least a half-day’s journey away from it. Now the mountains towered only a few hundred yards ahead of them.

“Look!” Stammering, Tilis pointed at the place that had been obscured by the fog.

A citadel stood on a broad plateau, covered in the dense, gloomy shadows of the high mountain peak. Hadjar had seen similar structures in Lidus and Balium: massive white stone walls and many towers and domes with blue roofs. The building was crisscrossed by numerous stairs. Without any parapets, they wound around the tower, and given how high it was, falling off them would result in a lengthy flight.

“I don’t see any flying cities,” Ramukhan hummed. “Is this the famous-”

“Where do you think you are?” It must’ve been the custom of the ancient civilization to interrupt others.

It was only then that the squad members spotted the owner of the voice that could be the very last one they heard in their lives. A lone figure stood on a ledge about twenty yards away. An old, torn, brown cloak fluttered in the wind. The lower part of its face peeked out from under its hood: a sharp chin, thin lips, and absolutely lifeless, granite skin. The creature, which clearly didn’t belong to the human race, was clutching a staff — a simple stick carved from an ash tree. However, even a person who didn’t have the knowledge and skills of a professional artifactor could feel the power emanating from the weapon. Its level was far beyond Imperial. No wonder the witches’ and sorcerer’s faces were stuck in an expression of almost overwhelming desire.

“Little wizards,” the figure said haughtily, almost half-jokingly. Its lips didn’t move. “You should thank North Wind. If there hadn’t been one among you who had a Name, you’d have…”

The figure waved his hand, and for a moment, the golden desert around them turned whitish gray, as if they were standing not on sand, but on bone dust and ashes left behind by the remains of people. A heartbeat later, the vision was gone.

Hadjar raised his feet a couple of times, looked at the soles of his old shoes, and then addressed the creature:

“Why is a Name so important?”

“Would an adult take a crying baby seriously?” The figure asked him. Apparently, riddles were part of its programming. Or whatever this golem had instead. “But the time for conversation has passed. It is time for you to try your luck in the library of the Sacred Abode of Wisdom.”

The figure turned toward the mountains and pointed its staff at them.

“The library...” Ramukhan murmured thoughtfully. “Wait a minute. What made us think we... fell?”

The crazy thought voiced by the sorcerer struck the others. Indeed, according to the legends, the home of the ancient magicians had flown through the air and that was why the gods had unleashed their anger on them — because ordinary people had dared encroach on their territory — the Heavens.

“The little wizard isn’t very stupid,” the creature chuckled.

Before they managed to puzzle out the rest, the figure struck the ground sharply with its staff. The stones suddenly came to life in the ridge of rock that blocked their passage forward. They began to move, crawling over each other, creating the illusion of an anthill. Natural facets were leveled, porous rocks were compacted, ornaments and carvings appeared. Part of the ridge seemed to move to the side, while the other, on the contrary, leaned forward. A few minutes later, real gates appeared in front of the squad — huge, three hundred feet high gates with two closed doors that were locked with such a wide and massive bolt that it could’ve easily served as a bridge of the fortress.

“Go forth, worthy seekers, and let the spirit of wisdom lead you.” The figure struck the ground once more with its staff and disappeared.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is a trap?” Glen asked, testing the sharpness of his saber with a finger.

“You think everything’s a trap,” Tilis snorted and walked toward the gates first.

By the Evening Stars, Hadjar agreed with the Baliumian this time. Things were really going too smoothly. And their previous trial hadn’t been all that difficult. Startled, Hadjar touched the stone that he’d been given, which was hidden in the inside pocket of his caftan. When the others reached the gates, he heard the same voice from before:

“You’ll find no gods here,” the golem that had vanished whispered, “but maybe you’ll find the truth about your blood.”

The sense of the golem’s presence vanished. Sighing, Hadjar rubbed his nose and followed after the others. More than intrigue, he didn’t like riddles. Whatever they were, whatever they meant, whoever asked them, he hated them.

***

“My Lord,” Arliksha knelt behind her father.

Sankesh seemed to be contemptuously kicking a leather ball around. However, after a few seconds of careful observation, it would became clear that this wasn’t a ball, but someone’s head. It had once had golden hair, which was now rolled up in a bloody mess, gaunt, gray cheeks with blue runes and tattoos, and an expression of absolute terror frozen on its visage.

“There are only ten survivors left, counting you, me, and your three bodyguards.”

Sankesh, after kicking the head down the slope of a dune, wiped his bloody hands on his wounded chest. He pulled out his halberd, stuck it into the sand, spat, and growled out:

“Weaklings. They don’t deserve a place in the world of my new order.”

He turned and walked on, toward the high mountains in the east. Behind him, scarlet streams flowed slowly across the sand. The sandy plain looked like a field that had been hit by a massive artillery barrage. There were charred pits, glass pools where sand had once been, ice and fire puddles, gurgling acid swamps, and even a visible interference in the flow of energy that was being expressed with a slight rattle of air. A lot of broken, torn, and pulped human bodies lay on the ground. Behind them, the broken body of a giant golem towered like a huge hill. It was gradually disappearing — turning once more into dark sand which was then carried away by the north wind. Recently, Sankesh had stopped liking this cold wind…

“Konung!” Greeting him in the northern manner, his head of security fell into step alongside Sunshine Sankesh.

He was a hard warrior from the harshest lands of the Empire. Only half a head shorter than Sankesh himself, he had broad shoulders and huge fists like sledgehammers. He carried no weapon, except knuckles fashioned to look like wolf heads. Made of metal vaguely resembling silver, they were now covered in sand and a gray substance that looked like glue. That had been the golem’s blood.

“What, Ragar?”

Ragar silently pulled out what seemed to be a bundle from behind his back. Closer inspection revealed a small girl wrapped in some rags. Her once-beautiful face was covered in dark and purple bruises. Her left arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Her right leg dragged through the sand.

“Did she try to escape again?” Sankesh asked.

Instead of answering, Ragar kicked the girl and she fell to the sand. But there was no moan of pain, no cry of anger. She remained perfectly calm.

“We’re so close, Key,” Sunshine Sankesh growled, pulling the child up by her long hair. “Can you smell the scent of your homeland?”

“The stench of your soul is too overpowering.” The girl frowned, turning away from him.

Sunshine Sankesh laughed cruelly and threw the girl back down.

“It won’t be long now.” Sankesh said, and, striking his chest with both hands, walked on.

Ragar grabbed the child by the hair and dragged her behind him. Their squad, which had once numbered more than half a thousand warriors, had been reduced to ten.

“You’re right,” the girl whispered, trying to scratch the northerner’s icy skin with her fingernails. “He’ll kill you. The Dragon will devour the Sun and plunge this world into darkness.”

Chapter 394

“How are we supposed to move that out of the way?”

Glen tilted his head back until his neck cracked and stared at the huge stone bolt fifty yards above them. The two steel hinges on which it rested could’ve easily been used as raw material to make enough cannons for at least three armies.

“Let’s break it?” Tilis suggested, and even raised her staff.

“Don’t you dare!” Ramukhan roared at her. “By the Evening Stars, I am sure it’ll work just like the previous trap.”

“I agree with Ramukhan,” Karissa said. The witch walked closer to the gates and began studying the carvings. “The spell will surely bounce back at us.”

“What do we do, then?” The Baliumian insisted. “You can do whatever you want, but I’ll be turning back soon. I sense that Sunshine Sankesh is close. I have no desire to fight that maniac. That’s more Hadjar’s cup of tea.”

“Shut up,” Karissa snapped.

Glen swore nastily, gestured at the witch’s back using an obscene gesture which symbolized making love in a very shameful position, and turned away to look out toward the west. He figured Sankesh was hurrying toward the library of Mage City from that direction. The Executioner of Cities, the Lament of Mothers, and a dozen other terrifying nicknames.

Hadjar, sheathing his sword, followed Karissa’s example — he moved closer and began studying the gates. He took out little Serra’s gift and tried pressing it against the pattern. Nothing happened.

“I think it only keeps spirits and golems away,” the witch muttered. It was as if she were telling him about the weather, not as if she were telling him that what he’d thought of as a secret hadn’t been one at all. “A sort of pass for the local guards.”

Hadjar started, and Einen opened his eyes slightly in surprise. The gleam of his purple eyes indicated the islander’s utter shock.

“How do you know about it?”

Instead of answering, Karissa turned toward him sharply. For a moment, her face showed a mixture of disgust and haughtiness.

“Don’t presume that everyone around you is stupid, barbarian.” The witch advised him and then resumed her examination of the gates. “Or do you honestly believe I took your things to the barracks without examining them first? Or that the head of the Auction House wouldn’t report any anomalies to the heads of the other departments?”

Hadjar looked at Ramukhan, who smiled back at him smugly.

Damn it!

The sorcerer had known about the stone, too.

A sudden thought struck Hadjar, and he clutched at the wallet on his belt. In his blue eyes, a wisp of rage erupted and a sleeping dragon awakened.

“Don’t even think about it, barbarian.” Karissa nodded at the blue amulet on Hadjar’s arm. “I don’t think it’s a good time for you to be writhing around in pain on the sand.”

Hadjar had to breathe in and out slowly several times before he was able to calm down. He understood that Karissa had simply done her duty and that caution had made her examine the personal belongings of her future subordinates. However, deep in his heart, Hadjar hated anybody touching his friends’ wedding bracelets. Even Einen, who knew about this quirk of his, never allowed himself to touch the leather wallet when they sparred.

“I agree with Glen about one thing,” the witch said, ignoring Hadjar’s anger. “Sankesh, or someone else no less powerful than him, is close by. There’s only a couple of hours left before the comets intersect. By the Evening Stars, I’m sure we’ll get to see them as well.”

Hadjar looked up at the sky. If they’d understood the golem’s hint correctly, they hadn’t fallen through the bottom of a lake, but, on the contrary, had flown up.

Unfortunately, nothing remained of the once magnificent city. Only the sand and the guards hiding within it. In the center, looking like both a stronghold of great power and a repository of wisdom, the library towered. After all, the mages hadn’t valued power, but knowledge. This had affected Underworld City’s philosophy, so its witches and sorcerers were physically equal to ordinary mortals. Power based on wisdom and knowledge surpassed the might of the majority of cultivators and practitioners who were on the same level of the more physical cultivation path.

“Wisdom,” Hadjar muttered.

What the hell! Maybe they’d get lucky.

Hadjar put his hand on the gates and said:

“Open.”

Nothing happened. Glen, who was standing nearby and had heard the command, chuckled sarcastically:

“Of course it won’t-”

He was interrupted by a deafening creak. Everyone instinctively ducked and covered their ears with their hands. The massive hinges, driven by an unknown mechanism, retracted inside the shutters. The bolt trembled and swayed. Karissa and the others jumped back, everyone except Tilis. She was too busy watching the carvings on the surface of the monumental gates as they moved.

“Look out!” Hadjar shouted.

Blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, he leapt toward the witch and managed to pull her aside at the last second. The great bolt landed only a few feet from them. Air and sand waves covered Hadjar and Tilis. When they emerged from the sand, Einen helped Hadjar up, but the witch had to climb out by herself.

“This doesn’t change anything between us,” the girl’s multicolored eyes flashed angrily, and she was the first to leap over the fallen bolt and head for the stone-hewn stairway. It, writhing like the snake the islander had recently defeated, wrapped around the entire mountain range.

“Don’t put your stone away, Northerner,” Karissa said.

Ramukhan followed the women, leaving the strangers behind. It was obvious that the witches and sorcerer were eager to get into the library.

“Gods and demons,” Glen swore, “I can’t believe that worked and I can’t believe I’m even here. First it was Underworld City, and now it’s Mage City. I’m like the hero of some fairy tale.”

“You’ll have some great stories to tell your children.” Einen clapped the Baliumian on the shoulder again, climbed over the bolt, and then headed for the stairs.

Hadjar was the last to follow, not because he was afraid or he had to guard their rear. His heart was simply beating too quickly, and something inside of him was calling out and beckoning him into the building. Despite the fact that the call was coming from the depths of his own soul, it was... alien to him. When, from the depths of the mountains, he heard a deep, feminine whisper utter ‘Darkha-a-an’, Hadjar understood it was all too real.

Putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he boldly jumped over the huge bolt and followed after the others. The ruins of the dead civilization wouldn’t make him turn around. Nothing would ever make him slow his stride or halt his sword. Nothing in this world or any other could stop Hadjar Darkhan. On the path to his goal, he wouldn’t flinch at any danger.

Psyching himself up with such thoughts, Hadjar resolutely walked forward. In some places, the steps had collapsed or were so narrow that they had to press their backs to the wall to go farther. Einen would jump over the gaps first and then extend his staff toward the witches and the sorcerer. Their bodies weren’t strong enough to jump over 15ft abysses. Glen and Hadjar walked in the back. To them, these gaps weren’t difficult obstacles. Slowly, they climbed higher and higher.

The gates, which had once seemed enormous, had disappeared from view. Now they were just a small speck glinting in the depths of a dark, rocky chasm. They soon passed through the clouds, climbing so high up that the sorcerer and witches had to put masks with talismans on their faces once again. Their bodies couldn’t handle the pressure, the temperature difference, and the thinning air. The practitioners merely slowed down slightly. Their bodies could withstand far more than this, and their lungs could do without oxygen for at least fifteen minutes.

Their ascent, which took at least several hours, ended with them standing on a plateau. The view reminded Hadjar of the fact that this world could surprise even the most experienced traveler. Ahead of them, on the cliffs and precipices linked by stone stairways and bridges, long-abandoned pavilions and stone buildings stood. They were domed and oval as all buildings in the Sea of Sand were. The subtle grandeur and exquisite ornaments were a breathtaking contrast. The domes were made of amber, but the amber appeared blue from a distance.

Blue sparks of power danced across the spires of the library’s towers. Even after millions of years, the place was still active. Energy, twining around the ornaments and flowing over them, broke away from the domes and surged into the sky, disappearing with the discharges of blue lightning bolts.

“Now I see why the golems are still active,” Ramukhan whispered admiringly, and leapt across the yawning chasm that separated the plateau from the crumbling stone bridge without Einen’s help.

Ramukhan was soon followed by the others. Hadjar was the last to jump over the blue clouds that lay below the bridge. Before he could even think ‘just like little Serra’, the clouds beneath him swirled, rose up in a high column, and Hadjar landed not on an ancient rock, but on ... a cloud.

In fact, there was nothing but clouds all around him. And a voice that said:

“Greetings, descendant of the Enemy.”

Chapter 395

Hadjar drew his sword and looked around, but he was in a solid white, cloudy space. There were white clouds below him, white clouds on either side of him, stretching out into the horizon, and even white clouds above him instead of a sky.

Over the course of his rather short life, Hadjar had visited many illusory, non-corporeal places, and he’d learned how to distinguish them from reality. He did so not by using his sense of touch or any of his other senses, but rather, with his soul. That was why the place he was in now frightened him as much as it was possible to frighten Hadjar Darkhan. Gripping his sword tighter, Hadjar searched for the source of the voice. His mind frantically tried to cope with what was happening, as what surrounded him wasn’t an illusion. It was full-fledged reality. It was indistinguishable from where he’d been only seconds ago.

“Descendant of the Enemy... Enemy…”

“Who are you?” Hadjar exclaimed. “Where am I?”

The voice answered him:

“Blood of blood... flesh of flesh... fated... Enemy of the enemy. Friend. Traitor. Freak. Servant. King. Sister. Revenge. Sweetheart. Brother. Death. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War…”

The echo messed with Hadjar’s perception. He spun like a top, trying to face the owner of the voice that was chanting ‘war’ in front of him, then behind him, then from his left and right. Each time the voice changed direction, panic forced Hadjar to strike out with his sword. His attacks became angry dragons as they surged out of his blade and disappeared among the clouds.

“WAR!” The voice roared behind him.

Hadjar turned around, and his heart skipped a beat. The clouds behind him were moving, like the carvings on the gates he’d seen recently. They piled onto one another, thickening and compacting, then changed their color. The eyes appeared first: the left one was emerald, with a black human pupil, and the right one was amber, with a reptilian, elongated pupil. Then white eyelashes, so big they looked like ropes, formed from the twisted clouds, as well as thick eyebrows. Instead of skin, it had the azure sky. Covered with small streaks of clouds, it bulged into the shape of an oval face with sensual lips and a slightly snub nose. The face looked no more than eighteen years old. Hadjar had seen many beautiful and even frighteningly beautiful women in his life, but none could compare.

Despite that, the entity was somehow off, and its body seemed comprised of treetops hidden by the clouds. Thick curls descended onto the shoulders of the forest. Behind her, floating in space, the stars shone in the black velvet of the universe, seemingly illuminating her, drawing attention to her.

The creature Hadjar saw was so huge that Hadjar could’ve easily sat on the tip of its lashes. As soon as Hadjar thought that, the creature’s face shrunk down to the size... of an adult. Hadjar stood at the edge of the clouds, over the abyss of the starry universe, staring at a regular-sized human face, one made of clouds, the sky, and rustling treetops. If he hadn’t already met the Tree of Life, he would’ve gone mad.

“Who are you?” Hadjar repeated, recoiling. A thought popped into his head. “Are you... a god?”

The creature’s lips curled into a grin and it laughed. Its laughter sounded like the murmur of a spring.

“No, I’m not a god,” the voice from before said.

It was like a refreshing breeze caressing one’s skin after a day of hard work, like the last embrace of lovers, or the very moment when you realized that you were in love, as gentle as a baby’s first breath… Her voice was painfully pleasant.

“A spirit?”

“You’re almost right,” the voice said. “I’m the last mage. Or rather, the memory of her.”

Hadjar finally realized who he was dealing with and, without fear, sheathed his sword.

“Shadow,” he said, saluting her in the manner of the Land of the Immortals, “I greet thee, wise one, the last of thy kind.”

The creature closed its eyes and nodded slightly.

“Have you been to that village?”

“Village?”

“The place where wisdom is valued but strength is sought above all. They call themselves Immortals.”

Hadjar looked into its multicolored eyes, enchanted by the green and amber... Then he looked at the stars behind the creature. Her eyes were older than even the stars…

“It’s a vast country now,” Hadjar replied, “and its inhabitants are the strongest people living beneath the light of the Evening Stars.”

Hadjar had expected every kind of reaction: nostalgia, surprise, sentimentality, whatever, but not a condescending smile.

“One day, if you live that long, you’ll understand, little warrior, that there are no strongest people beneath the stars. There is only light and the stars themselves. Everything else is dust. A moment. Something so brief that no one will remember it. Even eternity is nothing more than a tiny part of this dust. One day, a wind will blow through and scatter it all in the light.”

Only his previous conversation with the Tree of Life saved Hadjar’s mind from being shattered. How old was this Shadow and its original, the ancient sorceress, if the Land of Immortals, praised in ancient legends, was a village in her eyes and eternity was merely dust.

“Darkhan,” the Shadow said. “It’s a good name. Ancient. Older than many of the stars that were ancient even back when I was born.”

Hadjar didn’t say that he heard that same thing every time someone talked about his Name.

“Did you call me a descendant of the enemy? Was an ancestor of mine your enemy?”

“No,” the creature smiled again, “No. Not an enemy. The Enemy. The one who burned the Heavens and the Earth. The gods’ Enemy. The spirits’ Enemy. The Enemy of the Light. The Enemy of Darkness. The Enemy of Time. The Enemy of War. The Enemy of Peace. Of Life. Of Death. The Enemy of the Energies. The Enemy of the World Rivers. The Enemy of everything that surrounds us. The Enemy.”

From this stream of consciousness, Hadjar singled out the word ‘energies’, used in the plural and the term ‘World Rivers’. When these words had been spoken, Hadjar had felt like he’d touched upon a glimpse of a mystery so deep that it was rooted in the very foundation of the universe and so complicated that it could destroy a practitioner’s mind.

“You have his blood in you.” The Shadow blew, and Hadjar felt his old friend greet him like a long-lost dog. The Wind. For a brief moment, they were able to hear each other again, but the spell soon dissipated, leaving behind a slight sadness with the loss. This made the sword spirit tattoo on his back glow even brighter. “But your spirit... One who hasn’t met the Enemy in person won’t be able to discover you are his descendant, as your spirit is free from his darkness. Free. Still free. You still have a choice, little warrior.”

“Forgive me, wisest Shadow,” Hadjar said, pressing his right fist into the palm of his left hand and bowing low, “the unworthy one before you doesn’t know who you are talking about.”

He heard the murmur of the spring stream again. Or maybe that was the Shadow’s laughter.

“Don’t you know?” The sky girl smiled. “Didn’t your mother tell you, North Wind, stories of a dead tree that never surrendered, the one that a goddess turned into a General which another god then turned into a slave?”

Hadjar started. His eyes widened and he instinctively straightened. She couldn’t be talking about…

“Didn’t you ask her over and over to tell you about him? Isn’t that the reason why you wore black, torn clothes? Isn’t that why you’re so brave in every one of your fights, even the most desperate ones? Isn’t that why, even as a slave, you remained free? Isn’t his portrait stored in your ring?” Against Hadjar’s will, the old scroll made from silver thread emerged from his artifact. “Isn’t that his sword that you’re carrying in your soul?” In Hadjar’s left hand, for the first time in the real world, the blade made of black fog flashed into existence. “Don’t you have the Black General’s blood in your veins?”

Chapter 396

The words stunned Hadjar. He heard a loud ringing in his ears. His heart was beating so fast that it drowned out his own thoughts. Like frightened mice, they peered out of the burrows of his consciousness, calling to Hadjar’s soul.

Was he really a descendant of the Black General? After all, everything was possible in this world. How many millions of years had passed since... Since when? The Black General was no more than a bedtime story his mother had told him. Just like hundreds of thousands of other mothers had.

“I’ve never heard that part of the story,” Einen’s voice sounded in his memories.

“How did you know what would happen if you ate the fairy’s body?”

No. It couldn’t be. The Black General was just an old fairy tale for children…

“I didn’t know the story had an ending.”

Scenes from the past filled Hadjar’s mind. The moments when his knowledge about some insignificant, simple details had turned out to be much deeper than Einen’s, who had met thousands of travellers and listened to their stories.

The flow of images halted... His eyes blurred, and then, like an explosion, everything was flooded with bright, vivid colors. He saw his mother’s smiling, sad face.

“We won’t tell your father about this, little warrior. We’ll let him think you’ll be a scholar…”

“No, mother… no,” Hadjar whispered in horror. Only now, after all these years, did he see his fate reflected in her eyes. She’d known, she’d always known…

“Your mother’s relatives?” He’d asked Haver about them once. “They died a long time ago, son. I didn’t know them. But when you’re older, I’ll tell you how I met your mother. In those days, she was a Princess of the highlands.”

Hadjar grabbed his head. Scenes from the past danced before his eyes.

Nanny, hanging in the air, suspended by chains like a piece of meat, suffering in Primus’ dungeon. She’d asked him to tell her his story. She’d endured hellish pain, but had still waited for its end, as if she’d been looking for something in him that would let her die peacefully.

The sword left behind in the mountains by his paternal ancestors had awoken only after Hadjar and Elaine had been born.

Everything froze.

He was, once again, a small boy holding a heavy, bloodstained sword. His mother was breathing her last in his arms. There was a terrible hole in her chest, and her torn out heart was still beating in Primus’ hands. She whispered: “Don’t become a cultivator, it’ll only bring you misfortune.”

And then, once more: “Do you want to hear the story of the Black General? The saddest story of all?”

And her eyes. Her beautiful, sad eyes. In them was a bitterness born of a maternal need to protect her son and the realization that she would never be able to save her son from his awful fate. Elizabeth, his mother, had always known whose blood ran in her son’s veins.

Now, more than ever, he understood the absurdities of the past. It had been his mother who had insisted in public that he would become a scholar, but... She’d never locked the door to his nursery, allowing her infant son to leave his chambers and boldly go crawling around the Palace. She’d ensured Hadjar’s road always led to South Wind. She’d paid so much respect to the Scholar, and had certainly paid quite handsomely for her child’s education.

And that day… when he’d found himself on the Master’s parade ground… Elizabeth had supposedly been far away — she’d had to go with her maids and bodyguards to a remote town in the central province. How could she have gotten to the grounds just in time to see the weapons rack falling on her son?

Wasn’t it strange that the strongest swordsman in the region at that time hadn’t been a member of ‘The Black Gates’ sect or hadn’t sought his fortune in the Sea of Sand, but had stayed in the Palace of Lidus instead? A place where he hadn’t been able to get anything… Except for the opportunity to train a descendant of the Black General.

“She meant you no harm, little warrior,” the voice whispered.

Hadjar looked up. A cloudy tear ran down the Shadow’s celestial face. White threads parted from its hair and, forming a palm, touched Hadjar’s cheek.

“She didn’t mean you any harm," the long-dead sorceress repeated. “Like any mother, she wanted you to have a quiet, good life, but she knew that would be impossible... Millions of years before you were born, the moment your soul was formed and set out on a journey through the World Rivers, that very second, your destiny was written. As well as your mother’s destiny. The same as the Black General’s mother…”

Hadjar remembered his mother’s story. How the tree from which the goddess had created the creature that had doomed the world had grown out of the dead ground. It had been scorched by the Heavens and the Earth, forgotten by the gods and spirits, located in a place that even the World River avoided, not allowing a drop of energy to touch the dead sand. The Black General’s mother, the earth itself, had given up all the crumbs of its life in order to let its child see the silent sun.

Elizabeth had known... once she had a child, her fate would be sealed.

A mistake of the Seventh Heaven’s Magistrate…

A few years ago, Hadjar had decided that the gods had made a mistake, creating a situation in which demons had attacked Haver and Primus’ group, but... Only now did he realize that a mistake in the Book of Thousands could’ve hardly affected the lives of just a few mortals and only a single event.

However, that mistake had its roots somewhere far back in time. It was so essential and terrible that it was altering destinies even after many millennia. Like ripples in the water after a stone disturbed the lake’s surface.

“Tell me,” Hadjar whispered. He was still on his knees, clutching his head. The sudden realization weighed on him more than anything that had ever happened in his life before then.

“This story won’t bring you any joy, little warrior.” The Shadow’s voice was like his mother’s. “There are many sorrows inherent with the knowledge. It’s not too late, little warrior. Turn around and leave. I’ll remove this vile spell of slavery from your soul and pave a way that will lead you to any place in this world. Would you like me to send you to a Master who can cut through space and time with their sword? Would you like me to send you to a tree whose fruit will lift you to such unimaginable heights of power that the Immortals will declare you a genius? Would you like me to show you a country so magnificent that one look at it will make you forget about-”

“Show me!” Hadjar interrupted her desperately.

“As you wish,” a tear rolled down the Shadow’s cheek. “It was a long time ago. So long ago that neither the wind nor the earth remember it. Back then, I was young and worked in the Palace of Knowledge as a junior servant…”

As the story progressed, the image of the girl thinned out, and at the same time, became more voluminous. Hadjar seemed to sink through her face. He went deeper and deeper into her memories that looked indistinguishable from reality.

The fall from a great height inside the magical visage ended in soft grass. At first, Hadjar didn’t know where he was, but his eyes soon became accustomed to the abundance of color and light, and a sigh of admiration escaped his lips. He was in the midst of hills covered in meadows and flower glades. They were so bright and colorful that they looked more like paint splashed across an artist’s canvas.

In the distance, the peaks of great mountains towered, covered with trees. Cries of birds came from those trees, and in the sky, he could see many spires, with rays of powerful, dense energy radiating out from them. It expanded through the clouds, spreading across the azure like blue veins, reaching someplace far on the horizon. Hadjar easily recognized the now-lifeless rocks and the crumbling library building. Except everything was teeming with life, and beauty, and power.

A gaggle of laughing children ran past. They were running after a kite. It wasn’t held by a thread or anything else. It just flew through the air, and the children ran after it. Some of them rushed past Hadjar, and some ran right through him.

“This is just a memory,” the voice said behind him. “Nothing more.”

Hadjar turned around.

Chapter 397

A girl stood before him. She was a very plain eighteen or nineteen-year-old girl. She had thick, brown hair, wore a blue and white dress, and numerous gold bracelets and necklaces adorned her thin neck. She wore odd ornaments on both her hands — blue discs set in gold frames, lying on a thin, golden net. The base of it was attached to a wide bracelet and the top itself was attached to the ring.

“This is what I looked like back then,” she said.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was simple and gentle. Her blue eyes glowed with joy and naughtiness. She smelled like a garden in the morning and fresh dew.

How could the gods destroy anything so innocent and good? The place Hadjar was in didn’t look like a grim fortress of knowledge and wisdom, but rather, a haven filled with peace and solitude, enjoying an eternal summer forever transitioning smoothly into autumn.

“Follow me.”

The girl... or her memory... her Shadow... held out her hand to Hadjar. He took it, and she led him to a pond. Surrounded by tall trees, the sight of it forced Hadjar to grasp the hilt of his sword. He recognized where they were: not so long ago, the golem and the sand spirits had destroyed a whole squad of seekers in this very spot. Although... that hadn’t even happened yet.

In the centre of the pond... stood the girl who was also next to him.

“That’s me,” she said a little sadly.

Hadjar looked closely. The strange jewelry on the girl’s hands radiated a subdued, blue light. Standing waist-deep in the water, she swayed to a tune only she could hear. It looked like a simple dance, but after each movement of the girl’s hands, long ribbons of water stretched out of the pond. They followed her hands, assuming the forms of birds and dragons. Most surprising of all, Hadjar didn’t feel a single disturbance in the currents of energy around them. The girl’s actions could’ve been seen as her simply practicing some Techniques, if not for the complete absence of disturbances in the energy flows. It seemed like the water was actually obeying the sorceress’ commands, following the guidance of the girl’s hands.

Hadjar tried to sense what was going on. He tried to determine the power of the sorceress, but couldn’t. This girl, who was younger than twenty, was at such a high level that he wasn’t able to determine her might at all. And that was more frightening than anything else. Even when he’d spoken to Harlim, the Immortal, Hadjar had been able to sense the sparks of his incredible energy. But here, he felt nothing.

“It happened on that very day,” the shadow said and pointed to the sky.

The blue sky was suddenly covered with a gray veil. Clouds were gathering, thickening, and darkening. It began to rain. The rain was so strong and sharp that it pierced the leaves.

Obeying the wind, the water in the pond surged up, but the high waves crashed into the ‘calm island’. In the center, the sorceress still stood. She put her hands on the surface of the water and it glowed blue, ignoring the gathering storm.

Suddenly, there was a black flash in the sky. A lightning bolt the color of wet coal cut through the clouds and struck the ground. Then came the deafening thunder. The lightning bolt was like a sword, the thunder like a man’s roar.

The sorceress suddenly threw her hands up, and a roaring stream of water formed a blue dragon that was a hundred feet tall, which then wrapped around the man falling from the sky. Shielding him from the ordinary lightning bolts that followed, it lowered him gently to the ground. A moment later, the storm ended as abruptly as it had begun.

The girl, dropping her hands and letting the water flow back into the pond, ran toward the man floating on the surface of the water… Kneeling beside him, she reached for the hair covering his face, but pulled her hand away with a shudder. The man’s skin was gray like a corpse’s. The man wore a torn, black robe with a hood. Beneath it, a powerful body with well-defined muscles was clearly visible. His body was covered in terrible scars from all kinds of weapons, teeth, and fangs. The man seemed like he’d been in the middle of a terrible battle from the day he was born. In his hand, he held a simple sword dripping with black blood.

Hadjar started. He recognized that sword: it was the same one that he’d carried in his own soul for several years, except his was made of black fog.

“That day, I couldn’t determine, or even roughly estimate, this man’s power.” The Shadow leaned over itself. It looked a little strange. “I should’ve known that a swordsman who fell alongside the black lightning bolt couldn’t be a simple, errant wanderer. I should’ve known how monstrously, horribly powerful he was. I should’ve expelled him, asked him to leave, or called the Sages, but instead…”

The Shadow waved her hand, and the vision changed. Hadjar was now standing in the center of a bustling city. Huge buildings disappeared into treetops. The stained-glass windows were multicolored and bright. People wearing simple clothes bustled around him. If not for the sheer complexity and beauty of the architecture, Hadjar would’ve thought he was back in Lidus. Even the boats that sailed the canals dotted with water lilies were almost identical to the ones that traversed the waters of the capital of Hadjar’s homeland.

The same girl from before ran out of a stone house built into a tree whose branches looked like lizard heads. Her hair being tied into a ponytail was the only thing that had changed from the scene at the pond. The same man from that memory followed after her. Hadjar couldn’t see his face. It was hidden by his unruly, long black hair. He leaned heavily on a crutch, his right leg tucked in beneath him.

“Hurry up, D-!” The girl shouted, but the sound of the man’s name was drowned out by the noise of the street.

The Shadow grabbed Hadjar’s hand and led him through the streets and buildings.

“Did you…”

“No,” the Shadow shook its head. “I had no father, and after courting the General for five years, I began to feel a kinship with him. Maybe he felt the same way, otherwise …”

She waved her hand again, starting the next scene. The Black General, howling furiously, was trying to break through an energy veil. He struck it fiercely with his sword, creating waves of echoes so powerful that they cut through the city as if it were made of sand. Each swing of the Black General’s sword against the veil produced a black-and-red crescent of lightning. All of them were enormous, a few hundred feet at least, but they kept going around the sphere of energies and flying on for miles. Hadjar’s heart stopped at the sight. The power of the wounded demigod was more than astonishing.

Hadjar was certain that the Shadow was protecting him somehow, or one look at what was happening would’ve ended him. The city was on fire. The buildings, trees, water, people, even the very air burned.

The golden flames consumed all.

In the center of the golden sphere that was blocking the Black General’s attacks stood a figure, one whose appearance Hadjar couldn’t discern. It held the girl’s hand.

“I told you, D-” Another explosion drowned out the name. “I’ll destroy everything you hold dear. Just as you destroyed everything that was dear to me.”

“No!” The cry of desperation created an explosion so powerful that the nearest neighborhoods were reduced to rubble. However, even such a violent storm couldn’t leave so much as a scratch on the golden dome, and then it was over.

Hadjar was back on the edge of the clouds, staring into the abyss of the universe. The crying female face hovered in front of him.

“I wasn’t the strongest, little warrior,” she said, “and you see me now only because I was the last survivor of the Sacred Abode of Wisdom. Even if I only outlived everyone else for just a few moments.”

“Who was that? Who destroyed the city and killed you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did they want to destroy everything that the General held dear?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did the General fall from the sky?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn it!” Hadjar shouted, lashing out at the void. “What was his name?”

The Shadow of the last sorceress looked into Hadjar’s eyes. How many millions of years had she spent in this state, contemplating the nature of all things and unable to influence the course of events? She had witnessed the once prosperous land turn into a lifeless desert.

“My hour has come, descendant of the Enemy.” The outline of the girl’s face began to grow hazy, “I have been entrusted with the will of the Sacred Abode of Wisdom, and I have sought someone who can free me... us…”

“What was his name?”

“I can leave in peace now. The time has come for this land to vanish into the dust of time. I have only one gift for you, forgive me.”

“Tell me, Shadow, what was his name?” Hadjar cried out, feeling the clouds float away into the boundless cosmos.

Hadjar felt the cold stone beneath his feet. Blinking, he realized he was standing on the crumbling stone bridge. Behind him was the plateau, and ahead of him, blue sparks flickered faintly on the crumbling domes of the ancient buildings.

“You already know his name, Darkhan.”

Hadjar held something cold and wet in his fist. Unclenching it, he saw a small, blue plate made from an unknown stone. The same kind of stone that the girl’s bracelets had been made from.

“Are you all right, Hadjar?” Einen asked.

“Just watch, he’s going to say he knows where we need to go or make a prophecy or something like that,” Glen wailed.

“We must hurry,” Hadjar said, ignoring the Baliumian and heading toward the pavilions.

Glen had an ‘I-told-you-so’ expression on his face.

Chapter 398

The squad was marching toward the central tower. As they got closer to it, they realized that it was just the roof, and the rest of the building was hidden beneath the stone.

They should have encountered a myriad of traps and mighty guards, but they ended up taking a brisk walk. No one mentioned Serra’s gift, but Hadjar doubted that the little sorceress’ stone had any power over the defenses of the holy of holies. After three hours of fruitless wandering among the towers, Glen decided to voice what they were all thinking:

“I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

“Was it all a lie?” Tilis bit her lip.

They were standing near the largest of the buildings. The gray brick tower stood about five hundred feet above the ground. It was so tall that, while standing at its base, it was impossible to see the top of the spire. An ancient staircase wound around the front. Or rather, its remains did, which consisted of a few steps. Everything else now looked like the ruffles on a servant’s skirt.

“Maybe our resident prophet has some more bright ideas?” The Baliumian turned to Hadjar.

The northerner was standing in the middle of the plateau, looking inward. His bleary look was the only answer Glen received.

“Damn you!” The Baliumian cursed. “Ramukhan, we have to do something.”

An hour earlier, two red dots had appeared in the sky to the west and east. Now they stretched out in long, scarlet plumes, seeking to intersect just above the tower under which the squad stood. It was only a matter of hours before other seekers, including Sankesh, discovered the place.

“Perhaps there’s an underground entrance somewhere around here,” Ramukhan said thoughtfully, stroking the beard he’d grown over the course of their journey.

“You really think so?” Glen chuckled. “Well, in that case…”

Unsheathing his sword, he exhaled noisily and unleashed a powerful attack on the plateau. It would’ve shattered any boulder, but not even a scratch appeared on the rock beneath the group’s feet. The Baliumian barely managed to still the tremor in his right hand, and then, glancing at his sword, swore viciously. There was now a chip on the cutting edge.

“What the-”

“If it were that simple, you empty-headed buffoon,” Karissa hissed, “This place wouldn’t be legendary!”

“I haven’t heard any of your brilliant ideas yet!” Glen roared in response.

While the rest of the squad argued about a solution to the problem, Hadjar remained motionless. He couldn’t believe what he’d learned. Was the Black General truly his ancestor? Did his soul really contain the General’s sword, the sword of someone he’d considered a simple hero from a fairy tale? He’d thought of him a tragic character, one that had always attracted his sympathy, but never the desire to imitate him. The Black General had so much blood on his hands... Damn, even Primus was purer and fluffier than Azrea when compared to him. No, even Derger, the God of War, was a kind person in comparison to his former General.

Moreover, he’d found a scroll with the image of the General in the ring of ‘The Black Gates’ sect’s Patriarch. Although, that one was easy enough to explain. The Black Mountains. The Black Gates. The Enemy of everything, as he was called in Einen’s stories, must have left some of his legacy behind there, as well. However, Hadjar was certain that the General was called the Enemy in most other stories and that only a few people, including his mother, had never mentioned that word, and had only called him the ‘Black General’ instead.

“Are you all right, my friend?”

The islander stepped closer and laid his hand on Hadjar’s shoulder. Hadjar snapped out of it. Not immediately, but he recovered. At the moment, he had more pressing concerns than wondering about a tiny speck of blood in his veins. So many years had passed since the Enemy’s death that star maps of the sky had managed to change several times. Many constellations had come into being and perished. Over such a long period of time, everything that had existed in the past had become not just dust, but pure emptiness. The same kind he’d seen behind the sorceress’ shadow.

“Hey, Hadjar!”

Hadjar shook his head once more, finally emerging from his own thoughts.

“I’m here. I’m fine.” He said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The islander’s purple eyes were troubled.

“Later, Einen. I promise I’ll tell you everything later. There are more important things to worry about right now.”

Einen didn’t answer, but he seemed to agree. Together, they approached the other squad members.

“Divination spells this, divination spells that…” Glen was obviously mocking Tilis. “Your divination spells aren’t even fit for a turn on my ‘pod’! They’re useless! When Sankesh and the others get here…”

“He’ll let you have a turn on his pod,” Tilis said. “Men! All you can talk about is your blasted pods. What was the point of bringing you here?”

“Don’t be rude now, young witch!” Ramukhan roared back. “I’m a man and I’m your boss as well! Just take it easy and watch your tone!”

“If you were actually a man, Serra would’ve gone to bed with you instead of seeking her fortune in the outside world,” Karissa spat.

“Like Paris’ damned bitch has any right to say anything.”

Ramukhan’s staff flashed, two fiery shadows flew out from Karissa’s book’s pages, and then Tilis began whispering some sort of spell.

“Calm down!”

Hadjar slammed the hilt of his sword against the tower wall. It didn’t crack, but it sounded as if a storm had suddenly erupted nearby.

A few more seconds of tense silence passed before Karissa called back her fire spirits first. She closed her book and turned away.

“We could spend an eternity looking,” she grumbled, beginning to scrutinize every inch of the rock beneath her feet, “and never find the entrance.”

“We still have time.” Ramukhan joined her.

Soon, the whole squad was crawling over the plateau. They tried to find the slightest hint of a passage, or a magic door, or a seal, or a veil. However, it was all in vain. Over the next three hours of searching, nothing changed, and their recent truce began to dissolve. Sarcastic remarks filled the air. The seekers’ nerves were frayed, and tension was thick in the air.

Hadjar straightened up, pondering, and didn’t notice that he’d dropped the sorceress’ gift. The small blue plate caught a ray of the sun for a moment as it fell and reflected it across the plateau.

“Well,” Hadjar reached down and picked up the stone, then looked through it at the sun, “The gift…”

Hadjar let a beam of sunlight pierce through the plate once more. Turning blue, it touched the rocks on the plateau.

“How cunning!”

“Damn it!”

“Evening Stars!”

The shouts were heard on all sides. Just below them, a blue light started spreading across the rocks, assuming the form of ghostly water. It seemed to fill invisible cracks, creating a pattern of exquisite beauty. At some point, the water-light came to a standstill, completing a beautiful picture. Directly atop the stones, slightly protruding, were the outlines of a door. Instead of a keyhole, it had two recesses: the first seemed to match Serra’s gift in shape, and the second — the sorceress’ gift.

Despite the delight of the others, Hadjar wasn’t happy with what he saw. He could feel fate’s breath on him. Had he truly had no other choice but to be here from the very first moment he’d entered the Sea of Sand?

“Put something in these grooves,” Hadjar said.

When that was done, he moved. The beam slid off the plate and the pattern broke, but it didn’t matter. Going over to the grooves, Hadjar placed the probable ‘keys’ inside them. As he did so, the stones beneath them began to move. As they fanned out, they gradually revealed a winding stairway leading down into the darkness.

“It’s high time we ended this.” Hadjar went down first.

Chapter 399

Hadjar lit an oil lamp as he went down the stairs. It was a simple thing, able to work without any energy or magic — a small bit of fuel in a cube of cloudy glass. Paris had given them a few so they could avoid attracting too much attention. Whose attention? Well, even before the campaign had started, it had been clear to everyone that the library wouldn’t welcome them with open arms. The series of traps was a predictable obstacle. The fact that almost no one had attacked them on their way to the library was nothing more than luck, as Serra might have given him a desert flower instead. Although that was unlikely, of course.

Dispelling the darkness with the dim lamplight, Hadjar led the way. He stepped cautiously down the crumbling steps. Peering intently at the small, blurred patch of light reclaimed from the darkness of the dungeon, he touched the rough and damp walls.

“Evening Stars.” Karissa held her oil lamp close to the wall. Pausing, she studied the almost completely faded drawings. It was only possible to distinguish the approximate contours of what had been drawn there thanks to the fact that the paint had had metal shavings in it. “How old is this place?”

“According to the information Rahaim gave us,” Ramukhan also admired the ancient remains, “the events that took place here date back fifteen eras.”

Hadjar gasped and nearly stumbled. He could barely guess what ‘era’ meant in Underworld City. Such measurements of time weren’t used in Lidus or the Sea of Sand. It seemed almost useless, as one such unit was equal to the time it had taken the Earth to form as a planet, produce life, and for him to then be born and reborn in this strange world.

Fifteen billion years ago, no less than that. The time period which the sorceress had transported him to wasn’t merely ancient, but another dimension. It was difficult for Hadjar to perceive such a vast expanse of time…

Sighing and dismissing such thoughts, Hadjar took another step. Suddenly, the stone step beneath him slid slightly downward, making a dry metallic click as it did so. Everyone froze for a moment, and then there was a dull stone crash behind them. The spiral staircase began to crumble, raining granite down on their heads.

“Damn it,” Hadjar swore, and shouted, “Run!”

As Hadjar leapt over the violently shaking steps, carrying Karissa over his shoulder, who screamed in surprise, he blurred into the shadow of the Three Ravens. Given the extra weight and how he had to travel downward, that was his top speed. Einen, gliding along the shadows, carried Tilis. Ramukhan shouted something angrily from behind Glen.

The stones around them fell like huge drops of torrential rain. The ancient drawings crumbled and the witch lamented it.

“They’re priceless!” Karissa wept.

She didn’t seem to care about the fact that if Hadjar had stumbled or slowed down even for a moment, they would’ve been hit by multiton stones. Hadjar raced down the staircase, feeling the shards of stone and rubble slam against his back. Like sharp needles, they pierced the fabric of his caftan and bit into his flesh.

Einen, gliding along the walls, handled the situation better than the others. He slid down the oval walls of the chute, dragging Tilis lower and lower. Glen, who had laid out a path of light beneath him, was copying the islander’s glide rather successfully. Hadjar was the worst off. He had to run down the steps while jumping several times and constantly pushing off the walls to avoid slamming into them face-first.

“Damn it!” Hadjar swore again.

It felt like the faster he moved, the faster the stones fell from above. A mere mortal would stand no chance in such a trap — they would’ve probably not even realized what had sent them to their forefathers.

Hadjar slipped beneath another stone slab, drawing his blade as he went. This time, the stone didn’t land behind him, but right in front of him. Hadjar crouched so low that Karissa had to put her book in front of her face to keep her nose from plowing through the stone. As he soared through the air, Hadjar struck out with a swift slash. This launched a blue and black crescent from the blade’s cutting edge. Slicing through the falling stones, he wound his way around the supporting column and, meeting little resistance, cut through it easily. With another loud crash, part of the staircase collapsed, creating a small dome above their heads, and the stones struck it instead of them.

“It’ll collapse soon,” Hadjar gritted through clenched teeth without slowing down.

“You’re close to the exit!” came from below.

Einen had been the first to reach the bottom of the chute and now stood before an arch of blue light. A moment later, Glen landed next to him, and Ramukhan jumped down off his back.

Hadjar was only a few steps away from the ground when he heard an incredibly loud roar behind him. The rubble and stone chips flew like buckshot. They cut his face and hands, leaving deep, gray scratches behind on the walls.

Einen swung his staff and pointed it at the space in front of him. The shadows around him stretched out and formed two giant ape paws. They reached for the ceiling and pressed together beneath it. The islander had erected the shadowy barrier just in time — a second later and Hadjar would’ve been standing in a pouring rain of stone.

“Hurry up!” The islander paled, and Hadjar put his all into it.

He lunged forward and rushed past Einen, rolling across the floor. Hadjar managed to throw off Karissa, who screamed, but it took him some time to control his momentum. He had to drive Mountain Wind into the stone floor and cut a long furrow in it to finally stop.

The islander canceled his Technique, and the stones clattered down, sealing the archway and cutting the squad off from the surface.

Rising, Hadjar dusted himself off. His tattered caftan, smeared with dirt and dust, now resembled Hadjar’s favorite threadbare garments which were currently resting in his spatial ring.

“Damned barbarian!” Glen ran over to Hadjar and grabbed him by the collar of his caftan. “Didn’t your mother teach you to look where you walk?”

Hadjar’s eyes flashed with malevolent fire and he was reaching for his sword when Einen’s staff appeared between him and the Baliumian.

“If you want, Glen,” the islander said quietly, “you can go first. None of us would mind.”

Hadjar cooled down as quickly as he had become enraged. Before Glen turned away, he saw the disappointment in the Baliumian’s eyes. Only then did Hadjar feel the sting of the scar on his palm left behind by the oath he had sworn. The Baliumian wasn’t as simple as he appeared! He’d acted rather well on someone else’s orders.

Hadjar turned to Ramukhan, but couldn’t catch the sorcerer’s eyes. He averted his gaze, pretending to study their surroundings. They stood in the middle of what appeared to be a wide hall at first. There were towering columns on both sides, depicting various animals: a hippopotamus standing on its hind legs and supporting the ceiling with its forelegs. A monkey that was sitting in a lotus position. Its tail served as its chair, and the top of its head was also supporting the ceiling. A heron with wings that formed a bed. A peacock with a beautiful tail.

“I wonder if those are emeralds…” Glen’s eyes devoured the jewels set into the bird’s plumage.

Hadjar understood him perfectly. The emeralds made him want to pull out a carving dagger and try to dig them out as well. Hadjar apparently had a stronger will than... everyone else. Even Einen, like a puppet in the hands of an inexperienced puppeteer, jerkily staggered toward the jewels.

“It’s a trap!” Hadjar snapped at them.

Skirting past the other squad members, he cut through the air with his sword. A blue crescent passed by them. It left another long furrow in the floor, but did its job and countered the spell.

“Demons,” Glen croaked, turning away from the alluring glint of the emeralds, “this place is going to kill me.”

“If one of us doesn’t do it first,” Tilis snorted, apparently forgetting her recent vow.

“Come on,” Ramukhan said. “And by the Evening Stars, be careful.”

Chapter 400

They were walking across a wide and long platform. It looked like a hall, but then it became clear that there was some sort of gap between the floor and the walls, and that all the columns were actually behind the gap, not in front of it.

The first trap on this stone bridge (it was the best comparison given the fact that the platform floated through the air) was intended to weed out the people who’d passed the first test by chance, and not because of their own skills. If not for Hadjar and his strong will, the squad members would’ve fallen into a bottomless abyss. Glen told them all about it. Dropping to his stomach, he crawled over to the edge of the platform and leaned his head down.

“May all the demons of the Fire Hall love me!” He shouted in his native language. No one except Hadjar understood this strange curse. “It’s at least three miles deep.”

“What’s at the bottom?” Tilis asked.

“Pikes.” The Baliumian said, “There are a lot of skeletons impaled on them. There are mountains of bones below.”

“So, there’s no doubt about it, we aren’t the first people to get this far,” Ramukhan nodded.

Hadjar looked behind him. He had no doubt that they’d entered through the only entrance to this infernal place. But… How could the collapsed staircase have become an ancient one with a faded pattern after other people had already used it?

“It makes no sense to ask questions that can’t be answered,” Einen patted his friend on the shoulder and adjusted his white bandanna. “Let’s go. We may die soon anyway, so stop fretting.”

Sometimes, Hadjar wanted to hit his friend on the head with something heavy, but he restrained these urges, which were, however, still noticed by the islander. Einen answered him with a condescending smile.

This time, the squad moved forward slowly. They took each step as carefully as possible, their feet barely touching the slabs at first. The stone floor they were walking on wasn’t a monolithic structure, but many connected, three-foot stone slabs instead. Different animals were depicted on each of them. The animals came in a variety of colors and were shaped like the columns that surrounded the platform.

“Oh, it’s no use,” Glen wailed as the light from his oil lamp revealed the shape of another animal. “Do you think they’re just like-”

“Shut up!” The rest shouted at him, but it was already too late.

Mage City interrupted his griping. The Baliumian took a step forward and stepped on the image of a heron. The slab shook, and then, with a creak, it dropped straight down, toward the glittering blades at the bottom of the abyss. Einen kept Glen from falling. The islander reached out his staff to the Baliumian. Clutching it like a drowning man, Glen jerked himself back up.

“For the-”

This time, it was Ramukhan who didn’t get to finish his sentence. Around the perimeter of the platform, all the columns with herons on them began to move. Shaking off their centuries-long slumber, they lowered their wings. The monolithic ceiling that towered above the platform trembled slightly, and shards of stone fell from above. Having lost about a ninth of its supports, it sagged noticeably and became heavier.

“Damned Baliumian!” Ramukhan roared, leaping backwards to avoid stone feather-spears that were flying toward him.

All the statues of herons began to flap their wings. With each flap, feathers shot out from their wings. Whistling through the air, they flew into the now open grooves on the opposite side of the walls.

The sorcerer, after dodging the first hail of spear-feathers, landed on a slab with the image of a hippopotamus. Hadjar could already see what was going to happen next. Just as he’d expected, the river monsters also shook themselves out of their stone slumber and began to move.

Blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens and leaping over a stream of boiling tar spat out by one of the giants, Hadjar caught Ramukhan before he fell over the edge. Pulling the sorcerer back, he stood with him on a slab that depicted a sleeping heron. The rest of the squad, noticing that the floor beneath Hadjar wasn’t going to fall away, also hurried to jump onto the same images.

Spear-feathers and clumps of boiling tar flew all around the perimeter of the platform. Fortunately, they were flying in a straight line and only coming out of the mouths or from the wings of the awakened statues.

“Only step on the images of the sleeping beasts!” Hadjar shouted.

Holding a protesting Ramukhan under his arm, he dove through the next glob of tar and landed on a slab with a sleeping lion. Hadjar didn’t want to see what the lion statues around the edges of the platform could do. For the next few minutes, the squad members leapt over the stones, dodging shells as they did so.

Everyone was smart enough to avoid trying to block or repel the attacks. For practitioners and witches of their level, they were harmless enough. But if the feather-spears or tar touched the inactive panels, the trap would get more complicated.

“Look out!” Einen shouted.

A chunk of rock broke away from the ceiling, which was shaking and cracking more intensively now. It fell toward Glen and Tilis. There were moments when instincts could save a warrior’s life, but sometimes the opposite happened. Before his mind could take control of his body, Glen drew his sword and sent a thin disk of golden light flying. It silently and easily cut the multiton piece of rock into several pieces. However, Glen’s face didn’t show any joy. Rather, he was dismayed. Chunks of the stone crashed down on the platform and rolled across it, crushing a number of the slabs. With a creak, they tumbled down and fell into the abyss. Three other kinds of statues were now shaking themselves out of their stone slumber.

The serpents, now coiled and no longer supporting the ceiling, opened their mouths wide. Acid flew out of them and mere drops of it were enough to begin to melt even those slabs that depicted sleeping animals.

The monkeys began throwing burning stones the size of a baby’s head. Leaving behind trails of smoke, they also landed in the now open niches.

The lions that had intrigued Hadjar so much did nothing. They sank down and also ceased supporting the ceiling. Then they opened their mouths and snarled, and the other beasts, as if obeying their king’s order, went wild. The monkey’s shells were everywhere, no longer following a pattern. They began to crush the walls and still sleeping statues. The ceiling, which had lost most of its supports, began to sink and crumble. Stones rained down and knocked the slabs onto the pikes.

“The exit!” Hadjar pointed to a stone door a mile away. Behind it, a steady, blue light glowed.

Carrying Ramukhan on his shoulder, Hadjar blurred into the shadow of the Six Ravens. This time, he just had to run in a straight line. Hadjar smiled foolishly as he deflected the statues’ attacks — all of this reminded him of an obstacle course he’d used to run through back at the Bear squad’s training grounds. Except the ground hadn’t used to slip out from under their feet and send the soldiers flying into an abyss back then.

As he swung his sword, Hadjar saw other statues waking up and larger chunks of rock falling away from the collapsing ceiling. Glen cried out as his thigh was grazed by a stone spear. Einen gritted his teeth as acid struck him. Fortunately, it had only grazed his shoulder. Even then, it immediately turned red, and then his skin began to burst, exposing graying patches of rotting meat.

Taking aim, Hadjar swung his sword again. The blue-and-black crescent was right on target. It didn’t hit Einen head on, but hissed by an inch from his wounded shoulder. The echo of the attack was enough to cut away the affected tissue. Einen nodded as him and Tilis glided through the shadows. They arrived at the exit at almost the same time. Hadjar had had to help his companions out, sending attacks out in all directions.

As everyone landed on the other side of the arch, it collapsed behind them, blocking their view of the crumbling platform. This time, they were in an oval-shaped room. Small blue spheres whirled around the ceiling.

Hadjar was just about to say something when one of the spheres, leaving a shimmering trail behind, spun and flew straight at his chest. After dodging it, Hadjar stared at the hole in the floor the size of his fist. The little ball of death had left it behind when it had melted through it.

“Fuck everything

…”

Chapter 401

“Jump!” Einen held out his staff.

Hadjar, exhaling in annoyance, started running. The bridge was already crumbling beneath him, and there, at the bottom of the abyss, were giant, fanged lizards. They clambered over each other and opened their mouths menacingly only a few yards below Hadjar’s feet.

Pushing off from the cliff, Hadjar leapt over the precipice. The gigantic creatures’ heavy jaws snapped beneath him. His heart was beating so hard that Hadjar couldn’t hear the other squad members’ shouts and the grinding of the lizards’ chitinous shells rubbing against each other over the noise.

In the middle of his leap, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to reach the staff. A distance of twenty yards was too great for even a strong practitioner like him to overcome. Einen also saw that his friend wouldn’t make it and unwound his belt with a sharp movement of his hand. Jumping into the abyss, he threw out his hand. The belt he was holding came alive and wrapped itself around a nearby pillar.

Hadjar grabbed the islander’s staff. They slammed into the edge of the cliff together. A few feet below them, hungry predators kept trying to reach them. The lizards’ red eyes glowed. They swarmed like an anthill, crawling over each other, desperate for the chance to taste human flesh.

“Pull!” The islander cried.

At first, nothing happened. Hadjar thought that they would end up dangling above the abyss until their demise. No matter how strong the islander’s silk belt normally was, it was already beginning to tear under their combined weight. The two friends sank lower and lower, toward the precipice, with every second that passed.

When the monsters’ jaws snapped shut so close to him that Hadjar had to curl his legs to avoid losing his feet, they began to rise. Slowly at first, but as the crackling of the silk increased, their ascent became faster.

Einen was the first to be pulled up to the stone ‘balcony’. He reached down and grabbed Hadjar by the collar and yanked him up as well. Hadjar spread his arms wide to embrace the cold stone and laughed nervously. Einen sat down beside him. He reeled in his torn belt.

“By the Evening Stars,” Glen said, “this trap is at the top of my personal ranking.”

“I liked the waterfall of acid, myself.” Karissa patted her pocket, where she now kept a small bottle filled to the brim with that acid.

For several hours, they had continuously struggled out of the clutches of death caused by one trap only to fall into another, even deadlier one right after. These adventures had left them in bad shape: they were ragged, covered in blood, bruises, and abrasions, not to mention the several bandaged wounds. They had almost lost their nerve. Tilis hadn’t said a word in the last three rooms, which was unheard of for her. Glen made fewer jokes and only frowned at Hadjar and Einen sometimes. Ramukhan held his glowing staff tightly enough to make it creak.

The room with the bridge and the lizards had been a nightmare for them. They’d gone through a room where they’d had to solve complex puzzles while standing waist-deep in the rising water. They’d navigated mazes filled with a variety of small traps. They’d leapt over precipices teeming with deadly creatures, or boiling lava, or tar, or acid — just name it, they’d probably leapt over it.

The last room had been the quintessence of their whole journey through the area so far. First, they’d had to solve a puzzle while dodging fireballs. That had involved making a huge hieroglyph out of different stone pieces and placing it in a groove. They’d managed to do so only thanks to Einen’s help. The islander had run around the room like a monkey and deflected the fireballs. They left behind liquid flames, igniting the water, which had kept rising. Tilis had turned it to ice, sweating from the strain. She’d barely managed to handle the increasing amount of liquid and the growing heat.

After the hieroglyph had been assembled, the floor beneath them had cracked and collapsed. They’d fallen toward sharp rocks, but had managed to grab onto some hanging vines. Using them to move forward, leaping from vine to vine, they had moved to the other side and entered a new maze. In addition to the traps, there’d been an odd lizard creature inside it as well. One that was almost as large as the golem they’d encountered in the desert. For the first time since he’d met Azrea’s mother, Hadjar had come face to face with a beast whose power was equal to the dead tigress’ own. It would’ve been useless to try and fight such a monster. In addition, the pathways of the maze had kept narrowing. So, they’d run from one dead end to another, listening to the lizard’s growling coming from behind them, once again solving puzzles and racing their own deaths.

In the center of the maze, they’d found a trapdoor that had led them to the bridge, which, as soon as their feet had touched its surface, had begun collapsing, exposing a chasm full of small lizards.

They were now once again standing on a stone ‘balcony’ with a door in front of them. It was made of stone and decorated with the same exquisite carvings and intricate ornaments they’d seen pretty much everywhere thus far.

“There must be a secret mechanism somewhere,” Glen said, scratching his head and touching the door.

“No, we’ve dealt with one already,” Ramukhan, crouching down, began to fumble around on the floor. “Let’s look for a lever.”

“We’ve dealt with a lever, too,” Karissa said, and began to study the ornaments. “Perhaps we need to connect the lines of the patterns to make some kind of symbol.”

Hadjar didn’t bother reminding them that they had encountered such an obstacle before. Right after the hall with the statues of animals that had come to life and spit out all sorts of junk, in fact. It was so long ago that Hadjar had almost forgotten what had set the columns in motion in the first place.

For about half an hour, the squad tried to open the door, but failed. They tried everything: finding a lever, fiddling with the ornaments, which really did move. However, whatever patterns they made, nothing happened. The door stood unmoved, and in the background, the lizards roared and tried to climb up to the ‘balcony’.

Glen was about to hit the door with his sword, but the rest stopped him. They didn’t want to find out what would happen if they tried to brute force the ancient puzzle. Hadjar suddenly came up with such a simple, but at the same time, not exactly obvious, guess. Taking a deep breath, he said:

“Open.”

“Are you-”

No one was surprised that Tilis didn’t get to finish her sentence. The ornaments on the door moved. Only they didn’t move because of their tinkering, but acted as if they were alive. They assumed the form of an unknown hieroglyph. A bell rang with a heavy, noisy clang, and the door opened. At first, because of the abundance of blue light, they had to close their eyes against the glare, and then everyone let out a groan of relief and an exclamation of surprise.

They saw a bridge of the finest workmanship and great beauty. Made of the same stone as everything else so far, it still somehow gave the illusion of being a tree. Swaying to some unseen breeze, it led down into a sea of blue light, where thousands of shelves stood. They were tiered and had many columns, walls, display cases, shelves… It all looked close to infinite.

There were books everywhere: they stood in neat rows, lay in piles, flew through the air, and some were even encased in spheres of blue light. In addition to the books, they saw numerous scrolls, clay tablets, stone tablets, even ropes with knots, which were obviously a kind of text too.

“How many books are there?”

They were crossing the bridge as the door closed behind them.

“Seventeen million, one hundred and thirty-two thousand, fifty-three... fifty-two... fifty-one.” A thin, childish voice responded.

Both Hadjar and Einen started when they heard it. While the others assumed defensive stances, they looked around carefully. Ahead of them, on one of the shelves, stood a little girl. She was staring at a book floating inside a blue sphere.

“Serra?” Hadjar’s voice trembled.

Tilis looked at him in surprise.

“No,” the girl said without turning around, “I’m her sister, Erra. The Keeper of Knowledge. Since you’re standing here, you’ve passed all the tests and are worthy of receiving the knowledge that suits you. I’ll be very happy to help you with that. What would you like to know?”

Chapter 402

The squad members looked at each other. There was excitement and greed in their eyes. Ordinary practitioners had just been given the chance to peruse the library of an ancient, powerful civilization! However, Hadjar remained calm. Remembering the sorceress, he knew that the library had a very different kind of value. Future magicians and sorceresses had been taught the truly vital knowledge by some of the ‘wisest’. The library was more like a simple database of information. It was a kind of living history of the nation. And this nation had treasured wisdom, its history recorded in a variety of books and scrolls.

However, even if the people of that mighty civilization had once come here purely to stow books on a shelf, for the citizens of Underworld City, the Sea of Sand in general, and even the outskirts of the Empire, not to mention the barbarian kingdoms, this place was still mythical, mysterious, and desirable.

“Erra-”

“List,” the little golem interrupted Ramukhan. “Call me List. That’s what I was called back when I was created. The names Erra and Serra were given to us by the man in black. He liked them.”

Hadjar started. No one noticed it, except Einen, who was standing in a dark corner. With his eyes still half-closed, he observed what was happening intently.

“Honorable List,” the sorcerer saluted the girl in the manner of the Sea of Sand, “I, as well as my companions, would first like to know the full... list of books in the library.”

“The full list?” Erra’s smile was much more lifeless than her sister’s. “It would take a thousand years to go through it. Besides, I feel someone with bad intentions coming here. His power is great. His trials were far worse than yours, but my sister is leading him. They’ll be here soon.”

Glen slammed his fist against the wall, and the others frowned.

“Damned Sunshine Sankesh,” the Baliumian hissed. “How much time do we have, List?”

She closed her eyes. Her simple, beige dress fluttered in a nonexistent wind. She looked terribly ancient and terribly defenseless: an abandoned, lonely fragment of the distant past. For some reason, Hadjar felt a pang of sadness, but it was as if it were someone else’s sorrow.

“No more than a quarter of an hour,” the girl said.

“A quarter of an hour!”

“Damn it!”

“Only a quarter of an hour!”

The witches and the sorcerer stared at the treasure trove of information with the kind of horrified expressions Hadjar would have on his face while watching a ship full of Imperial level swords sinking.

“Can you help us, E- I mean, List?” He asked.

The little golem turned to Hadjar and looked into his eyes. Hadjar shuddered. The ageless, timeless quality in her lifeless eyes was even more suffocating to witness than the look in the sorceress’ Shadow’s eyes had been.

List was older than most of the stars in the sky. She’d appeared in the library the second the first clay tablet had been stored here. It had happened so long ago that by the time Mage City fell, no one who remembered this moment had still been alive. Hadjar was rarely so afraid that the rotten part of him wanted to turn around and run away. But now, he was as afraid as he’d ever been.

“You’ve passed the tests that were made for you,” she said, “and one who bears the weight of a Name on his shoulders is with you. Yes, I can help you.”

She waved her hand, and five replicas of her appeared beside her. They jumped off the balcony in unison. They fluttered their dresses until the golems hovered in the air. The girls froze in front of every squad member. The children’s pale hands reached out toward their cheeks. Hadjar plunged once more into the bottomless ocean of List’s eyes, and then found himself in front of an endless array of shelves. He stood in the middle of bright, white light, surrounded by the shelves filled with scrolls and books.

“The sword isn’t the most popular weapon in Mage City,” her voice sounded. Hadjar turned and saw the girl standing nearby. “Moreover, the true path of cultivation despises all weapons. All the power that should be harnessed is in our hearts.”

Hadjar presumed that he had just been given a hint, but he didn’t understand what the advice meant.

“I’m not looking for the Sword in your library-”

“I know what you’re looking for, Darkhan,” she interrupted him. “The same as any other person brought here by a northern wind. However, that knowledge is no longer in my possession.”

For a brief moment, Hadjar saw an image in his mind: a completely smashed and burned bookshelf, the charred fragments of ancient treatises scattered around it.

“But you have to remember them. You’re the Keeper of Knowledge.”

“I just keep track of the knowledge,” she said, shaking her head. “The Keeper was killed long ago.”

Hadjar’s suspicions only deepened.

“Show me,” he said.

He saw a memory, much more muddy and indistinct than what the Shadow had shown him. Through the haze of time, he could only make out silhouettes and fragments of voices. A golden-robed figure walked across the shards of mist that had enveloped the beautiful buildings of Mage City, heading toward a clump of black smoke.

“I... you... that... destroy…”

“…murderer…”

Then the vision changed. The same figure, wrapped in a golden light, walked over to a little girl lying on the floor of the library. Hadjar couldn’t hear what they were talking about. At the last moment, he saw the face of the creature lying at the feet of the golden monster. It looked just like Erra and Serra.

“She was your sister,” Hadjar breathed out.

The girl nodded.

“Who killed her?”

“I don’t know. It happened immediately after the destruction of the city. I still wonder why the creature didn’t destroy the library itself. There are many books here, Darkhan, but I can open none of them. I only have the knowledge of what they are, but their contents are an eternal mystery to me.”

Hadjar couldn’t even comprehend the torture that the little golem had endured. For ages, she’d been stuck in a place full of knowledge, but had had only one way to pass the time — reliving the day her sister had died over and over again.

Hadjar was sure of one thing — the entity that the Black General had fought against was the one who had destroyed the city and killed the library’s third golem. They’d certainly been very powerful because they’d managed to endure the onslaught of the wounded General of the God of War himself!

“I think these would be best suited to you, Darkhan.”

Hadjar felt her cold, lifeless hand touch his shoulder again. He wondered why little Serra’s hand was so different.

“Here is the scroll of the ‘Three Sword Rays’ Technique.”

Hadjar saw a vision again. On the edge of a hill somewhere, a white-robed Master stood. He was training with a sword. He transitioned smoothly from one stance to the next. Suddenly, his sword caught a ray of sunlight, and then the Master lunged. The captured beam burst from the tip of his blade. It was bright and thin, but insanely fast. Its power was so concentrated that it easily pierced through the mountain in front of the Master...  The Master continued his training. He began to move with greater purpose, going even faster, and caught another ray of sunlight, a scarlet one this time. The Master made a wide swing, and the red crescent of the unleashed beam of light cut off the distant peak of that same mountain.

The Master merged the scarlet and golden rays. The new, orange ray combined the penetrating power of the first stance and the cutting power of the second one. With a roar, kicking up a tsunami of dust, the mountain crumbled, cut into thousands of boulders.

“Or the ‘Movement of the Soft Grass’ scroll.”

The Master with the sword-beam bowed and disappeared, replaced by another. After demonstrating several movements, he made an elusive gesture and... Seemed to move a mile to the side, launching another mighty attack that left a trench several yards deep in the ground.

In less than five minutes, hundreds of Masters appeared and disappeared in Hadjar’s mind. They showed Hadjar such a level of proficiency with the sword that he looked like a silly boy brandishing a wooden sword by comparison.

“What level of swordsmanship did these Masters reach?” Hadjar asked, stopping the endless stream of images.

Chapter 403

“I don’t know, Darkhan.” It was odd, but she kept calling him by his Name, the one given to him by the Bedouin shaman. Although Hadjar now presumed that the Bedouin had fished it out of the World River and hadn’t actually come up with it. The red tattoo on his arm, where his Name was forever imprinted, confirmed his theory.

“I would advise you to choose the ‘Half-moon Sword’ scroll.”

Hadjar remembered the Master who, with a single swing of his sword, had cut through the moonlight. With one attack, he’d cut through all the defenses and armor of every warrior he’d faced. It was a short, light swing that contained so much speed and power that it left even the ‘Three Sword Rays’ Technique in the dust. The latter was a ranged attack, while the ‘Half-moon Sword’ was intended for use in melee, which is why it might’ve been less appealing to some.

By the Evening Stars, if List had suggested it only a week ago, Hadjar would’ve agreed without hesitation. Of course, what he’d seen amazed him. It even opened new horizons for his understanding of the Way of the Sword Spirit. But at the same time, he felt disappointed.

In his spatial ring, he had a scroll that depicted, as Hadjar now knew, the Black General. An ordinary swing, devoid of any grace or Technique, of the Enemy’s sword contained more power, speed, and essence of the Sword Spirit than all the Techniques Hadjar had seen combined.

“I know what you really want, Darkhan.” The girl sighed a little sadly.

This time, no new Master or Technique appeared in Hadjar’s mind. Instead, the girl handed him a small clay tablet. It was covered in strange patterns and exuded eternity itself. Such an inconspicuous artifact could’ve easily been the ‘grandfather’ of the library’s three golems, it was so ancient.

“I don’t know this language,” Hadjar said, running his fingers along the patterns, “and I don’t think there’s anyone alive who can translate it for me.”

“If you choose this tablet, I can. It’s my task to help you choose what information you want and then provide access to it.”

Hadjar looked into Erra’s eyes, but he couldn’t bear the pressure of time itself staring back at him. Even for him, it was too much.

“What is it?”

“Nothing special,” List shrugged. “You could learn this in any decent school of swordsmanship.”

“Then why should I pick it?” Hadjar asked. “I’m going to such a school anyway.”

“Because, Darkhan, true knowledge is something you teach yourself. There’s something in this scroll I can’t explain. It’s a very simple, but at the same time, amazing way of meditation. It’ll help you see beyond what is visible to the naked eye in the Sword Spirit’s realm. It’ll help you not only absorb the knowledge gained during your battles, but also allow you to improve through observation.”

“I can already do that,” Hadjar insisted. “Just like any other practitioner. Even without the help of schools or sects.”

“Yes, but can you deepen your understanding of the sword just by looking at a statue or... a painting?”

Erra squinted at Hadjar’s ring.

“This Technique has no name,” she added.

“What about its creator?”

“Who knows?” Erra shrugged. “The language of this tablet is older than the air you breathe. The one who created it was at the pinnacle of wisdom. Only the priests can tell you about those times, Darkhan. Only the priests of the gods have records so ancient that they can pierce through the veil of time itself.”

Again, Hadjar was being directed toward the Land of the Immortals. Fate had mocked him from the very beginning of his journey, nudging him toward the land of all-powerful cultivators with amusement.

If Hadjar had been a simple, everyday practitioner, he would’ve refused the ‘pig in a poke’ and opted for one of the powerful Techniques he’d already been shown. However, Hadjar… gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and held out his hand. For most of his life, all he’d had was his sword and his word. By the Evening Stars, it would be difficult to say which was stronger — Hadjar’s word or the steel in his hands. Whatever the obstacle was, be it a lack of knowledge or money, fate interfering, or enemies he had to deal with, he would conquer everything with his own hands and his sword. He could find Sword Techniques in the Empire. If he found none there, he would go to the Land of the Immortals. If even that proved pointless, he would create them himself. Even if it took millennia, he wouldn’t be stopped by anything until he reached his goal. Nothing would ever make his willpower waver, or halt his stride. No demons, no gods, no ancient mysteries.

“I choose the nameless tablet.”

As soon as he said the words, Hadjar realized he was standing on the cold stone floor of the library. The ocean of white light evaporated and was replaced by the lake of blue light that illuminated the ancient books. He was back on the balcony, staring at a book spinning in a sphere of light.

“And where-”

Hadjar didn’t even get to ask about the tablet. The realization that it was in his spatial ring came as abruptly as the knowledge of its contents. It was indeed a very simple way of meditation.

The writing on the tablet began with this phrase:

‘A swordsman holds the hilt of a sword and follows its path. All they see before them is that path. Everything they carry in their heart, they carry with them as they walk along this path.’

Hadjar sensed that this was wisdom beyond his reach, so he decided to focus on the meditation itself. Fortunately, the next paragraph had a very simple and concise explanation of what one needed to do to be able to ‘bite off’ a piece of knowledge that could be found in everything.

The author of the text explained that a real ‘wielder of the sword’ would be able to feel the presence of the Sword Spirit even in the flap of a swallow’s wing. At some point, they would no longer need any teachers or masters, as there was no better teacher than the world itself and the person who contemplated it.

Einen had also received his ‘award’. He’d even managed to sit down in a lotus position and was now breathing in and out slowly.

“How much time do we have?” Hadjar asked.

“Seven minutes,” Erra said without turning around. “Then the sun will rise and the battle between light and darkness will begin.”

Without bothering to delve into the deeper meaning of the ancient creature’s allegory, Hadjar followed his friend’s example. He sat down in a lotus position and visualized the scroll depicting the Black General.

Hadjar didn’t risk taking it out and observing the actual scroll. Last time he’d done so, he’d almost died. He didn’t want to check whether anything had changed thanks to the help of the unnamed Technique.

Of course, seven minutes wasn’t enough to properly study the Technique and the scroll. Hadjar doubted he could finish studying them in less than a year and a half. But he still had enough time to reach the most basic level of understanding.

Using the nameless Technique, Hadjar focused on the image of the Black General. Deep within himself, he was going through one of the most difficult trials of his life. Every mental glance he took at the black silhouette was like walking on a thin, sharp edge, with yawning abysses on either side.

Hadjar didn’t hear the crow rejoicing deep within his soul, nor the sad sigh of the old dragon who’d been unable to save his disciple from his terrible fate. Hadjar didn’t see Erra’s smile — it was the kind of grin a murderer usually gave to their victims before making the final, fatal blow.

In the library, the last few quiet moments were coming to an end. Erra didn’t seem to care. Quite the opposite, in fact. The golem seemed to be waiting for the arrival of Sunshine Sankesh. He didn’t keep them waiting long.

Chapter 404

Sankesh didn’t appear like Hadjar’s group had. He didn’t enter through the magic door, didn’t climb out of a trapdoor or a secret passageway. No. Sankesh and his people just appeared in the middle of the room.

“Get ready.” Ramukhan extended his glowing staff toward the new arrivals.

Hadjar stared at the growing bubble of orange light. It swelled rapidly, taking up more and more space. Gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles cracked, Hadjar tried to see the people inside the bubble of light, but all he could discern was the dim dance of shadows. Suddenly, there was a deafening bang. The bubble burst, revealing the people inside it.

Hadjar didn’t recognize three of them. Judging by their uniforms, they were soldiers of Sankesh’s army. Exhausted, wounded, and bandaged up, they didn’t look like the brave warriors Hadjar had seen back at the camp in the Stone Trees oasis.

He recognized the old northerner. His once golden hair was now a rusty shade of blonde, and his skin had turned gray.

Arliksha, Sankesh’s daughter, looked the same: she had tattoos across her face, three purple spheres swirling around her, and a saber tucked into her belt.

Sunshine Sankesh stood in the center of his group. The powerful giant with bulging muscles was leaning on his giant halberd whose broad blade could give most axes a run for their money. It was an absolutely monstrous, frightening weapon.

“Serra,” Hadjar growled.

“Hadjar.” She said, smiling cheerfully. “Einen.”

Her calm, happy voice contrasted sharply with the girl’s appearance. Her whole body was covered in terrible bruises, bleeding cuts that the scraps of fabric that had replaced her clothes couldn’t hide, and numerous burns, some of which were already covered with a disgusting, yellow crust. Her hair was matted with sweat, sand, and blood. Her lips were broken and there was dried blood under her nose and ears.

“I’m sorry, Hadjar, I couldn’t stop them.”

Her tone was even, carefree, and cheerful, like she was a happy child who hadn’t been tortured by these maniacs for months.

“Sankesh!” Hadjar bellowed.

The energy around him turned from blue to black, and within it, black lightning bolts arced. Hadjar grabbed his blade and took a step forward just as Einen’s and Ramukhan’s hands landed on his shoulders simultaneously.

“It’s not time yet, barbarian.” The sorcerer whispered in his ear. “They did that on purpose. There was no reason to torture the Key. She would’ve brought them here anyway. It’s her mission.”

“The sorcerer is right, my friend,” Einen said. “They want to throw us off balance, make us act rashly.”

Einen’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly, indicating the islander’s own desire to fight. He’d never showed it, but Einen liked little Serra too.

“Are you really going to let these worms hold you back, Dragon?” Sankesh laughed.

He tossed his head back and roared in amusement. Even his throat looked mighty enough to break a common soldier’s blade.

“I pictured this place looking completely different. It’s so miserable.” Sunshine Sankesh looked around. There was contempt mixed with disappointment on his face. “What else can you expect from an extinct civilization, though? It was too weak to continue fighting for its life, after all.”

“We don’t want to fight you, King of the desert,” Ramukhan bowed. “We came here for knowledge, and you can take the rest-”

Sankesh held out his hand toward the sorcerer and squeezed. Ramukhan was torn from the floor. He clutched his own throat in agony. He clawed frantically at it, trying to breathe. Ramukhan’s staff clattered across the stone floor.

“I don’t need your permission, worm!” Sankesh snarled. “Everything under the sky belongs to the strongest. And that’s clearly not you.”

“Release him, Sankesh.” Hadjar didn’t unsheathe his sword, but there were already deep gouges in the floor around him.

“Do you want to save your master, Dragon?” Sankesh’s eyes blazed with animalistic fury. “You could’ve been part of the new world order. My order! But you chose to be a footrest for these pathetic parodies of mages instead!”

“I told you this already. I’m not a slave.”

For some time, they just stared at each other. Ramukhan stopped twitching. He turned blue, and then his eyes rolled back.

“Pathetic piece of shit.”

Sankesh opened his hand, and Ramukhan fell to the floor like a broken doll. Tilis and Karissa rushed over to him. Taking out some talismans, they hastily cast a variety of spells on the sorcerer’s body. After a few moments, Ramukhan grunted and woke up. There was a black burn or bruise on his neck, as if he’d been choked not by the power of someone’s will, but by a burning gauntlet.

“We... can... negotiate-”

Sankesh’s glance was enough to make the sorcerer close his mouth loudly and fall silent.

“I don’t negotiate with worms, wretch,” he said, turning back to Hadjar. “You know what I came here for, North Wind.”

Hadjar did know. Sunshine Sankesh needed the elixir of the gods. The damned maniac was going to ascend to the Seventh Heaven and reshape the world at his discretion, making it suitable for only the strongest to live in, with the weak forced to do nothing but cower and serve, if they even survived.

“We need to go, Hadjar,” Glen said. The Baliumian didn’t grab his sword, he even raised his hands. He radiated a willingness to surrender. “Look at that monster. He alone is enough to turn us into mincemeat. And by the gods, the gray-skinned old man isn’t much weaker than Sankesh. And then there’s his daughter. We simply can’t do anything to them…”

Hadjar understood what Glen was saying. Even if he were twice as strong, he wouldn’t be able to fight Sankesh as an equal. Still, there were things he simply could not back down from… One look at little Serra was enough to wake the dragon inside Hadjar.

“Leave, Sankesh.” Hadjar’s every word sounded like a blade being drawn from its scabbard. “If you want to become a god, do so with your own power. Otherwise, what’s the difference between you and... these worms you so despise?”

Sankesh squinted at him, then began to cackle again. His actions made the desperate madness in the depths of his soul plainly visible.

“Stupid dog. Do you think you can alter my path with mere words?”

Without waiting for a reply, Sankesh waved his hand again. Hadjar and the others reached for their weapons in order to ward off the pressure of his will, but there was no attack. Or rather, it hadn’t been meant for them.

Little Erra was lifted off the floor and dragged through the air. A moment later, she was wheezing helplessly in the madman’s steely grip.

“You’re the List, right?” Sankesh’s smile was beastly. “Tell me how to find the elixir of the gods and Derger’s Technique.”

“I don’t know.”

The cracked floor rumbled and shook, and a cloud of dust rose up, reaching the ceiling. Sankesh loomed over the little girl. With a flick of his hand, he slammed her into the floor, burying her a dozen feet below the stone.

“Don’t you lie to me, you pathetic parody of a human. Do your duty!” He grabbed her hair and held her up like a broken doll in front of his face. “Where’s the elixir?”

“I don’t-”

Sankesh slapped Erra’s stomach. Like a cannonball, she flew fifty yards through the air, went through a dozen shelves, and slammed into a wall.

“Hadjar,” Serra whispered. A small tear slid down her left cheek.

“Sankesh!” Hadjar roared with primal fury.

He didn’t care that Sankesh was a Spirit Knight. He didn’t care about Einen’s and Ramukhan’s warnings. He didn’t care about elixirs, gods, or demons. The little girl he’d promised to protect was crying! He was ready to burn the whole world down to avenge her shedding even one tear! Mountain Wind made a noise like thunder as it left the scabbard... but Hadjar didn’t manage to take even a single step forward.

“Not so fast,” someone whispered in his ear.

Glen’s dagger was at Hadjar’s throat.

“Damned Baliumian!” Tilis shouted. “Remember the oath! You’ll be-”

“Shut up!” Glen snapped. “Gods and demons, I’m tired of your bitching. You can shove your oath up your ass. I’m not harming the barbarian. Quite the contrary, I’m trying to save him. Right, my Lord?”

Sankesh smiled widely at Glen.

“My faithful dog. “

“Dog,” Hadjar said contemptuously. “Do proud Baliumians now rejoice when they are called dogs?”

“Shut up, Hadjar!” Glen’s dagger twitched, but it didn’t touch Hadjar’s skin. He couldn’t afford to break his oath. “You don’t know anything about me! And you don’t know anything about what Sunshine Sankesh can give you!”

“You’re right, I don’t!” Hadjar grabbed Glen’s forearm and shouted, “Now!”

Einen’s staff-spear flashed and the Baliumian fell in a puddle of his own blood. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened. There was a gash right in the middle of his forehead. The blood was dark and muddy, with gray lumps floating in it. Einen didn’t stop there. He reached into his own shadow and pulled out a waterskin. He threw it at Sankesh’s feet and assumed a fighting stance.

“That’s rather curious,” the giant said calmly. “What the hell are you doing-“

He was interrupted by the waterskin exploding. Sand flew in all directions, and from it, mounted on his sand dogs, Shakh and his men jumped out.

“I’ll kill you!” Shakh shouted, drawing his daggers.

Chapter 405

“Go, my Lord.” Arliksha blocked Shakh’s daggers with her saber.

“We’ll handle them.” The northerner struck his chest with his gauntleted fists.

Sunshine Sankesh didn’t respond. He simply grabbed Serra and Erra by the hair and dragged them into the endless corridors of the library.

“Sankesh!” Hadjar pushed himself off the floor.

Even after blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, he failed to break through the northerner’s defenses. The old man held up his gauntlets like a shield. The energy emanating from them assumed the shape of a wolf’s head. The beast’s sharp fangs gripped Hadjar’s sword tightly.

“Not so fast, southerner.” The true northerner growled disdainfully.

The power of the Spirit Knight’s aura immediately descended on Hadjar. The pressure made deep cracks appear in the stone floor, and everyone except Einen was thrown aside. Even Arliksha, engaged in battle with Shakh and Kharad, was unable to resist the overwhelming power. Only Hadjar and Einen remained standing opposite the mighty northerner. As they were simple practitioners, they looked even weaker than ants under a tiger’s paw while facing the Spirit Knight.

Sankesh didn’t see any of this. He didn’t care. He only saw his goal and he kept advancing toward it. By the Evening Stars, how long the road had been…

“Little brother, you aren’t-”

“Shut up!” Sankesh slammed Serra’s face into the stone wall. “Shut up, you miserable brat! I’m not your brother!”

***

The Pearl of the Sands really lived up to its name — surrounded by huge dunes from the west, east, and north, hidden in the lowlands, its white stone walls and houses looked like iridescent foam atop frozen waves. Very few travelers who had visited the Pearl could doubt that it was the capital of the vast desert.

Its avenues were wide and stone-paved, and the streets branching off from them formed a complex web. The tall, rectangular towers of the palaces provided shade during the daytime and shelter from chilly winds at night. Numerous people scurried about their business. Children’s laughter, the cries of various animals, and sometimes the clanging of armor made of real steel all filled the air.

The city was rich. The golden domes stretched far into the sky, and one could find anything that would appeal to a buyer in the fairs and bazaars.

The most magnificent building, however, towering above all the other buildings and with strikingly beautiful decorations, was... no, not the Palace of Sultan Rahaim and his venerable ancestors. Once, it had really been the most impressive building, and it had been difficult to find buildings that were grander and more pompous than the Palace of the Pearl in the whole desert.

Centuries had passed, Rahaim had matured, his hair had gone gray at the temples, and with that, a new building had appeared in the city. The Temple of Wisdom and Knowledge. The library of the Pearl of the Sands. Its great stone tower seemed impossibly huge. Its spires towered even above the surrounding dunes. The abode of Rahaim and his family was now located on its summit. It was small and inconspicuous compared to the Palace, but its windows afforded a truly majestic view of the endless sand.

“Father,” the little boy said, nervously fiddling with the sun-shaped amulet in his hands, “I wanted to talk to you-”

“Don’t disturb me,” the tall man interrupted him.

Dressed in a gold-embroidered outfit, he was sitting at an oak table, sorting through the texts of several books. His source of light was a white sphere circling above the man’s head.

“It’s about mom-”

“She’s dead,” the sultan interrupted his son again.

“But-”

“It’s time for you to grow up, Sankesh!” The man shouted.

Few people would’ve recognized the wise and calm Rahaim at that moment. The best and kindest sultan in history. The man who’d created the greatest cultivation school in the city, possibly the entire desert, and whose disciples were reputed to be the best of the best, defenders of peace in the desert. Little Sankesh, Rahaim’s son and heir to the sultan’s turban, sniffed and turned toward the window. He stared at the endless sands. The wind swept the yellow dust from the dunes, which looked like golden waves from such a height.

“Send your sister in, Sankesh,” Rahaim ordered, his eyes still on the book.

She’s not my sister! Sankesh thought, but simply answered:

“Yes, father.”

Sankesh went down the stairs to the lower floors. His father’s disciples wandered among the many shelves. They greeted their Prince respectfully, but their eyes were full of mockery. Behind his back, they whispered and mocked the heir who was incapable of cultivating the Sand Techniques. The boy gritted his teeth and continued to toy with the amulet his mother had given him.

Serra, his sister... his aunt... his grandmother... was where she always was: surrounded by her disciples who adored her, giving then advice and smiles both.

“Girls love flowers, Durmar,” she smiled at one of the men. “Give her flowers. Or a little beaded lizard.”

“Why?”

“To make her think about you when she looks at it. Thoughts, Durmar, have great power.”

Oftentimes, there was a sense of eternity in the eyes of the creature that looked like a nine-year-old girl, but it didn’t last long.

“Play with me!” Serra exclaimed, suddenly losing sight of that wisdom.

“Serra!” Sankesh shouted, not approaching the group of her disciples.

“Yes, little-”

“Don’t call me that!” Sankesh almost shrieked. “Filthy brat…”

“Prince!” The disciples thundered in unison.

Durmar separated from the group and came over to the Prince. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like living stone to the child, but the boy didn’t look away. Fearlessly, he stared at the man who could wring his neck with just two fingers and at his massive axe. The young man leaned toward the Prince and whispered so that no one but Sankesh could hear him:

“Watch your mouth, you incompetent puppy. Otherwise, you could have an accident.”

Sankesh gritted his teeth again in impotent anger. With great difficulty, he pretended to ignore the insult.

“Father. Wants. To. See. You. Serra.” Sankesh forced every word out with the force of a blacksmith hammering hot iron.

“Yep!”

The happy girl leapt from her pedestal and ran toward the winding staircase that led up to Sultan Rahaim’s chambers.

Sankesh glared at her back as she ran.

***

“Sound the bugles!” Rahaim shouted.

Standing on the ramparts, clad in gold and steel armor, he didn’t look like a sage, but like a formidable warrior. Below him, under the walls, the bandits’ banners fluttered. Hundreds of thousands of chekhars were besieging the Pearl. They didn’t have the power needed to capture the city, but they were still demanding tribute… These fools didn’t know that Rahaim’s school was strong enough to drive them away.

A low rumble swept over the endless sand. Accompanied by the bandits’ cheers, the capital of the Sea of Sand opened its gates, but instead of a defeated sultan, hundreds of warriors charged in to engage the enemy.

“My Lord!” A scout fell to one knee behind Rahaim.

“Not now!” Rahaim snapped.

Gripping the edge of the wall, he peered at the ranks of his warriors. His heart told him that… And it was true. Alongside his best disciples, his son rode ahead of the army on a desert raven. Sankesh, who was now sixteen, hadn’t even been able to reach the level of the Bodily Rivers. He was almost a mere mortal.

“Fool!” Rahaim wailed. “Idiot! By the Evening Stars, he is my punishment for some great misdeed!” The sultan turned to his subordinate. “Convey my orders to the army: I want the best disciples to immediately-”

“Serra!” The scout interrupted him. “My Lord, the bandits have captured Serra!”

“She should’ve been safe in the library!”

“The girl ran away and-”

At that very moment, a plaintive cry sounded from below, from the direction of the bloody battle. Rahaim ran to the edge of the wall. He watched his only son get yanked out of the saddle, then a slave collar was placed around his neck, and finally, he was dragged away from the battle like a beaten dog.

“Father!” The wind carried the boy’s desperate cry.

Sankesh looked into his father’s eyes, he was the only person who could help him. A second passed… Then two… Before Rahaim turned away. Sankesh had seen only disappointment and contempt in the sultan’s eyes. Contempt for his son’s weakness…

“Father!”

The cry echoed across the battlefield for a long time, but Rahaim didn’t hear it. He was rushing to help Serra.

***

After kicking the helpless golems some more, Sankesh moved on. The elixir of the gods was very close, but for some reason, his heart began to ache. The accursed Evening Stars had forced useless memories from his past before his mind’s eye. And once again, someone was rushing in to help Serra.

“I didn’t tell you this before, freak,” a mad smile twisted Sankesh’s face into an inhuman expression, “but the blades of my daughter, which she killed your beloved Rahaim with, had been laced with poison. He didn’t die quickly. In fact, he took a really, really long time to die…”

Serra looked up at the giant, but all she saw was the abandoned boy whose own mother had died in his arms from a terrible disease.

“But he was your father…”

“I have no father!” Sankesh’s roar shook the walls. “Now shut up, or Rahaim’s fate will seem like a gift from the heavens compared to yours.”

Chapter 406

The northerner jerked his wrist, and the wolf’s mouth that emerged from his gloves lashed out at Hadjar’s sword. He felt as if a battering ram had struck his blade. His feet were lifted off the ground, and Hadjar, after he flew a dozen yards through the air and knocked down two bookshelves, finally landed on the cold floor.

Blood spurted from his mouth. His Technique for Strengthening the Body used up almost a third of his energy reserves at once, but even that wasn’t enough to completely nullify the Spirit Knight’s blow. His bones and skin were still intact, but the same couldn’t be said for his internal organs. The northerner’s single attack had been enough to wound Hadjar.

While Hadjar was recovering, Einen was fighting the northerner. The islander didn’t waste any time: using the Call, he summoned the blood Inheritance of his ancestors to aid him. Iridescent scales covered his skin. The light that they radiated took the form of something like a barely visible sphere. The northerner, upon seeing this, only grinned.

“Northern Wolf,” he said, throwing a straightforward punch.

The floor beneath his feet was instantly covered in a layer of ice. The air got cold, and the northerner’s next attack looked like the same wolf’s face from before. Only this time, it was snarling as it rushed forward and hit Einen.

He flicked the blade inside his staff out and, summoning the shadows, formed the figure of an ape. Wrapped in the same rainbow glow as the islander, it covered Einen with its body. Hadjar knew from experience that such a defense was difficult to bypass. It could deal with simultaneous attacks from several creatures of the Pit that were comparable in power to the level of a mid-stage Heaven Soldier.

The wolf’s fangs slammed into the center of the defenses, leaving a trail of snow behind. The ape roared as the wolf made of steel and ice tore at its flesh. Ripping the shadows to shreds, the northerner’s attack, without losing even half of its force, smashed into the rainbow scales. They only held it back for a moment, then cracked. Einen didn’t fly back, however. Still on his feet, he slid along the floor for about three yards until he came to a halt, plunging his spear-staff into the stone. The clothes covering his chest had been torn to shreds. A black, terrible bruise was spreading across it, and blood was running down the corners of his lips.

“You withstood one of my attacks.” Oddly enough, the old man spoke the desert language as fluently as Einen and Hadjar did. “You deserve to know my name. I am Ragar White Wolf.”

When he said ‘White Wolf’, the tattoo on Hadjar’s forearm grew slightly warmer. Just for a moment. Now it was clear how Sankesh’s group had managed to get to the library. Serra had shown them the way, but the trial of the first golem had been intended for those who have a Name. Like Ragar.

“We need a plan,” Hadjar croaked as he approached Einen.

“I don’t think we have time to discuss one!” The islander plunged his staff into the ground in front of him, calling upon all the shadows he could reach.

Ragar struck the ice around him with crushing blows. With each strike, the amount of ice increased. After he had covered a section of the floor that was about forty yards in diameter with ice, each subsequent attack started shooting out ice ‘fists’ that came up from directly beneath Einen’s and Hadjar’s feet. It was like Olgerd’s Technique, but while Olgerd had created fairly chaotic ice spears, Ragar could actually aim. Einen and Hadjar managed to dodge at the last moment, but they couldn’t keep that up forever.

Ragar was toying with them. He smiled. His task was simply to bog down the islander and Hadjar. The former posed no real threat to his konung, and Sankesh wanted to deal with the latter himself. There was no need to kill them right away. Ragar wanted to warm up, and besides, he could observe Arliksha’s fight as well if he drew things out.

“I’ll kill you!” Shakh roared again.

The scar across his face flashed and he threw out his right hand. The dagger in his hand lit up, and three sand dogs charged in. Without any input from Arliksha, the purple spheres floating around her flew toward them. Buzzing like bees and leaving behind a trail of smoke, they began to ram into the dogs’ bodies, but were unable to do even the slightest bit of harm to them.

Shakh’s first attack left a long gash on his opponent’s thigh. Arliksha cried:

“Peacock’s Tail!” As she swung her saber.

It looked as if Arliksha had launched not just one attack, but a dozen. She made little, abrupt movements, which left behind colorful silhouettes of weapons. These silhouettes lengthened and thickened, until a whole fan was soaring through the air toward Shakh.

Shakh managed to erect a sand wall in front of him, which he then entered as if through a door. After the wall was hit, the sand flew everywhere, but the young man was no longer there. The others, however, weren’t so lucky.

With a shrill ‘Kya!’ Sular’s bird, spreading its broad wings out, shielded its friend and master. One of the beams conjured by Arliksha’s Technique twisted around the bird’s neck. A scarlet fountain drenched the silent hermit’s face. Horrified, he watched his best friend die. With a menacing cry, Sular drew his sword and lunged at his opponent, but suddenly stopped. His arms twitched and his weapon clattered to the floor. One of Sankesh’s warriors had managed to place a Technique that looked like a stone spear in front of the distraught Sular. He’d been run through, and he remained impaled there, flailing in agony as he tried to find purchase with his feet.

Kharad, who had seen it all happen, could hardly hold on to his sanity. Alone, with just his sword and his small shield blazing, he was holding back the onslaught of three of Sankesh’s warriors at once.

Arliksha and Shakh’s fight turned into a duel. The tyrant’s daughter no longer hid her aura. The power of a Heaven Soldier pressed down on Shakh. But even that couldn’t stop his furious onslaught.

The remaining six beams Arliksha had conjured scattered across the room. They easily cut through the bookshelves. Hundreds of scraps of paper and parchment swirled in the air. From off to the side, the witches’ cries of despair could clearly be heard even as they tried to save Ramukhan.

Shakh emerged from the sand behind Arliksha, grabbed his dagger in a reverse grip, and slashed at the girl’s back. There was no cry, no blood, only a shower of sparks followed the young man’s swift lunge. The girl had armor beneath her leather suit. The Heaven level artifact had easily blocked Shakh’s quick but not very strong strike. Arliksha, realizing that if it hadn’t been for her artifact, she would now be dead, became enraged. Turning on her heel, she swung her saber with all her might. Her saber, flashing with a pale, pink glow, left a trail behind that looked like a peacock spreading its wings.

The attack was so powerful that it cut into the stone floor, leaving behind gouges several feet deep. Shakh was cut in two as easily as the bookshelves had been. The triumphant smile on Arliksha’s face immediately wilted when, instead of blood… sand poured from Shakh’s body. Then the two halves crumbled, and Shakh, sitting on one of his sand dogs, jumped out from somewhere off to the side.

“Sand Fang!” Shakh shouted.

The dog beneath him dissipated in a cloud of sand, and then, turning into a huge dagger, left another cut behind on his foe’s body. This time, it was on her shoulder. Despite its size, the attack had been so swift that Arliksha had only seen a brown flash. As soon as Shakh touched the sand on the floor, he fell into it.

While Arliksha was trying to get Shakh, Hadjar and Einen were trying to survive.

“Can you do that trick again?” Hadjar asked while once again dodging the ice fist that shot out from beneath him. Einen nodded silently.

“On my mark, then!”

Ragar knew that the practitioners were up to something, but he was dismissive of their efforts. Of course, they were much stronger than anyone at their level he’d fought before, but what could ordinary practitioners do against him…

His next attack, aimed at Hadjar, suddenly… hit its target. The ice fist punched through the swordsman’s chest. For a split second, Ragar looked away from the other battle, surprised. By the time he saw the impaled body disappearing into the shadows, it was already too late.

“Autumn Leaf!” Someone behind him shouted.

Hadjar, emerging from Einen’s shadow, immediately awakened the little dragon within him and attached the black blade to Mountain Wind. He imagined three autumn leaves landing on the Spirit Knight’s back.

Chapter 407

Hadjar launched two attacks. Two blue crescents with black sparks inside them stretched out into sharp ribbons.

Ragar, despite his bulk and impressive muscles, was faster than anyone Hadjar had ever seen. A fighter who was used to fighting with his own hands rather than with weapons had to have enough speed and strength to keep up with a spearman or a swordsman.

The northerner’s hands blurred as the two strikes merged together. He didn’t summon the wolf heads and didn’t use any Techniques. However, there was so much power in his every blow that Hadjar couldn’t block them.

Even if he didn’t have the glittering gauntlets on his hands, Ragar would’ve still been able to defeat Hadjar’s attacks with his bare hands. The crescents, upon impacting his fists, dispersed in a shower of sparks. They flew all around the room, leaving shallow cuts on the walls, floor, and shelves.

“Nice try.” Ragar was reaching with his will for Hadjar’s throat when he sensed danger coming from both above and behind him. The Spirit Knight’s heightened perception allowed him to see the menacing thrust of the spear-staff aimed at his back. Shrouded in shadow, the islander struck with a quick blow that still had enough concentrated power to penetrate even Arliksha’s armor.

From above, taking the form of a writhing dragon, came the sword slash. Had he not witnessed it with his own eyes, Ragar would never have believed that a swordsman of such low level could ever make such an attack.

With an effort of will, the northerner flung Hadjar aside and slammed his fists together. Assuming a low stance, he exhaled sharply. The ice around his feet cracked, and dozens of huge fists shot out simultaneously, aiming to intercept Hadjar’s slash and Einen’s lunge. They mauled the dragon. It disappeared in a black haze, followed by the ghostly sword that had served as its body.

Einen, seeing dozens of ice fists flying toward him, didn’t follow through on his spear thrust, but melted into the shadows instead. For the first time in his life, doing so didn’t save him. Even greatly weakened, having lost both strength and speed, Ragar’s attacks still followed the islander. Hadjar was surprised to see his friend thrown out of the shadows. Einen rolled across the floor, his back slammed against a pillar, and he spat out blood, wheezing.

“You should just wait for the konung to reach the elixir of the gods.” Ragar wasn’t scared of continuing the fight, but he was angry that the pathetic practitioners had been able to catch him off guard. A drop of scarlet blood was rolling down his cheek. One of Hadjar’s attacks had managed to leave a small cut on the northerner’s face. “He ordered me to keep you alive, Darkhan, but he didn’t specify if you had to be whole.”

With a roar, Ragar stamped his foot on the floor. The movement alone made the walls of the library shake. Rocks fell from the distant ceiling, and wolves leapt out of the ice. Seven of them. All of them huge. They had icy fur, and their steel fangs and claws gleamed in the light. They weren’t radiating the power of the northerner’s gauntlets, but his boots instead, and this new power felt superior to Ragar’s previous attacks in some ways.

“Come on!” Hadjar shouted.

He jumped toward Einen. One of the wolves tried to pounce on them. After blurring into a white flash, it suddenly froze. Hadjar had used the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ Technique, and the wolf was now trying to punch through the sword strike that had a black dragon writhing within.

The six other wolves had almost buried Hadjar and Einen like an avalanche when a firestorm swept toward them.

Hadjar had no idea what Karissa had asked for from List, but it was clearly something impressive. Until recently, the peak of her skill had been the spell that summoned three fire shadows in armor. Now, mounted on armored horses, spears drawn, five fire warriors galloped toward the ice wolves. Behind them, the flames of a veritable firestorm raged.

Karissa herself slid down the wall, exhausted. Her book fell from her hands, and blood ran down her cheeks and out of the corners of her mouth. The witch had used up all her power, putting absolutely everything into this spell.

The fire warriors swept through and trampled the plaintively whining ice wolves. Still, Ragar hadn’t struck with his full might. He couldn’t disobey his konung’s orders and kill Hadjar. The latter, realizing this, shielded Einen, not allowing their enemy to direct all his attacks at the islander.

The fire warriors who had trampled the ice wolves hadn’t suffered many casualties. Instead of the initial five, three warriors came rushing toward Ragar. He met them with punches so devastating that a wave of power radiated from each blow. They crushed the stones of the floor and left deep holes in the walls.

All three riders and their horses were obliterated in an instant. Three explosions blocked Ragar’s view for a moment. When the smoke cleared, a huge spear was flying toward him, sparks dancing along its length. Created from lightning bolts, it released bolts of electricity all around it, which struck the stones, leaving behind deep furrows in them. Scraps of paper and papyrus lit up. The spear struck Ragar, burning the very air in its path.

Ramukhan, like Karissa, was leaning against the wall. He was breathing hard, and yellow sparks were still crackling along his staff.

The northerner held the spell back with a roar. He grasped the shaft of the lightning spear. It tore toward his throat, and he tightened his grip. The spear cracked, lightning bolts surging out. They melted the ice, turning it into lava and boiling water. Clouds of steam rose up. Despite how strong Ramukhan’s spell had been, it hadn’t even managed to hurt Ragar. It wasn’t supposed to…

Unable to release the spear — it would’ve pierced his throat if he had —Ragar saw the ice hammer too late. Having absorbed the vapour, covered in a layer of lava as well, it flashed past him and struck Arliksha in the back.

Tilis, lowering her staff, hoped their plan would succeed. They’d worked it out back when Hadjar had returned from his visit to Sankesh’s camp. Only now did the witch understand why the two foreigners had seemed so confident. They’d had reinforcements with them all along.

Arliksha managed to block the hammer, but then Shakh appeared out of the sand behind her. His daggers flashed. They whizzed through the air and sank into the base of her neck. One subtle movement later, and Shakh was standing over her decapitated body. He held the severed head of Ilmena’s killer by the hair.

Kharad lay behind him, atop the three corpses of Sankesh’s warriors. He had killed them at the cost of his own life. The last warrior standing had managed to run Kharad through with a spear, but he’d grabbed the shaft, pulled the enemy toward him, and then cut off his head. Because he witnessed Shakh’s victory before he died, he went to his ancestors’ home with a happy smile on his face.

***

“Father...” a whisper drifted over to Sankesh.

The man froze for a moment, his whole body tense, but then, without even turning around, he continued to walk forward. His daughter had been too weak to handle simple practitioners. That meant she wasn’t his daughter anymore!

***

In her last moments of consciousness, Arliksha watched her own body twitching in agony. Her thoughts were muddled. A pale, cold mist obscured her vision. Like a little girl, she tried to call out to her father, but was unable to move her lips. The last thing she saw before she died was the look in Sankesh’s eyes. There was no warmth, no sadness, only disappointment and contempt for his daughter’s weakness…

“Arliksha!” Ragar shouted, but it was too late.

The girl’s head, after flying through the air, landed at his feet. The northerner looked at the girl he’d loved like his own daughter. He remembered carrying her on his shoulders, showing her how to gather honey, teaching her how to hunt hares and wolves in the snow, how to fight against mountain bears with only a dagger, how to dance and fight, how to sing and brew mead.

“I’ll kill all of you,” a blizzard began to rage around Ragar.

Behind him, the ghostly silhouette of a huge snow wolf appeared. It was only his second time seeing such a thing, but Hadjar knew that when a cultivator summoned their spirit, their powers were tripled.

“I think we need a new plan.”

Einen and Shakh stood on either side of Hadjar. They were mere practitioners, and wounded as well, but now they had to fight and defeat an enraged Spirit Knight.

Chapter 408

Hadjar glanced at the witches and the sorcerer. Fortunately, they were smart enough to move away from the battle. Despite their exhaustion from casting the powerful spells, they were still relatively okay, but they wouldn’t be of any use for the next few hours.

Ragar was trying to regain his focus. At the level of a true cultivator, having control of his emotions was as important as his power. In order to control such vast amounts of energy, not to mention use such horrific Techniques, one had to be in control of themselves. Any cracks in their ‘soul armor’ could lead to not just them wasting power, but them even experiencing backlash from their own power. Arliksha’s death hadn’t just cracked Ragar’s ‘armor’, but torn it to shreds. When Hadjar looked at their foe, he didn’t see a giant brimming with power, but a man bleeding out, the pain of loss nearly overwhelming him. Energy seeped out of the northerner’s soul wounds, spilling like liquid ice onto the stone floor and covering it in a layer of bloody frost. Ragar was already mortally wounded, even before the true fight began, which was the only thing that could help the three practitioners win.

“I’ll cover you,” Einen said in the same calm manner he always had, unchanged even in the face of mortal danger.

The northerner let out a truly bestial growl and struck the space in front of him. The wolf spirit behind him howled. Ragar’s energy condensed into a gigantic ice fist. It was ten feet in diameter, and could’ve easily destroyed a small hill.

Einen slid through the shadows and stood in the way of the attack. His skin was once again covered in iridescent scales. The shadow ape didn’t attempt to block with its bare paws this time. It now held a shield made of the same iridescent light as the scales on Einen’s body.

“Ape Shell!” Einen cried.

Hadjar doubted apes had shells, but he couldn’t exactly argue with the creator of the Technique right now, whoever they were.

The ice fist didn’t just break through the rainbow shield. It ignored the defensive Technique as if it hadn’t even encountered an obstacle capable of stopping a mid-stage Heaven Soldier’s attack, but a sheet of paper. The rainbow shield wrapped around the gigantic fist, the shadow ape burst apart in a spray of ink, and at the last moment, Einen brought his spear-staff up to block.

Hadjar didn’t know what material the weapon was made of, but it was definitely impressive. Where the Technique backed by his Inheritance had failed, the artifact succeeded. With a deafening clang, the ice fist crashed into the spear-staff. Weakened by the Technique, it couldn’t even lift Einen off the floor. However, the islander was still dragged at least fifteen feet across the ground, and when he did finally stop, blood flowed from his mouth. Fortunately, he’d managed to buy enough time for Shakh and Hadjar to prepare a counterattack.

In the months following the battle at the caravan, Shakh had managed not only to harden his character, but he’d also made an incredible leap along his path of cultivation. Now on the verge of becoming a true cultivator, his power over sand was frightening. He disappeared into it, riding a desert dog, and appeared behind Ragar. His daggers flashed, leaving two shallow cuts along the Spirit Knight’s back. The attacks that could instantly kill any practitioner at the Transformation stage had only been capable of scratching the Spirit Knight.

Turning around, Ragar spread his left palm and swung it in a backhand strike. The wolf behind him howled, and his energy condensed into an ice hand. It was as powerful as his ice fist had been, and it sent the unsuspecting Shakh flying back. If it hadn’t been for the sand that had covered him like thick armor, he would have died on the spot.

Hadjar, who had done nothing up until this point, had been waiting for the moment when Ragar would turn his back to him. While the Spirit Knight was finally focused on Shakh’s sudden attack, which had lasted no more than a second, Hadjar could finally act.

In his mind, he awakened the slumbering little dragon. Ragged wisps of black fog fell across his shoulders. The same fog started emanating from Mountain Wind. Still in his mind, Hadjar summoned the black blade. This time, he didn’t merge it with his physical blade.

Inside his soul, he used the ‘Spring Wind’ stance, while in the physical world, he used the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance. This combination, with the addition of the Call and the black sword, was his strongest Technique. Four illusory leaves landing on Ragar’s body was his limit.

His four sword strikes merged into one. Hadjar’s hands moved so quickly that the two slashes and two thrusts left afterimages behind. They looked like blurred mirages made up of black fog.

His fused knowledge of the Sword Spirit and the ‘Falling Leaf’ stance gave rise to an eight-pointed star. Blue on the inside and black around the edges, it generated waves of such crushing energy that, even without touching the walls, it left deep cracks and cuts in them. The stones on the floor, the ones that had survived the battle until now, were reduced to fine dust.

Ragar, who was still distracted and recovering from his loss, suddenly felt a threat that might’ve come from a Heaven Soldier at the peak of that level, but definitely not from a mere practitioner. This time, despite the risks involved, he had to use not only his ice spirit, power, and knowledge, but also his Technique.

“Winter!”

There was so much cold power in that simple word that a cloud of steam rose from Hadjar’s mouth. Behind Ragar, the snow wolf spirit lowered its head and growled softly. It seemed to pour all the cold of its ephemeral body into Ragar and his Technique.

Just the word being spoken froze the surrounding area. It started snowing. The floor, walls, shelves, books, scrolls, and even the distant ceiling — all of them were suddenly covered in a layer of ice.

The eight-pointed star that had been created by the four sword strikes slowed. The streaks of blue light frosted over. Ragar reached out and grabbed the center of the star, clenching his fist. Hadjar’s strongest attack was simply crushed, broken into a myriad of icy shards. These fragments, driven by Ragar’s will, rained down on Hadjar.

Seeing the hail of ice spears flying straight toward him, Hadjar didn’t dodge or use the ‘Calm Wind’ stance. He’d received the nickname ‘Mad General’ for a reason, and even in this situation, he saw an opportunity to improve his understanding of the essence of the Sword.

Hadjar thrust his blade forward and spun among the ice shards. He moved quickly, but at the same time, smoothly and gracefully. As he cut through and deflected the ice spears, he managed to dodge the ones whose speed exceeded his blade’s ability to parry.

While Hadjar was dealing with the ice, Ragar was slowly regaining control of his emotions. He was recovering from the shock of his loss. Less energy was seeping through his soul wounds. They shrunk and scarred over.

With each passing second, the ice on the walls thickened, the cold increased, and Ragar’s aura became stronger and more complete. The opportunity to defeat the Spirit Knight was slowly disappearing, and everyone knew it.

Einen wiped away the blood on his lips and was about to charge when he saw Hadjar whirling around in the icy wind. Or rather, he saw ice needles raining down on his friend. It reminded him of his own ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique, one of the stances of the ‘Ape Fur’ Technique. He’d stolen it from a traveler’s trunk when he’d been a child.

He’d used to think that the attacks of his staff-spear must be as straight and sharp as rocks sharpened by the ceaseless onslaught of the waves. The longer they resisted the water, the sharper they became. But now, looking at his friend’s efforts, he understood that he’d been wrong all along.

Einen wasn’t a rock. He wasn’t holding a boulder. He fought with his spear, and the spear fought with him. There was no point in separating the two. After all, the spear wasn’t able to strike without Einen and Einen.... For him, the spear was only a symbol. After all, everything around them, even the ice, could become the ‘Boulder Storm’, because everything in this world was fighting against and for something. No one lived purely for pleasure. Even a bird soaring through the sky did so only to find food.

Hadjar fought off the last of the ice spears and wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling a powerful surge of energy. At first, he thought Ragar was preparing another attack, but the Spirit Knight was still in a state of shock and wasn’t capable of such a thing just yet.

The rush of energy wasn’t coming from the northerner, but from Einen.

“Just in time, baldy!” Hadjar shouted, smiling as he applauded his friend’s breakthrough. He’d just become a Wielder of the Spear.

Chapter 409

Two beams shot out of Einen’s eyes. Forming two spearheads, they pierced the floor in front of him. Einen kicked the base of his spear-staff, moving it behind him, and assumed an open stance.

With a slight nod, he acknowledged Hadjar’s shout. By the Great Turtle, his friend was smarter than a sage sometimes, but dumber than a dung beetle at other times. What was the point of telling their foe that they’d become stronger? Fortunately, Ragar still wasn’t able to properly react to the world around him.

Einen remained where he was, stuck in a state of near enlightenment. For a brief moment, he could see the gleam of the Spear Spirit in everything around him: in the growing ice needles, in the snowflakes, even in the hairs on his arm.

Was the ‘Boulder Storm’ stance really that simple? Were its strikes fast and hard, like rocks sharpened by the sea? Einen could now see further and deeper.

Hadjar had watched his friend use the ‘Boulder Storm’ a hundred times before, turning his spear into a storm of deadly, precise thrusts. Now, however, when the islander cried out:

“Boulder Storm!”

Something entirely different happened.

If his attack had looked like boulders jutting from the sea before, it was now... waves. Sharp and fast, they rose up like a deadly tide, then fell on Ragar from the most unpredictable directions. They were moving unpredictably, rolling around, doing loops and complex zigzags. They were much faster than boulders, much smaller and thinner, but contained the same power and sharp focus.

By the Evening Stars, Hadjar wasn’t sure that the ‘Calm Wind’ stance could save him from mortal wounds if Einen directed this attack against him now, despite the fact that the northerner’s ‘Winter’ Technique had reduced their speed and power by almost a third.

Ragar roared like a wounded beast. He raised his hands above him. The snow wolf spirit growled behind him. Copies of his hands appeared around Ragar. They parried and smashed the spears to bits. Einen’s thrusts, each of which carried the Spear Spirit, were giving even the Spirit Knight trouble

“Shakh!” Hadjar shouted.

The desert dweller nodded. Crouching, he plunged his two daggers into the sand.

“Sand Slaughter!”

Hadjar hadn’t seen this Technique before. It was obviously difficult for Shakh to use. Taking most of his energy, it turned the young man’s hands to sand. Together with the daggers, they sank into the ground, and a moment later, the layer of ice beneath Ragar’s feet exploded.

Two sand tornadoes shot out from beneath the ground. Whirling, they gradually solidified until they formed replicas of Shakh’s arms holding the daggers. They were ten feet long and dense, and they delivered devastating blows to the target. The floor trembled. The clash of sand attacks and ice defenses echoed around the room. Full of power and energy, they punched holes that were two feet deep in the walls. Any echoes of this fight could kill not only a mortal, but even a practitioner at the Formation stage as well.

“Hadjar, together!” Einen raised his spear behind him once again.

The thousand attacks that comprised his new ‘Boulder Storm’ were reinforced by Hadjar’s ‘Strong Wind’ and ‘Spring Wind’. A thousand penetrating spear thrusts were joined by a wave of wind that held writhing dragons within it, and their bodies had glittering blades inside them — copies of Mountain Wind.

The combined attack of the two warriors who had become Wielders managed to break through Ragar’s defenses. His ice hands cracked. A deluge of spears pierced through them, and then the full force of a tsunami of cutting wind crashed right into the northerner’s chest.

However, this wasn’t enough to send the Knight flying. He wasn’t even dragged across the floor. Ragar only took a few steps back, and a few drops of blood leaked out of his mouth.

The Techniques only managed to put a few dents in his armor, tear off some of the rings in his chain mail, and slightly injure the northerner’s torso. Judging by the blood coming from his mouth, they’d also caused some minor internal injuries.

Einen, Shakh, and Hadjar stood side by side again. Panting, covered in wounds, they looked at the Spirit Knight standing before them. Ragar’s gaze became more focused. His soul wounds were healing, and energy was no longer seeping out of him. The wolf spirit behind the Knight grew more distinct, stronger and brighter. The rainbow scales fell away from Einen’s skin, and the cloak of black mist disappeared from Hadjar’s shoulders.

“Any ideas?”

Hadjar looked at his comrades, but they said nothing.

“What about artifacts?” Shakh asked.

Shakh was the only one who’d continued to attack the Spirit Knight. His sand dogs were leaping at Ragar. Their dagger-tongues kept trying to stab his eyes, and their steel fangs and claws kept digging into his flesh. Only this relentless harassment was keeping Ragar from fully recovering.

“Ramukhan has all of them,” Einen said calmly.

“That sorcerer over there?” Shakh pointed at the unconscious Ramukhan.

The three of them looked at each other, and Einen swung his spear to bring over the leather bag that contained all the amulets Paris had given them. Among the various trinkets designed to deactivate various formations and spells, they found a throwing dagger.

“Evening Stars!” Hadjar and Shakh sighed.

“Great Turtle!” Einen added emphatically.

He pulled the dagger out of the bag, and then, in a most uncharacteristic manner, threw it away carelessly.

“There’s nothing useful in here,” Einen stated bluntly.

The dagger — the only weapon they’d found in the bag — was used to carve into the carcasses of animals and cut out their cores.

“We’re doomed,” Shakh sighed.

At that moment, as if to confirm the young man’s words, Ragar slammed his fists together with a growl. As he did so, hundreds of attacks, full of power, filled the air around him. The ice and cold inside the attacks froze the surrounding area, slowing everything down. Hadjar could’ve sworn that even time itself was a little slower now. Maybe for just a split second, but still… Or maybe his adrenaline and fear had made his imagination run wild. It was impossible to influence the course of time at such a low level!

“You missed your chance, cowards,” Ragar growled.

With a wave of his hand, he created a dozen ice fists that easily scattered the sand dogs. The northerner held his open palms out in front of him, forming a sort of mouth. A sphere of snow spun under its fangs. It held so much power that Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. One such attack could easily kill a hundred practitioners like them.

“Snow Tear!” Ragar shouted.

The sphere shot out from between his hands. It wasn’t that fast, and it didn’t seem like it could pierce anything, but it was still overwhelming because of its incredible might. It was as if all of Ragar’s hundreds of ice fist and ice hand attacks had fused together to form the quintessence of his skill and power.

Stopping one direct attack from a Spirit Knight was already a feat for a simple practitioner. But a hundred? Pure madness!

Still, Shakh, Einen, and Hadjar didn’t give up. Their hearts were stronger than steel, something anyone who boldly walked the path of cultivation needed to have.

The desert dweller made his move first. He swung his daggers and used the last of his energy to create a wall of sand in front of them. The side facing the snow sphere bristled with dozens of daggers, and huge desert dogs appeared on either side of the wall. Their mouths gaped open, and pillars of sand erupted from their mouths, trying but unable to stop the sphere.

“Sand Cell.” Shakh swayed. Blood was running down his face. “That’s my limit. I can’t do more than that.”

He staggered and fell to the ground. Only sheer willpower kept him from breaking his connection to the Technique. Einen was about to join the young man when Hadjar stopped him.

“I have a plan.”

Judging by the way Einen’s eyes widened, revealing his inhuman, purple pupils, the islander wasn’t surprised, but rather frightened. He wasn’t sure which was worse — death, or having to participate in another one of Hadjar’s mad plans.

Chapter 410

The ice sphere easily shattered Shakh’s sand barrier, sending the young man into deep oblivion. Having expended all his energy, he was no longer able to stay conscious.

Ragar’s attack had lost only a tenth of its incredible force in the exchange. It still continued to create whirlwinds of ice around itself, whirlwinds that seemed to hold ghostly images of punches within them.

“Did you decide to face your death with your sword in hand?” Ragar asked Hadjar in a fierce growl as the man came to stand in front of the sphere. “Well, that’s respectable. May beautiful warriors take your spirit away and carry it to the battlefields where you will receive the judgment of your ancestors!”

Hadjar had little understanding of the culture of the ‘real’ north, but Ragar’s words reminded him of the myths about Valkyries back in his distant, original homeland, Earth.

“Same to you,” Hadjar answered.

Only a third of his energy reserve remained, most of which would be used up right now. By the Evening Stars, Hadjar had never faced such a powerful attack in his life. It dwarfed anything that had ever threatened Hadjar's life before.

If he’d had such power at his disposal before, he would’ve been able to win with a single attack on the day he’d fought his inner dragon. Compared to Ragar, the sheikh of Kurkhadan looked like a particularly powerful child. His Bow Techniques were nothing compared to this one attack.

“Die!” Ragar snarled as the Technique came close to Hadjar.

At the exact moment the sphere was ready to turn his enemy into dust, its progress suddenly slowed down, and then it even froze completely.

“What?” The northerner couldn’t believe his eyes.

If his attack had been stopped by a Heaven Soldier, he would’ve called them a genius. Only a few people among his own peers, other Spirit Knights, would be capable of blocking it. But a measly practitioner? What kind of monster was hiding beneath the skin of this man dressed in a shabby caftan?

“Rustle in the Treetops.” It was a stance that could hardly be called Hadjar’s personal achievement. It was based entirely on the “Light Breeze’ Sword Technique after all, but nevertheless, it contained all the insights and inspiration that Hadjar had attained throughout his journey along the path of cultivation. Although the stance was a defensive one, it still contained the pinnacle of Hadjar’s knowledge of the Sword Spirit.

The dragon inside him, along with Mountain Wind, could only hold the sphere back for a fraction of a second. After losing another quarter of its power, it destroyed Hadjar’s Technique with only a bit more difficulty than Shakh’s sand wall.

“Goodbye, dragon man.” Ragar whispered.

He expected to see his opponent get covered in ice and then shatter. This was the effect of his Technique, which he’d found on the walls of a cave where a wandering Lord had once meditated, seeking inspiration on the path of the Snow Spirit.

Ragar was shocked when, instead of a death cry, he saw only an unshakable resolve in the other man’s blue eyes! A mad smile spread across his foe’s face, and then he blurred into the shadow of the Seven Ravens.

The sphere only managed to brush against the edge of Hadjar’s right side. Even so, he heard his ribs crack and his internal organs get damaged. If not for his Technique for Strengthening the Body, this glancing blow would’ve severed the thread of Hadjar’s life. Tossed aside by it, he spat out blood and watched Ragar, who didn’t understand why his Technique had missed. Unfortunately, the Knight didn’t really have time to analyze things.

“The beautiful warriors have been waiting for you, Sunshine’s dog,” came from above.

Einen appeared from the shadows directly above Ragar’s head. Three stones glittered in his hands. Two were large and one was quite small.

“Come on, Hadjar!” The islander cried.

He opened his hands, dropping the artifacts on Ragar, who’d already raised his hands and said the mighty word:

“Winter!”

A gust of cold gripped the air around him. The momentum of the three stones slowed. It was as if they were gliding through the air instead of falling.

Hadjar, using the last dregs of his energy, swung his sword just once. A blue crescent with black sparks trapped inside it flew from the edge of Mountain Wind’s blade. It cut through the ice crystals forming in the air. Behind Ragar, the snow wolf howled louder and louder, giving its master even more power. Despite that, Hadjar’s attack reached its target before the ice bound the stones, turning them to snow dust.

When the first cracks appeared on the stones that had been cut into, and the alien energy then poured into them, such a powerful storm of energy filled the air that Hadjar felt as if he were being sucked inside the artifacts. A moment later, he realized he wasn’t imagining the sensation at all.

There was so much energy within the three stones that it would be enough to fuel ten ‘Snow Tears’. All that energy exploded when Hadjar forced his own energy into them with his attack. The shell of the artifacts crumbled to dust. Three multicolored wisps of light swirled in the air. Their power of absorption was so great that it tore the ice from the walls and split the stones in half. Gray ribbons of stone dust reached out toward the three spheres and swirled around them, disappearing somewhere in their center.

Einen was thrown out of the shadows. Landing next to Shakh, following Hadjar’s example, he thrust his spear into the floor and shielded the unconscious Shakh. As for the witches and the sorcerer, Einen had tied them to a pillar before he’d removed the stones from their staffs and book.

“Pathetic cowards!” Ragar growled. The epicenter of the energy explosion was directly over his head. While the two of them were struggling to resist the strong pull, he was fighting it... “I am Ragar Snow Wolf, and I won’t die to this wretched trick! I’ll make your deaths so awful that the ancestors who meet you will cry bloody tears at your agony!”

The wolf spirit behind Ragar flared so brightly that it blotted out the light from the explosion. Dozens of ice fists and hands slammed into the three spheres. They gradually got covered in a layer of ice. Ragar snarled and unleashed one attack after another. The giant of a man looked like a fisherman trying to overcome all the fury of a devastating storm using just a schooner.

For a fraction of a second, Ragar managed to do it: all three spheres were covered in a layer of ice. The northerner smiled triumphantly. His armor was in tatters. The rings of his chainmail dug into his skin. Blood trickled down his face and arms, and his skin and flesh were peeling away, exposing his bones. As he turned to face his stunned foes, there was a crash behind him.

The explosion was so powerful that the blast wave easily obliterated Ragar. The others, who were a good ten yards away from the epicenter, were nailed to the floor. Deep cracks ran along the whole floor. The ceiling trembled and huge stones fell from it. The columns cracked. The paper and ancient scrolls turned to dust.

Through the swirling whirlwinds of energy and power that had wrought terrible destruction, Hadjar saw another stone fall from the ceiling.

Well, he’d done this sort of thing once before… Except three magical artifacts hadn’t blown up in the process and he hadn’t killed someone as mighty as a Spirit Knight.

***

When Tilis opened her eyes, she couldn’t understand where she was. The last thing she’d seen was the library of Mage City and the enraged Spirit Knight. Now she was in the middle of some cave. If it hadn’t been for the distant corridors, shelves, and the remnants of the columns, she would’ve thought that she’d been transported somewhere else.

Drip. Drip.

Drops of something landed on her cheeks. Tilis looked up and saw Hadjar. He was standing over her, and on his shoulders lay a huge fragment of the ceiling. Its sharp edges had pierced through Hadjar’s shoulders and chest. Warm, dark blood ran down his battered head. He refused to pass out and let the stone fall on her.

Guided by instinct, Tilis rolled aside, startled. Hadjar dropped his burden and collapsed into a pool of his own blood.

Chapter 411

Einen was the first to reach Hadjar. He gently turned his friend over onto his back, held his lips open, uncorked a bottle of potion with his teeth, and then poured the liquid down his throat. Hadjar coughed, trying to spit out the foul concoction, but the islander held his nose and mouth tightly shut, forcing Hadjar to swallow.

His wounds started healing. His body burned so hard that tears flowed from his eyes, despite the fact that Hadjar had both a strong body and an iron will. However, the pain was so sharp that he wanted to howl and bite his own hands to somehow drown it out.

“Endure, barbarian,” Einen whispered, keeping his friend from trying to hurt himself. “It’s an extract made from a sea devil’s blood. It’ll help.”

After just two minutes, which felt like an eternity to Hadjar, all that remained of his wounds were horrible, jagged scars. It was as if no one had ever treated him or tried to sow the wounds closed, leaving his body to deal with the problem by itself.

However, a few extra ugly scars on his torso didn’t bother Hadjar at all. It was already hard enough to find spots on his body where there were no scars. He even had a few on his face, but they looked like almost imperceptible, white stripes.

“Thank… you…” Hadjar said numbly.

He looked around. The library looked awful: the explosion had destroyed the entire hall, ruining thousands of ancient books and scrolls. There was a huge, smooth crater in the floor. Along the walls, or rather what was left of them, were hemispherical recesses, which formed a smooth ball when combined.

Nothing remained of Ragar’s body. Even his armor and gauntlets hadn’t survived the blast of energy, even though they’d been much tougher than the Spirit Knight’s body. Hadjar doubted that even Traves would have walked away from such a catastrophe unscathed.

Einen didn’t waste time. He had left Shakh leaning against the wall farthest from the explosion. He was unconscious, but breathing steadily. There were wounds on his chest and arms, but they weren’t deep. Karissa and Ramukhan, also unconscious, lay beside him. They almost appeared to be unscathed. Except for extreme exhaustion, they hadn’t even taken much damage. Shakh coughed suddenly, and his body shook.

“Are you okay?” Einen asked.

Hadjar nodded.

“Go help the boy.”

“He isn’t a boy anymore.” The islander smiled.

Putting Hadjar back down on the cold stone still covered in ice, Einen went over to Shakh. The islander had also been injured, but he was the only one who could stand on his own, without any help. In addition, after breaking through and becoming a Wielder of the Spear, he’d received a fairly substantial increase in his energy reserves. Since he’d only used three Techniques during the battle, he was now the only combat-ready member of the squad.

“Why did you save me, northerner?” Tilis suddenly asked.

Hadjar turned his head. Tilis sat on the rocks by his side. She was nervously twirling her staff, probably anxious about the fact they’d torn off the magic artifact at its top to defeat Ragar. It probably wouldn’t stop her from casting magic, but it would most likely greatly affect the outcome.

“Your sister asked me to,” Hadjar said with a pained smile. “I don’t think I can be called a northerner anymore.”

Tilis shuddered and looked away. Hadjar understood her perfectly. He too had once been a little frog, sitting in its well and believing that that was the whole world. Even though Tilis personally knew the Sage of Underworld City, who was at the Lord level, she’d never fought him. They had only sparred. It was difficult to grasp the full power of the monster standing in front of you when they’re holding back.

Ragar had shaken Tilis’ confidence in her abilities. It was a kind of spiritual wound that could put an end to one’s path of cultivation. Only a person with an indomitable will could reach the dizzying heights of true mastery. Any doubts, any hesitation, even the smallest bit, could lead to failure.

“You know,” she said dryly, her fingers still toying with the staff, “I came up with the oath because I thought you and Einen would betray us.”

Hadjar looked at Einen. The islander was hovering around Shakh, pouring something into his mouth and rubbing his chest, which was covered in black spots of frostbite.

“I’m glad that he proved you wrong.”

“Yep.” Tilis’ smile was lifeless and forced, but it was better than her threats and insults. “I’ll ask Karissa why one of her men was Sankesh’s spy later.”

“You can ask her,” Hadjar agreed, “if you really care.”

The conversation stalled. They both needed to say just a few words to each other, but... to practitioners and cultivators, their own integrity often became one of the pillars of their life. Oftentimes, this would be replaced by another, simpler, and at the same time, more dangerous one — pride. Many of them, after confusing honor and integrity with pride, were ready to give up their lives if need be, but would never ‘bow their heads’.

“I want to-”

“I want to-”

They fell silent. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they stared at something in the void of their own thoughts.

Einen finished treating Shakh. He was about to approach his friend, but, after seeing the situation, decided to stay near the young man for a while.

“I guess I’ve always known.” Tilis spoke first.

In matters of feelings, women were almost always bolder than men.

“I’m sorry-”

“No,” Tilis interrupted him, shaking her fiery hair. “I knew it back when I saw you at the entrance to Underworld City. The amulet you brought with you… It couldn’t have been taken by force... and even if that had happened, the city guards would’ve received a signal, but... There was no signal.”

There was silence again.

Hadjar didn’t know what Tilis was thinking about. He was reliving the moment when Serra had smiled at him as she gave her life to take the Governor with her. The man who’d killed his brother and her husband. Hadjar hated himself for not saving her. He hated himself for not being able to save Serra. He hated himself for the fact that it had been Serra, and not him, who had sent the bastard who’d killed Nero to his forefathers. It gnawed at him every day.

“I didn’t kill her…”

“I know.”

“By the High Heavens, I am still to blame for her death!” Hadjar clenched his fists. “If only I’d been a little… Damn it!”

Tilis looked at the man in front of her. She’d hated him for so long that she could scarcely understand why. Probably because he had come back to her instead of her sister.

“Tell me about her,” Tilis asked suddenly, “tell me about my sister.”

And Hadjar did. It didn’t take long, only five minutes, no more. While he absorbed the energy of the world, reinforcing his Technique for Strengthening the Body, he talked about Serra: about how they’d first met, how they had fought together, about their many perilous adventures, how she’d loved his brother, how they had gotten married. How he’d ruined their wedding, which would remain with him forever as one of his deepest regrets. About her death. Had it been revenge? Or had she simply been unable to live without Nero? Maybe the attack that had pierced her heart had just been too much for her? Who knew…? Not he.

“You loved her.” Tilis wiped some drops of water from her cheeks. The ice on the ceiling must have started to melt…

Hadjar wanted to say something sincere and heartfelt, but... he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because sometimes it was harder to admit that you were lost than it was to help someone else find their way to the light. Besides, there was an obvious excuse he could use.

Karissa and Ramukhan had woken up.

“What happened to the Knight?”  The sorcerer asked.

“He’s dead,” Einen answered.

A second later, Karissa and Ramukhan discovered that their weapons had lost their magic artifacts. They started shouting and arguing. The islander tried to reason with them. Tilis and Hadjar didn’t react. They continued to stare into the depths of their souls. Now they could both breathe more freely, a little, not much, but enough to feel a difference.

Chapter 412

“You look... so happy... as if we... won.”

Shakh lifted himself into a half-sitting position. He didn’t care that no one was happy. A moment before the young man had woken up, Einen had managed to calm Karissa and Ramukhan. They were still very angry at the loss of their magic artifacts.

As it turned out, each of the stones they’d used as explosives was worth at least sixty imperial coins. Sixty imperial coins! It was an incredible sum. There was no asset in the whole of Lidus, except perhaps the mine of Solar Ore, which could cost such a sum.

“Shakh’s right.” Ramukhan stopped complaining. “We’ve won the battle, but not the war.”

Hadjar looked at his companions.

Tilis, pale and staring off into the distance, couldn’t escape the labyrinth of her own soul. Even if she had a working magic staff and twice her usual amount of power, she still wouldn’t be able to fight. Her shock was too deep. Moreover, if she didn’t recover from it soon, she wouldn’t be able to cultivate anymore. She wouldn’t be able to help.

Without her magic book, Karissa could do nothing. Besides, they didn’t have enough elixirs and energy-restoring pills for her... So, she was also helpless.

And so was Ramukhan. Like the witches, the sorcerer was a pitiful sight without his magic artifact. There was no reason to spend alchemical drugs on them.

Only the practitioners remained.

Shakh had frostbite and severe wounds. Besides, one of his daggers had been damaged in the explosion. Even though the practitioners, unlike those who followed the ‘true path’, weren’t so dependent on their weapons, the young man had still lost about a third of his attack power. In the end, only Einen and Hadjar were capable of fighting. Everyone else was dead weight, more or less.

“It seems like we won’t win the war.” Karissa smiled sadly.

Hadjar rose to his feet, grunting and leaning on his sword. Staggering, he held onto a fragment of the column. The stone bit into his skin, leaving behind another cut. Einen looked at him with obvious disapproval. Apparently, the elixir which he had poured down his friend’s throat had cost him a lot.

“Baldy,” Hadjar nodded to his friend, “drink a quarter of the elixirs.”

“Why him?” Shakh asked resentfully.

The young man had lost all his friends and acquaintances. His uncle Rahaim, Kharad, Sular, Ilmena… They had all died. Shakh had never believed the two strangers.

“What are you up to, Hadjar?” Einen’s eyes narrowed. Despite that, the islander’s face remained impassive.

“Lead them out of here.” Hadjar picked up the bag of useless talismans and amulets.

He pulled out a handful of pills and, ignoring everyone’s outrage, put them in his mouth. The sensation was akin to the first time he’d been connected to the neural network in his previous life. He felt like electricity was surging through him.

Cold, alien energy poured into his reserves. Alchemical solutions were always very different from the natural process of absorbing power from the World River. That was why Hadjar resorted to using them only in the most extreme cases.

The body would, at best, digest a quarter of such energy. Hadjar had seen addicts that couldn’t live without the pills. It was much easier to take elixirs than to spend hours in deep meditation. However, this path led nowhere.

Hadjar wiped his lips and tossed the bag over to Einen. There were only a few potions and pills left, but that should be enough to let Einen gain enough power to go back.

“Leave this place,” Hadjar repeated, and gestured toward one of the corridors. “The exit is that way. Take three right turns, go forward twice, and then take a left. Continue forward until you get to the center of a large square. You will find a magical seal there. Activate it and you’ll be transported to the edge of the lake.”

There was utter silence. It was broken only by the creaking of the leather bag Einen was clutching.

“If I were Glen, may his forefathers spit in his face,” Ramukhan said, “I’d ask: why the hell do you know all that?”

Hadjar didn’t know how to answer that question. He just knew. Just like he knew that the library and the island would begin to collapse in an hour. The flying island… The image of clouds, fields, and woods flashed before his mind’s eye. The Shadow of the last mage from the ancient civilization had said something about it finally being able to leave. Apparently, it would take the small source of energy that kept the island in the sky with it when it did.

“Are you really going to fight Sankesh?” Einen asked.

“I have no other choice, my friend,” Hadjar shrugged. “It has nothing to do with the List or little Serra anymore.”

“Why, then?”

“The accursed elixir of the gods is stored here, by the High Heavens!”

The others exchanged wary glances. They had believed in the existence of the library and had even managed to find it. But a potion that turned a mortal into a god... They didn’t believe in gods! Of course, they prayed, built monuments to them, and sometimes named their children after them, but they treated the gods more like heroes from legends and myths.

“Does it exist?” Shakh gasped. “Does it really exist?”

“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “And while we’re sitting here talking, Sankesh is getting closer to it.”

“Then let’s just leave.” Einen said the words in a way that made it clear he meant all of them. “If he finds it, if he becomes a god, he won’t be able to do anything to us. The gods can’t interfere in the affairs of mortals.”

“And what if the legends lie?” Hadjar couldn’t put it into words, but his entire being told him that if Sankesh got to the elixir, something irreparably horrible would happen. Einen and Hadjar, nor any of the others, would even get to see it — they would be dead.

Apparently, the islander understood what was bothering his friend. He handed the bag to Shakh and said:

“Then I’ll go with you. We came here together, my friend, and we’ll leave together.”

At that moment, Hadjar saw his brother’s shadow behind Einen. Just like with Nero, he and Einen had ended up in a lot of situations where they would’ve died if not for their friend’s help. But now…

“Look at Shakh, Einen. Even with the elixirs, he couldn’t get them out of-”

“By the Great Turtle, I don’t care,” Einen said, completely indifferent. “I came here with you, my friend, not with them. And I’ll leave with you.”

“Could you live with the fact that you left so many people to die?”

Without even hearing Einen’s response, Hadjar suddenly realized that the islander could. He’d grown up in a very unique environment and had talked to many very unusual people, which had certainly affected his outlook.

“All right,” Hadjar sighed.

Einen relaxed. Just for a moment. But that was all Hadjar needed to blur into the shadow of the Seven Ravens and hit his friend in the temple with a well-aimed blow. The islander went limp in his arms.

Hadjar laid Einen’s body down on the floor and turned to Shakh.

“Give him some elixirs, and when he wakes up, get out of here.”

Shakh nodded and pulled the bag closer to him.

Hadjar took one last look at his friend’s serene face. If they survived, the bald islander would grumble at him for about a month. However, it was better to listen to his friend’s complaints than to have to bury a second br-

Hadjar shook his head. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

“And what about you?” Tilis’ soft voice roused him from his stupor.

“And I,” Hadjar straightened up and started down the intricate corridors, “have gotten addicted to fighting Spirit Knights. I’m going to go kill another one.”

Chapter 413

About two hundred yards away, hidden among the shelves and corridors, Hadjar leaned against a pillar and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Two thin streams of blood ran down from the corners of his mouth.

Wearing only ragged trousers, Hadjar took off the remnants of his caftan. He cut two strips from it. With the wider one, he bandaged his right side, which had been wounded by Ragar.

The wounds he’d received from just a glancing blow weren’t fatal, but it had still contained so much power that his Technique for Strengthening the Body couldn’t cope with it. The Technique had saved Hadjar’s life, but it couldn’t fully heal such damage, not even with the help of Einen’s elixir.

Hadjar tied the hilt of his sword to his arm with the second, smaller strip. Tightening the knot with his teeth, he leaned against the wall and resumed walking forward. He left a thin, scarlet trail behind him.

His behavior might’ve seemed like a bunch of stupid heroics, but it wasn’t. Hadjar had always followed only one principle — his honor was absolute. Of course, he sometimes wavered, but he generally sought to do the right thing.

Einen had gotten involved in this adventure only because of his friend. If Hadjar had refused Paris’ offer, they would’ve waited out their term of service and gone to the Empire. But…

That’s why, if Hadjar had allowed Einen to go with him, his blood would have been on Hadjar’s hands. Hadjar had no doubt that blood would be shed. He just didn’t know whose blood. When he pressed his hand to his side and felt the growing, wet stain there, he guessed that it would be his.

Hadjar knew where to go. This knowledge — where to turn, what turns to avoid, what hidden mechanisms he should use — had appeared in his mind by itself. And there were plenty of mechanisms around here: moving shelves, sliding columns, even racks folding into ladders.

Hadjar felt no fear as he walked through the narrow corridors that led far beneath the library. He was afraid, of course, as only a fool feared nothing, but he felt none of that overpowering terror that could make a person freeze up and a warrior drop their weapon and run away.

In his dream where he’d bidden farewell to his brother and sister-in-law, Hadjar had declared war on the gods. He couldn’t retreat now that another maniac was going to become one of them.

The ceiling and floor were covered in ancient bas-reliefs and paintings. They depicted historical events unknown to Hadjar. He saw someone praying to the Heavens. Wrapped in a gray cloak, he prayed to the Heavens for days, years, centuries, but it was all in vain. Then something happened. Hadjar couldn’t make out what exactly — too much time had passed and the paint had faded. After that, the praying figure disappeared from the canvas, and the elixir appeared in Mage City. It was depicted as an amber liquid emitting a bright yellow light.

Looking at the figure wrapped in the cloak, Hadjar felt like it was familiar to him. Of course, it wasn’t the Black General, as the elixir had appeared long before the Enemy had come to the territory of the ancient civilization.

It seemed like the civilization had formed around the gods’ gift and the cloaked figure was its progenitor. Hadjar didn’t understand why he knew the story of such an ancient being. It was older than Mage City …

Hadjar’s train of thought was interrupted by the light at the end of the corridor. Bright and eye-catching, it contrasted sharply with the dimness of the library and the subterranean corridors. Shielding his eyes, Hadjar stepped out onto a wide balcony. A light breeze caressed his body. A hum, and some sort of noise filled his ears. After the recent silence, they were as refreshing as the breeze.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Hadjar once again realized that this world still had plenty of things left to impress him with. Below the balcony was a mountain plateau. Or so Hadjar presumed at first. However, the grass and moss weren’t growing on stones, but on ancient bridges, columns, and platforms.

The area looked like... Hadjar couldn’t find the words to describe it. In the center, on a huge column, was a square platform. Covered in various prints, patterns, and runes, it gathered energy using a huge crystal hovering above the columns standing on the perimeter. All of this energy accumulated and formed a blue ‘bush’. Ephemeral, created from pure energy, it, in turn, poured the energy into special crystal troughs that ran beneath Hadjar’s feet.

Apparently, this was what had kept the library running. However, it wasn’t this gigantic ‘altar’ and the buildings around it, whose huge parts were floating in the air, that made Hadjar gape in awe.

He stared at a huge tree that grew on the other side of the blue energy ‘bush’ and the stone platform. Although, ‘grow’ was the wrong word for it.

The base of the tree encircled a floating island big enough to build six houses on. Its great roots entangled the island and, intertwining with it, went somewhere down a wide pipe. The lilac tree crowns radiating blue light would’ve been able to cover half of Kurkhadan. The tree had no trunk. Instead, an orange crystal swirled in its center, emanating bright yellow light. Sankesh was standing on the pipe into which the mighty roots descended, and Serra and Erra were lying at his feet.

Hadjar didn’t know which of them the elixir was — the crystal, the tree, or the blue bush — but he didn’t care at the moment. Blurring into the shadow of the Seven Ravens, he covered the distance between himself and the giant of a man in less than a minute.

“You’ve come at last.” Sankesh didn’t even turn around. He stared at the huge crystal spinning inside the tree. “You can take them away. They’ve fulfilled their purpose.”

With two careless kicks, he sent the little girls flying away from him. Hadjar barely managed to catch them and gently put them back down.

“Are you all right?” He asked the girls, but instantly realized they weren’t.

Serra was still breathing, albeit with a lot of difficult. Erra’s body gradually grew transparent. Her heart was no longer beating, and her eyes were empty.

“The library is dying, Hadjar,” Serra whispered very softly. “My sister is gone. It will be my turn soon.”

Hadjar suddenly realized why Rahaim had been searching for the library so desperately. What did death mean for a golem? Nothingness. Absolute, all-consuming nothingness. Soulless creatures didn’t get an afterlife. The only thing that would be able to give Serra a soul, a short period of mortal life, and, most importantly, a new life after that, was the elixir of the gods.

“Get to cover.” Hadjar tucked a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “It’ll be all right. Don’t be afraid. Everything will be fine.”

The girl nodded and, summoning the last of her strength, limped over to the columns with the blue crystals.

Hadjar rose and took a step toward Sankesh.

“Stop-”

Hadjar didn’t manage to say a word more. Sunshine Sankesh whirled and swung his halberd. If Ragar’s energy had been like an avalanche, Sankesh’s was more like a fiery inferno. He was much stronger than the northerner had been.

His slash generated a wave of light. Cutting through the stone, it rushed toward Hadjar. Thirty feet high and three feet wide, it could’ve cut through an entire fortress with ease.

Hadjar always used every opportunity he could. Despite his pain and wounds, he summoned the sleeping little dragon and visualized using the black sword and the ‘Calm Wind’ Technique within his soul. In the physical world, he performed the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ Technique.

The strong defense couldn’t even slow the desert ruler’s strike. The wave of light that held the Halberd Spirit within it cut through the wind and tore it into small fragments.

The dragon, which had a sword for its body, got in the way of the light, but could only withstand it for a fraction of a second. The light swallowed it up, losing about a twentieth of its strength. All of its titanic might struck Hadjar, who had raised his sword to block it. Energy surged out of Hadjar’s body. The wisps of black mist on his blade widened. They connected with the black cloak around his shoulders, forming a sphere of darkness, but compared to the wave of light, this sphere looked like a speck.

Sankesh ignored him. Realizing that Hadjar didn’t have enough power to block his attack, he turned away and continued studying the crystal.

Hadjar held on with all his might. Large patches of his skin and muscle tissue were torn from his arms and shoulders. Blood drenched the moss-covered stones.

With a roar, Hadjar put all his strength and willpower into blocking the attack. In his eyes, a dragon raged. Darkness oozed from the depths of his soul. The wave of light gradually faded. Hadjar was able to take half a step forward, pushing back the halberd’s strike... Sankesh was about to turn around, when…

Crack!

A shard of Mountain Wind pierced Hadjar’s chest. A moment later, the sword snapped and split in half. Hadjar felt no terror, no icy fingers of death on his throat. He was only mildly saddened by the fact that his sword was too weak to endure such a battle.

The wave of light struck Hadjar. It dragged him at least twenty yards across the ground. His lifeless body, sporting a hideous wound that had almost cut him in half and had exposed his entrails, lay unmoving on the edge of an abyss.

“Weakling,” Sankesh snorted.

“Hadjar!” Serra exclaimed.

***

“...Hadjar... Hadjar...”

Silence ruled. It was dark and cold here.

So this is what death looks like! Hadjar thought.

He’d seen darkness in his life. Tangible darkness, the kind that was so scary that even the color black looked white compared to it, but this... it wasn’t darkness. It wasn’t light. This was nothing. It was just death.

His last flashes of consciousness stretched out for eternity. During these last gasps, mortals saw the Heavens or Hells, but practitioners... Their will was too strong to be lost amidst the chaos of their own fading soul.

It had been foolish to think that he could fight a monstrously powerful Spirit Knight on his own. He and two others had defeated Ragar by using the exploding artifacts, and even then, they’d only managed to do so because the northerner had been struggling with his soul wounds at the beginning of the fight, and those wounds were sometimes much more damaging than any bodily ones could ever be.

And yet, Hadjar hadn’t run away. He was now plunging into darkness, disappearing from this world, but he still didn’t regret his decision. He couldn’t stop Sankesh from becoming a god, but trying had been his choice to make. He couldn’t have done anything else. If he had turned around, if he had taken even a single step back, he would no longer have been Hadjar Darkhan. He wouldn’t have been himself, and that was like committing suicide... or even worse than suicide. It was bad when a body died, but it was far worse when a soul died.

Suddenly, something nudged Hadjar’s shoulder. Something, or someone, familiar and strong. In that darkness, he saw a white flash for a moment. It was as if a shadow had passed before him. He could see white hair…

Nero... Serra…

Only now could Hadjar understand their feelings.

They too hadn’t been able to do anything else, to take a step back, or turn back. Because they’d chosen their path. It had been their way. It was easy to walk the crooked path of fear, dishonor, cruelty, uncertainty, cowardice, and weakness. It had a lot of twists, and many opportunities to do what was easier or ‘better’.

Only fools followed the way of honor because the sacrifices required to stay on this path were so immense that it seemed idiotic to even try. Hadjar, without realizing it, had been trying to turn away from this straight, hard path in recent years. He’d begun to forget what honor was. Even in his fight against Brom, he had almost stumbled, and if it hadn’t been for Azrea... Not to mention the other times...

No matter how fast Hadjar fled the capital of Lidus, he couldn’t escape the shadows of his past. It wasn’t his pain that burned in the desert sun, but his memory of it. He wasn’t suffering from wounds in his soul... He was suffering because his soul was withering. Or had already withered. And he realized it only now. In the last moments before his death.

What reasons had he had for going to the library? Helping Serra? Opposing Sankesh? All of these reasons had just been excuses. The truth was that Hadjar’s dying heart had commanded him to do so. His honor had demanded it.

Why had he refused Einen’s help and gone off to face a notoriously strong opponent on his own? Gods? Demons? Elixirs? Fuck all of that! Hadjar didn’t need any reasons to fight when he was called to battle by his honor.

Even the word ‘honor’... Who had invented it? What had it meant to the previous generations? What would it mean to the generations after his? Fuck that shit as well!

All of it was just nonsense.

There were no causes, no consequences, no honor, and no rules. There was only a path. Ant it wasn’t the path of cultivation. It was the path of Life. The path Hadjar had chosen to take. It wasn’t crooked. It had no turns, no ups or downs. There were no stops or breaks. It was a straightforward journey. It led somewhere beyond the horizon, to a place where no man had gone before.

His own way. That was all that mattered in this life. Hadjar didn’t have to justify himself if he followed it. The fact that he’d almost strayed off it only confirmed what he already knew, deep down.

Hadjar had always done what he’d had to do. When everyone said it was impossible, he did it. When no one believed he would get back up, he rose. When everyone thought he was going to die, Hadjar survived. Because that was his path.

Because somewhere out there, a little girl was crying, watching as Hadjar died. Because somewhere out there, hundreds of children were crying, oppressed by Darnassus and other Empires. Because Hadjar hadn’t bowed to the stele of his master, the Immortal swordsman, yet. Because he hadn’t repaid Traves for his sacrifice yet. Because somewhere in the Seventh Heaven, the Magistrate of the gods still stood, and the Jasper Emperor still ruled! Because Hadjar’s journey would be long, longer than even the wildest dreamer could ever imagine. And incredibly difficult.

But had that ever stopped him before? No!

Because his name was Hadjar Darkhan. All he had to do was follow the call of his dragon heart. No shadows from his past, no wounds, no pain, no sorrow, no Sankesh, not even death itself would stop him!

Because for the first time in a long time, he saw the way forward clearly. Straight but broad, his path cut like a sword through everything, giving him real, true freedom. The freedom to follow his heart.

***

“So that’s how you open up,” Sankesh smiled smugly. He grabbed his halberd, and was about to shatter the crystal, when energy exploded behind him.

Sunshine Sankesh, misunderstanding what was happening, turned around. Tendrils of black and blue energy swirled around the body at the edge of the cliff. They poured into the body. Dense, swift, and terrifyingly strong, they were even capable of affecting the physical world! They lifted the dead body higher and higher, until it was wrapped in a glowing sphere. The gaping wound healed, leaving behind a terrible scar on the man’s body, but all the other scars were drawn back into his body. His hair grew out and his muscles tightened.

“Transformation of the Mortal Shell,” Sankesh whispered, “but how-”

Only a true cultivator understood the significance of the Transformation level. As long as a person was still a practitioner, they couldn’t fully realize what energy could do for one’s body. The real Transformation took place only after…

“No…” Sankesh couldn’t believe his eyes!

As Hadjar’s body changed, becoming stronger and larger, a haze appeared behind him. It was shapeless, but still…

“The Awakened Soul…”

Finally, Hadjar opened his eyes. They were as clear as ever. If his will, reflected in them, had been strong enough to break the Heavens before, now it was sharp enough to cut through the threads of Fate.

“The New Soul,” Sankesh murmured.

A savage, inhuman roar filled the plateau. Black lines formed a complex but unfinished pattern across Hadjar’s body. On his shoulders was the cloak of black fog. In his hand, he held the black blade. Despite it being made of the same fog, it felt very real.

“SANKESH!”

Sunshine wasn’t sure that he was still looking at a human, and not a monster or a beast. Those blue eyes were inhuman. There was something alien in them. The power emanating from the creature was definitely that of a true cultivator, a Heaven Soldier. Someone who had been able to transform their body, spirit, and soul. Only a person who saw their way clearly, who knew how to move forward, could be considered a true cultivator! However, the power Sankesh felt from his foe was far greater than what a newly advanced cultivator should be capable of.

A mad smile spread across his face.

“HADJAR!” A second roar, full of power and fury, clashed with the first.

The two warriors rushed at each other.

Chapter 414

Hadjar looked at the Spirit Knight charging toward him. Sankesh, who was enveloped in golden light, hadn’t summoned his spirit. He still wasn’t treating his enemy like a worthy opponent.

Hadjar felt the changes in his body and soul. Only now did he fully understand why only those who were at the Heaven Soldier level and higher were called cultivators, and everyone below that was called practitioners. All the stages and levels he’d gone through up to that point had been preparing him for this. The Bodily Nodes level had allowed him to start absorbing energy from the World River. The Bodily Rivers one had given him a chance to saturate every cell of his body, every atom, with its power. The Formation level had created a place within his soul where the borrowed energy could condense and gradually change, becoming his own. The most important step was the Transformation level and its many stages. After the body and soul had already changed, one only had to consolidate these changes to create a foundation upon which a completely new person would be born. Now Hadjar felt as if he had crawled out of his old skin, like a snake. Or like he’d left an old shell behind. Both a physical and mental one.

He felt his body harden to the point that an arrow shot by an ordinary mortal wouldn’t be able to even scratch his skin. He felt a core of energy crystallizing inside his soul. It was much smaller than before, but denser and... purer. The amount of energy at his disposal now was incomparably greater than at the level of a mere practitioner.

The last change that Hadjar could clearly discern was his own spirit. A blue haze began to take shape. The little dragon, which had been as big as his palm before, was now as long as his arm. The sword inside his soul had become so strong that Hadjar could summon it into the physical world and hold it in his hand. It felt like an Earth level artifact, which hopefully meant that, in the future, a truly powerful blade could be created using this black sword.

All these thoughts flashed through Hadjar’s mind in less than a split second.

A golden energy storm raged around Sankesh. It was the first time Hadjar had seen anything like it: a cultivator who didn’t use the energy of a fire spirit, but a spirit of light. Hadjar had thought that no one could control the light itself. What had Sankesh’s path in life been like, if he had been able to comprehend the mysteries of such a powerful spirit?

Sunshine’s halberd flashed with golden flame. The waves of solar fire that spread out from it vaporized the stones in a 10ft radius. Black dust rose into the air, only to then disappear in bright flashes.

Even thirty feet away, Hadjar felt such a powerful wave of heat strike his face that he had no doubt that, if he weren’t a Heaven Soldier, he would’ve burned to ashes from a mere exchange of blows with Sunshine Sankesh.

They finally collided. Sankesh left a trail of golden fire behind him, and black fog with blue tinges followed in Hadjar’s wake. Sankesh’s downward slash was more like an axe strike — all-consuming and overwhelming, with immeasurable power contained in just that one swing.

Hadjar gripped the hilt of his Black Sword with both hands. His feet were firmly planted on the ground. With a roar, he swung upward with all his might.

The two opposing powers met in an explosion of light and darkness. The muscles in Hadjar’s arms creaked. The darkness swirling around his sword tried to hold back the waves of radiant light that Sankesh’s halberd emitted. Sunshine’s face twisted into a ghastly grin.

The pressure was so great that the stone floor under Hadjar’s feet was covered in huge cracks. Hadjar felt like a match trying to defy a huge fireball. Dancing petals of yellow fire started spreading across his pants.

“Nonentity!” Sankesh shouted over the roar of the flames.

He pressed down even harder with his halberd and Hadjar’s knees buckled. The light, which had covered a radius of ten feet previously, now burned stones that stood twice as far.

The pressure became so intense that the skin on Hadjar’s back burst open and hot blood flowed down his body. The ground beneath his feet became a deep hole.

“Strong Wind!” Hadjar shouted.

New, pure, and dense energy poured out from his inner core and into his arms. The blue energy merged with the black sparks inside his blade. The darkness around the sword thickened, creating the illusion of a black dragon crawling across the blade. The pressure became a little easier to withstand.

The more power Hadjar used, the more the darkness around him grew. It was pushing aside what felt like an avalanche of the fiery light. Hadjar’s knees, previously bent to an almost 90 degree angle, gradually straightened back up. The ground beneath his feet cracked even further, spikes of rock shooting up.

Sankesh stopped grinning. Pulling his halberd toward him, he spun around, delivering a powerful and swift heel kick. At that moment, the pressure of his Technique almost completely disappeared. Such a small delay wouldn’t be enough for most to prepare a counterattack or put up a defense. Even Hadjar wouldn’t have had time to do so this morning. But that was then, this was now…

His movements blurred into a misty shadow as the black blade came up parallel to his chest, right where the enemy’s attack was aimed.

Even though Sankesh followed the path of the Halberd Spirit, his kick was still powerful enough to match the force of two battering rams. Hadjar skid three paces across the ground and was then launched back. After flying at least fifteen feet through the air, he regrouped and, like a cat, landed on his feet. It only took him a split second to do so, but that was enough for the Spirit Knight. The storm of golden energy around him exploded into a thirty-foot tornado. After spinning the halberd above his head, he brought it down for a monstrous slash.

“Executioner of Cities!” Sankesh’s roar merged with the roar of the golden firestorm.

A wave of light, in which the outline of a huge halberd could be seen, swept toward Hadjar. The air around it thrummed with golden fire. No ash or dust remained of the evaporating stones. One look at this monstrous Technique was enough for Hadjar to realize that it could’ve wounded even Traves. And yet, he didn’t take even a step to the side. He didn’t try to dodge. He exhaled sharply, and a storm rose around him. Composed of black and blue energies, it was only eighteen feet high, but looked as fierce and dense as Sankesh’s own.

Sunshine’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight. Was he, someone who stood at the middle stage of the Spirit Knight level, feeling pressure from the energy of a miserable Heaven Soldier? Impossible!

Hadjar, feeling a new power surging in his arms, made an imperceptible swing with his sword.

“Rustle in the Treetops!”

Similar to the huge wave of fire, which had taken the form of a halberd blade, a black line appeared in the air. A huge dragon’s maw with vicious fangs emerged from it. Its massive mouth closed around the golden wave. The battle between light and darkness began once more.

Hadjar didn’t expect to completely stop the Spirit Knight’s attack. Sankesh had been at that level for at least a century and had fought in hundreds of deadly battles. Hadjar, standing a step below him, had only recently acquired his new power and didn’t know how to use it to its fullest extent just yet.

When Sankesh’s Technique, after losing a good half of its power, finally dispelled the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’, Hadjar directed his energy into his hands again. This time, without using any Techniques, he swung his sword wide. This launched a black, foggy crescent from his blade, one that had a blue dragon with a sword for a body trailing behind it. Hitting the wave from the side, it deflected it by just one inch, but that was enough. Sankesh’s Technique passed within a hair’s breadth of Hadjar’s shoulder, leaving a long and deep gouge in the floor near his left leg.

Sankesh, spinning his halberd once more, plunged its base into the ground.

“Seventy years have passed since the last time anyone escaped the ‘Executioner of Cities’!” Sunshine folded his arms. His eyes flashed with a golden glow. The storm of energy around him began to condense and grow more turbulent. “It’s been seventy long years since I last fought a worthy foe!”

Suddenly, the storm disappeared, but the pressure didn’t. On the contrary, it only intensified. Hadjar found it hard to breathe. He had to increase the flow of energy toward the dragon dancing inside his soul. The black cloak on his back grew a little longer. It seemed to protect him from the influence of Sankesh’s energy.

“Spirit Manifestation!” Sunshine roared the words.

A spirit appeared behind him, radiating golden light. Hadjar had never seen anything like it before. He’d thought that a Spirit Knight could only wield the spirit of a beast, but now… Behind Sankesh, a three-foot-long halberd whirled in the air. The power emanating from it overwhelmed the very air around the warriors.

Sunshine kicked the shaft of his weapon and swung the tip forward.

“Sun Beam!”

At first, Hadjar thought nothing had happened. But then, a second later, he felt a stinging pain coming from his long-suffering left side. He looked down and saw blood running down his torso. It spurted out through a fresh wound. Only then did he see the beam that revealed the fast lunge Sankesh made.

“Damn it!” Hadjar cursed, understanding that things had just gotten a lot worse for him

.

Chapter 415

This time, Hadjar could see the sunbeam. However, that didn’t help him much. He tried to block it, but his sword sliced through nothing but a trail of afterimages left behind by the beam that represented Sankesh’s attack.

Hadjar gritted his teeth as a pea-sized hole appeared on his thigh, just inches away from the bone. All this time, he had thought that Sankesh’s main specialty was close combat, but Hadjar had been horribly mistaken.

The halberd wasn’t meant to be used up close. It had been created in order to keep one’s enemy away and to also pierce their body with quick attacks. Sankesh’s strikes, as he was someone who possessed the mysteries of the Light Spirit, were really instantaneous.

“It’s time to finish this!” Sunshine shouted.

The light of the spirit behind him grew stronger and brighter. His motionless halberd suddenly quivered, and this time, Hadjar saw three brief flashes. Three sunbeams that represented swift lunges flew through the space between them at incredible speed. Even so, Hadjar’s thoughts were faster than Sankesh’s. In recent years, Hadjar had done nothing but fight. He’d fought against armies, bandits, monsters, his own demons, and even mythical creatures.

His combat experience surpassed even those who had lived in this mortal world for centuries and had reached the Spirit Knight level. All this knowledge had needed only a small push to come together and give Hadjar the insight needed to progress further on the path of cultivation.

His transition to the Heaven Soldier level was only related to his soul. When his old heart had no longer been able to live in his body, he’d had to discard his mortal shell and acquire a new, more fitting one. A shell which didn’t see honor as something ‘to be followed’, but something you couldn’t not follow.

As for the path of his Spirit, Hadjar had already reached his current limits. After becoming a Wielder of the Sword, he had been left without any way to progress forward and advance his sword mastery even further.

Behind all of this was something Hadjar had been deprived of for seven long years. Once upon a time, in a cold grotto, Hadjar had sacrificed a piece of his soul to save his army and his own life. He’d given it to the Sword Spirit and it had given its power to him in return, and had then allowed him to approach it a little. A tiny fraction of its might had been enough to make Hadjar the strongest swordsman in Lidus. However, Hadjar had sacrificed the wind for it... no, the Wind.

However, was it really that simple? South Wind had once told him the old legend about the light, which was present everywhere and always, fighting a constant battle against the retreating darkness. Looking up at the night sky, Hadjar had realized that light was not ‘everywhere’, it was only the fastest thing that the eye could see. There were forces in the universe that were faster than even light. While invisible to the eye, they were truly present everywhere and always. For example, darkness. It would always be ahead of the light. Both literally and metaphorically.

Hadjar had never felt a kinship with the darkness. Even now, with the three deadly sunbeams rushing toward him, he couldn’t quite subdue the dark fog emanating from the black blade, nor the cloak on his back.

What else, also invisible to the eye, was always there? What force, despite the seal of the Sword Spirit, did Hadjar feel a kinship with? The Wind…

Even at such a dangerous time, Hadjar could hear the faint whispers of the wind as it swept over the horizon, where Hadjar’s own path and heart drew him.

Maybe that was why he’d felt a connection to the wind since his birth. An ephemeral, mystical relationship. As if the wind were an old friend he’d been separated from a long time ago. Maybe a few lifetimes ago. The wind was always with him. It had always been with him. And it would always be with him. Not even the Sword Spirit’s seal that had severed their bond could change that.

Hadjar sighed, feeling the wind seep into every cell of his body. It had indeed always been there, right by his side.

“Sixth stance: Wind!”

Hadjar’s movements were as light and silent as a summer breeze; as impetuous and rapid as a spring storm; as elusive as the Wind itself.

Sankesh, who had moments ago been confident in his victory, once again couldn’t understand what was happening. A few hours ago, he’d looked down on this unusually strong but still simple practitioner. One attack, imbued with the Halberd Spirit, had been enough to send him to his forefathers. However, he was still alive. Moreover, he’d broken through and become a true cultivator, which only one in a hundred thousand practitioners could do. Becoming a Heaven Soldier was a great achievement.

With every exchange of blows, with every second that passed, Sankesh felt his enemy… not just refuse to weaken, but actually become stronger. His foe had just made another breakthrough.

Sankesh had already seen Hadjar use the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique, which was very popular among practitioners and weak cultivators. It didn’t require much talent, and resources needed to cultivate it were common even in the barbarian kingdoms. Its upper limit, accessible to a peak Heaven Soldier — merging the shadow of ten ravens into one — was considered the weakest of Speed Techniques.

Now, however, Hadjar wasn’t using this shameful Technique, but something completely different. Sankesh had little understanding of the Sword Spirit path, so he couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on. Even then, he’d never seen a cultivator or practitioner use a fighting stance for anything other than to attack.

For a brief moment, it was difficult to follow Hadjar’s movements. Sankesh only felt the wind swirling around his opponent, and then the three deadly sunbeams pierced not Hadjar, but the air behind him. The barbarian himself stood quite a ways away from where he’d been just a second ago.

“Who or what are you?” Sankesh roared.

He swung his halberd over his head. Moving his hands so quickly that his weapon turned into a huge sun disk, Sankesh roared:

“Dawn Sun!”

An exact copy of the disk above him detached itself from his weapon. The flaming disk spun with such speed that vortices of burning air formed both below and above it. This ‘hourglass’ was sent after Hadjar, burning a deep furrow across the ground, travelling at a speed only slightly inferior to that of the sunbeams. It promised only one thing — death.

Hadjar felt that his Call would soon disappear. Without it, the cloak that shielded him from the pressure of the Spirit Knight’s power and the black blade would disappear as well. Not to mention the power that allowed a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage of the level to wield the kind of might that only the ones at the peak stage had access to.

“Wind!” Hadjar said.

He felt kinship with the wind again. As if gliding across the area, he blurred into a lunge. Behind him, afterimages froze in various poses, as if not one Hadjar, but ten of them, had stretched out in a line, rushing to their doom.

Once he came close to Sankesh’s titanic attack, Hadjar... did nothing. He simply merged with the swirling force of the sun disk and, in the same graceful manner, skirted the Technique. Neither the disk nor the two whirlwinds of fire could touch so much as a hair on his head.

A moment later, the disk cut down a stone pillar. Despite being sixteen feet thick, it couldn’t resist the Spirit Knight’s attack. The destroyed stones tumbled into the abyss, and Sankesh couldn’t understand what had just burned his chest. When he looked down, he saw a wide cut running from his right shoulder to his stomach. Deep and bleeding heavily, it had nearly exposed the white ribs beneath. Sankesh turned. Behind him, a few yards away, stood Hadjar. Dark blood ran down his thigh and side, and he pointed to his chest, at the terrible V-shaped scar that had been left behind when he’d healed from Sankesh’s first attack.

“We’re almost even,” Hadjar said with a beastly grin. “Wind!”

Leaving behind a dozen afterimages, Hadjar charged once more into the melee.

Chapter 416

Sankesh struck out with one crushing blow after another. However, each time, the waves of golden light hit only Hadjar’s afterimages. He seemed to be nowhere and everywhere at once. He moved so fast that Sankesh couldn’t even see him properly. Several black blades attacked him, but only one of the five was real. The others, after getting close enough to his body, scattered into wisps of dark mist.

Many cuts appeared on Sankesh’s torso, legs, and arms. Unlike the first one, when Hadjar had managed to take his opponent by surprise, these cuts looked like superficial scratches. Every time his sword touched Sankesh’s skin and muscles, Hadjar felt as if he were attacking a wall of iron instead of flesh. Sankesh’s Technique for Strengthening the Body was far superior to the one that Hadjar had. Even so, despite feeling like a hungry puppy trying to tear a grown wolf apart, the willpower in his blue, inhuman eyes didn’t fade or dull. Even if there was an impregnable fortress in front of Hadjar, he would never give up on trying to capture it!

“Nonentity!” Sankesh roared as another sword slash seared a line of pain across his back.

He spun his halberd again, but didn’t send any sun disks flying. His pride would never allow him to admit this, but he’d wasted more than half his energy during their battle.

And his foe was merely a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage!

This battle had to end. In addition, Hadjar needed to learn that he could never truly injure Sankesh, who was far stronger than him!

Sensing his enemy’s approach and seeing his afterimages, Sankesh suddenly plunged his halberd into the stone floor. The energy, guided by his will and weapon, hit the ground and exploded into a flaming, golden ball.

Hadjar, who hadn’t expected this, didn’t have time to change the direction of his attack. His quick, but insignificant compared to his opponent’s, slash struck the wall of golden fire. For a moment, the darkness and the light struggled, but it was impossible to stand against or cut through such powerful light.

Hadjar was lifted off the ground. The wave of fire sent him hurtling a dozen yards through the air and then he slammed into a column. It cracked and began to crumble. Hadjar, who’d climbed out of the hole he’d made in the stone, collapsed on the floor. Behind him, another ancient pillar flew into the abyss, followed by a blue crystal.

Shaking his head and trying to recover his wits, Hadjar caught a glimpse of the glowing energy bush in the center of the altar start to dim. With great difficulty, Hadjar stood up. Sankesh didn’t try to attack him again. He stood there with his halberd stuck in the stone. His whole body was covered in his own and his foe’s blood. There was a terrible cut across his chest.

Hadjar looked even worse. He could barely breathe, and each breath produced a flash of pain. His broken ribs were cutting into his lungs. His Technique for Strengthening the Body had drained a huge amount of his energy, but it still hadn’t managed to deal with the wounds that the Spirit Knight had inflicted on him.

“I hate to admit it, Hadjar,” Sankesh’s voice was calm despite his heavy breathing, “but Serra wasn’t wrong when she called you Dragon. I’ve fought many opponents, but you’ve outshone them all. As just a lowly Heaven Soldier, you’re able to withstand a battle against me while I’m not holding back my power. I respect you for that.”

Sankesh raised his fist, covered it with his hand, and bowed slightly. Hadjar wasn’t surprised to see that the man knew the greeting of the Land of the Immortals.

According to Ramukhan, Sankesh had gone to the northerners as a completely inept practitioner, and had returned as one of the most powerful warriors that the Sea of Sand had ever seen. It was easy to guess that this was due to an unusually good stroke of luck, which the young slave had been able to turn to his advantage. Maybe he’d found the Technique of some Immortal. Maybe he’d met the Shadow of an Immortal, which had then given him its Legacy or the rank of ‘honorary disciple’. Or maybe... there were a hundred other reasons Hadjar could think of. None of this, however, detracted from the fact that Hadjar…

“I respect you as well.” He gave the same greeting. “You followed a path that would’ve broken many warriors. Your power is your own, not borrowed.”

Hadjar respected Sunshine Sankesh for what he had achieved, especially because he’d done it all with his own two hands. He hadn’t been born into a wealthy clan or sect. He hadn’t been a disciple of a prestigious school and had no innate talent. It was only through sheer willpower that he’d gnawed his way through all the obstacles and challenges that fate had thrown at him. Just like Hadjar… But also the complete opposite of Hadjar …

Just like the light and darkness, they could see themselves in each other, but they also saw how different they were.

“Not long ago, I wanted to kill you, Hadjar Darkhan. Maybe because I wanted to prove to myself that I’m the strongest, but now... the world I want to build isn’t just for the strongest. Only one person can be the strongest. My world is for the strong. You’re strong. You’ve earned the right to be part of my new world.”

Hadjar didn’t follow the logic.

“I already told you once, Sunshine,” Hadjar said, “and I’ll say it again: I won’t be part of any new world because it won’t exist.”

Sankesh’s eyes flashed with anger and fury, but with an effort of will, he managed to contain his rage. Somewhat.

“Stop playing the hero, Darkhan!” Sunshine roared. “Why are you still fighting against me? Why are you planning to throw your life away? Look at your sword and cloak, they’re almost gone. Don’t try to deceive me, I already know that this incomprehensible power that allows you to fight at the level of a peak Heaven Soldier will disappear with them.”

Sankesh was right. The cloak on Hadjar’s shoulders had gone down to his ankles at the beginning of their battle, but now it barely covered his shoulder blades. The black sword in his hands was so translucent that it was hard to tell if Hadjar was holding a weapon or if it was just fog.

The Call would last for another attack or two, but no more. This clearly wouldn’t be enough to defeat Sankesh. Still, no matter how strong Hadjar was, he would still probably find himself in over his head. It was part of who he was.

Maybe if their battle could be postponed for six months or a year, Hadjar would manage to progress further down the path of cultivation and comprehend more of the mysteries of the Sword Spirit, but... This world didn’t allow such wishful thinking.

“Don’t do it, Sankesh.” Hadjar looked at the last three crystals out of the corner of his eye as he spoke to the man. They circled the altar, allowing the blue energy to flow down somewhere beneath the base of the island. “Do you think the gods would really allow for anything that can help mortals reach the same level as them to exist?”

Hadjar had expected a lot of different reactions, but not this one. Sankesh’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed loudly.

“Gods?” Sankesh asked. “Don’t insult me, Dragon. I don’t believe in gods or demons…”

Then why do all of this, Hadjar thought, but kept silent.

He was taking aim.

“I only believe in this.” Sankesh struck his chest. “And in this.” He drew his halberd from the stone. “I only believe in power. In my own power! This elixir will make me stronger!”

That was the truth. Sankesh had never stooped to using artifacts or armor. He had used only his own body and weapon. And that was all he needed to create a new world.

“I think we’ve reached an impasse,” Hadjar said.

“Then prepare to meet your forefathers!” The golden energy surged around Sankesh like a storm.

“We should both prepare.”

Hadjar made his move. His two strikes merged into one. The black cloak disappeared from his shoulders and the blade vanished from his hands, but they were no longer needed. The first black crescent struck the nearest column. It cut it to pieces and dropped the penultimate crystal into the abyss. His second attack flew toward the far pillar — the last one keeping the fragment of the ancient civilization from complete destruction. As soon as the last crystal fell, Sankesh felt the earth shake. He saw the buildings crumbling, and in the distance, he noticed the walls of the ancient library collapsing.

“Stop!” He roared.

Sunshine held out his hand. With an effort of will, he pulled the hidden Serra toward him. The girl screamed, but the invisible power was already drawing her inexorably into Sankesh’s hands.

“Stop or I’ll kill her!”

The second crescent dissipated in the air, turning into black fog without reaching the crystal. They both froze.

“I thought so,” Sankesh said wryly. “You’re still too weak. And now she’ll die anyway-”

“And you’re too stupid,” Hadjar interrupted him, “if you truly believe that the Mad General’s plan is so simple.”

Sankesh had been too preoccupied with his goal, which was so close, to realize that Hadjar had come here to rescue Serra. That meant he wouldn’t have destroyed the island anyway, because he and Serra would surely have died in the crash that followed, but Sankesh could’ve survived.

Which meant that…

“No!” Sunshine flung Serra away, but it was too late.

Hadjar threw his right arm out from behind his back. The tip of the broken Mountain Wind flashed. With incredible speed, it flew through the air. Just before it collided with the protective shell of the elixir, Hadjar imagined he saw the smile of the last sorceress. A hole appeared in the shell around the crystal swirling inside the tree, and the sword went right through it.

“NO!” Sankesh roared.

At the same time, using the last vestiges of his power, Hadjar swung the second fragment of Mountain Wind. The attack was weak, but it was enough to cut off the very top of the column and bring down the last of the crystals. The blue bush in the center of the altar went out, the blue veins running through everything disappeared, the earth cracked, and the giant island fell from the sky.

Hadjar shielded the little girl. Powerless, he held his broken blade in front of him and watched the energy swirl around the frantic Sankesh. The man looked even more powerful than he had at the beginning of their battle.

The huge tree was falling. It was drying up and turning into gray dust. Shards of the crystal flew everywhere. Drops of liquid gold still glistened on them. Those were the remains of the ancient potion that nobody could get now.

“What do we do now?” Serra asked.

“HA-A-A-A-A-DJA-A-A-AR!”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Hadjar said, his face pale.

Chapter 417

Sankesh stared at the shards of the crystal scattered across the square. The yellow drops of the elixir glistened on their sharp edges, illuminated by the setting sun. Its purity and radiance were undeniable proof of its quality. There might not have been a single ancient cultivator for many millions of miles around who would’ve been capable of making such a thing.

Perhaps a similar elixir could be found, but it would probably only be available in the mythical Land of the Immortals, of which Sankesh had learned hundreds of years ago, but it would be weaker and of a lower quality.

The reflected sunbeams made Sankesh reflect on his past for a moment. He’d both found unattainable heights of happiness and fallen into an abyss of despair in the past. Sunshine had been born from all those experiences, vowing to reshape the world in his vision.

***

Wrapped in a tattered blanket, young Sankesh, now seventeen years old, looked through the bars of his cage at the snowy forest. For a year, he’d been sold and resold by various slave traders. During that time, he had crossed the Sea of Sand, skirted the eastern provinces of the Empire, and reached the northern region.

Thanks to Rahaim’s books (a man he no longer considered his father), Sankesh had read about snow and even seen pictures of the white substance falling from the sky, but this was his first time seeing it up close.

“Stop making all that noise!” The bars of his cage were struck with the handle of an axe.

Sankesh recoiled and involuntarily reached for the slave collar on his neck. Over the past year, he had learned the language of the northerners. The Evening Stars hadn’t given him a talent for the path of cultivation, but he had a good memory and was very intelligent.

“Water,” a voice croaked from behind him.

Sankesh was not alone in the long cage. There were a dozen of them in here. Most of the prisoners were from the Sea of Sand. Their skin had turned from a dark bronze to a pale pink in the year they’d spent travelling. There were also several barbarians among them. Once they’d reached the snowy lands, they’d felt much better and had been able to find common ground with the guards of the caravan.

“Here, take it!” Laughing, one of the golden-haired giants dressed in fur and iron armor made a snowball and threw it into the cage.

The woman, who was Sankesh’s compatriot, reached out with trembling hands and grabbed it, glaring at the others. The cage was so crowded that they kept warm mostly thanks to each other, and not the torn rags that they’d been given a month ago.

The desert dwellers were mostly thirsty and desperate for water. The barbarians, when they thought no one was looking, collected snow from the bars, melted it in their hands, and drank. Or even just put it in their mouths right away. Sankesh, after learning their trick by spying on them, now did the same.

The woman was weak, but no one thought about robbing her. First of all, the guards would beat them for fighting — damaged ‘goods’ were harder to sell. And secondly, everyone knew that a desperate mother was more dangerous than any predator.

The woman, after breathing on the lump of snow for a bit to melt it, held it to her daughter’s lips. A young girl of thirteen. Maybe a little more. Wrapped in the same rags as everyone else, she clung to her mother’s chest, who kept trying to cover her with her rags as well.

The guards didn’t let them freeze, but it was still rather cold in the cage. The leader of the caravan, the main scoundrel, assured them that the sooner they got used to the cold, the more they would cost. And the higher the price paid, the better the northerners treated their slaves.

The snowball melted, but the girl still asked for more. Her mother almost wept with helpless frustration.

“Take this,” Sankesh held out a small snowball imperceptibly.

The woman recoiled at first, as if she’d seen a dangerous snake, but then, her hands still trembling, she accepted it gratefully.

“Where did you get this?” She asked in the language of the Sands.

Sankesh turned around, making sure no one was listening to them, and then whispered:

“When snow falls from the sky, it settles on the bars. Collect and crumple it up in your hands. It turns into…” It took Sankesh a moment to remember the right word. “…ice. Then put it on your tongue. It’ll be very cold. It’s bad for her teeth, and even a bit painful… But she won’t suffer from thirst anymore.”

The woman, ragged and sore, blinked a couple of times. Her lash-less eyes looked like ghastly gray hollows. She and her daughter had joined, or rather, been bought from a slave fair in the Imperial city bordering the North. Over the past three months they’d spent in the snowy forests and wastelands, they hadn’t exchanged even a couple of words with their compatriots.

None of those present trusted their fellow slaves much. Moreover, while the guards tried to keep the ‘goods’ intact, some of them still died sometimes. The guards weren’t interested in their possessions, so they were taken either by the nearest or the strongest. It was an unspoken rule — whoever took someone else’s things first was their new owner.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the woman began to bow to him feverishly. Slaves were taught how to bow by the Empire.

Sankesh grabbed the woman by her shoulders. “Stop that or we’ll get noticed.”

He looked around warily. Fortunately, they were at the very end of the cage. The barbarians and the rest of the desert dwellers were ignoring them. They were breathing hard on their hands, which were red from the cold. The guards, like Sankesh, were looking at the forest. Huge trees blocked their view, and the road wound between snow-covered hills. According to the stories he’d heard, there were monsters in these forests that were even worse than those that roamed the vast expanses of the Sea of Sand. Sankesh didn’t want to encounter any of them even without a slave collar around his throat…

“What’s your name-”

“Here we are!” Another blow of the axe’s haft shook the cage.

Two massive, fair-haired guards approached the bars and removed a heavy chain lock.

“Come out,” they ordered.

Sankesh was the closest slave to the exit. He hadn’t managed to give his name. He gave the woman a sympathetic look and jumped down into the snow. His boots had been replaced by cloth wraps wound around leather scraps. They immediately got wet, and if not for the leather, he clearly would’ve lost his feet to frostbite. Luckily, legless slaves weren’t in demand, so the guards took care of their limbs and didn’t let them lose any.

“You’ll be walking from here,” the caravan leader said.

All the guards, including the leader, put strange shoes on their feet: wood ovals with tight threads woven in the middle. Sankesh didn’t understand what they were for at first, but when he fell knee-deep into the snow with each step he made, but the northerners, thanks to their strange shoes, were able to walk along the snow, everything fell into place.

After half an hour of enduring the cold wind while trudging through the snow, Sankesh regretted the fact that he’d come out first. He hadn’t had much choice, though. Sometimes, he looked around. Not because he was hatching an escape plan. No. The hope of ever escaping this hell had faded after the first month of the journey. Besides, even if he succeeded, where would he go?  He didn’t have a home. He didn’t have enough talent to become a mercenary or join the troops of the Empire. He had to be at least at the level of the Transformation of the Mortal Shell to even qualify.

So, he simply looked around out of curiosity. Never before had Sankesh seen such an abundance of trees, their snow-covered branches even reaching above a height of ten yards. Eight adult men working together wouldn’t be able to fully reach around the trunks of these giants.

Sometimes he heard animal sounds he couldn’t recognize in the distance. Whenever that happened, the northerners seized their weapons and forced the slaves to walk ahead of them. That way, if the beasts attacked, the slaves would become meat shields. One’s life was much more important than profit, after all.

They moved through the snow-covered hills and plains. A narrow path cut through the forest led them farther into the snowy maze.

The clear, almost blue sky looked like a cold crystal. It pressed down on his shoulders. The distant sun wasn’t warm at all. The wind constantly blew in his face and brought sharp ice needles with it, scratching his already frozen skin. It felt as if someone had sliced a sharp razor over it.

“That’s it,” one of the guards grunted.

Under another hill, they first saw a wide glade that served as the northerners’ town square, and then they spotted strange houses. Built out of logs, standing on stilts, and with gable roofs, they puffed black smoke into the air, and the yellow light of the hearths shone through the windows.

“I forgot how cold it was here!” One of the guards complained. “By the Fair Warriors, by my ancestors, this is the last time I’ll ever visit this ass end of the world!”

The other guards laughed.

“When you need money, you’ll come back.”

Sankesh stared silently at the crowd gathering in the ‘square’. Over the past few months, they’d almost traversed the entirety of the northern province. They’d passed the capital, the only stone city in the region, and gone even farther to the north, where even the locals didn’t go if they didn’t have to, considering the place to be almost uninhabitable. He couldn’t blame them.

Sankesh looked up. There, hundreds of miles away, was a mountain range. On Rahaim’s maps, it was called the Icy Shield, and beyond it was an ocean. Or rather, there was a lifeless wasteland of ice covering the water for hundreds of thousands of miles from the shore, and only then, after the warm currents finally prevailed, would you reach the Northern Ocean. A very simple name for an area that had barely been studied. The adventurous explorers hadn’t mapped out even half of the icy wasteland, and no ship had ever sailed the Northern Ocean, giving rise to innumerable legends and myths.

“Move!” Sankesh felt a painful poke in his side and he moved toward yet another slave fair.

He’d grown tired of counting the number of times he’d been sold, bought, resold, and bought again over the past year.

The only thing he liked here in the north was the night sky with its colorful plumes of light. They sliced through the black velvet of the night, making the barbarians and desert dwellers gasp in amazement and the northerners smirk.

They called it the Ancestral Glow. Sankesh hoped that somewhere out there, amidst the emerald, violet, and pink light, his mother was living a happy afterlife.

Chapter 418

Already accustomed to these fairs, Sankesh immediately took the most favourable position for himself. Among the slaves who had ridden with him, no one thought that the more you cost, the easier it would be for you to survive. The proud barbarians refused to undress and, accompanied by the buyers’ laughter, received painful jabs from spears and other weapons. One girl, a former warrior, got her nose broken. Now she would cost a lot less.

Girls were in great demand in the north. And not because the northern men wanted to have sex with them. Northern women participated equally in military campaigns, hunts, and skirmishes. So, they needed maids and babysitters, and they didn’t want to have a freak hanging around in their house.

All the slaves, twelve of them in total, stood on the dais. Stripped to their underwear, they shivered and huddled together. At the moment, even a tiny bit of warmth was more important to them than any wealth or even their freedom. A person couldn’t survive half-naked in the north for long.

The bidding began with one of the barbarians.

“He’s a strong fighter,” the caravan leader proclaimed. “Don’t laugh! In his homeland, in Balium, such a hero would cost you at least a tenth of an Imperial coin!”

Compared to the desert dwellers, the Baliumian really did look like a giant. Broad-shouldered, muscular, and pale, he towered over the others by a head.

When Sankesh heard the price the owner was asking, he could barely suppress a grin. In Balium, a person could buy a whole squad of warriors for that sum! And in the other barbarian kingdoms as well. Damned beggars…

As a result, the barbarian was sold for a quarter of an Imperial coin. After that, the usual bidding began. The caravan leader ruthlessly stripped the northerners. After living in their wilderness, they knew almost nothing about the outside world. Only once a year, in the spring, when the snows melted and opened the passages, did they go to trade in the capital of their province. Sankesh guessed that those who sold goods (mostly precious furs) were glad to profit off the ignorance of their countrymen.

“Finally, our last lots.” It all felt like a circus as the caravan leader pointed at the three remaining figures on the platform — the girl, her mother, and Sankesh. “Let’s start with the boy. His name is Sankesh. Strong, healthy, tall for his people’s standards. He’s still quite young too — only fifteen springs!”

He deliberately understated Sankesh’s age, and, while describing his characteristics, showed off his teeth, his muscles, and banged his stick against Sankesh’s tendons. He also mentioned that the slave would be able to make his master a few more slaves and forced Sankesh to lower his pants for a while.

“As you can see, despite his small stature,” Sankesh did look kind of tiny compared to the northerners, “he has a considerably large…”

The slave trader didn’t finish his sentence and just smirked instead. Several of the northern women grunted, and the men looked at him without envy, simply eyeing him pragmatically. Sankesh was used to it. Moreover, it was the organ in his pants that had allowed him to leave the previous auctions as a very valuable slave. No one wanted to buy a slave who couldn’t procreate. Many of the northerners bred them and then sold the offspring.

“Let’s start with... half an Imperial coin!”

Sankesh almost choked on air. For that kind of money, you could buy an Earth level artifact weapon in the Sea of Sand! When the bidding reached one and a half coins, he stopped trying to apply the standards of the desert to the northerners. He himself wouldn’t have paid even a twentieth of that for himself.

“Two coins,” a heavy bass thundered.

A white-haired man stepped forward. Almost eight feet tall, he was as broad as a bear, and his strong muscles were visible even under his furs and armor.

“Chief,” the slave trader saluted. They slammed their wrists together. The bracers on their hands clanged.

“I’ll take that girl, too. My grandchildren need a babysitter. Who will challenge me on this?”

In the north, there was only one law which everyone, including the local konungs, obeyed: glory to the strongest, humility to the weak. Those who had the power could do as they pleased. Anyone could challenge that in the simplest and most direct way — challenge them to a duel.

Naturally, no one dared challenge the chief to a duel. Maybe there were a few people among those present who were more powerful, but no one dared to go against the chief’s authority... Sometimes, power wasn’t just about one’s muscles and weapons. The slave trader also didn’t dare to object, and the chief got two slaves for the price of one.

“Mother!” The girl screamed in the desert language as the guards tore her out of the woman’s arms.

“No! No!” She cried, bursting into tears.

The woman lunged toward her sobbing daughter, only to be sent sprawling to the ground by a powerful slap. The slave trader’s boot pressed the woman’s head into the icy boards. Ulcers burst. Muddy goo drenched the snow.

“Take. Me. Pray. Daughter. Pray.”

The girl’s mother spoke the language of the northerners quite poorly. The desperate mother didn’t take her pleading eyes off the chief. He gave her a cold, appraising look and shook his head.

“No one will buy this wretch,” he thundered. “Finish it, trader. Don’t torture the poor mother. Let her go to her forefathers.”

Even without knowing the language, the woman realized what was going on. She probably knew that she was worthless to them. The slave trader knew it too. At the fair, he’d bought the girl, and her mother had been part of the deal. Knowing that the northerners greatly appreciated young girls, he’d decided not to skimp and had taken both. The girl had felt more comfortable with her coming along, after all.

“Mom! Mom. Mom…” The girl sobbed, trying to get out of the guard’s grip.

“Be strong, Aisha, be strong!” The mother cried, seeing her end coming. “I love you, my dear girl.”

“MOTHER!” Aisha yelled as the slave trader pulled a dagger from his boot.

“Cover her eyes, Sankesh.”

Sankesh couldn’t refuse a dying woman’s last request. Walking over to the guard, he cautiously reached out and, seeing that he wouldn’t be knocked away, covered the girl’s eyes. She screamed as if her soul were being dragged out of her. When the final wheeze of her mother sounded, Aisha went limp in the hands of the northerner. The girl had fainted. Perhaps that was for the best.

The bidding was over, and the slave traders were already preparing for the trip back. Although slavery was a legal practice in the north, the slave traders weren’t respected here. No family was willing to house those who had soiled themselves with such a trade.

The buyers took the slaves back to their houses, and those who’d been left empty-handed discussed the possibility of buying the first ‘litter’ — the children born from the slaves breeding. They would be treated the same as puppies. They would be taken from their mothers at birth and brought up at their new masters’ houses.

“Do you know our language?” The chief loomed over Sankesh like a mountain.

He was holding the unconscious girl in his arms. He studied her delicate face, her small, snub nose, her thick, black hair. It was too early to guess about her figure, but Sankesh was certain that Aisha would grow into an unprecedented beauty, one capable of sitting on the throne of the Pearl of the Sands and looking as beautiful as any natural born princess.

“Yes, master.” Sankesh nodded.

“That’s good. Teach it to her and make sure she isn’t hurt by anyone or gets too spoiled. If you make a mistake, San... Sank… By the Great Warriors, what an awful name!” The chief swore, pulled his fur cloak off his shoulders, and threw it over his slaves. “You’ll be Aril. To be honest, I didn’t need you. My grandchildren need a babysitter. I didn’t want to take her mother. It would’ve been a waste of money. She wouldn’t have survived the first frost. I bought you to keep the girl company. So, you are responsible for her. You will be beaten for her faults. You’ll do her share of the work. For this, I’ll give you double rations and let you sleep with the other slave girls. Do you understand me, you copper-skinned weakling?”

“Yes, master.”

“What’s your name, slave?”

“Aril.”

“If I hear San… Sank… Damn it! If I hear that accursed name again, I’ll whip you! Let’s go.”

Sankesh followed his new master. Aril wasn’t such a bad name. In the language of the desert, it meant ‘sunshine’.

Chapter 419

“Aril, Aril, tell us a story!”

Sankesh was sitting on a stool and carving a toy desert raven out of a plank. He was wearing a fur coat and trousers with a fleece lining. His boots had a white fur trim and reached almost to his knees. If not for his skin color, it would be difficult to tell that Sankesh was a slave. Besides, his slave collar had been removed three years ago. After all, he had nowhere to run. For nearly five years, Sankesh had lived in Brown Bear Village, located on the edge of the world, at the foot of the Icy Shield.

“Why not!” Sunshine laughed. “What would you like to hear? A story from my homeland? Maybe one about the living sand and the Princess? Or a local one? Maybe the one about the girl and the spirit of Frost who took her as his bride?”

After three years of cultivating without the slave collar around his neck, Sankesh had been able to reach the twelfth and final stage of the Bodily Rivers, but no matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to reach the Formation level. It remained an insurmountable obstacle to his progress.

“Tell us the first story!”

Three children were scurrying around him, all of them about five years old. They’d been born only a few months before the chief had bought Sankesh and Aisha.

The latter was their nanny. She helped their mother swaddle, feed, and walk them. Sometimes, she did all of it by herself, when the chief’s daughter went off to participate in the local wars. Although, according to what Sankesh had learned, it would be difficult to call them ‘wars’. In the autumn, men and women gathered in squads numbering several hundred warriors and went to the southwest, to raid the other provinces of the Empire. They returned in the winter, bringing back loot: weapons, jewelry, and grain. Grain was as valuable around here as iron and wood were in the Sea of Sand. And they also brought back prisoners, of course. They were the lowest caste in the local society. Since they’d been too weak to preserve their own freedom, they performed the hardest and most demeaning work.

Compared to them, Sankesh and Aisha lived like kings and queens. At first, he hadn’t liked the local food, cheese and butter especially, but after five years, he had gotten used to it. A slave couldn’t choose what they ate.

They’d fared better in the chief’s house than any other slave in the village. They were dressed well, not particularly burdened with hard work because there were prisoners to do that sort of thing, and because the chief occupied a dominant position. Why should he work, after all, if he managed those who did the work?

Well, cleaning pots, cooking, and watching the children and Aisha was easy enough for Sankesh. Moreover, he’d begun to feel a certain affection for the three children lately. Among these eternal snows, surrounded by the mountains and forests, he had found his peace. He’d long since accepted his new name, ‘Aril’, and rarely even thought of himself as a slave. Thoughts of escaping had ceased to haunt him four years ago.

“The first story, huh?” Sankesh-Aril pretended to think about it. The two twin boys and the little girl, looking like little balls of fur, sat in the snow and waited. “Well, alright then, here goes: It happened so long ago that neither the mountains nor the snow remember it. Back then, the North was where the South is now, and the South was where the North is today.”

“How is that possible?” One of the twins asked.

“Haven’t you heard Aril’s story about the Sun Kingdom?” The girl protested. “You always do this! First you don’t listen, and then you ask him to repeat or explain something he already talked about.”

“I just forgot about it, that’s all.” The boy sulked.

“The Sun Kingdom once stood here instead of the Icy Shield,” his brother said. “Warriors who fought sea monsters lived in that kingdom. They worshipped the Light Spirit.”

“But why is there so much snow here now?”

Sankesh, sensing that things were getting heated (the younger twin was quite absentminded, which irritated his impatient sister a lot), reminded him:

“Because it was a long time ago. Because of the wars that took place here back then, we now live among the snows, and not green meadows. In my homeland, there is only sand.”

“What’s sand?” The boy asked.

His sister rolled her eyes, “It’s yellow snow!”

“Yuck,” the twins said, “that’s gross.”

“I tried it once,” the absentminded twin said. “Ragar’s grandson and I made a bet, and I lost. Yellow snow is very yucky.”

Sankesh managed to keep a straight face, but only just. The sister was so shocked that she didn’t say anything.

“Well. As I said, it happened a long time ago. The North was-”

“We’ve heard that already,” the girl interrupted him. “Tell us about the Immortal and the gods.”

“Okay.” Sankesh smiled. Continuing to carve the figure, he began to tell the story he’d read in Rahaim’s library. “Once upon a time, there lived a wanderer. He had as many names as he did faces, and no one knew in what form or where he would appear next. Some said he was a short, handsome man, and some said he was a giant and a freak.”

“A freak,” the twins laughed, “just like Olgerd!”

They hated Ragar’s son.

“Tell us why he traveled.” The girl asked breathlessly.

Sankesh smiled again. Women…

“He lost his sweetheart a long time ago. She was a beautiful Princess from one of the ancient cities, and he was but a simple potter. They ran away to live together, but the girl was stolen by Derger-” The children immediately clanged their wrists together. Their miniature bracers rang out. Derger was revered more than any other god in the north.

“That’s right,” the girl said. “Derger is strong. He took the beautiful woman, as is his right. The potter should’ve been humble and found someone more suited to him... an ugly woman.”

Sankesh didn’t argue. He had tried to contradict the child once and remind her that, despite Derger being strong, the potter and the girl had suffered greatly because of what he’d done. Alas, Ragar had been walking by at the time. Sankesh had been whipped badly that day.

“And so, the potter went on his endless journey. He visited many places, looking for an island floating in the sky.”

“Why? Why? Why?” The boys cried.

They were rather rude. Their mother had no time to discipline them, and Aisha would’ve been beaten if she’d ever tried to teach them manners. The lashes that were meant for the nanny always punished Sankesh instead. Fortunately, this happened very rarely.

“Because one of the goddesses left an elixir there for him that, according to legend, could make him as strong as the gods, allowing him to break into the Seventh Heaven and take his beloved away from Derger. He wandered the earth for hundreds of thousands of years, trying to find this island, but he didn’t know that Derger had cast a curse on him. Even if he’d walked right past the flying island, he would’ve never seen it. While the gods can’t interfere with the lives of mortals, after the elixir was created, the Jasper Emperor allowed Derger to blind the immortal potter just to be safe.”

Sankesh finished carving the desert raven and handed it to the girl. She accepted it gratefully and hugged it to her chest. The northerners couldn’t make toys, and people from the surrounding villages sometimes came to the chief and bought Sankesh’s toys, who then received an extra portion of meat as a reward.

“The legends say that the Immortal created hundreds of toys. Just like me. He gave these toys eyes so they could help him look for the island. Alas, our world is so huge that even after hundreds of thousands of years, he couldn’t find the elixir and free his beloved. And the girl couldn’t love Derger, who then turned her into a stone as punishment.”

“How did he become an Immortal?” The absentminded boy asked. “He was just a potter, and Immortals are the strongest people alive.”

“No one knows,” Sankesh shrugged. “Some say that he devoted himself entirely to the path of cultivation, went on the most terrible and amazing adventures, and saw all the wonders of the world. Others say that it’s all just a myth, and that the potter died of grief.” Sankesh lowered his voice to a whisper. “But some, in the darkness of night, when no one is listening, claim in hushed whispers that he made a deal with the Demon Emperor himself.”

“The Demon Emperor,” the children drawled. “Who’s that?”

Sankesh was about to tell them the legend of the demons and their Lord when the door opened and Aisha appeared on the porch. By the Evening Stars, she was a vision. She had a thin waist, long, braided hair, lush breasts and hips, big, beautiful eyes, bronze skin, and high cheekbones. Back in the Sea of Sand, every sheikh and sultan would have tried to woo her.

Even here in the north, where the people had different standards of beauty, free men often gazed at her with desire.

“Come back into the house,” she called in a velvety voice. “Your grandfather is here, and he brought guests with him.”

“Grandfather!”

The children leapt to their feet and ran into the house. Sankesh followed. He paused on the porch and took Aisha’s hand in his while no one was looking at them. She responded with a smile and kissed his cheek. They had been together for two years in secret. The chief would’ve never approved of their love. In the future, when his grandchildren grew up, he was going to give Aisha to one of his neighbors as a precious gift.

Their love had only one chance — Aisha needed to have a baby. But both of them were weak practitioners. Conceiving children was always difficult for those who followed the path of cultivation. Unfortunately, the Evening Stars hadn’t blessed them with a baby.

“Is everything all right, my love?”

Aisha smiled and nodded.

“I have a good feeling about last night.” She stroked her belly tenderly.

“I’m talking about the master’s guests.”

She looked worried as she shook her head.

“I don’t know. The chief of the Snow Giant Village and his son are visiting…”

Sankesh paled. Roslar was the son of the chief of their nearest neighboring village… He’d been here twice before. Both times, Aisha had had to stay near their chief. All the surrounding villages knew that Roslar had an unhealthy obsession with bronze-skinned women.

By the Evening Stars, if Sankesh had known… If only… He would’ve taken her away at once, and they would have plunged into the snowcapped mountains together, going where even the bravest of the northerners didn’t dare venture. That way, at least a few more moments of happiness would’ve awaited them there.

Chapter 420

“HA-A-A-A-A-DJA-A-A-AR!” Sankesh roared again.

Hadjar, clutching a piece of his broken sword, stared at his opponent. The ancient flying island was crumbling all around them. It was plummeting toward the ground. The wind whistled, fluttering his clothes. At first, Hadjar thought Sankesh would attack him, but Sunshine looked like a defeated giant. The energy was oozing out of his emotional wounds. Not new ones, either, but old wounds that had suddenly reopened.

“Hadjar,” Sankesh repeated, much more quietly, “what have you done, you fool... what have you done…”

The sun was setting. Reflected by the drops of the elixir, a stray sunbeam illuminated an old slave brand on the back of Sunshine’s pale skin. Hadjar had no doubt that Sankesh had been a slave before becoming a true cultivator, which meant that… The scar wasn’t on his body, or even his soul, but somewhere deeper. It was so deeply ingrained into his very core that it had survived even Sankesh’s complete transformation.

Sankesh’s halberd fell from his limp hands. He dropped to his knees, forgetting his pride and his delusions about being the strongest, and he crawled over to the shards. He lifted them gently in his arms and rocked them like a child.

“Aisha.” He whispered.

Hadjar watched in horror as the Halberd Spirit hovering behind the strongest warrior he had ever fought cracked. Sankesh was dying. Not from physical wounds, but from wounds to his very soul. Golden energy seeped out of those wounds and flew through the air, disappearing in a shower of sparks.

***

Sankesh and Aisha went into the hall, and from there, into the dining room. The chief’s house was so large that it could comfortably accommodate his entire retinue.

The dining room was often used to host feasts, joyous occasions when the whole village would gather here, but now it was almost empty. Only a few people sat at the long table: the chief, his son and daughter-in-law, with Goonar, the chief, on one side and the guests on the other.

The chief of the Snow Giant Village was a short, skeletal old man, even by the standards of the Sea of Sand. He was leaning on a staff. He had two sons: Dokie and Roslar. Both looked like mountains made flesh — tall and broad-shouldered, with thick red beards and long ponytails with charms woven into them.

Sankesh and Aisha arrived at the very end of the conversation.

“Well, Goonar,” the old man said, “You have good grandchildren. My grandchildren will be able to do business with them in the future.”

“Thank you, Daslar, for your kind words.” The chief, despite the apparent goodwill between them, still looked tense. Everyone knew that the Snow Giant Village was three times bigger and five times stronger than Brown Bear Village. “I will gladly go with you to the eastern provinces. Your terms are acceptable, and the loot will likely be plentiful.”

“There will be more of it than you’ve ever seen, honorable chief!” Roslar shouted. “We’ll acquire so much grain and so many prisoners that we’ll feast all through the winter!”

“May the Great Warriors help us,” Dokie added, supporting his brother.

“Let’s seal the deal!”

Everyone at the table rose, struck their goblets together so that the foam from their drinks fell into everyone else’s (an ancient custom that demonstrated that the drinks weren’t poisoned), and then drained them.

Roslar, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, stared at Aisha. She instinctively backed away, hiding behind Sankesh. That only made Roslar stare at her more lustfully. Goonar noticed.

“Do you like her?” He asked.

“Yes, venerable chief. You know my passion for bronze-skinned beauties.”

Goonar grunted and nodded. He threw a quick glance at Aisha and Sankesh.

“Well, if she has a baby, it’ll be a strong slave.”

“Thank you, venerable chief,” Roslar saluted him with a wide grin.

Sankesh felt like a giant had snatched the earth from under his feet. As if in a dream, he saw Roslar leap across the table and grab the screaming and writhing Aisha in the dim reflection of a broken mirror. Sankesh clenched his fist and swung, but before he could strike, Roslar’s knee hit him in the stomach. Sankesh lost consciousness.

***

Aisha came back a week later. Weakened, looking somehow diminished, she didn’t speak to anyone for another week. During the first day of her absence, the realization of where his beloved had been taken nearly drove Sankesh mad. Only now did he fully understand the helplessness Aisha’s mother had felt. He bit the knuckles on his hands until they bled, he prayed to the gods and demons alike, he even called for his father’s help. He banged his head against the wall, hoping to have the physical pain drown out the emotional one. However, all of it was in vain.

Roslar told the chief that ‘his slave was too spoiled’ and Sankesh was whipped. He was glad when it happened. He was so lost in the agony of the physical torture that he forgot the pain in his heart.

Several months passed. They both tried to forget the horror. Goonar let them live together. However, they didn’t sleep huddled together, as before, and instead, each of them slept on their own side of the ramshackle bed.

Aisha bathed often. Very often. She cried. Then she bathed again, scrubbing her skin until it bled, and she cried some more. Sankesh bit his knuckles whenever she did that. He wanted to hug her, but every time he tried to do so, he saw Roslar caressing her smooth skin, moving his hand lower and lower... It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to Aisha. Sankesh knew that, but he couldn’t help it.

Two months later, at the end of winter, Sankesh gathered up his few possessions, which included a stolen kitchen knife, rolled them up into a makeshift bag, and slipped out into the yard. Cautiously, he dug a worn pair of snowshoes out of a snowdrift and headed for the woods. Even if he still didn’t understand how they worked, he could use them.

“Sankesh.”

He started at the sound of his name, which he hadn’t heard for so long that he’d begun to forget how it sounded outside of his own thoughts. Aisha stood behind him. Barefoot and dressed only in her nightgown, she was standing knee-deep in snow.

“Forgive me,” Sankesh whispered.

He turned around and walked away.

“I’m pregnant!” She exclaimed desperately, but he didn’t stop.

Once, long ago, they’d dreamed about having a baby girl together, and they’d agreed that they would call her Arliksha. Arla was Sankesh’s mother’s name, and Ikshan was Aisha’s mother’s name. Now, however, he couldn’t accept this baby as his own. He left the village and the silent, tearful Aisha behind.

***

Sankesh stopped keeping track of time. Every new morning, he set himself a goal — to survive until the evening, and in the evening, he would set a new goal — to live until the morning. He didn’t know the exact date, but winter had come last month.

Covered in scars and wounds, Sankesh kept trudging through the storm and darkness. He walked toward the Icy Shield, where the ancient cultivators and practitioners had lived once. Worshippers of the Sun.

In reality, he could no longer hope to get any revenge or find salvation, and so he was relying on a myth. He fought against wolves and bears, eating their raw flesh. He avoided the animals that had managed to form their cores and start walking their own, animalistic path of cultivation. His gaze hardened, becoming iron itself.

Rahaim would’ve been proud of him.

***

The following winter, after spending a year surviving alone where even true cultivators would’ve died, Sankesh reached the Icy Shield. The snowy wasteland was a kind of gateway to it. There were fragments of an ancient fortress wall in the middle of it.

Sankesh passed by them. In all that time, he never said a single word or turned back. Aisha’s image was disappearing from his memory, but he didn’t care. He had only one goal — to live until the sunset, and then, to see the dawn again.

***

Two years later, Sankesh, wandering through the mountains, fell into a crevice. He thought he was going to die that day. And he did. Sankesh died and Sunshine was born.

The crevice led into a mountain gorge where an ancient castle stood. Covered in ice and snow, it had lost its former greatness over the years. The only thing that reminded of its former glory was a hundred-foot statue of a warrior towering over the building. The man held a huge sword in his hands, the sight of which nearly killed Sankesh.

The statue seemed to contain a part of the Sword Spirit. It was barely there, but even after millions of years, it was still capable of taking the life of a weak practitioner.

It took Sankesh another six years to find a room in the ancient castle that contained records of the sun worshipper’s Techniques. Or rather, not records, but drawings on the walls. They showed a young warrior practicing different stances. A golden halberd glittered in his hands.

***

Sankesh, who had been seen as a lazy and incompetent practitioner all his life, suddenly felt a deep kinship with the Light Spirit. The secret room where a book with a meditation Technique was stored allowed him to make an improbable leap forward in his cultivation. In just a year, he, a mere practitioner at the Bodily Rivers level, was able to reach the level of a true cultivator. It was an achievement that would’ve been legendary in any era, but Sankesh didn’t care. He only wanted to follow this new path to a new life.

A short, weak practitioner entered the ancient castle, and then a giant Heaven Soldier came out. His muscles bulged like boulders. His veins stood out like steel ropes. His black hair fell to his waist. He was nearly seven feet tall. In his hands, he clutched a makeshift spear. Made of stick, rope, and a suitable stone, it was the only thing that hadn’t betrayed Sankesh over the years.

The mountains shook with an inhuman, almost bestial roar, and Sunshine set off on his return trip.

***

A few people stood at the top of the hill, and below them, two villages had gathered. The Snow Giant Village and Brown Bear Village had merged while Sankesh had been away. Although it would’ve been more accurate to say that the Snow Giant Village had gradually absorbed its ally. The smaller village didn’t like it, but... the weak could only humbly accept their fate.

The two chiefs stood in front of two people: Roslar, and a rather plain girl of high rank. She was Ragar’s daughter, the daughter of the highest-ranked warrior after the chief.

Ragar wasn’t happy about the marriage. Roslar, aside from his fondness for bronze-skinned women, was a good-looking guy. But this marriage, which the chief of the Snow Giant Village, Daslar, had demanded, looked as if Ragar had betrayed his daughter.

The girl was sad. On her wedding day, when a bride should be happy and pleasantly nervous, his daughter was grieving. Grieving for her beloved who’d fallen in the last campaign. Coincidentally or not, Roslar should have been the one safeguarding his back. He had also been the one who had carried the lover of his present bride back on his shield.

“By right of being the strongest, Roslar, in front of the Great Warriors and Derger, marries young Ragneda! If there are any here who oppose this alliance, who can challenge the right of Roslar, speak now or forever hold your tongue!”

There was a second of silence. The onlookers began to hoot and congratulate the newlyweds when a terrifying roar sounded, filled with such power and strength that the snow shook under the northerners’ feet, and birds quickly flew away.

“I’m against it!”

A giant came up to them. His bronze skin shone in the sunlight. On the right side of his body, bloody wounds from fangs and claws glistened. It looked as if the warrior had only recently won a terrible battle against a huge beast. Even in this weather, wearing almost nothing, he didn’t feel cold. Unarmored, wearing only his bracers and trousers, he held a makeshift spear in his hands.

“Who are you?” Roslar asked. “Who dares challenge me? Give me your name!”

The stranger looked around, making even the bravest warriors tremble.

“I was once called Sankesh, son of Rahaim, the sultan of the Sea of Sand. You know me as Aril, Goonar’s slave. But from this day onward, I’ll be called Sunshine! The man who will burn the whole world down and erect a new one atop its ashes!”

“Aril...” everyone whispered.

“You miserable wretch!” Roslar roared. “A mere slave dares to challenge me? I don’t know what kind of miracle happened to you and turned you into an actual warrior, but if you think you’re strong enough to fight me, I’ll be glad to help you relearn your place!”

Roslar drew his battle axes and roared:

“Giant’s Body!”

As a practitioner at the Transformation stage, Roslar, after using the Technique after which their village was named, could grow five times larger. Now a thirty-foot giant stood in front of Sankesh.

“Look at me, slave!” He laughed. “Can you think of anything else I could make enormous?”

Sankesh roared. His aura of a Heaven Soldier surged out. He pushed off from the stone and charged his foe.

***

Sankesh was sitting on Roslar’s corpse. The snow was red with blood. No residents of the Snow Giant Village had left the celebration alive. Neither had Goonar. Sankesh had killed him after Roslar, for he had given Aisha to him.

“Sunshine.” Ragar came up to Sankesh and saluted. “What are your-”

“Where is she?”

“Where’s who?”

“Where’s Aisha?”

Sankesh’s eyes flashed with fury, and all the warriors staggered away. Even Ragar, who was on the verge of becoming a true cultivator himself, backed away.

“Don’t you know, Sunshine? She’s dead. She died a long time ago, in childbirth. She gave birth to a girl! She begged me to name her Arliksha…”

Ragar said something else, but Sankesh didn’t hear him. He had died twice before: the first time was when Rahaim had betrayed him. The second — when Roslar had taken Aisha. And now, he had just died a third time.

The sun was rising in the east. He’d lived to see another dawn. He had succeeded. However, he no longer knew what he was even fighting for.

Chapter 421

“Aisha,” Sankesh repeated, clutching the shards. “What have you done, Dragon?”

Hadjar didn’t understand what was happening. Why had this gigantic, terrifying man suddenly become so small? Sankesh’s skin turned gray. He was withering like a trampled flower, his death imminent.

“You’ve devoured my sun, Hadjar. My Aisha.” Tears rolled down Sankesh’s cheeks. “All I ever wanted, Hadjar… All I wanted was to create a new world. The world of the strong. A world where no one is weak. If no one is weak, no one can be abused and belittled. No one can take anything away from anyone. There’d be no lies. No deception. A world of equals. A world of the truly happy. A world where no one can separate lovers…”

Sankesh turned suddenly to Hadjar.

“Oh, now I see it,” his voice trembled, “now I see…”

The Shadow of the Immortal had told him that there were two ways for a true cultivator to perish: by being defeated in a deadly battle, or when their path was destroyed, causing their spirit to crack and die.

Sankesh’s path, the way to his goal, was broken. And now he was fading, and so was the flickering spirit behind him. They were both going back to the World River.

“Turn around, Dragon. Darkness itself stands behind you!”

Hadjar turned, but saw no one there but the silent Serra. When he turned back, Sankesh was gone. The shards of the crystal fell to the floor with a clatter. They rolled away from the golden halberd buried in the ground.

“Okay, we’ll sort that weirdness out later,” Hadjar jumped to his feet and grabbed Serra. “Run.”

The island was crumbling. Huge chunks of rock tore from the floor under them and fell into the abyss. Hadjar, standing on the edge of one such break, could see the white expanse beneath them. It was approaching fast. When they crossed the cloud line, they would have no chance of escape.

At the entrance to the library, Hadjar had seen a kind of flying machine. It was too broken and old to actually fly, but it would be possible to glide down in it.

After only two steps, Hadjar realized that his hand was clutching air. Serra had remained where she was.

“I’m sorry, Hadjar,” she tried to smile, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t go with you.”

“What nonsense is this?” Hadjar ran to the girl. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. Anything you want to tell me, you can tell me after we get down.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and spread her palm to strike Hadjar in the chest.

Hadjar felt a titanic power. It dragged him through a narrow tube of something invisible but indestructible. His vision blurred, and he struggled to inhale some of the air that had been knocked out of his lungs.

When Hadjar disappeared from the square, Serra turned and walked over to the halberd. The island was collapsing all around her. The stones began to flash. The ancient tree caught fire, lava flowed out the buildings. Serra sat quietly beside the weapon. You needed the Key not just to enter, but also to leave.

“I’m sorry, little brother.” She picked up a shard of the crystal. There was still a drop of the elixir on it. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

She blew on it and it disappeared. She closed her eyes and spread her arms, smiling:

“I’ve always wanted to fly.”

A moment later, the island, after breaking through the clouds, exploded into a myriad of huge stone fragments. They rained down on the desert.

***

Hadjar regained consciousness because something was biting his leg. Opening his eyes, he beheaded some animal — a mixture of a crocodile and a jackal — with a wave of his hand. The beast had been trying to break through his skin to get to the meat, but its fangs were unable to penetrate the skin of a true cultivator.

“What the-”

As was custom, Hadjar didn’t get to finish speaking. The clouds above his head were pierced by thousands of fiery meteoroids. Trailing black smoke behind them, they raced toward the horizon.

“Serra…”

At that moment, Hadjar felt a small, yellow drop appear inside his spatial ring.

“Forgive me, Hadjar,” she said. Hadjar didn’t look around. This sensation was familiar to him. The Shadows of the past had also spoken to him like this. “I’m not a mortal. I’m the Key. I exist to let people in and to then let them out. And now I had to let the past go... The people who created me died a long time ago, and I’m going after them. To the past. I’m glad I got to meet so many good people before I had to leave.”

Hadjar stared at the fiery comets in silence. The wind ruffled his ragged trousers, and he was still clutching a fragment of Mountain Wind.

“Rahaim never believed in fate. He thought that he could change mine. Because of that, he lost his wife and son. I know life was unfair to Sankesh. Please don’t blame him for anything. Just remember his story and his mistakes, and when the time comes, and trust me, it will, don’t repeat them.”

Sankesh’s life flashed through Hadjar’s mind. From the moment he’d seen his father’s blank, uncaring gaze, to the moment Ragar had told him Aisha had died.

“Please,” Serra’s voice was almost inaudible now, “say goodbye to Rahaim for Sankesh and me. We’ll wait for him. His time will come soon enough.”

Hadjar frowned.

“Why does life enjoy giving me impossible tasks?”

He saw the sultan of the Pearl of the Sands once again, standing on the battlements. There were only a few strands of gray in his hair. Not much time had passed for a true cultivator — only a few centuries — but Rahaim had died a gray-haired, withered old man. The sultan who had sacrificed his son for a golem’s sake. The man who had created a huge library in order to change the fate of a remnant of an ancient civilization. Why had he done all of that?

A flash of insight struck Hadjar. All the mysteries and secrets that had plagued him and Einen during their journey were finally revealed. It really was that simple…

Cracking his neck, Hadjar turned and started walking toward Underworld City.

Chapter 422

Einen and the others found him three weeks later. As a true cultivator, Hadjar had no particular need for food or water. He could just absorb energy from the World River. Still, he was glad to see some familiar faces and drink some cold water.

He was less glad about Einen hitting him in the left and then in the right eye. He also learned that the islander could swear just as well as Nero in his prime. Well, that actually made sense, as Einen had been to many ports in his life.

When he’d advanced to the level of a true cultivator, the blue amulet had disappeared from Hadjar’s hand, which scared the witches and sorcerer. However, Hadjar had no intention of taking revenge.

After a month’s journey spent listening to the old man’s stories and eating the boy’s tasteless meals, they reached the entrance to Underworld City. The huge mountain dominated the sandy expanse. The way up was easier and more interesting than the descent. Tilis and Karissa cleared a small area at the foot of the mountain. Beneath the sand was a slab of granite covered in ancient runes that glowed faintly. Powering the runes with a small amount of their energy, the witches created a powerful stream of wind. It was strong enough to carry an adult all the way to the high peak.

It was Hadjar’s second time looking at this mountain peak. It looked like the mouth of some creature (most likely a bird), but the artistry no longer inspired much awe in him.

“By the Evening Stars, all of you made it back!”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to see Paris waiting for them at the entrance. He looked exactly the same as he had on the day they’d departed.

“We-”

“Take me to the Sage,” Hadjar interrupted him. “Immediately.”

Paris didn’t miss the fact that Hadjar didn’t have his blue amulet anymore, or his new aura of a Heaven Soldier.

“I remember our bargain, Northerner. The Sage himself came out to greet you.”

Paris stepped aside and an old man emerged from the shadows.

Einen immediately took a step back and readied his staff-spear. Hadjar just attacked. Leaving behind a dozen afterimages, he reached the Sage in an instant and punched him in the jaw. He hit him with all he had, using all his energy. The shockwave that spread outward after the punch shattered the rocks around them. Huge boulders rained down. Paris and the others, except Einen, were thrown to the floor.

“What the hell-”

An imperious wave of the old man’s hand interrupted Ramukhan.

“I’m glad to see you too, Mad General.”

The Sage, the leader of Underworld City, the strongest cultivator in the Sea of Sand, a Lord, looked exactly like Rahaim had on the day he’d been killed by Arliksha. Or rather, when she’d killed his golem. The real Rahaim had been born thousands of years before his son could’ve ever imagined.

***

They sat in a secluded room. Rahaim was smoking a hookah. He wore a blue caftan and yellow trousers. A small, sandy pond separated them.

“I couldn’t help it, Mad General.” Rahaim’s voice was the same as his golem’s had been. “When my wife died, I couldn’t stay in the Pearl any longer, so I came here, to the city my thirst for knowledge had long ago led me to.”

It was just as Hadjar had suspected. Rahaim was tens of thousands of years old. He’d begun his search for the library of Mage City back when Lidus had been a mere village. True cultivators lived long lives. Very long lives…

Born in the Pearl, he’d explored every corner of the Sea of Sand until he’d found Underworld City. He’d then become a personal disciple of the Sage at that time, and had even succeeded him after the man’s death. Despite being a Lord, he fell in love with a mere mortal, and he took her back to the Pearl, where they lived happily for half a century. She was able to become a practitioner at the Bodily Rivers level, but that wasn’t enough to save her. She became ill, and even he, a Lord, couldn’t cure her.

“After she died, I left a golem-clone behind to take my place. It was of the highest quality that the Empire could produce. I gave him three orders: take care of Serra, Sankesh, and gather information about the library.”

Rahaim exhaled some smoke, and it took the forms of a dragon, knights, and even the sun.

“I had a vision that one day, a dragon would come and devour the sun. I thought it had something to do with Serra and her homeland, but the girl always told me I was wrong…”

Hadjar sat across from the man whose son he had killed. However, he didn’t feel at all guilty. If anything, Rahaim was the one responsible for his death.

“I see that you condemn me for my actions... Maybe you’re right to do so. I’m a fool. I didn’t realize that a golem, no matter how good it was, was only a poor copy. At a critical moment, he made the wrong choice.”

“But you could’ve gone after him! You were a Lord. Your power was enough-”

“Enough to do what, Darkhan?” Rahaim’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a Lord, but I’m only at the initial stage. My life is coming to an end. In the Empire, I might not be seen as cannon fodder, but the rumors you’ve heard are all false, Hadjar. Just to give you a little insight into how vast this world truly is — in the Empire, a Lord at the initial stage is held in the same esteem as a senior officer is in Lidus.”

That bit of news didn’t really shock Hadjar, it only confirmed his assumptions.

“But enough about me. You’ve come here to learn about the true path of cultivation, and I’m ready to teach it to you.”

The Sage held out his index finger, and before Hadjar could react, a flash of light shot through his mind. He suddenly saw himself floating above the World River. It suffused everything: matter, all of the ephemeral existences, such as the soul, space, or even time. It was truly omnipresent.

Suddenly, Hadjar realized that he had simply been absorbing the bestowed energy all this time. However, if the World River truly was one with everything, it was part of him as well, and instead of just absorbing and using it from within, he could control its external manifestations as well.

Hadjar waved his hand, trying to form a stream of wind in front of him, but immediately experienced such a searing pain that he instantly passed out. It took five minutes for him to regain consciousness.

“I thought as much,” Rahaim said. “The first time I saw you in person, here in the Pit, I felt an imbalance in your spirit. I don’t know when it happened or why, but your soul, Hadjar, is not whole. The fact that you became a true cultivator before you had knowledge of the true path only added to it. I’m afraid you’re incapable of using the true path of cultivation.”

“The true path,” Hadjar snorted, rubbing the back of his head. “Fuck that shit!”

“I understand your skepticism,” the Sage smiled. “Those who begin cultivating with inner energy are always outwardly stronger than those who use the outer energy. But I’ll tell you this much: only one who merges the two energies, combining both paths, can reach the level of the Lord. That’s why we’re called Lords, we are masters of our own power, not borrowing it or limited by it.”

Hadjar was upset. The Lord level seemed like an unattainable pinnacle to him right now, but in his heart, he hoped that, one day, he would be able to…

“Don’t despair.” The Sage picked up a stick and a jug. He poured water on the sand, and then traced a winding path in the muddy sand. “Sometimes, the one who follows a new path reaches the goal earlier than the one who follows the well-trodden route.” He moved the stick a second time, drawing a straight line that brought the water to its destination much sooner than the winding one.

“What do you mean, Rahaim?”

“There are no legends in this world, and believe me, I know a lot of them, but even so... there are no legends that tell of a man with an incomplete soul.”

Well, Hadjar wasn’t one to boast about his uniqueness. Especially when that uniqueness was akin to a disability.

“Thanks for the lesson.” Hadjar nodded and got up.

“Stay, General. Become my disciple. Together, we can-”

“No thanks,” Hadjar said curtly, “I don’t respect you.”

Rahaim’s eyes flashed for a moment, but then his anger turned into resignation.

“And yet, I haven’t fulfilled our bargain. A reward has been promised in exchange for your adventure.”

Hadjar had no doubt that the medallion which Ramukhan had never taken off and had given to Paris as soon as they’d arrived was a spatial artifact. According to Einen, he’d been unconscious long enough for the sorcerer and the witches to delve into the books and scrolls. Shakh kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t spoken to them at all in the two months they’d spent in Underworld City.

“I know you’re looking for information about the Land of the Immortals.”

Hadjar arched his right eyebrow.

“Paris told me what books you took. Don’t blame him. He acted on my direct order. I also know you want to join a school in the Empire. I’ve lived a long life, Hadjar, a very long life, and I’ve have managed to cultivate many good acquaintances. Among them is a master at the ‘Holy Sky’ school. It’s the best school in the Empire. It’s located in the capital. I’m sure you’ll find information about the Land of the Immortals there. After all, their library is so vast that even the library of Mage City seems insignificant in comparison.”

“Thank you.”

“I could write you a letter of recommendation, but, alas, they are very strict about who they will accept into the school. Only those who have reached the level of a true cultivator before the age of sixteen are eligible to take part in the examination.”

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. Without a recommendation letter, he would only be allowed to take part in the examination of ordinary disciples. But with it, it was possible to become a disciple of the inner circle.

“Well, write two letters, then, for me and Einen.”

With those parting words, he turned and walked away. He knew the islander had a secret as well. His inhuman, purple eyes were definitely a sign of something more lurking beneath the surface. Passing the age test wouldn’t be much of a problem for either of them.

***

Dora Marnil, the daughter of the Patriarch of the ‘Green Hammer’ sect, watched in amazement as two men played in the mud, right in front of the gates of the Empire’s most famous school.

It was finally raining after four dry months in the Empire. People were glad to see the rain, but still hid under canopies and umbrellas. Only these two strangers were running around in the mud and kicking a leather ball around like a pair of lunatics. Both were bronze-skinned, but they weren’t desert dwellers, rather, they were too tanned. One was bald, with narrow eyes, and the other had a handsome face and black hair with talismans woven into it. They rejoiced in the rain and rolled around in the mud, laughing.

Dora turned away. It was disgusting! Why weren’t the guards doing anything? Suddenly, she felt somebody’s gaze on her. The one with the black hair was staring at her.

“What’s the matter?” Einen asked Hadjar.

“By the High Heavens, is that an elf?”

“I’m surprised you’ve even heard of them, my friend.”

[System notification! The neural network has finished rebooting! Would you like to update the interface?]

Note from the author

Hello, guys !

About one quarter of the way is completed. The 2nd big arc is closed. There were lots of heroes and plenty of deaths.

Hadjar had built his character and trained his mind. Anyway, it’s only the beginning of a lifelong story.

Please, leave a review under the 5th book, it’s very important for me. I’ll be waiting for your feedback.

I do hope you like my series and will follow Hadjar adventures further.

The 6th book is already opened for the PRE-ORDER.

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