Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2021-01-07 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Light Novel; Martial Arts
Description: His name is Hadjar Darkhan, and he still follows the call of his dragon heart. The War Games ended a few months ago, and the various generals of Darnassus, led by the Emperor, realized that just the disciples of the best martial arts Schools and even the smaller, lesser schools wouldn’t be able to strengthen the Darnassian Army enough to prepare it for what was coming. A war was on the horizon, and every weapon would matter, so losing even the most inexperienced warriors was an unthinkable prospect. The Empire had never prepared for battle on such a massive scale before. They’d gathered tens o

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Land of Pain

Book IX

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2021 Kirill Klevanski

All rights reserved.

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

Translated by Julia Kharkova, Sanja Gajin

Edited by Damir Isovic

Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko

Cover designed by Julia Jdanova

Illustrations by Valery Spitsyn

Prologue

Hello all!

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

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

9 books are translated into English and released.

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

BOOK 9: LAND OF PAIN

Hello folks!!!!

Thanks a lot for your reading! Your reviews, warm words, and your money, all that really give great help and make the translation faster and better!

Writing books is not the easiest work I've ever done. The Muse used to be rather capricious and there occurred that the days passed by and I couldn't but write a word. In such moments I reread your reviews and it used to help much) Not always my lazy ass is so sentimental, but... lol))

Thank you for everything! It's very pleasant to know your attitude and your emotions! That's great!

Thank you for following the series and my story! I appreciate it very much!

After finishing the book welcome to my Patreon and get extra chapters!

Have a pleasant reading!

Chapter 735

On this particular day, Dahanatan, the capital of the Darnassus Empire, was so crowded that it looked more like an anthill than the majestic center of the country’s power. People from all corners of the country had flocked to it. Representatives of various tribes, kingdoms, sects, clans, and schools had all gathered for the occasion.

The dark-skinned inhabitants of the Sea of Sand, wearing white robes, grumbled about the ‘cold’ weather of the Empire’s capital.

Next to them stood the golden-haired Northerners, dressed in furs cinched with belts made from tanned leather. They came from lands where the temperature was never above zero, and where water could only be obtained by melting ice. The conditions there were so harsh that they never saw a single blade of green grass, regardless of the season.

The almost sallow islanders with coal-black hair and slanted eyes were also present. Their vision was said to be better than a falcon’s. They could pick out the smallest of details from their surroundings and maneuver through crowds without so much as touching anyone with the hems of their flowing and colorful robes.

So many people had come to Dahanatan that there weren’t enough inns and taverns for everyone, so a huge tent city had been erected around the capital, which stretched out so far in every direction it almost reached the horizon.

“Hurry up!” Shouted the officer standing at the Ape Gates.

There were eleven gates that led to the capital. The Ape Gates, which were decorated with depictions of the animal they’d been named after, were the largest of them. At least 140,000 people came into the city through these gates every day.

A soldier noticed a little boy dressed in rags and waved his hand, lifting him into the air. With an effort of will, the mid-stage Spirit Knight set him down in front of him. Shouts of anger and annoyance came from the queue. People were impatient to get into the city, and now, because of some brat, they would have to wait even longer.

“Break his neck!”

“Feed him to the dogs!”

The guard dogs, all of them capable of killing a high-stage practitioner, growled. The boy’s lower lip began to tremble. Tears came to his eyes.

“What should I do, sir?” The guard asked the officer.

According to the law, anyone who tried to get past the gates illegally was to be punished with five lashes. Not so long ago, ordinary practitioners had stood at the gates. Their lashes would’ve probably left the boy bedridden for a few weeks. But these days, Spirit Knights guarded the gates. This was due to their Empire’s escalating conflict with Lascan. Even just one hit from them would send the boy to his forefathers.

“You know the law,” the officer sighed sadly.

His entire career and hard-earned rank were at stake. He couldn’t risk the welfare of his family for the sake of one boy. In his opinion, the boy was just a reckless child, not a criminal. But he had no other choice. With a heavy sigh, he took the designated stick and handed it to the soldier. The others moved away from him at once. No one wanted to get their hands dirty with the boy’s blood.

“Sir,” the soldier pleaded. “Please, sir…”

“That’s an order, soldier!” The officer snapped. “Or are you looking to disobey His Imperial Majesty’s decree?”

The soldier immediately stood at attention and saluted.

“Sir! No, sir!” He shouted and grabbed the stick.

The officer sighed and turned away. He looked up at the sky, at the thousands of flying boats, rafts, as well as commercial and private skyships. If the ground was guarded by garrisons and stone walls, the sky was protected by the Imperial Sky Fleet that had surrounded the city. These vessels also transported the most important and prominent guests.

“Such is the law,” he repeated to himself, hoping to soothe his conscience and take his mind off the depressing events that were about to take place.

He didn’t understand what the boy was even guilty of. Many came here because they wanted to become ‘real warriors’… Hell, he himself had been a simple practitioner not too long ago, but a war was coming. And so was the end of their peaceful, ordinary lives.

After the War Games that had ended a few months ago, the generals and the Emperor had realized that relying on just the disciples of martial arts Schools wouldn’t be enough to strengthen the army. That’s when they’d decided to think on a larger scale. All sorts of alchemical pills had been given to the general population in hopes of boosting their cultivation enough for them to join the army. As a result, the country had received an influx of tens of thousands of Spirit Knights and hundreds of thousands of Heaven Soldiers. Although, if the officer were honest with himself, he felt like Darnassus had ‘gained’ a horde of lemmings and not a bunch of powerful warriors with that move.

He glanced sideways at the soldier — a Spirit Knight at the initial stage. He, like hundreds of his comrades, had been granted the Fire Rooster Spirit. Because of this, they’d never be able to break through to the middle stage. They’d all sold their true fates and their ability to grow stronger for the Fire Rooster Pill, which was a terrible concoction. By ingesting this kind of pill, a Heaven Soldier would instantly awaken a Spirit and advance to the Spirit Knight level, but their Spirit wouldn’t be unique. All those who’d gained power through the use of that pill had the same exact Spirit.

“Sorry, kid,” the soldier whispered, “I’m just following orders.”

The officer turned away. He didn’t want to see the boy turn into a bloody mess. The soldier, who’d only become a Spirit Knight recently, couldn’t control his power yet. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to spare the boy.

However, no screams came, only utter silence. The officer turned around and drew his broadsword. A tall man stepped forward out of the queue. It was impossible to see his face or insignia, as his body was hidden by a robe, and his face by a wide-brimmed hood, which was so long that it almost touched his chin, completely covering his face.

The soldier was now lying on the ground and fighting for air. The man’s willpower was holding him down.

The officer reached for his signal amulet and froze in place.

“The boy’s with me,” the hooded man said.

Several Imperial coins landed at the officer’s feet with a melodic clatter. It was a far larger sum than what it normally took to get into the capital. The man, with the frightened boy clinging to his leg, passed through the archway undisturbed. As the officer watched this monster go, he wondered how strong the man had to be in order to bind a Spirit Knight with his will alone. One of the beasts just like him would claim victory in the Tournament of the Twelve. Ordinary cultivators simply couldn’t compare.

“Move!” The officer shouted. “Get back to work! All of you! You can’t come in without paying the entrance fee!”

The queue started moving through the gates once more.

Chapter 736

“Sir! Excuse me, sir!” The boy scurried around the dark, hooded figure. Despite the fact that the street was crowded, there was always a ring of empty space around the strange man. People seemed to be instinctively avoiding him. “Why did you save me, sir?”

There was no answer.

“Sir!” The boy persisted. “Please, tell me how I can repay you! If you want, I can show you where the best-”

“I haven’t been to the capital in a long time,” the man said quietly. “You smelled of this city. That’s why I helped you.”

“A long time?” The boy asked. “So, you need a guide, don’t you? Then you were right to help me. I, Maurice, am the best guide in the entire city!”

“And how did its best guide end up outside the city walls?”

“I… I... I...” the boy hesitated for a moment, and then, after looking around to make sure that no one was listening to them, whispered softly, “I sometimes smuggle Lavender Powder into the city.”

Lavender Powder was in high demand in brothels. Even some Spirit Knights used the drug to experience ultimate bliss. Various thugs employed boys like Maurice to import illegal substances into the capital.

“You almost got caught.”

“No, I didn’t! I knew that a kind soul would save me!”

The hooded figure froze abruptly. The wind whipped up his black robe, and it looked to the boy like a huge, black bird was spreading its wings behind the man.

“I’m not kind,” he said, sounding a little sad. “I just need your help.”

“O-okay,” the boy stammered.

Over the years he’d spent trying to survive the unfriendly streets of the capital, he’d learned to recognize people that he needed to fear. This man was one of them.

“Tell me about everything that’s happened in the capital in the past two years,” the stranger said and continued walking.

“O-okay.” Maurice nodded. “Where to start...? Have you ever heard of the Wastelands?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should also know that, two years ago, disciples from all over the Empire went there to… Look out!” The boy was about to push the man aside but… A huge, sixteen-legged reptile that hermits usually rode turned away from the man so abruptly that its riders almost fell off. The beast clearly looked frightened. Maurice couldn’t believe his eyes.

“To do what?” The stranger asked.

“What? Ah!” He gasped, coming back to his senses. “Well, they went to look for the tomb of Emperor Decater and all his countless treasures, but something went wrong. During the search, the Demon gates opened and countless hordes of monsters-”

“Countless hordes?”

“Yep!” The boy tried to spread his arms out to demonstrate how big these hordes had been, but then realized that he wasn’t wide enough. “More than there are hairs on my body!”

The man chuckled, making Maurice pout.

“I have hair in places other than my head!” He insisted.

“I’m sure you do.” The stranger agreed mockingly. “What happened next?”

“It was a slaughter! The kind bards sing about and minstrels reenact in performances. There are rumors about a dark swordsman who led the frightened soldiers into battle. However, the fight didn’t last long. The warriors fell asleep, and when they awoke, the demons had disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“POOF! Gone. Vanished into thin air!”

“Do the bards sing about that bit?”

“They don’t.” The boy smiled. “It’s not fun.”

The man chuckled again.

“And what about the dark swordsman?”

“Who? Ah! Him! Well, they say that the great swordsman Orune took him in as a disciple. They supposedly went to the Storm Mountain. But that was a long time ago. Maybe they died.”

“Died…” The man repeated sadly. “What happened next?”

They’d just taken a turn into the busiest street yet. A huge crowd of people had lined up to enter the arena. The elongated, oblong structure could easily accommodate 350,000 spectators. Twenty thousand participants could all fight on its golden sands at once. This was the arena where The Tournament of the Twelve would take place.

“Then came the War Games,” the boy said. “Ten thousand of the best disciples from all the Schools took part in them. Many of them became famous throughout the country.”

“Like…?”

“Well, for example, Galkhad of the Eternal Mountain clan. He killed a personal disciple of ‘The Holy Sky” School with just one attack, earning himself a lot of Glory points. He was even able to buy an Imperial level meditation Technique!”

“How long ago was this?”

The boy thought about it and started counting on his fingers.

“Well, about seven months ago. Since then, he’s retreated to his clan’s homeland and no one has heard anything about him or seen him since.”

The man kept walking through the crowd. People moved aside to let him pass. The sight was both fascinating and frightening…

“What else can you tell me?”

“Well, the most prominent figure at the Games was a commoner. We were so proud-” The boy immediately shut up. He didn’t know whether the stranger was a nobleman or not. “His name is Einen the Islander.”

“And what did this Einen the Islander do?”

“Well, he singlehandedly fought his way into an enemy fort, captured it, and then held it for a week while the other disciples rushed to help him. The Games weren’t held all that far from Dahanatan, so I even caught a glimpse of the show.”

“What happened to him after that?”

The boy shrugged.

“No one has heard from him for two months now. They say he often visits the elven clan. The senior heiress, Dora Marnil, likes him. And he seems fond of her too. They’re sometimes seen together.”

“Dora Marnil? And what did she accomplish?”

The boy shrugged again.

“She just participated in the Games and then went back to her clan. The Games ended six months ago. Things have been quiet ever since. Everyone’s preparing for the Tournament. So, it’s kind of difficult to estimate who’s strong and who’s weak.”

The man turned to the boy. Maurice swallowed and lowered his head.

“You seem to be pretty good at it, though.”

“I am! I even made some bets! I would advise you to do the same. You’ll earn a lot. I’ll win a bunch of money and buy a meditation Technique, and then I’ll become a disciple! Maybe even a disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. One day, I’ll be famous and strong too!”

The man held out his hand. The boy closed his eyes, expecting to get slapped for his boldness, but received a pat on the head instead.

“I hope you do just that, Maurice.”

He placed a small bag in the boy’s hands and disappeared into the crowd that was heading into the arena. The entrance fee was 500 Imperial coins. The only other way to enter was by registering as a participant.

“Wow…”

Maurice looked inside the bag. There were almost thirty Imperial coins inside! A real fortune to someone like him. He immediately hid the bag in his rags and ducked into an alley. He knew perfectly well which roofs would give him a great view of what was happening in the arena.

Chapter 737

By noon, the stands were filled to the brim. 350,000 people waited with baited breath. Not everyone could afford to watch this spectacle. After all, the Tournament of the Twelve was held very rarely. It was simply too complicated to organize even though it benefited both the people and the treasury. The tickets alone had made a profit of 175 million Imperial coins! That was almost eight percent of Dahanatan’s annual income. Many experts estimated that the revenue would be almost a quarter of a billion Imperial coins.

One by one, the cultivators gathered on the sands of the arena. They’d come from all corners of the world — from the plains in the south all the way to the icy north. However, they all wielded great power. Most of them were Spirit Knights, but some were Heaven Soldiers. There were even a couple of Lords.

The only restriction was that the participants couldn’t be older than thirty. No one had ever tried to argue against this rule, silly at it might’ve seemed to some, because it had been in place since the very inception of the Tournament. Aside from that, neither gender nor creed mattered in this arena.

When all the participating cultivators had gathered, the drums began to beat, announcing the beginning of the spectacle. The heavy doors of the arena that the future contenders would enter through began to open. The Tournament was supposed to start at noon, and anyone who arrived late would lose their only chance to compete for the prize.

“Look, it’s the senior heir of the Predatory Blades clan.”

“Holy shit! When did that squirt become a mid-stage Lord?”

“How is he a squirt? He knows an Imperial level Technique!”

“Ha! Look over there! It’s Galkhad of the Eternal Mountain clan! And his older brother. One of them can fight a Lord on equal terms, and the other — a Nameless!”

The spectators discussed their favorite fighters and made bets. The lion’s share of the attention was paid to the representatives of the seven great clans: House Tarez, House Geran, the Eternal Mountain clan, the Predatory Blades clan, the Green Hammer clan, the Poison Ivy clan, and the Sky Wind clan.

“I don’t believe it... They’re actually here!”

“By the demons and gods! I didn’t think I’d ever get to see them again!”

“You idiots! No Tournament of the Twelve is complete without them!”

Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the two groups of cultivators that stood slightly apart from the rest.

The people in the first group were wearing blue robes with gold belts. Their faces were decorated with blue tattoos. Some tattoos were smaller than others, but none were as amazing or as prominent as the crescent moon tattoos that began above the brow and ended at the cheekbone. The other tattoos didn’t even reach all the way up to the temple or down to the person’s cheek, which meant that the people who had such tattoos were of a lower social status than the rest. The Moonlight sect was one of two isolated sects that didn’t interfere with the Empire’s affairs. Rumors claimed that its members were as powerful as the disciples of the three best Schools: the ‘Quick Dream’, the ‘Meltwater’, and ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

However, there weren’t many School tokens glittering in the sun right now. All the nobles who studied at a School had taken off their tokens and replaced them with their clans’ coat of arms. A handful of commoner disciples were all the Schools had to represent them.

The second group, clad in crimson from head to toe, with shaved heads and long earrings, were members of the Last Day sect, the richer and more powerful of the two isolated sects. Everyone claimed that they possessed both vast knowledge and wealth.

“Fucking cultists,” someone in the audience spat. “Will you be sitting on your mountains and in your gorges when the war comes?”

“Get out of here!”

“You aren’t welcome here!”

“Upstarts and impostors, the lot of you!”

“Where were you when Dahanatan was attacked?”

None of their insults seemed to bother the sect’s members at all.

Maurice, who’d climbed up to the roof of one of the sky ports, watched the proceedings. Many other street rats and beggars had already gathered here. Munching on some apples, they were all set to enjoy the spectacle.

“Where are you? Where…?” Maurice whispered, searching for his savior. He grinned upon spotting the familiar, hooded figure. “There you are! Good luck!”

And then everything went quiet. The drums and trumpets stopped. The curtain on the stage that had been placed in the center of the arena parted. The rooftop audience stopped enjoying their snacks, almost choking on them. This was the first, and probably last time they would ever get to see the strongest and most powerful man in all of Darnassus ― the Emperor himself!

He was a man who looked to be in his forties, with a strong, square chin, prominent cheekbones, a low forehead, thick eyebrows, and a grim cast to his features. The left half of his hair was as white as snow, and the right half as dark as a moonless night. In the center of his forehead was a scarlet tattoo that looked like both a hieroglyph and a serpent. He was dressed in red robes with a wide and long train. Two swords were tucked into his belt — one with a white hilt, the other with a black one.

“I’m happy to welcome you, my loyal subjects, to the hundredth anniversary of the Tournament of the Twelve!” His voice thundered across the arena and seemed to echo throughout the entire capital as well. “Today, on the first day of the competition, we’ll have the honor of seeing the best of the younger generations. Let’s welcome our brave heroes and the future of this country!”

The audience burst into applause.

“Gods bless the Emperor!” The participants exclaimed in unison.

“Before we start, I’d like to welcome our special guests!”

On the stage with him were a dozen other people. He began to introduce them one by one. Each person was greeted by applause. Seven of them were the Heads of the great clans. Two of them were the Heads of the two isolated sects.

“The ambassador of the Chaverie Empire!” The Emperor introduced a tall, thin man. He waved to the crowd and bowed to the Emperor.

“The ambassador of the Gazargaz Empire!”

The fat, sweaty, bald old man didn’t even try to get up from his comfortable chair. He just bowed.

There were five ambassadors in total. The ambassador from the Lascan Empire wasn’t present, as a war between the two Empires was inevitable.

“Now I’d like to say a few words about the awards. As this is the hundredth anniversary of the Tournament, they’ll be greater than ever before. The third place winner will be allowed to visit the Treasury and take one Divine level artifact!”

The audience greeted these news with loud shouts and applause. In the previous Tournaments, such a legendary and priceless reward had only been given to the winner of the whole Tournament.

“The runner up will be rewarded with an ancient meditation Technique. With its help, the lucky cultivator will be able to reach the Nameless level!”

This time, there was no shouting from the stands, only whispers. Such a Technique was worth more than the entirety of the military fleet that was currently looming above Darnassus!

“And the one who wins the Tournament will be awarded the highest honor possible…” The Emperor turned toward the only figure that hadn’t been introduced and... bowed his head slightly. The arena fell silent. It seemed like the whole capital went quiet. Who was this man if the Emperor himself was bowing his head to him?

“It is my privilege to introduce to you all a cultivator whose power and wisdom extend far beyond anything that exists in the seven Empires. The winner will receive the great honor of becoming his disciple.”

Everyone tried their best to get a good look at the man sitting on the Emperor’s right. However, there was nothing remarkable about him. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore commoner clothes. He had no jewelry on him, or any other decorations, save for a rather strange hat, and his pupils were snakelike.

“Let the Tournament of the Twelve begin!”

Chapter 738

The drums started beating as the gates standing opposite the contestants opened. The heavy bars, each as thick as an adult’s wrist, slid back into the stone walls.

Maurice stared at the people streaming out of the darkness of the corridor. Men and women clad in white robes, varying in everything from level of power to height, came out.

One by one, they lined up in front of the fighters. Their heads held high, they looked at them with blank stares. These people were the judges. There was one judge per every thousand applicants, and one extra judge.

An old man stepped out from the group of assembled judges. His skin was leathery and he was hunched over, leaning on a twisted, wooden cane, but his gaze was as hard as a rock. He seemed like he would’ve fallen over without the support of the cane, and yet, it also looked like a formidable weapon in his hands.

“Honorable applicants!” His voice was as loud as the Emperor’s had been. “What you see before you are the Power Stones.”

The ground shook. The cultivators, realizing what was about to happen, began to form groups of a hundred people each.

Three hundred podiums, just enough to fit all the groups, began to rise out of the sand under them.

The old man tapped the ground lightly with his cane. The noise produced by this simple action was heard even on the outskirts of the capital.

“This is the first round. It’ll weed out those among you who came here out of curiosity and don’t have the power required to make it further. I hope there are few among you who get eliminated like this.”

The cultivators turned to the old man.

“Thank you, honorable rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School!” They thundered in unison and bowed.

The boy nearly choked on the apple he was eating.

“What the fuck!” Someone exclaimed in shock. “I thought he’d be, like, a young and buff dude.”

“Me too,” sighed a statuesque girl. “I thought he’d be more handsome.”

Maurice returned to watching the arena.

“This round is the simplest of them all.” The old man nodded to one of the judges, who held out his hands and whispered something. He was a member of the ‘Poison Ivy’ clan, the best alchemists in all of Darnassus.

The ground shook again, and black stones began to crawl out of it. They absorbed the sunlight and created a veil of darkness around them. “These Power Stones are able to absorb energy. Our talented artifactors further refined them so that they can show us the level of power said energy has.”

That same judge went over to the nearest Stone and slapped it lightly with his hand. It flashed with green light, which then dispersed inside it.

“The artifacts you see in front of you are designed to display a level of power that exceeds or is within the parameters of the Spirit Knight level. A green light is the weakest. After that comes blue. Purple represents the peak stage of the Spirit Knight level. Red is the initial stage of the Lord level. Orange and brown are levels of power that are difficult to define within the Lord level itself.”

The judge, drawing a curved saber, sent a wave of energy toward the Stone nearest to him. Maurice, who was almost half a mile away, felt something grip his heart tightly. Wincing, he grabbed his aching chest.

The energy wave wrapped around the Stone and then disappeared within it. It flashed red for a few seconds, and then turned black again.

Some of the spectators applauded, while others expressed their dissatisfaction with this judge.

“In order to advance to the next round, you need to make the Power Stone light up with a blue light. You have only a single attempt.” The old man turned to the Emperor and bowed his head slightly. He was one of the few people who had earned the right to not be as subservient with him as others had to be. The Emperor, seated on a rich throne in the center of the stage, nodded back.

“With the blessings of the gods, let us begin the first round of the Tournament of the Twelve!”

The old man struck the sand with his cane, sending forth a wave of energy that swept across the entire arena. It was so powerful that some of the spectators covered their eyes and ears. Maurice, even at such a great distance, tightened his grip on the sky port’s spire. The girl next to him nearly tumbled off the roof, but was caught in time by one of the other guys.

“Thank you,” she smiled and snuggled up to her savior. “Can I repay you somehow? A kiss, maybe?”

The young man swallowed noisily and nodded to the accompaniment of laughter. Maurice snorted, bit into his apple, and continued to watch the Tournament.

The old man stepped aside and sat down on a simple stool. It looked weird compared to the Emperor’s throne and the luxurious chairs upon which the clan Heads, ambassadors, and various sect leaders sat.

“Look, look!” the spectators shouted. “It’s Torvald the Bear. They say he traversed the entirety of the northern lands alone, fighting Ice Spirits and Frost Golem Giants.”

“I’ve heard of him. He’s a true warrior of the North. He alone is worth three advanced-stage Spirit Knights.”

The largest man Maurice had ever seen stepped forward from one of the groups.

“Maybe he has a bit of Eternal Mountain clan blood in him?” The spectators laughed.

The blacksmiths of the Eternal Mountain clan were descendants of the ancient and long-extinct race of giants. Thanks to their blood, they could grow to be up to nine feet tall. Not to mention the fact that their muscles were as strong as the

stone of the mountains they’d come from.

This scarred, golden-haired, and blue-eyed warrior was at least eight feet tall. He was broad-shouldered and well built. In his strong hands, he held a war axe, the preferred weapon of the Eternal Mountain clan.

When the northerner, wrapped in his furs, stepped forward in front of the other cultivators, his Spirit instantly formed behind him — a huge bear encased in crystalline armor.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a mixture of a Beast Spirit and a Weapon Spirit.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“It’s very rare.”

“I’m three hundred years old, and I’ve never heard of it... The world of martial arts truly is amazing and boundless.”

Torvald the Bear swung his axe and then lowered it in front of him. A white stream of energy froze a part of the arena. A pair of bear paws appeared out of thin air and slashed at the artifact. The audience waited with bated breath and then burst into laughter. The Stone had flashed with a barely noticeable blue glow.

Torvald stared at the Stone in shock. After he recalled his Spirit, he stared at his own hands and axe, clearly surprised.

“You pass.” One of the judges jotted down a couple of notes on a long scroll. “But if you value your life, I would advise you to withdraw from the competition.”

Torvald the Bear muttered something under his breath and moved to the side of the arena that had been fenced off in preparation for the second round.

Chapter 739

After Torvald left, the rest of the cultivators, most of which were Spirit Knights, lined up to test their abilities. Summoning a wide variety of Spirits, ranging from simple Beast Spirits all the way to Hieroglyphic Spirits, they caused a real stir among the spectators, judges, and the Heads of the clans.

Surprisingly, a lot of them didn’t manage to make the Stones glow with even a pale blue light. Some failures became rather famous due to how spectacularly they’d crashed and burned. For example, the archer Tuleps, who’d fought in many conflicts along the border with Lasсan. With just a single shot, he’d been able to hit a dozen opponents all at once. But despite his Falcon Spirit’s help, he still failed to make the stone flash blue. To make things even more humiliating, the artifact had emitted no light at all when he’d struck it.

The archer had left the arena with his head bowed. The spectators, to his surprise, had seen him off not with laughter or jeers, but with shouts of support and encouragement to become stronger. The people’s attitude toward the soldiers and cultivators who fought on the border had recently changed. They were respected for risking their lives for the sake of all of them and the Empire itself.

One of the central figures of the Tournament stepped forward from the group farthest from the boy. The man was known to many in the capital as he was the senior heir of the Predatory Blades clan.

“By the demons and gods, it’s Laris Dinos!”

“Wait, wasn’t he an initial-stage Lord not too long ago?”

“He was.”

“But he’s a mid-stage Lord now!”

“I wonder how much his rapid progress cost his father... He advanced from the initial to the middle stage in just six months.”

“He had to put two of the clan’s frigates up for sale, remember?”

“Damn! Two whole frigates sacrificed for the sake of his son’s advancement… The previous Head would’ve never done something so frivolous…”

“Shut up!” The other man put his hand over his friend’s mouth. “Or do you want to go missing on your way back to the inn?”

Maurice knew that even mentioning the previous Predatory Blades clan Head in a way that so much as hinted that he’d been better in any way than the current one could cause a person to disappear without a trace.

Laris Dinos was tall, slim, and dressed in clothes so expensive that a piece of such fine cloth could be sold for enough coin to keep an entire village fed for years. His every movement, every turn of his beautiful head, even the swaying of his carefully groomed, pale blonde hair, exuded a sense of dignity. He was like a being from another world, like a sculpture come to life. Flawlessly attractive and noble.

The stands were filled with dreamy sighs.

“I’d pay good money for a night with him…” A girl sighed.

“I’m afraid,” One of the guys near her grinned at her, “that you don’t have that much coin to spare.”

The girl ignored his comment and continued to stare at the young man.

“He lost to the Tarez heir, didn’t he?”

“He did. Where is that Tarez boy, has anyone seen him?”

Hearing people talking about the Tarez heir, Laris stumbled a little. However, he quickly pulled himself together.

Standing in front of a Stone, he lazily swung his sword. It had a long, narrow blade and no crossguard. Maurice had heard somewhere that these kinds of swords were more difficult to fence with, but that their attacks were faster and their penetrating power greater.

The Stone flashed a bright blue and went out.

“He’s smart,” someone in the stands said. “He doesn’t want to show off in front of his future opponents.”

“Do you think that’s what the rector meant when he said-”

“-that the trial isn’t so simple? Probably.”

Maurice was slowly beginning to understand what was happening. Seemingly straightforward at first glance, the trial actually concealed a lot of dangers. The participants could pretend to be weaker than they actually were. Maybe Torvald hadn’t shown off his strongest attack after all.

Laris definitely didn’t want his future opponents to know what they could expect from him in advance.

“Look, isn’t that Bolivar from the Eternal Mountain clan?” Someone asked, pointing at a nine-foot-tall young man. His shoulders were so broad that Maurice doubted he could pass through any doorway without turning sideways first. He held a huge, heavy hammer. His legs were like stone columns.

Approaching a Stone, he turned to Dinos.

“Laris! Aren’t you too weak for this Tournament? Why don’t you go and play with your cousins?”

Laris turned red with anger.

“Well, aren’t you just full of yourself, Bolivar?” He hissed. “Compensating for something?”

“You’re the one compensating!” The giant laughed loudly.

Without waiting for an answer, he struck the Power Stone with one hand, without even looking at it or summoning his Spirit. The spectators gasped in awe. The wave of power his strike unleashed dug a deep hole in the sand and the artifact shone with a bright, orange light.

“Fucking hell!”

“I’ve heard stories about the power of the Eternal Mountain clan’s warriors, but this is just…”

The judges calmed the audience with a couple of spells and sent the snickering giant ahead to the next zone.

“She’s so beautiful…”

“The daughter of the Head of the Sky Wind clan is far more beautiful.”

“However, very few can compare to her in terms of power.”

“You seem to be forgetting about the sectarians, the military, and those who have lived in seclusion all these years. Maybe we’ll see more geniuses today.”

“But she’s a genius even amongst geniuses!”

Anise Dinos, once the senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan, now just a servant of her younger brother, Tom Dinos, came forward. She was dressed in a simple black skirt and a tight blouse that showed off her toned stomach and back. A golden chain adorned with emeralds glittered in her hair. She wielded a blade similar to the one her cousin had used.

Standing in front of a Stone, she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her sharp eyes turned toward the podium, where her uncle was sitting. Without saying a word, she removed her hand from the hilt of her blade and turned away, heading for the next zone.

“Wait, miss, you-” the judge said and took a step toward her. As soon as he moved, the crowd gasped. The Stone trembled and began to crumble. There were deep scratches all along its surface. Forming a complex pattern, they intertwined and divided into several smaller ones. Maurice couldn’t even count how many slashes she’d managed to deliver in the blink of an eye.

“They say Anise Dinos acquired one of Emperor Decater’s treasures in the Wastelands,” someone whispered.

“Without a doubt, she’s one of the favorites in this Tournament.”

Maurice wasn’t paying attention to the whispers and conversations around him. He watched the hooded man as he approached the Stone.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Show them what you’ve got.

Chapter 740

The strange man pulled back his hood and drew a sword with an obsidian blade.

“It can’t be…”

“Is it really him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard of him?”

“Who is he?”

“He’s the swordsman that wears armor made of black fog and wields a sword that can devour souls. They say he fought alongside the orcs in the Lascanian steppes, and then led our warriors into battle against a demon horde. He then became a disciple of the great swordsman Orune. The two of them went to the Storm Mountain years go.”

“Bullshit!”

While the other spectators continued to whisper excitedly, Maurice had his eyes glued to the arena.

“Do it! Please, do it!”

***

“Your niece is a marvelous warrior, my old friend.” The Emperor turned to the Head of the Predatory Blades clan and spoke with a smile.

“Thank you, my Emperor,” he bowed, “for flattering my family so greatly.”

But he was thinking:

Fucking monster... It would’ve been better if you’d died during that military campaign in the Dragon Lands! We could’ve chosen another Emperor, one who wouldn’t have bowed his head to those beasts!

He glanced at the man the Emperor had introduced as a great Master. In fact, he was the assistant Minister in charge of the Darnassus Empire, sent from the Dragon Lands. A creature that could fight on equal terms with any of the cultivators sitting on this podium. He wasn’t human, he only wore the guise of one. He was a demonic reptile…

The dragon, sensing someone’s gaze on him, turned to the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. One glance from those amber, snakelike eyes was enough to make the swordsman reach for his weapon. Fortunately, he managed to pull himself together in time and stop.

“No need to thank me,” the Emperor said with a wide, warm smile. “Your family has always been renowned for its talented swordsmen.”

But he was actually thinking: Kinslayer scum... How far are you willing to go for power? I’ve dealt with dozens of scumbags like you. Just try it and I’ll destroy the Predatory Blades clan and fashion myself a new cup from your skull.

“What an interesting young man,” the dragon ‘Master’ suddenly said.

His unexpected remark drew the attention of everyone on the podium.

“Are you referring to the young man in black, venerable Master?” The elven King asked, surprising everyone, as he normally preferred to stay silent.

The dragon didn’t respond, his eyes focused on the young man in the black robe that had already lowered his sword.

***

A flash of black light split the sky, and the boy almost fell off the roof. Despite that, he was happy to see his friend and savior in action.

The attack confirmed everyone’s suspicions that he was, indeed, Orune’s disciple and the black swordsman who’d become famous by performing heroic deeds a few years ago.

“He probably doesn’t want to show off his abilities,” someone said.

The bright blue light gradually faded.

“Probably, yeah.”

“After all, he is Orune’s disciple. And you know that everyone says that he’s the greatest swordsman to ever live. Even the Emperor-”

The man’s friend silenced him before he could finish that sentence.

“Are you out of your damned mind?” he hissed and let go of his friend’s mouth. “You mustn’t talk about the Imperial family!”

“Ahem, you’re right,” he said and lowered his voice. “Also, isn’t it customary for the Emperor’s heir to participate in the Tournament? Do you see him anywhere?”

“No one except the aristocracy knows how he looks. We won’t know if he’s here until the very end…”

“Him and his sister both…”

“What?”

“I’ve heard that she also decided to try her luck.”

“Does she still think that she has a chance to claim the throne?”

“Seems like it.”

“What an idiot,” the man snorted. “An Empress? No Empire has ever been led by an Empress before.”

“You’re not wrong,” his friend agreed. “But you know the law: the strongest descendant gets to claim the throne. She’s isn’t willing to just walk away from it.”

“If she succeeds, I’ll move to Lascan! Even if I have to be a slave! I won’t bow to some wench, Imperial blood or not!”

“Idiot!”

The Tournament went on. Some participants were disqualified, others begged the judges to give them another chance, but most managed to make their Stone glow blue. No one had managed to make it glow brown. Moreover, Anise’s record remained unbroken until the end.

The spectators talked about how no one but Anise had dared show what they were truly capable of, while others claimed that Anise had simply decided to remind everyone she existed with her little stunt. Someone had even called it ‘a middle finger to her beloved uncle’. Everyone had immediately moved away from the man and he’d soon… disappeared.

After several hours filled with flashes from a variety of Techniques and attacks, the radiance of many Spirits, and the energies of thousands of cultivators, the first round came to an end.

Of the thirty thousand initial participants, there were about twenty-six thousand left. As the old rector had said, the first round was simply there to weed out the weakest of the fighters. It also served as a way for people to admire their favorites once again. Among them was the hero of all the commoners in the capital, Einen the Islander. He’d made a Stone flash blue with a simple thrust of his spear-staff.

“I hereby announce the end of the first round.”

The rector tapped his cane against the sand and the Stones sank back into the ground. The judges quickly put everything in order and summoned magic hieroglyphs that formed a dome above the arena.

“The second round will mark the end of the first day of the Tournament,” the old man said. “It’ll cut your numbers in half. All of you have been given the number of your arena. Your next task is to defeat your randomly assigned opponent.”

Three hundred miniature arenas had been erected during the small pause between the two rounds. Six hundred cultivators went up the stairs, passed under the dome, and stood opposite each other. Maurice’s savior was among them.

“Come on... Show him what you’ve got!” He shouted.

As soon as the gong signaled the beginning of their fight, the hooded man drew his strange sword and swung.

“Dark Sword Strike!”

A raging stream of black energy surged out of his blade. Whizzing through the air, it formed a dragon’s maw and struck his opponent. A dragon made of smoke engulfed the figure, and the stands erupted in applause.

“Interesting,” the ‘Master’ said.

The smoke dragon continued to rage. It was so powerful that it forced the magic hieroglyphs to flash brighter and imbue the shield around them with more power. Then everything stilled. The black dragon was gone, the hieroglyphs faded, and the stands fell silent.

In the center of the recent storm, the strange man that was his opponent stood completely unharmed, his arms crossed over his bare chest. His robes were old and simple, mended a thousand times, but still clean. The scars that adorned his tanned skin were old but spoke of terrible battles and great danger. A round, black tattoo covered the left side of his chest, reaching all the way to his forearm. His right arm was completely covered with a scarlet tattoo. Hundreds of ancient symbols fused together, creating a pattern that no one could recognize. His hair, as black as his blade, was adorned with feathers and ornaments that swayed gently in the wind.

“You… should… be… dead!” The hooded man wheezed out.

“Well, there were times when I thought I was…” The other man’s azure eyes flashed with a bright light.

A ghostly copy of the man’s obsidian blade formed in the air. With a single swing, it punted his opponent out of the arena.

The judge raised a red flag.

“The winner is Hadjar Darkhan of ‘The Holy Sky’ School!”

“Hadjar Darkhan?” The crowd gasped, unable to believe their eyes or ears. “Isn’t that the name of Orune’s disciple?”

Hadjar was already descending the steps, where Einen the Islander was waiting for him. The two friends hugged each other tightly and disappeared into the crowd together.

Maurice couldn’t comprehend what he’d just witnessed.

“Darkhan? Well, well… Another descendant,” the dragon whispered and smiled.

Chapter 741

The ‘Sun Stone’ was considered to be the second best restaurant in the city, right after the ‘Heaven’s Pond’, which had been destroyed by the Raven sect’s assassins years ago. The fanatics, all of them descended from the first Darkhan, had obliterated the place during their attempt to get rid of several important nobles. Many cultivators hadn’t survived that night, including Price Geran…

“Waitress!” Hadjar shouted. A pretty girl of about sixteen rushed over to him. She was so young and so full of life…

Hadjar shook his head. Fucking Orune…

“What would you like to order, honorable disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School?” The girl bowed low. Her deep cleavage revealed two amazing…

Cursing himself mentally, Hadjar placed his order.

“I’ll have a wild boar steak, some rabbit stew, a bowl of meat soup, two bottles of your finest wine, a few loaves of bread, and something for dessert as well.”

The girl nodded.

“And what can I get for you, honorable Einen the Islander?”

“A cup of tea, please.”

“Coming right up.” The girl bowed again. Hadjar stared at the stucco ceiling of the room they were sitting in. “Your order will be ready in half an hour.”

With that, she backed up and left their room, sliding the paper doors closed behind her.

With a sigh of relief, Hadjar leaned over the railing and looked down at the first floor. The restaurant, despite its obviously inflated prices (ten Imperial coins for meat soup!), was full.

The patrons, in accordance with the law, had left their weapons in a special niche at the entrance, which was now packed full of a wide variety of spears, bows, hammers, axes, sabers, broadswords, and so on. Those who were rich enough to afford spatial rings didn’t dine on the first floor.

“You look a lot like him now.”

Hadjar shuddered and looked back at Einen.

“Like who?”

“Like Or-”

Hadjar covered his friend’s mouth before he could finish that thought. He drew the Black Blade and pointed it at the door. They remained like this for almost five seconds, until Hadjar, with a sigh of relief, dismissed the sword and returned to the railing.

Einen was surprised to see actual fear in his friend’s eyes. As far as he could remember, Hadjar Darkhan hadn’t been afraid of anybody or anything.

“Don’t say his name,” Hadjar whispered. “By the High Heavens, don’t even think it. If he comes here now-”

Einen couldn’t help but laugh. His laughter was so loud that the paper walls shook.

“Are you laughing at me?” Hadjar said. “You haven’t seen me for two years and now you’re laughing at my misfortune…”

“Sorry, sorry,” Einen said. “It’s just... A little strange to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

Einen examined his friend again. He’d become more muscular, but he was still nowhere near the absurd musculature that the members of the Eternal Mountain clan had. He looked like someone who’d trained to survive rather than to show off their physique. His very presence oozed danger. Even in a relaxed state, his aura warned everyone nearby not to approach the slumbering beast, lest they feel its claws.

Even his gaze had become impressive. His azure eyes seemed capable of picking up on even the slightest of movements. It would be impossible to approach him without being noticed.

Overall, he looked like a coiled beast that was ready to pounce. Underneath his scarred skin lay a dangerous predator, one hungry for blood but still aware of the norms of the human society it had decided to live in.

“You’ve changed,” Einen said.

Hadjar glanced at his friend.

“Two years have passed and you’re still bald.”

“Well, at least you still behave like a barbarian.”

Hadjar smiled wryly and flipped him off. Einen responded with a calm nod, as if he hadn’t expected anything else from Hadjar.

“Look, it’s Einen the Islander.” Someone shouted.

“No, it can’t be… Wait, that’s definitely him.”

“I want to drink with him!”

Upon hearing this, Hadjar looked at Einen, who just waved his hand without turning his head. It was a simple gesture, but it contained enough energy, will, and even some mysteries to make a magic hieroglyph appear on the window. In a split second, it formed a thick membrane through which no sound or light could pass.

Hadjar touched it gently with the tip of his finger. It resisted. Judging by its thickness, it would probably be able to withstand an attack from a Heaven Soldier.

“I take it back, my emotional friend.” Hadjar whistled. “You’ve definitely changed.”

Einen shook his head and smiled.

“As have you, my rational friend.”

Hadjar sat down and leaned back against the pillows, stretching out his legs. They were as scarred as his torso.

“Has that happened to you before?”

Einen raised an eyebrow.

Hadjar let out a sigh of relief.

At least something hadn’t changed in the two years he’d spent on that fucking Storm Mountain with fucking Orune.

“Something changing, you mean? Well, I did go through puberty once… A lot of weird changes happened back then...”

Hadjar choked on air. Had Einen actually learned how to joke around while he’d been gone?

“No, I’m talking about copycats.”

“Oh, that…” Einen muttered, sounding a little bored. “During the time I spent with Dora,” Hadjar noted the slight change to his tone when he mentioned her name, “There were two of them. One wanted to take out a loan using my name, and the other imitated me in order to accept invitations to dinner.”

Hadjar whistled again. It was a stupid habit that had stuck with him because of that fucking Orune — may the most diseased of hobos love him in various poses!

“You have it far worse than me,” Einen said with a snicker in his voice. “Even I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

“It would take me days to list all of their shenanigans. Here are some highlights instead: one took out a loan of twenty thousand Imperial coins. He was executed recently, by the way. A second almost married the daughter of a fairly famous noble family.”

“Holy shit…”

“They were all either weak Heaven Soldiers or simple practitioners. Only the one who showed up for the Tournament looked convincing. By the Great Turtle, Hadjar, I almost believed him myself…”

Hadjar suddenly frowned and got serious. Einen straightened up.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Did you hide Ana’Bree’s Core?”

Einen nodded.

“That’s good. Because this copycat... He came here for a reason. He came for you. I don’t know what his plan was, but he wanted to lure you out.”

“For me? But-”

Einen noticed that Hadjar’s spatial ring was different from the one Dora had given him.

“Dead Moon?” Einen asked.

Hadjar nodded.

“They haven’t given up on trying to find the Core and-”

Hadjar abruptly turned his head toward the entrance. He sniffed the air and caught a whiff of someone’s scent. Even a Lord wouldn’t have picked it out amongst the whirlwind of aromas that had filled the restaurant. But they clearly hadn’t spent the past two years on the Storm Mountain in the company of a maniac.

Hadjar reacted instantly. He was in the corridor before Einen could even get his weapon out of his spatial artifact.

When the islander exited the room, the Black Blade was already at Anise’s throat. Next to her stood Dora and Tom.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you to your forefathers,” Hadjar growled.

“Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”

Hadjar turned toward the booming voice and saw Galkhad standing behind him. He swore. This situation brought him back to his first day on that fucking mountain.

Chapter 742

Hadjar opened his eyes to find himself standing atop a high mountain. Beneath him was an ocean of green interspersed with high mountain peaks. The pressure that surrounded him made it hard to breathe. His vision blurred. He felt as if someone had stuck him in a cave with an angry monster that could devour him without any effort, which was, in turn, being guarded by a dozen more such monsters just waiting for their turn. Orune spoke up:

“Welcome to Storm Mountain, my disciple. Here, you will either finish my two-year training course or,” he smiled, “die.”

Hadjar started cursing. He stopped… eventually.

“I need to get back to Dahanatan. My-”

“So, you want to go back to the capital?” Orune interrupted him.

“I do.”

Hadjar had expected to hear anything from threats to persuasion attempts in response, so he was surprised when Orune just shrugged.

“No problem,” he said. “My disciple… Fuck... That’s still so odd to say…”

Hadjar shuddered. Only Traves had called him that before.

“Are you just letting me go?”

“I’m not going to keep you here by force. You’re my disciple, Hadjar Darkhan, not a prisoner. You can go if you so choose.”

“Thank you,” Hadjar said and turned around.

In front of him stood forests, other, lesser mountains, rivers, and gorges, all of which radiated such danger that his heart stopped for a second.

“Which way is the capital?”

“Good question.” Orune pretended to ponder it. “Let me show you.”

Hadjar growled in annoyance. He’d known that there’d be a catch. Noticing Orune’s wide grin, he realized that he wouldn’t be allowed to just walk off the mountain.

“But I can’t just let you go, either.”

“What do you want?” Hadjar asked and let out a heavy sigh.

Orune took a few steps back. Tall and lean, he looked like a predator ready to pounce. Strong and free. He was like a sword. Not the kind that’s worn at receptions, decorated with various precious stones and engravings, the kind that had never seen real battle, but a simple soldier’s sword, worn and covered with the blood of one’s enemies.

“Wound me.”

“What?” Hadjar asked, confused.

“Are you deaf, my disciple? Grab your sword and use your best attack on me.” Orune looked completely calm and relaxed despite asking to be hurt. “Your power should be enough to harm me. If you can squeeze even a drop of blood out of me, I’ll show you where the capital is. Hell, I’ll take you there myself.”

He grinned again. Standing in his plain canvas trousers, naked from the waist up, covered in scars and tattoos, he looked far more dangerous than anyone else Hadjar had ever met, except maybe the Immortals, Helmer, and the Black General.

“You’d better-”

White lightning came down from the sky and enveloped Orune. When the dust settled, he was gone. Only his voice echoed faintly in Hadjar’s ears.

“Three days to the north. You’ll find a mountain plateau and a cave. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

Hadjar blinked a few times and then swore under his breath.

“Fucking bastard,” he said, unaware of the fact that this would soon become his mantra.

He summoned his Call, expecting to breathe easier once he was wrapped in it. The pressure loosened its grip on him slightly, but not by much. He felt as if his power had been cut in half.

In order to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he turned to the neural network. He was still wary of using technology he didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t grow accustomed to it or understand it better unless he used it more, so... After what that guardian had told him about fear and the warrior’s path, he’d come to the conclusion that it’d be unwise to give up on what was essentially a part of him.

“Analyze the location.”

[Analyzing…

Analysis completed.

Displaying info…]

Name

Storm Mountain

Location

unknown

Danger Level

critical

Survival Rate

14.762%

Ambient Energy’s Pressure Level

immense

Reduction of the Host’s Abilities

42.62%

The message caused him to swear up a storm.

“All right, let’s get this over with…”

Crouching down, he ran his hand over the ground, sniffed the air, and listened for any distant sounds.

No matter how far the great swordsman had stranded him, no matter how many stories he’d been told about this place, no matter what creatures lived here, at the end of the day, these were still an ordinary mountain and an ordinary forest. The hunters from the Valley of Streams had taught him how to navigate any forest. Choosing a direction, Hadjar began his descent.

If he only knew how wrong he was…

***

“Because if you do, I’ll kill you.”

“Big talk, Galkhad.”

Hadjar’s heart was pounding furiously. He went through all the possible scenarios in his head. After two years spent on that accursed mountain, he had no idea what his ‘friends’ were capable of. But even so, if he managed to disable Anise, then…

It suddenly dawned on him. He turned to Einen.

“You invited them here,” he whispered in surprise.

The islander had put away his spear-staff. He was sitting on the pillows and looking at the ground.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have come.”

“What? What can we possibly talk to them about? If you don’t remember, they almost crippled us!”

Einen opened his inhuman, purple eyes ever so slightly.

“I remember that well, my friend. But they paid for it already.”

Hadjar looked at Dora. She’d always worn blouses with a deep neckline. And now she was wearing a shirt with a tight collar. He recalled the sight of that arrow piercing her chest...

He dismissed the Black Blade and went back into the room.

“You have one minute to convince me to help you.”

“What makes you think we need your help, commoner?” Tom growled.

“What makes you think I want to help the likes of you?”

“We’re planning a coup. Against our clan,” Anise suddenly said.

Chapter 743

When the waitress, along with five other waiters, came back to the room to deliver their order, she stumbled. The atmosphere was so tense that you could cut it with a knife. Moreover, she’d never seen so many famous people in one place before.

There were the Dinos siblings, who were still breathing only because they’d been noticed by the Emperor; the elven King’s daughter, Dora Marnil, whose beauty had been lauded in many songs; Einen the Islander, the hero of all commoners; and Galkhad, the junior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan.

But the most outstanding person had to be the one whose name and face she didn’t even know. She felt like she was looking at a beast, not a human being. Her heart started beating faster and she struggled to take a breath.

“Are you going to stare at us all day or do your job?” Tom asked rather rudely.

“I beg your pardon, honorable guests,” she said, coming to her senses. With her gaze glued to the floor, she hurried out of the room.

Hadjar watched her go.

If it hadn’t been for Einen’s request, he would’ve turned Tom into a smear of blood on the walls for his behavior. He was sure that he was strong enough to defeat him. Well, the Tom from two years ago, at least.

When the waiters left, Einen made several gestures with his hands and muttered something under his breath. The door and the windows were now covered by a thin but strong veil of energy. No sound could enter or leave this room.

Breathing in the exquisite smell of the food that had been brought to them, Hadjar almost choked on his own saliva.

After two years spent on that fucking mountain, where fucking Orune had fed him all sorts of garbage, he was happy to finally get to indulge… except he couldn’t even do that because of these fucking aristocrats and their bloody talking.

Tom uncorked a bottle of wine and poured each of them a glass. “Now that we’re all here, I think we should all take an oath.”

His suggestion made sense. Discussing a coup, especially against a clan as powerful as the Predatory Blades, could send them all to their forefathers and start a civil war. Without any complaints or backtalk, they all made an oath never to disclose any plans they heard in this room.

“For starters-”

“For starters,” Hadjar interrupted Tom. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he tore off a large chunk of the roast boar with his teeth and swallowed it without chewing. By the gods, it was the best thing he’d ever eaten in his life. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

“A conspiracy,” Galkhad said, putting his arm around Anise’s shoulders. She looked tiny compared to him. “To kill the current Head of the Predatory Blades clan.”

Hadjar nodded. The sight of the two of them together caused him no pain. He had realized long ago that he’d been lying to himself about there being something between him and Anise.

“Why do you want to kill him?”

“He ruined all of our lives.”

“You’ve tried to ruin my life, Tom. But here you are, drinking wine, very much alive.”

Tom placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The Black Blade appeared in Hadjar’s hands. The atmosphere grew even more tense.

“Enough already!” Anise said.

Hadjar recalled how she’d damaged a Power Stone during the first trial. Unfortunately, he and Einen hadn’t watched her second trial as they’d gone ahead to the tavern.

She had damaged a Power Stone!

The judges had said nothing about the lack of color following her attack. Then again, since it had been broken, the Stone hadn’t been able to show it. It was clear to everyone that it took far more power to damage the artifact than to make it light up with a brown light. Anise was strong. Very strong. He would’ve liked to fight her again.

“As soon as the Tournament is over,” she continued, “our uncle will use all of his power to destroy everyone present. Believe me, Hadjar, he’ll do it.”

Hadjar didn’t doubt it. Each of the seven clans wielded as much power as the Imperial family itself. The only difference between them was that the Imperial family had access to the ancient Inheritance that made the Emperor an Emperor.

“I don’t doubt that he’d be able to kill you, Tom, Einen, and me. We have no strong backers. But Galkhad-”

“I fell out of favor with my father when I got involved with Anise.” The giant hugged the girl more tightly. “And considering the fact that he has ten other sons, he won’t be too upset. Perhaps he’ll even see this as beneficial for the clan.”

“But-”

Dora put her hand on Einen’s. He squeezed it gently.

Fucking hell…

“People don’t know this yet, but I’m no longer the senior heiress of House Marnil, Hadjar.” There wasn’t even a hint of regret in her voice. “That title went to my sister.”

“Still, I don’t believe your father would just stand idly by and watch the Head of the Predatory Blades clan kill you.”

“He wouldn’t.” Dora nodded. “He’d make the most of it, as a King should. Of course, that still wouldn’t…”

Dora paused and emptied her glass. She didn’t dare let go of Einen’s hand.

“We wouldn’t be asking for your help if we had a choice, Hadjar,” Tom said. “Our clan has a lot of sword Techniques. We have several styles as well, and…” Biting his lip, he fell silent.

Hadjar nodded. He still remembered Orune’s words. By the gods, it was as if the man was in his head.

“If you went back in time and became a mortal again... Maybe then you would’ve been able to advance beyond the Sword Kingdom one day. But... You only look healthy, Hadjar. In reality, your Core... You’re gradually eroding. The lack of proper education at the beginning of your cultivation will ruin you one day.”

To prevent that from happening, Hadjar had to load the neural network with as many sword styles as possible. Tom’s offer was looking rather tempting…

“Why now?” Hadjar asked.

“The Tournament,” Einen said. “There’s no better time. Everyone’s focused on it.”

“Including the Emperor and the laws. Anyone who draws their weapon in the capital during the Tournament will be executed.”

Purple, inhuman eyes flashed.

“Anyone who gets caught.”

***

Their conversation lasted until the early morning hours. When Hadjar stepped out onto the street to follow Einen and Dora back home, he saw a familiar scarlet light in a dark alley. Telling his friend not to wait for him, he turned the corner.

And even though he knew who’d be waiting for him there, he was still disappointed. It was Helmer. He hadn’t changed at all in the past two years.

“Hadji,” the demon drawled with a grin. “You’ve changed a lot.”

“You don’t say? How perceptive of you. Honestly, Helmer, I don’t have time for your bullshit. I remember our agreement about the Tarez. Anything else?”

Their agreement was one of the reasons why Hadjar had come to this Tournament in the first place. As he turned away, Helmer called out to him.

“You’re being hunted.”

“I can deal with the Dead Moon clan myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, Hadjar,” Helmer sounded unusually serious. “But I’m afraid your luck has finally run out.”

“How come?”

“The one looking for you… Neither Orune nor the Emperor can protect you from him. Heed my advice and trust no one but your sword, Hadjar. Don’t trust the dragons. Minister Ju is already in Darnassus.”

Chapter 744

Only a day had passed since Hadjar had returned to Dahanatan, and he’d already encountered his copycat sent by the Dead Moon clan, had been dragged into plotting a coup against one of the seven great clans of the Empire, and now Helmer was standing before him, telling him about some Minister Ju.

“Why are you so worried about me, Helmer?”

“Because I’m a good businessman, you idiot. I’m trying to protect my investments. The Tarez problem won’t solve itself.”

“Why don’t you just use your fancy toys on them?” Hadjar pointed at the scarlet sphere in the demon’s hand. “It’ll kill them in the blink of an eye and-”

In the darkness, Helmer’s eye, the one that wasn’t covered by his wide-brimmed hat, flashed with a bright light.

“Don’t try to play tricks on me, Hadjar.” The shadows seemed to thicken, forming different shapes. “You’ve yet to fulfill your part of our deal. And you owe me.”

“I remember,” Hadjar responded calmly. “But don’t threaten me, demon.”

The Black Blade appeared in his hand. The pooling shadows instantly fell apart, as if cut to ribbons by an invisible blade. It was as if the mere act of him summoning his weapon had made the shadows change their mind and leave.

Light gradually returned to the alleyway.

Helmer chuckled.

“You’ve gotten stronger, Hadjar. Much stronger… But if you think that’ll be enough to survive Minister Ju, you’re dead wrong.”

The Black Blade disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“Who is this Minister Ju?”

The red eye flashed once again with the same intensity and fury from before. However, the darkness didn’t come to life this time, nor did it seek to overpower Hadjar. Helmer must’ve realized that his little trick, which was the most that the laws of the Heavens and the Earth would allow him to do, wouldn’t affect Hadjar.

“He’s one of the rulers of the Dragon Lands.”

Hadjar’s expression remained the same, but his body tensed, ready for battle…

Fucking Orune!

But even if he was ready for a battle, he still couldn’t win if the forces arrayed against him were on a whole different level. A dragon Minister? He was a creature that had most likely witnessed the fall of the Hundred Kingdoms. And the power he wielded probably appeared limitless to the inhabitants of the seven Empires.

“What does he want from me?”

“You aren’t afraid.” Helmer’s voice was growing less human by the second and his figure was gradually blurring. His cloak turned into something like wings. “You fool. He can destroy Dahanatan with ease. To him, you’re lower than dirt.”

“Shouldn’t such a creature be restricted-”

“Idiot! I’ve already told you not to rely on those laws, you foolish boy! Darnassus is nothing more than a vassal of the Dragon Lands. And a ruler has the right to control the fate of their vassals. Ju can raise an army to destroy Darnassus if he so pleases, and the laws of the Heavens and the Earth wouldn’t be able to do jack shit about it. Because that’s his right. Because this is his property and the property of his ruler, the Dragon Emperor.”

The Dragon Emperor… His death would be the payment for Traves’ heart…

“What does he want from me?”

Helmer assumed his familiar, fake human form. Then, with a weary sigh, he said:

“I’ve already told you that I’m not omniscient, Hadji. I’ve got no idea what one of the strongest creatures in the Beast Lands wants from you.”

“The Beast Lands?”

Helmer just smiled. Hadjar sighed. As always, everything Helmer did or said was for the sake of his own plans. That made him one of the most dangerous creatures Hadjar had ever encountered.

“Hadji, your knowledge of this world is even more limited than your knowledge of what to do with a woman once she’s in your bed. You’re already in your third decade, and how many girls have you been with? Three, four?”

“Only the quality counts.” Hadjar shrugged.

Helmer laughed at that.

“Do you still have Tal’De’Re’s Core? Ha! That was her name! I finally remembered it!”

“Whose Core?”

The demon sighed.

“The snake lady from the Wastelands.”

“I do.”

“Excellent.” Helmer started disappearing into the darkness. “If you ever come across Minister Ju and realize that you can’t escape him, spill a drop of your blood on that Core.”

“What will happen?”

Only the demon’s crooked smile remained in the air.

“You’ll see,” the lips replied and then disappeared.

Hadjar stared at the darkness for a moment. Helmer and his little tricks…

“Minister Ju…”

Nodding to himself, he left the alleyway and went after his friend. Surprisingly, Einen and Dora had only walked a few feet from the spot where he’d left them.

“That was fast!” Einen exclaimed.

Hadjar looked at him, then at the alley, then back at Einen again. He’d only spent about five seconds in there.

Helmer and his fucking tricks.

Chapter 745

“Do you believe them?” Hadjar filled his pipe with the tobacco he’d obtained on the Storm Mountain. He had no idea how it had ended up there, but it was the best sweet-smelling tobacco he’d ever smoked in his life. Excluding the tobacco that the Immortal Harlim had smoked with him back when they’d traversed the Sea of Sand.

“I don’t.” Einen was drinking wine from a simple bowl.

They were sitting on the roof of one of the trading houses. It had a stunning view of the elven district — the tops of tall trees gradually gave way to wooden roofs grown directly out of the mighty trunks even as an insane number of fireflies swarmed over the wide branches and hanging bridges that the elves used instead of streets and avenues.

“Then… because of Dora?”

Einen sipped some more wine. He was as calm as ever. Sometimes, Hadjar thought that the islander simply didn’t know how to feel, that he was some kind of sociopath. He wondered how Dora could’ve fallen in love with him. And vice versa.

“The King of the elves threatened to imprison her if we don’t leave.”

“And yet, you’ve lived here for almost six months.”

“I have.” Einen nodded. “But only because his sister allowed me to.”

Hadjar remembered Hera and the poison she’d tainted his soul with. He had four more years to reach the Lord level or he’d die. So far, he’d managed to become an initial-stage Spirit Knight. Unfortunately, that was the furthest the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique could get him. He needed to find another if he hoped to ever advance to the Lord level.

However, that was easier said than done.

First, he had to find the time to complete the trials of the Treasure Tower. Second, he had to endure a heavy blow to his soul, which would inevitably come when he switched from one meditation Technique to another. Given that he’d been using the dragon meditation Technique for almost fifteen years, switching techniques could prove fatal. Third, in order to become a Lord, he needed to combine the external and internal energies, which he’d been born unable to do. Only half of his soul was still in his body. Even Hera didn’t know where the other half had gone.

“And you think that if you-”

He suddenly remembered the Black General’s words. He had no doubt that the Shadow had been manipulating him in order to force Hadjar to accept his Inheritance, but still, he’d also been telling the truth… Like any other creature of his kind, he never lied. He was simply very good at using the truth to his advantage. Einen really was ready to sacrifice his life not just for him, but for Dora as well.

“If we overthrow the Head of the Predatory Blades clan, will that change your situation?”

“Do you remember what Anise said?”

“Of course I do. She wants to make Galkhad the Head of the Predatory Blades clan.” Hadjar exhaled a ring of smoke. Over the years, despite the knowledge and skills he’d acquired, he still failed to make them as smooth as Nero’s had been. “I’d bet my life that the Eternal Mountain clan has a hand in this. In fact-”

“-they will end up taking over the Predatory Blades clan,” Einen said. “Galkhad can claim whatever he pleases, but it’s unlikely that the Head of the Eternal Mountain clan isn’t supporting him. Perhaps he really is a disgrace, but-”

“-the power plays between clans never stop.” Hadjar took another drag from his pipe “Putting one of their own on the throne of the Predatory Blades clan would be good for their clan. One doesn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out.”

They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the moment. Tomorrow was the third trial of the Tournament, where they’d openly declare themselves enemies of one of the seven great clans of Darnassus. They’d never gotten mixed up in a scandal of such epic proportions before.

“Anise is motivated by revenge,” Hadjar said. “That’s a strong motivator, but a bad adviser.”

Einen said nothing.

“She won’t just overthrow the current Head of the Predatory Blades clan, she’ll do her best to completely destroy it. You know that, right?”

Einen nodded.

Hadjar turned to his friend. And then it dawned on him. The answer was both simple and shockingly complex.

In reality, there were far more than just seven noble houses in the Empire. However, the rest of them were either small or far too new. Dahanatan had always had to rely on the seven great Houses, and the Imperial family had thus employed the principle of ‘divide and rule’. An even number of prominent clans would’ve split into two camps and upset the balance of power. The Emperor would then have had to join one of the camps sooner or later, which would’ve led to a civil war. But with seven clans, dividing them into two camps and then adding the Emperor to one wouldn’t disturb the balance.

“You’re going to establish your own clan on the ruins of the Predatory Blades clan!”

“I have no other choice.” Einen corked the wine bottle and put it back in his spatial ring. “The elven King would never marry his daughter to a commoner.”

Hadjar couldn’t argue with that. Even if the Head of the Green Hammer clan wanted to do so, he still couldn’t, because the Emperor would forbid it. Hadjar cursed politics wholeheartedly.

“You know, my bald friend, I miss the days when our main concern was fixing someone’s stagecoach in Rahaim’s caravan.”

Einen opened his purple, inhuman eyes slightly.

“Are you with me?”

Hadjar cleaned the ash from his pipe.

“Your question really hurts, my bald friend. You’re suggesting that we destroy the Predatory Blades clan and create your own so that you can marry the elven Princess, all the while hiding our machinations from the Emperor and the spies that are watching the Tournament we’re taking part in... Well, that doesn’t sound too difficult! But I must warn you that, before we begin, I intend to visit a brothel. I’d ask you to come with me, but you have a girlfriend now.”

Einen smiled.

“You’re even more of a barbarian than you were before.”

Hadjar grinned. He got to his feet and actually went to a brothel.

Chapter 746

More than ten thousand cultivators had gathered near Dahanatan. This number might not sound all that impressive at first, but most of those present were elite Spirit Knights. They were the nation’s pride. The strongest of the strong. The best of the best. All of them had come here from the various lands of the vast Empire of Darnassus to test their might.

For cultivators of their level, one of the most difficult challenges was to find equal or stronger opponents whose experience was comparable to their own. After all, a Spirit Knight who’d lived for seven centuries had far more experience and resources than one who was less than a century old. Hence the Tournament’s age restrictions.

The Tournament of the Twelve provided them with a golden opportunity to compete with their peers. However, only one of them was destined to rise to the top and be the representative of their generation.

Leaving behind the capital of the Empire, thousands of applicants had gathered at the edge of the forest that surrounded an area known as the Lake of Dreams and belonged to ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

Hadjar looked up at the sky. Among the white clouds and flocks of birds migrating south was a considerable number of skyships. There were so many of them that they almost blocked out the sun. The spectators had all found a spot on one of them and were getting ready to watch the third trial.

“Candidates!” The rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School stepped out in front of the cultivators. “Welcome to the third stage of the Tournament of the Twelve.”

The rector’s and Hadjar’s eyes met for a moment. The old man nodded slightly, which the spectators noticed immediately. It wasn’t a sign of respect or deference, but one of acquaintance. Hadjar responded with a nod as well. He still remembered — fucking Orune! — how the rector’s visit to the Storm Mountain had ended…

“The rules of this event are as simple as before,” the old man continued. Despite the fact that he spoke softly, his voice was equally audible to everyone. “The Lake of Dreams Trial will last three days. Those who come back alive will be rewarded according to the number of tokens they have collected. The five thousand that bring back the least number of tokens will be eliminated.”

Whispers passed through the ranks of the cultivators. It would be a bloody battle. Without knowing exactly how many tokens they needed to advance to the next stage of the competition, they’d have to fight until the horn sounded.

“I like it!” Galkhad sneered, waving his axe around.

Hadjar stood silent beside Einen, arms crossed over his chest.

Their squad was back together, with Galkhad as its newest member. Tom was clad in his Imperial level armor and Anise was wearing her gray one as well. Both were armed with their trusty swords. Tom’s had been repaired, but not very well. Hadjar wondered just how mad the Head of their clan had been when they’d returned from the Wastelands empty-handed. Compared to them, Galkhad, wearing his metallic kilt, and Dora, in her full armor, looked like real aristocrats.

“Remind me again,” Hadjar said in Einen’s native language, “why have we joined forces with people who wanted to kill us?”

“Because our plan will fail without them.”

“Really? It seems to me like the destruction of the Predatory Blades clan can happen with just those two,” he said, nodding toward the siblings.

“The big guy would be upset.”

As always, when speaking in Einen’s native language, they avoided using names so that the people in question wouldn’t know that they were talking about them.

“Then let’s kill the boy. His sister can stay with the giant.”

Einen just smiled. Hadjar was about to add that they could kill Galkhad as well, but the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School struck the ground with his cane. Drums began to beat and the bugle sounded. Its cry shook the treetops and disappeared somewhere in the forest beyond.

Squads of cultivators rushed into the forest. In a few minutes, there was no one left in the meadow except for the judges and…

“Why are we still here?” Galkhad roared.

“We agreed that Darkhan would lead us in this trial,” Tom hissed through clenched teeth. It was clear that he didn’t like this fact.

“Why? While we’re resting out here, they’re already fighting for tokens in the forest! Or do you want to be eliminated? Our plan-”

Anise glared at him, shutting him up.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Tom said with a grimace, “he’s the best at navigating the forest.”

“You, tracker, why are we still here?”

“Tracks need to appear before I can read them,” Hadjar replied without even turning to him.

He looked at his own shadow and, deciding that enough time had passed, strolled toward the forest.

“He’s mocking us,” someone behind him groused.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Hadjar stopped. His heart began to beat a little faster. Memories of the first days he’d spent on the Storm Mountain flashed before his eyes… That goddamned Orune!

Pushing them away, he stepped into the forest and took a deep breath. He felt much better amongst the trees and clouds, the wind playing with his hair, his feet sinking into the grass and moss, than he did in any city. He hated the high walls that blocked his view of the horizon.

Leaning down, he observed the wet ground. He didn’t need the neural network to spot these tracks: a torn leaf, a broken twig turned against the wind, slightly crushed moss, dew spilled on the ground from the leaves, a chip on that tree’s bark, an unnaturally uneven section of the ground...

No matter how skilled the other cultivators were, most of them were city dwellers and thus unfamiliar with the forest. Especially the nobles.

“That way.” Hadjar straightened up and pointed northwest. “The Predatory Blades clan went that way.”

He went first. Luckily, they didn’t have to walk for long. Half an hour later, Hadjar raised his fist and then walked out into a clearing. Drenched in blood, it had become the final resting place of several people.

Three cultivators stared up at the sky with glassy eyes. Next to them crouched six members of the Predatory Blades clan, busy tearing off tokens from their corpses.

Hadjar’s eyes flashed.

“Stop-”

Dora tried to grab his wrist but failed. Hadjar left the cover of the tree their squad had hidden behind and stepped out into the clearing on his own.

“Six against three,” he spat. “And you consider yourselves swordsmen?”

The cultivators turned around. At first, they smiled with delight — another token had come to them willingly ― but then their smiles faded. The rest of Hadjar’s squad stepped out as well. They knew each of them.

“Let’s make a deal.” One of them held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We’ll give you the tokens and-”

A fountain of blood shot up toward the sky and the man’s head rolled off his shoulders. Hadjar was faster than anyone could’ve imagined.

“They’re mine!” He shouted as he charged toward the five remaining warriors.

He was unarmed.

Chapter 747

“Analyze.”

Name

Thunder Bird

Level of cultivation

Ancient Beast Stage (3rd level)

Power

21.3

Dexterity

24.3

Physique

16.3

Energy points

81

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar swore.

Smeared with dirt, covered in leaves, and smelling of the forest, he was making his way through the dense foliage at the foot of the Storm Mountain. Contrary to its name, it wasn’t a single mountain, but an entire mountain range.

Despite it being the middle of spring, the wind that blew through here was so cold that it could freeze an ordinary peak-stage Heaven Soldier to their very Core.

The atmosphere was so heavy that what should’ve been a half-day descent to the bottom had taken him a whole two days. Fortunately, he hadn’t encountered anything worse than a thirty-foot-long worm until now.

Hadjar had heard rumors that even a Lord would find it hard to survive in the deepest, darkest areas of the Storm Mountain. Because of the cursed atmosphere imbued with alien powers and mysteries, everyone’s strength would be cut in half. And it only got worse from there. Every hour, the neural network kept informing him that he’d lost another quarter of his power. Hadjar could do nothing but curse.

“Fuck everything about this!”

He stood on the edge of a steep cliff. The only way to descend farther would be to follow a narrow path past the bushes and trees.

Since he only moved during daytime, there was no one nearby at the moment. He could hear some animals in the distance, mostly herbivores munching on leaves. The carnivores were sleeping in their homes and digesting their dinner.

This unspoken rule of the animal kingdom didn’t apply to birds, however. Right in the middle of the path, a huge vulture was feasting on something that looked like a cross between a bison and an elephant. The bird of prey had three pairs of wings, with the central ones being slightly bigger than the other two. Its feathers, sharp as a trusty blade, were golden with a slight metallic sheen. Judging by the deep gouges in the thick tree trunks around it, one of those feathers would be enough to cut a human in half.

The bird let out a shrill cry and gobbled up a large piece of meat. The beast was so huge that it could’ve easily carried a stagecoach fully loaded with goods on its back. With its mighty talons, it easily broke the bones and tore through the taut muscles of its prey. Sometimes, bolts of yellow lightning would shoot out from its feathers with a silent crackle. And when they struck the ground, they melted through stone and earth alike, turning them into lava.

The smell of roasted meat gradually spread throughout the forest. Hadjar, who hadn’t eaten since the beginning of the campaign in the Wastelands, realized that he’d really need to eat a nice steak once he was done here, even though he didn’t really need food or water to survive.

Looking around, he realized that there was no way he could leave this place before nightfall. The sun was already sinking below the horizon and the bird clearly had no intention of leaving before it was done with its dinner.

And even if it did leave at sunset, he wouldn’t have enough time to go down to the foot of the mountain and build himself a shelter. There was no way in hell that he’d be able to deal with the beasts that roamed the Storm Mountain at night, even if he’d had Galkhad’s squad, the Dinos siblings, Dora, and Einen with him.

The weakest of the local creatures were at the King Stage. They were as clumsy and stupid as golems tended to be. But Hadjar didn’t care about them. What he did care about, however, were the true predators: Lava Wolves, Snake Panthers, Heaven Tigers, and Stone Bugs, which were the most dangerous of them all and had a real appetite for flesh. Hadjar had personally witnessed one such bug, the size of a dog, single-handedly defeat and devour three King Stage Monsters at once.

“Go away,” he whispered, “please, just go away.”

The Thunder Bird replied with another cry and continued its feast.

“I’ll use your Core for cultivation and decorate my hair with your feathers!”

He had no other choice. Either he would defeat a monster equal in power to a peak-stage Lord, or he would die. If he didn’t get past the cliff soon, he might as well start digging his own grave right where he stood.

Crouching, he plunged his hand into the ground. After smearing mud and clay everywhere he could reach, he gathered some leaves and branches and glued them to himself. He’d also occasionally toss a glance in the bird’s direction to make sure that he was being as discreet as possible as he did this.

All was still.

Stopping its feast for a moment, the bird raised its head and looked around. It had felt something stir, but it wasn’t sure what it was. Its sharp, greenish-yellow eyes scanned the surrounding area, but didn’t find anything. However, it wouldn’t have reached the Ancient Stage if it had relied solely on its eyes.

With a wave of its wings, it sent a torrent of lightning bolts flying. A column of shimmering light cut through the trees and set fire to the section of the forest from which it had sensed danger. Trees fell with a thundering crash, as if cut down by a blade. Engulfed in flames, they turned to ash before they hit the ground.

Seconds passed in silence.

The bird, plucking at the feathers on its neck, held its prey firmly in its talons and looked around. It waited, but the danger didn’t show itself. The feeling that someone was watching it had disappeared.

After waiting a few more minutes, it returned to its dinner. Night was approaching. It had to return to its nest soon as it didn’t want to risk running into the night masters of the mountain on the way back. Its mind, comparable to that of an eight-year-old human, was sharp enough to realize how disastrous that would be.

Alas, it wasn’t smart enough to recognize that the bush that was standing behind it hadn’t always been there.

Hadjar, who’d almost been struck by one of the lightning bolts, thanked the High Heavens for his good fortune and waited until the bird went back to eating, then jumped.

Using every ounce of his limited abilities, he pushed off from the tree and landed on the bird’s back. With a loud roar, he drove the Black Blade into its neck. With a clang, the sword, leaving a bleeding scratch in its wake, jerked to the side. Having lost momentum, Hadjar rolled down the bird’s back and fell to the ground. A moment later, a huge shadow was looming over him.

The Thunder Bird, spreading all six of its gigantic wings, rose above him and shook the air with its fierce cry.

“Oh… Fuuuuuuuck!” Hadjar breathed out.

Chapter 748

Hundreds of skyships had gathered in the azure skies above the Lake of Dreams. Some of them were quite shoddy and lacked any kind of character. It was hard to imagine that their owners had enough coin to buy Tournament tickets.

The wealthiest people in Darnassus were on the best flagship — ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. It was being used as a demonstration of Darnassus’ power to the ambassadors of the neighboring Empires. Many spies had tried to get their hands on the schematics of this giant, but they’d all suffered the same fate — death.

“I wonder how many energy stones are needed to keep it in the air…” The ambassador of the Chaverie Empire whispered.

Tall and thin, he was dressed in expensive but simple robes made from high-quality material. Sitting in a comfortable leather chair, he looked down over the railing. He had a wonderful view of what was happening below: scattered throughout the forest were numerous groups of cultivators engaged in combat with one another. Some of these individuals, after realizing just how dangerous this trial was, had decided to surrender their tokens and leave the forest.

In his opinion, no more than a thousand, if not fewer than that, candidates would pass this trial.

“It doesn’t matter.” The ambassador of the Gazargaz Empire scooped up a handful of green berries from a ceramic bowl with his thick, sausage-like fingers and shoved them in his mouth. He never stopped eating. No one was sure if this was because he was a simple glutton, or because of some special meditation Technique he used. “The number of stones themselves doesn’t matter, only how much energy it requires overall.”

The other ambassadors nodded in agreement.

“It obviously runs on Darnassian taxes,” one of them commented and chuckled.

Despite the snarky comments, each of the ambassadors had already sent a message back home about this new Darnassian ship — a flying fortress with fifteen masts, seven gun decks, and enough firepower to take down an Empire all on its own. One would think that a beast of this size would be slow and clumsy in the air, but they’d be wrong. It had covered the distance from the capital to the Lake of Dreams faster than even the most dangerous birds of prey could’ve managed. This was particularly unusual, and frightening, as it had been made from materials that shouldn’t be able to withstand such speeds. Whatever technologies Darnassus had developed and used in its construction, they were clearly ahead of the other Empires.

“Look, Brustor…” A bearded giant turned to the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. “It seems like the best swordsmen of the Empire can’t even handle one commoner.”

The well-dressed Head of the Predatory Blades clan, Brustor Dinos, placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Is your blade as sharp as your tongue?” He asked calmly, but with a slight note of warning in his voice.

“Shaper than yours, I bet.”

The giant’s laughter made some of the frailer ambassadors clutch their protective amulets. They were instantly enveloped by an invisible shroud that prevented the gusts of wind generated by the giant’s roaring laughter from blowing them away.

“Calm down, Danahead!” The elven King, as always, was sitting on his tree-like throne. It was only slightly inferior to the Emperor’s own. “Don’t forget that this commoner tricked even us.”

“Not us, just you, Agvar,” the giant said, wiping away tears of mirth. “I didn’t take part in your adventure with-”

Danahead was interrupted by a sharp whistling, followed by the appearance of a figure shrouded in white lightning. It broke through the ship’s protective dome and landed behind the Emperor’s throne.

The Emperor’s bodyguards immediately drew their weapons and surrounded the stranger. A moment later, they were all on their knees. Mighty Nameless level warriors, whose power had been personally evaluated by the Emperor himself, couldn’t even breathe in the presence of the newcomer. With a laugh that made all the ambassadors activate their amulets this time, the stranger calmly walked up to the throne.

“Hello, Morgan.” The man bowed slightly. Despite being in the presence of the Emperor and other important officials, he wore nothing but a pair of canvas pants. His body was strong and muscular, decorated with various tattoos that intertwined with his numerous scars. His long, unkempt hair looked more like a beast’s mane. His sharp eyes, however, seemed aware of everything going on around him.

“Hello to you too, rector.” The stranger then turned to the old man sitting nearby. “Jean, my old friend! It’s been a while.”

Mentor Jean, who’d been invited at the insistence of the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, was hiding his face in his hands, ashamed of his friend’s behavior.

“You’re late, swordsman Orune,” the Emperor declared in a flat tone of voice.

“Well, you know me, after training on the Storm Mountain, I felt like going to a brothel.”

“You always feel like going to a brothel.”

“Because I’m always training!” Orune patted the Emperor on the shoulder, shocking everyone. The Emperor! The man who was at the peak of cultivation! The one person whom all of Darnassus obeyed unconditionally and held the lives and destinies of the countless beings that inhabited his Empire in his hands. And Orune was acting as if they were best buddies.

“How’s my kid doing?” Orune went over to the side of the ship. Leaping on top of the railing, he grabbed the mooring lines and leaned over the side of the ship.

“There’s a chair for you right here, you goddamned show-off!”

“I’m not blind, Danahead!”

“Orune,” Morgan said calmly, making a chill run down everyone’s spine. He didn’t have to so much as raise his voice for people to feel his power. He would’ve fooled anyone else, but Orune could see the spark of excitement in the depths of his friend’s gaze.

“As you wish.”

He jumped down from the railing and sat down in his chair, which was next to the old rector’s own.

“Is he really your disciple?” The Emperor asked.

The ‘Master’, who’d been sitting to the Emperor’s right and hadn’t been paying attention to anyone until that moment, turned to look at Orune. He was surprised to see that someone so powerful was only at the Lord level. It had been a long time since he’d sensed such power. Orune was dangerous, even by his standards.

“He’s my punishment!” The swordsman whined and smacked the sturdy wood of the railing, making the entire ship rock back and forth and people gasp in both horror and amazement. Who in the Seven Heavens was this man if he could make such a mighty vessel shake? There were many rumors throughout the Empires about Orune, a Lord level swordsman who could kill a dozen Nameless on his own, but the ambassadors hadn’t believed these outrageous stories… Until now.

“He’s an ill-mannered upstart, just like his Master.” Brustor leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. The sun’s light reflected off his many ornaments, each of which cost as much as one of the patrol corvettes circling the sky above them. “Basta-”

Brustor didn’t complete his insult, not because he’d remembered the rules of decency, but because he suddenly couldn’t find his voice.

“Orune,” the Emperor said, this time with clear malice, “do not disturb my honorable guests. If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll send you back to the Storm Mountain.”

“I’m sorry, Morgan. You know how I hate it when unruly dogs just keep on barking...”

Brustor inhaled deeply. Blood trickled down his neck.

Orune hadn’t moved a muscle.

Chapter 749

“Who are you?”

Another member of the Predatory Blades clan joined his forefathers. To his credit, he’d managed to raise his sword in front of him, but instead of a foe, he’d only seen a blur of black and blue before his world  had been plunged into darkness.

Hadjar ducked under his opponent’s right arm and struck his wrist. The attack, while deceptively simple, launched a wave of energy that turned the nearest swordsman’s Technique into a rain of glittering shards. The man’s hand, still clutching his sword, jerked upward, forcing the swordsman to drive the tip of his own sword into his throat.

Hadjar spun on his heel and hit the edge of the blade next. Slicing through the cultivator’s neck, it flew out of his hand and pierced the leg of the swordsman standing nearby. The man screamed in pain and lost control of his energy, failing to activate the Technique he’d been preparing.

Four left.

A broad-shouldered, mid-stage Spirit Knight armed with a two-handed sword charged in. His heavy blade was shrouded in Wielder level mysteries.

“Cutting Instant!” He roared and slashed through the air.

Behind him, his Falcon Spirit spread its wings, pouring power into its master. In the wave of energy that followed his sword swing, the outline of a skeleton holding a scythe could be seen.

Hadjar stopped dead in his tracks and held out his hand.

***

“By the gods and demons!” Mentor Jean exclaimed. He knew Orune’s disciple better than anyone else on the ship. “It’s like looking at a younger version of you, my friend.”

“A younger version of me?” Orune swore and hit the railing again. Squeaks of panic ensued as the ship rocked yet again.

“Orune.” A half-smile appeared on the Emperor’s face. “If you break this ship, you’ll owe me a lot of money.”

The swordsman leaned back in his chair and muttered something under his breath. The Heads of the clans chuckled discreetly, hoping that Orune wouldn’t hear them. Everyone in the capital knew that Orune’s pockets were full of nothing but holes.

“A younger version of me!” Orune repeated. “He’s a hellspawn, that’s what he is! A fuckin’ brat with shit for brains! Demons take him!”

He jumped up and climbed back onto the railing.

“Do you hear me, kid? I’m not done with you yet!”

An invisible hand dragged him back onto the deck. Morgan, clenching his fist, returned Orune to his chair, binding him to it with chains that appeared out of thin air. They radiated power beyond even the Imperial level.

“Stop embarrassing me, Orune.”

***

Hadjar’s eye twitched. He could’ve sworn that he’d heard Orune’s fucking voice. Demons take him!

Shaking his head, he focused on the incoming attack, held out his hand, and sliced through the air just as it reached him. The gust of wind he’d created only managed to slow down and throw the swordsman’s Technique slightly off course. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough for him to completely avoid the attack. A deep scratch appeared on his right shoulder.

Another member of the Predatory Blades clan, who attacked him from the right, could only dream of doing as well as his friend had. Deciding to take advantage of that eye-catching attack, he’d waited for the right moment and then charged in. He crossed his blades and began to prepare his attack when his comrade’s sword Technique struck him in the side. Totally blindsided, all he managed to do was summon his Spirit Beast before he was sent flying. Chunks of flesh and gore scattered across the ground.

“I’ll kill you!” Enraged that his own Technique had been used to kill his teammate, the swordsman rushed forward. Slashing through the air, he conjured a pillar of energy capable of destroying a weak Heaven Soldier.

Unfortunately for him, Hadjar was faster. So fast, in fact, that he didn’t leave even a trace of his energy behind.

As he ran toward his shocked opponent, Hadjar held up his left hand and blocked the heavy blade. Curling the fingers of his right hand so that they resembled a claw, he slashed at the swordsman’s unprotected throat. Blood splattered across his face. The sword jerked out of the twitching swordsman’s hands, spun in the air, and embedded itself in its owner’s head.

Chunks of flesh flew straight into the eyes of the saber-wielding warrior next to them. As he was far more experienced than his teammates, he swung his weapon and, after deflecting the blood and gore, continued attacking. He moved his saber with such quickness and precision that it gave onlookers the impression that the blade was slithering, almost like it had a life of its own.

His attacks merged into one continuous barrage and rained down on Hadjar from all sides. The air vibrated with power. A Spirit Beast, baring its teeth as it stood behind the noble, infused its owner with power and energy, making his slashes as deadly as they were quick and mesmerizing. But no matter how hard the man tried, he couldn’t hurt his opponent.

Hadjar seemed like he was barely moving, but each time his opponent attacked, the saber seemed to fly right past him. Hadjar simply dodged every strike. Mad with rage, the noble lunged forward instead of attacking with his sword. Hadjar responded with speed instead of steel. Whirling around, he slid his back along the dull side of the sabre, and, with his left hand, gripped the warrior’s elbow. Jerking it upward with his right, he grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged. There was an unpleasant crunch, followed by a sharp, but quickly fading cry. A head rolled across the ground, dyeing it crimson.

A headless body fell behind Hadjar.

“Don’t get any closer! Stay back!” The last cultivator shouted. The blade of a sword that had once belonged to his teammate had pierced his hip and nailed him to the ground. There was no way he could pull it out.

“Monster!” The man shouted. “You’re a monster!”

Behind the monster, a black dragon was spreading its wings and opening its maw wide. In his right hand, he held his latest victim’s arm, which still held a saber.

“Don’t-”

Another head rolled across the ground. In just four seconds, all six members of the Predatory Blades clan had been sent to their forefathers.

“The next group is less than a mile to the east.” Passing by Tom, Hadjar gave him the arm with the saber. “If we don’t hurry, they’ll be able to hide near the lake.”

Chapter 750

Silence engulfed ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. People were trying to process what they’d just seen. A Spirit Knight had single-handedly defeated six other Spirit Knights from a prestigious clan. No one had ever taught this peasant the basics, without which a cultivator, although able to fight using Techniques and energies, couldn’t achieve anything meaningful. It was like building a tower in a swamp. No matter how good the materials were and how fast it was built, it would collapse sooner or later due to its unsteady base.

Powerful swordsmen such as Brustor, Morgan, and Orune knew that. Others, who were less educated, watched in awe as a Spirit Knight killed six trained and armed swordsmen without even using his sword or Spirit in a matter of seconds, like a wild beast. He’d torn through his enemies as if they were nothing more than blades of grass and he a scythe.

Jean and the others who knew him saw not only a beast in Hadjar, but a younger version of Orune as well. Orune now sat quietly in his chair, bound in chains. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he could’ve easily freed himself if he’d wanted to. The only reason he’d remained seated was out of respect for Morgan. Unfortunately for the honorable guests, this respect wouldn’t be extended to anyone else. Orune hated aristocrats with every fiber of his being.

“By the gods and demons!” The Head of the Sky Wind clan breathed out. “It’s like I’ve gone back in time…”

“Impossible!” The Head of the Poison Ivy clan exclaimed. “Just how many years has Orune spent training this beast?”

“Two…” Agvar Marnil thoughtfully stroked his moss-like beard. “Maybe a little longer…”

“Two,” the Head of the Sky Wind clan repeated, incredulous. “By the Skies... You know that my clan stays out of politics, and right now, I am very glad we do. I really don’t want my younger generation to have to deal with such an enemy.”

“You overestimate him,” Brustor said, staring down at the clearing. “Against those weaklings, he may look like a miniature version of Orune, but he isn’t worth my son’s pinky finger in a real fight.”

There were murmurs of agreement among the clan leaders. But then someone chuckled rather loudly.

“Has old age robbed you of your memory, Brustor? Less than three years ago, your son lost to mine. He would’ve died had the honorable Hera not healed him.”

“Are you bragging, Salm?” Brustor narrowed his eyes and shot him a glare.

“Gods save me from such a sin,” Salm Tarez, the richest man in the Empire, responded. “We shouldn’t brag about our sons and their successes. Their squabbles are only momentary victories and defeats. Who even wastes their time thinking about such trifles?” He said and smiled. The mockery was clear in his gaze.

Demons take you! Brustor thought. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of energy your son used. If you think your clan can get away with using forbidden knowledge, you’re deeply mistaken. I’ll expose your crimes in front of the Emperor.

“Weakling.” Orune snorted. He’d freed himself from the chains. “You spent so much time dealing with those mutts… Fucking bastard! I wasted two years of my life on you! Shame on you!”

“Sometimes, my friend, you sound like a jilted lover.”

The rest of the people there were taken aback by Jean’s rude comment. They were even more taken aback by the fact that Orune didn’t punish him for it. Then again, only a few people knew about their close friendship.

“Sometimes, Jean, I feel that way, too,” Orune said and burst out laughing.

Jean joined in.

***

Hadjar couldn’t find the second group. Dusk was already approaching, but they were still wandering from one clearing to another. Sometimes, they found bodies and traces of recent fights. In most cases, the corpses had no tokens on them, but they were always in groups of four. Until they came across a group of nine corpses with their tokens still on them in a blood-drenched clearing.

Looking at the marks of the recent skirmish, Hadjar concluded that the battle hand ended in a draw, which usually resulted in death for both sides.

“I realize, Darkhan,” Tom said, confusing everyone by addressing Hadjar by his surname, “that after the Storm Mountain, the Lake of Dreams feels like a garden to you, but even out here, nights are dangerous. Even Lords need to take care.”

“We have at least an hour left until nightfall,” Hadjar retorted. Crouching, he studied a narrow path. Judging by the tracks, it was being used by the smallest of forest dwellers.

“Laris is smart enough to hide his tracks,” Tom insisted. “Believe me, I know him well. Perhaps he’s even watching us right now, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“What I hear isn’t knowledge, Tom, but fear.”

“Fear? What are you-”

“That’s enough,” Dora interrupted. She was standing next to Einen. “Hadjar, I know you’re a really good tracker, but you have to admit that Laris has beaten us.”

Hadjar scooped up a handful of dirt, moved it around between his fingers, then brought it closer to his face to sniff it. Finally, he tasted it. After spitting the dirt out and rinsing his mouth out with water, he straightened up and looked westward.

“I don’t think he’s beaten us,” he said thoughtfully.

“What makes you say that?” Galkhad stepped forward.

Hadjar noticed him putting his arm around Anise again. Since the beginning of the trial, Galkhad had done his best to let everyone know that he and Anise were a couple. Hadjar couldn’t figure out why he was trying so hard. He had no feelings for Anise anymore. Was Galkhad afraid that he still did? That he’d try and steal her from him?

“His trail stops here.”

“He used a concealment Technique.”

“No, he didn’t,” Hadjar shook his head. “No concealment Technique can do such a thing. The tracks simply end here. In the middle of him taking a step. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Just because you haven’t seen something before, that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“You’re right. However, I noticed a couple of odd things in that last clearing. At first, I’d presumed they were the remnants of some strange Technique.”

“And now?” Anise asked.

Hadjar turned to her. Galkhad immediately hugged her.

Do you seriously think I care, Galkhad? Give it a rest already.

“If I’m not mistaken, someone was dragged away from there. Given the coppery taste of the earth, they were bleeding.”

The cultivators fell silent.

“But why? What could’ve done that?”

“I don’t know,” Hadjar said and shrugged. “As strange as it may sound, something that doesn’t have a body, doesn’t radiate energy, and doesn’t leave a trace… wounded Laris and dragged him off somewhere. Probably to its lair.”

The others exchanged puzzled glances. Einen was as calm as ever. One would think that he’d already seen something like this.

“That’s good for us, isn’t it?” Tom asked.

“Not really. For our plan to work, we need Laris alive. If anything or anyone kills him, we’re all doomed.” Anise said.

“That means-”

“-that we need to save Laris.”

Anise rested her hand on the hilt of her blade and started walking.

“By the Heavens...” Hadjar sighed. “Why has my life revolved around the Dinos family lately?”

Chapter 751

“Be careful.”

“With all due respect, Hadjar, you can stick your advice up your-”

Hadjar looked at Galkhad but said nothing, only raised an eyebrow. The giant was having a hard time navigating the forest. Due to his stature, he had to try really hard not to make too much noise.

Night had already fallen in the forest. The most terrifying of the area’s beasts had woken up and come out to hunt and play. Perhaps they weren’t as dangerous as the ones living on the Storm Mountain, but still. There was no reason for them to risk their lives in order to find out for sure.

Hadjar and Einen had tried to persuade the rest of the group to cover themselves with dirt, clay, and leaves, but they’d refused, saying that they couldn’t let the Heads of their clans see them like that. The two friends hadn’t even been able to persuade Dora, who always listened to Einen. In the end, they’d given up on the plan — what would be the point of them hiding if the others continued to spread their scent for miles around?

“How long do we have?” Hadjar asked Einen.

The islander looked up at the hieroglyph circling above their heads. Its dark energy had encased them in a thin, protective veil. Whatever else Einen had been doing for the past two years, one thing was certain: his knowledge of defensive Techniques had vastly improved.

“Two hours,” he answered. “Maybe a little longer.”

They were moving very slowly and carefully. No one but Hadjar knew the path they were treading, but what they did know was that they had to hide from every rustle and crackle. Sometimes, they’d stop and wait, only to later realize that Galkhad had been the one making the noise. The giant clearly felt uncomfortable in the forest.

“Are you sure that we’re all on the same side?” Hadjar asked in Einen’s native language, going around suspicious mounds of dirt and leaves.

“I’m sure they’ve already made plans about how and when to betray us.”

Hadjar glanced at Einen. He looked as unemotional as always.

“Did Mentor Jean introduce you to that spear wielding Master?”

“He didn’t have time.” Einen carefully pulled back a branch and waited for Dora to pass under it, then let go, almost hitting Tom in the face. “He was summoned to the Lascanian border before he got the chance.”

Hadjar looked up at the sky, which was barely visible through the treetops. He was certain that Orune was on one of those ships up there, sitting and watching.

Demons take him!

***

Covered in dried blood, dirt, and many wounds, Hadjar crawled up and onto a plateau with a groan. That damned forest where he’d almost died a hundred times over was finally behind him.

The climb up the steep, smooth rock had hurt his hands and cut his fingers. As if the terrain itself wasn’t already bad enough, he’d also had to fight his way through a variety of beasts, from Winged Snakes to Rainbow Sparrows. Their names might’ve sounded funny, but these birds were actually giants. Weighing over a thousand pounds, with a wingspan of fifteen feet, they always attacked in flocks, which made it especially hard to get away from them. Especially if you were, like Hadjar, hanging from the rocks and holding on for dear life with one hand. He didn’t want to admit it, but if it hadn’t been for the Black General’s ‘Flying Sword’ Technique, he would’ve probably died right then and there.

“The gods just won’t let me get rid of you, it seems.”

Forcing himself to take another breath, Hadjar rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, his vision blurry. Down there, beneath a layer of fluffy clouds, were almost four miles of sheer rock.

“I’ll... kill… you,” he wheezed. After all the bullshit the swordsman had put him through, he felt only hatred toward Orune.

“A good plan,” Orune said calmly, sitting on a big stone and roasting a large piece of meat over a fire. “Care to try right now?”

The smell of roasted meat sprinkled with pungent spices tickled Hadjar’s nostrils and made his mouth water. True cultivators didn’t really need food or water, but after the perils he’d gone through, his body needed to rest and restore its energy somehow. He didn’t have it in him to do so on his own, so he would have to recover his energy the way normal people did — by eating.

Unable to get up, he simply started crawling toward the fire.

“Not so fast, you piece of shit.” Orune stood in front of Hadjar. “Have you forgotten our agreement? Until you’re able to wound me, you’ll do as I say.”

The smile on the swordsman’s lips made it clear that even if the Heavens were to come crashing down right then and there, he’d still have to do it.

By the gods and demons, he’d find a way to kill this bastard even if it was the last thing he ever did!

***

“Hadjar?” A slightly callused hand was resting on his shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I just remembered something.”

Einen nodded and walked away, leaving him to his thoughts.

“By the gods and demons, is that what I think it is?”

“I really hope you’re wrong, Tom.”

Anise drew her blade. The rest of the squad followed her example. Instantly activating their armor, they stood back to back.

Hadjar didn’t use his Call. Instead, he summoned the Black Blade and looked over at Einen. In the past two years, the islander’s defensive Technique had changed dramatically. It was no longer a huge creature, but a sort of silhouette instead. While it had shrunk, it had also become much denser in the process — it no longer looked like a thin piece of paper you could poke a hole through with your finger. It seemed very real and tangible.

“Is this really it? The Lake of Dreams?”

The squad stopped at the shore of a fog-covered lake, the surface of which reeked of the kind of danger that Hadjar had only felt inside the lairs of the Storm Mountain’s most horrifying beasts. Luckily, this time, there was no fucking Orune around to tell him to get in there already and explore it.

“There he is.”

“Where? I don’t see him.”

“He’s under the water.”

Everyone swore.

Chapter 752

Aboard ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’, the feast that Emperor Morgan had arranged for his guests was in full swing. The table, designed to seat seventy people, had been set up in such a way that they could watch what was happening around the Lake of Dreams and partake in the food and drink at the same time. So rich was the feast that no mortal or mere practitioner could’ve even begun to guess what kind of dishes were on the table. There were no fine cuts of meat or exotic cakes to be found, only a wide variety of fruits and roots instead.

An uneducated bystander might’ve thought it lacking, however, each fruit and root radiated an almost palpable energy. They were all rare natural resources that novice true cultivators would’ve sold their souls for.

“I wonder, Brustor,” Danahead said with a sneer, popping another Sunny Peach into his mouth, “whether your nephew and niece are really as friendly with your son as it might appear...”

The Head of the Predatory Blades clan clenched his teeth, causing his cheekbones to pop out even more, but said nothing. Like the rest, he continued to observe a very special squad. It consisted of one of Danahead’s many sons, Agvar’s daughter, who’d lost his favor due to her love affair with a commoner, Brustor’s nephew and niece, who were still breathing only for political reasons, Orune’s disciple, and the commoners’ hero.

A few hours ago, Brustor had managed to ignore Salm Tarez’s taunts only because Laris had been dragged away by the Lake’s monster and he’d been too worried to care. The Tarez had, of course, ‘forgotten’ that Laris had managed to save his whole squad from certain death, as the monster was at the fourth level of the Primeval Stage. It was unlikely that any of the cultivators in the forest were strong enough to defeat it.

This special squad, following Laris’ trail, had come close to the Lake, despite its incredible ability to constantly move around. Even the best Scholars of Dahanatan couldn’t figure out how or why a body of water could or would do that.

“At last!” Orune used his palm to break off the neck of a bottle of very expensive wine. He drained its contents in one gulp, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and then dried his hand by running it through his hair. “I thought that the weaklings would never make it. Bunch of idiots!”

The clan leaders turned to him, but no one said anything. They all hoped that he would lose face when his disciple died ingloriously in the Lake of Dreams.

***

Reaching the water’s edge, Hadjar held out his hand. As soon as he did so, the fog that had covered the water like a thick blanket broke apart into thin wisps and rushed toward him. Moving his hand away, he took a few steps back and watched as the fog immediately settled back over the water.

“Doesn’t that remind you of something?” Clenching his fists, he turned to Einen.

“The lake in the Sea of Sand,” the islander replied.

The two friends had already encountered a similar anomaly before. In the Sea of Sand, a similar fog had hidden the entrance to the ancient home of the extinct civilization of magicians.

“This time, however, we won’t be using a poison that’ll cut us off from our abilities.”

Einen squinted at the nobles. He trusted Dora, but he did not trust the others.

“Even if I could do that,” he said, “I wouldn’t risk it anyway.”

“I wouldn’t either, my friend.”

“What are you two talking about?” Galkhad barked. “You’re talking gibberish again! Speak common so we can all understand you!” He didn’t care that they were standing on the shore of a mystical Lake covered in fog that had unknown properties and powers. All he cared about was getting this over with.

“Laris is under the Lake,” Hadjar replied. He and Einen had spoken in the language of the Islands, and so the nobles hadn’t understood them. Of course, the Dinos siblings and Dora could’ve learned Einen’s dialect in the past two years, but it was highly unlikely. There were more dialects in the language of the Islands than there were Islands themselves.

“Perhaps, barbarian,” Tom said in his usual mocking tone, “you’ve spent too much time among the beasts on that damned mountain and have forgotten the imperial language. Did you mean to say that he’s at the bottom of the lake?”

“Nope.” Hadjar picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. “I said exactly what I wanted to say.”

The fog curled into tight coils and shot out of the water. Silvery wisps wrapped themselves around the stone, squeezed tightly, then dispersed again over the water’s surface. The stone disappeared.

“How can anyone be under a lake?” Anise inquired.

“Einen and I have already seen a lake like this one.” Hadjar dusted off his hands and turned to her. “In the Sea of Sand. It was blocking the passage to... To a hidden tunnel. The fog you see in front of you is actually a living thing. It reacts to everything that has energy, or even just a trace of it.”

The rest of the group fell silent. They’d seen for themselves what had happened to the stone.

“So only mortals can pass through the fog?”

“Sort of, yes,” he replied, having no intention of telling them that they could bypass the trap with the help of a special poison.

“Let’s kill it, then. If it’s alive, it bleeds. And if it bleeds, it can die.” Galkhad shrugged.

Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed his axe and took a step toward the lake. The fog, swirling and stirring, assumed the shape of a fanged maw.

Swinging his axe, Galkhad hit it with all his might. A shining crescent of energy steeped in mysteries surged out of his axe, leaving behind a trail of energy-filled dust. The blow cut through the water’s surface, splitting it in half. Instead of chasing after the attack, the fog wrapped itself around the giant’s foot. Galkhad screamed in pain and jumped back. As soon as he crossed the invisible boundary, the fanged maw dispersed. Bloody stains appeared on the surface of the lake.

“What was that?” Galkhad grunted, gripping his wounded leg. Anise came over to try and help him.

The fog had bitten through his Imperial level armor, tearing through it as if it were an ordinary rag, and torn off a huge chunk of flesh from his thigh. An exposed bone glistened slightly in the light of the full moon.

“We can’t beat this thing. It’s not an animal, but a spell,” Hadjar explained. Memories of the Storm Mountain were resurfacing in his mind again. “But we can outwit it. Do what I say and maybe we’ll survive.”

Chapter 753

Even after he’d left the Sea of Sand behind, Hadjar had continued to relive the moment when they’d found the lake created by the ancient mages. He must’ve seen it at least a hundred times in his dreams and nightmares. Looking at the Lake of Dreams right now, he wasn’t sure if his plan would work.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to wonder why this Lake, so similar to the one in the desert, was here. With every minute they spent standing around, the chances of Laris surviving this ordeal decreased. With him dead, their plan to overthrow Brustor would be impossible to pull off. And the Head of the Predatory Blades Clan would most likely kill them soon after.

Hadjar, sighing once more and lamenting the fact that his life revolved around the Dinos family’s bullshit, raised the Black Blade high in the air. He didn’t need his Call or the Quetzal bird for this, only his willpower. Every time he used this Technique, he felt like he was submitting to the Black General. And he hated it.

There was no greater triumph in the world for a warrior than walking into a trap with their head held high and coming out victorious. That was exactly what he intended to do to the Black General. He’d take everything from him and leave him with nothing.

“First Strike: Flying Sword!”

The trees bent under the power of his strike. Deep cracks appeared around his feet. The air trembled as if someone had ignited an incredibly hot flame. Thunder struck. The rising wind blew Hadjar’s hair back, playing with the ornaments and feathers that decorated it and uprooting several trees. It swirled and coalesced into an obsidian tornado streaked with blue threads, then surged upward, where it crashed into the bottom of ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’.

***

“By the demons and gods, my friend,” Mentor Jean gasped, eyes glued to what was happening on the Lake’s shore. “Did you teach him that?”

Orune, after making sure that the mysteries of his sword would protect them from any eavesdroppers, leaned closer to him.

“No,” he said.

Jean turned to him, his eyes as wide as the plates their food had been served on. He expected him to smile, say that he’d made a joke or something like that, but Orune, suddenly abandoning all his bravado, only furrowed his bushy eyebrows, which made him look more like a ferocious beast than a human.

“Damned boy!” He growled. “I told him not to use that Technique until the final round.”

Jean turned back to the young man whom he’d personally accepted into ‘The Holy Sky’ School. How much time had passed since then? Three, maybe four years? To a Lord, years passed by even faster than weeks did to mortals. It usually took most cultivators far longer than this to earn enough Glory points to buy even just a single Earth level Technique. But this young man… The all-consuming power of his Technique was way beyond the Heaven level. Moreover, it was even close to the line that separated the Imperial level from the Divine.

Had this line not been insurmountable, this single attack would’ve signed Hadjar’s death warrant, as the power of the Imperial family and, consequently, the entirety of Darnassus, relied on their Divine level Techniques and the Inheritance that gave them their ability to wield them.

Jean squinted at Emperor Morgan. The man had remained calm, but his sharp, dark, hawk-like eyes followed Hadjar and his movements closely. Jean didn’t miss the way the aristocrats and the sect leaders whispered amongst themselves. Throughout all of Dahanatan, there weren’t even fifty elite disciples that could use Imperial level Techniques. And there were even fewer of them who could withstand using a Technique of such power without any backlash.

“What kind of monster have you raised?” Jean mumbled, sinking back into his chair. For the first time in a long while, he felt sweat trickling down his back. The last time this had happened was when he’d seen Orune in a frenzy. That night, his friend had earned his title as the greatest swordsman and the nightmare of all of Dahanatan. The price of his new status had been an entire noble clan.

“I wish it were that simple, my friend.”

***

Whizzing through the air, the Black Blade arced wide, tearing open a hole in space itself. Stretching out, it generated a dense stream of black energy imbued with deep mysteries. In this obsidian river, thousands of small dragons with glistening scales and fangs as sharp as blades writhed restlessly.

“What did Orune do to him up on that damned mountain?” Galkhad suddenly realized that he was holding his weapon at the ready and relaxed his posture. The only thing that reassured him was that the others had done the same. Only Anise had remained calm and unarmed.

The faintest traces of Hadjar’s attack had been enough to turn the surrounding area into a wasteland: deep, uneven cracks now covered the ground like scars, trees had been reduced to splinters, and stones ground to fine dust. And all this crushing power had been aimed directly at the center of the white fog.

The counterattack was immediate and full of the same all-consuming power as the ‘Flying Sword’ strike had been. The fog split apart again, each of its ribbons assuming the shape of some hellish beast that was unlike anything they’d seen before. High above in the sky, the dragon narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled a little. The beasts brought back memories of his turbulent youth.

“Hurry up!”

Sweat rolled down Hadjar’s forehead. His hands trembled as he gripped the blade of his sword. He was feeding power to both the ‘Flying Sword’ strike and the stream of energy he’d unleashed. With a roar, the dragons crashed down into the lake and began their fight with the ghastly horde. Multicolored lightning flew up into the sky, echoing throughout the surrounding area and destroying everything in its path. The water in the lake boiled and evaporated, but the vapor only reinforced the horde.

“I can’t hold it back much longer!”

The mere fact that an initial-stage Spirit Knight was able to singlehandedly hold back the power of a Divine level defensive spell was already outstanding, if not a miracle. But the fact that he was also able to push the fog back enough for his allies to jump into the lake went beyond anything they could’ve ever imagined. The only way they could explain this insanity was by presuming that Orune’s teaching methods were apparently very effective.

When Einen, who was bringing up the rear, disappeared beneath the water’s surface, Hadjar, roaring wildly, struck out with his sword. A wave of black energy erupted with such immense force that it reached even ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. The audience gasped. Not even in their wildest dreams could they have imagined that a commoner like Hadjar would ever be capable of something like this.

“Fucking weakling,” Orune spat, frowning even more.

Chapter 754

“Fucking weakling!” Orune spat.

He tore off a piece of fatty meat from the roasted carcass of a Three-horned Boar and nibbled on it.

Hadjar, lying on the rocks, tried to catch his breath.

It was the second month of his training. Although, it would be difficult to call this training. All he’d been doing since he’d climbed up to the mountain plateau and found Orune’s cave was try to get back on his feet.

As soon as he managed to lift himself a bit off the ground, which was drenched in his sweat and blood, a stick hit him across the back. It was very painful despite the fact that his body had been strengthened by the Wolf Broth and the dragon’s heart.

Each blow from Orune’s stick tore off pieces of his skin and broke his bones. He greedily drew in small grains of energy from the World River and immediately spent them on fixing the damage.

He couldn’t change the fact that his body was trying to recover by not only using energy, but also by depleting his reserves of nutrients. As a result, over the course of this past month of brutal beatings, Hadjar had turned from a strong, stately young warrior into a dried up, scarred, and mutilated skeleton.

He’d forgotten the last time he hadn’t been consumed by the sensation of his bones breaking and mending over and over as his blood ran down his body. There was so much of it that the whole plateau had turned scarlet.

The smell of blood and meat attracted birds of prey, but Orune didn’t drive them away. Hadjar, despite almost being unconscious, had to do it himself. Silently, too, as it would’ve taken all his strength to scream and cry as well.

“Weakling,” Orune repeated. The smell of roasted meat was driving him insane. His stomach seemed to be digesting itself at this point. The dull pain only added to his overall agony. “Life is the right of the strong! If you’re weak, you’ll die. The right to live must be earned! We must fight for it! You were thrown into this world to reproduce and kill! But only the strong get to do so! Death to the weak!”

Only one thought occupied Hadjar’s mind: food.

Another blow hit his back.

***

The Lake of Dreams turned out to be exactly the same as the lake in the Sea of Sand — cold and devoid of any life. It was like an endless ocean of ice-cold water that held nothing but the six of them.

Anise reached the bottom first. Holding her blade in front of her, she moved her body by using energy. The mysteries that surged out of the tip of her long, thin blade cut through the water.

Descending to a depth of over three thousand feet, which would’ve been impossible for mortals to do without gear and extensive preparation, took them only a couple of minutes.

Coming to a sudden halt, they all floated in the dark water. They couldn’t believe their eyes. Directly below them, in the spot where the bottom should’ve been, was the lake’s surface. It was as if they were looking up at it from underwater.

Hadjar and Einen, who’d already seen this before, were the first to climb out. They tumbled through the air and landed on a soft carpet of grass. A dense forest, which was exuding intoxicating, sweet smells, opened its friendly arms to them. Everything was light and warm, as if there was an actual sun above them.

Birch, ash, oak, larch, cherry, and apple trees swayed in rhythm with the wind that seemed to be coming from nowhere.

“It’s a garden!” An enthusiastic voice declared.

Dora and Anise hurried after Einen and Hadjar. Galkhad and Tom were quick to follow. The four of them looked around no more subtly than a commoner entering a noble’s house for the first time. Hadjar and Einen grinned at this. All people, in certain situations at least, behaved the same way, no matter who they were.

“It certainly looks like one.” Hadjar nodded. “Don’t let your guard down.”

“In a garden?” Tom bent down and plucked a flower. It was beautiful and smelled of life. Hadjar had never seen such flowers before, even in the Royal garden of Lidus. “Why should we?”

“Because,” Anise didn’t give Hadjar a chance to answer, “every garden is usually guarded by someone.”

Tom glanced at his sister but said nothing. Hadjar hadn’t seen the Dinos siblings for over two years. But even a couple of hours spent in their company was enough for him to notice that their relationship had changed. Previously, Tom had taken the lead, while Anise had diligently played the role of a servant. Now everything had turned back around. Anise seemed to have regained her title as the senior heiress, and Tom was nothing more than her spoiled little brother.

“What do you say, tracker?” Galkhad asked, poking an odd-looking fruit hanging from the low branch of one of the trees.

Hadjar squatted and held his hand above the ground. The flowers were rather tall, but there wasn’t a single petal missing. Not a single crushed blade of grass. Not a single loose patch of ground or bump. The garden appeared untouched. It was a haven that any artist would be happy to live in.

Hadjar dug his fingers into the ground. He buried them up to the last knuckle and digested the information. It was cold enough to fool an inexperienced tracker. But he was far from one. Back in the old days, the lives of his subordinates had depended on his ability to read tracks.

The ground wasn’t cold enough, however. The winds that blew through here should’ve cooled it down far more than this. Someone had walked across it recently. Moreover, that someone was bleeding — only blood could’ve warmed the ground up so unevenly that it hadn’t had time to cool down yet.

“Someone fought here recently,” Hadjar said thoughtfully. Images of the recent battle appeared and disappeared in his mind. He couldn’t get a complete picture of what had happened. The details constantly eluded him. “I can’t tell you how long ago it happened…”

“How many people?” Dora asked.

Once again, the images came and went erratically.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s unclear. I can’t understand it all…”

Anise disappeared first. Then Dora. Then Galkhad and Einen. Then Tom. They’d all sunk into the thick flowerbed.

Hadjar struggled to figure out what was happening as the ground swallowed his companions. He’d been left all alone.

“You smell like the Enemy... It is a bad smell.”

Or had he?

Chapter 755

The creature that emerged from the blooming, beautiful garden looked as out of place as a horse shitting in the middle of an Imperial ball while two fat, old politicians fucked on its back.

It wore a shadowy cloak and leaned on a staff. It seemed to float above the flowers, leaving behind a trail of withered plants and dried soil. The moment it was gone, however, they’d grow anew and even more beautiful than before.

The only thing that seemed tangible about the entire figure, which was more than six feet tall, was the skull and rib cage that peeked out from beneath its robes. The skull was devoid of all muscle tissue, but the torso looked almost alive. Perhaps that had something to do with the large, purple crystal embedded in its sternum. Threads of energy coiled around and spread throughout the creature’s body.

Hadjar was familiar with this type of energy, as it had a distinctive color and aura. Moreover, a similar crystal Core was currently resting in his spatial ring.

“Again?” He sighed wearily and held the Black Blade out in front of him. “Damn you, Darkhan…”

Once again, an unknown entity, having identified him as a descendant of the Black General, was eager to take his life. He was getting really tired of this routine.

“Is this how the Prince of the glorious Kingdom of Lidus was raised?” The creature’s voice was misty — rustling somewhere at the edges of his hearing and then instantly disappearing once more. “Do you always draw your weapon when you are visiting someone?”

Hadjar stared at the creature, dumbfounded. For the first time in probably forever, someone who knew his ancestor wasn’t in a hurry to kill him.

“Aren’t you going to attack me?” Hadjar asked in disbelief, still holding his sword.

“Why should I?”

“Then what did you do to my friends?”

“Friend,” the creature corrected him. “Einen, like the others who came to my garden, is asleep. Like all sleeping people, they are dreaming. I cannot guarantee that all of their dreams are pleasant, however.”

The creature bent down and tried to pluck a flower, but as soon as its hand drew close to the beautiful golden blossom, it turned to dust. The creature sighed and straightened up. Its empty eye sockets stared at Hadjar.

“How do you know who we are?”

“I know everyone who comes to my domain, Hadjar Darkhan.” The creature looked up at the sky. Hadjar could’ve sworn that it was looking beyond the water, at the ships frozen in the sky. “And even those who are watching us right now. They are looking, but they do not see us. Even the Lord of the Heavens cannot see through Azerie’s veil.”

“Azerie’s veil? Is that the name of the spell covering the lake?”

“No, that was the name of the girl who put it there.”

The creature, despite its very menacing appearance, didn’t seem to be hostile. Moreover, Hadjar didn’t feel any energy emanating from it. So, it wasn’t someone’s Shadow, either.

What is it then? And how-

“It’s all thanks to this.” One of its foggy hands touched the scarlet crystal in the center of its chest. “Thanks to this demonic heart, I can remain in this wonderful garden.”

Utterly confused by what was going on, Hadjar looked through the World River, but saw no sign of Einen or the other four. Looking at the creature, he couldn’t detect its presence. It was as if it didn’t exist at all.

“Can you read minds?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He wanted to take a little time to collect his thoughts and make a plan. He had a gut feeling that whatever was going on here wouldn’t end well.

“I only read fates,” the creature answered. It kept staring through the water. “You were destined to come here. As were your companions. They were destined to fall asleep. You were destined to ask me why I was not dead yet and how I was still alive. So I decided to answer your questions in advance…”

“But-”

“Perhaps I have just changed fate,” the creature interrupted.

The situation was so surreal that all Hadjar could do was stare. The unease he felt didn’t bode well for them. After training with Orune — demons take him! — he found it difficult to be afraid of anything, so him feeling anxious wasn’t a good sign.

“Did you know that, long ago, fate wasn’t a written scroll or a piece of woven fabric? There were myths that people had been sculpted by the gods out of clay in order to serve them. Along with those people, their destinies were sculpted as well. Therefore, the art of pottery and blacksmithing was considered sacred. To make something out of nothing, to give shape to the shapeless, to plunge the world into chaos, then force chaos to follow law and order…”

Once again, Hadjar was grateful to fate, or whatever had made it happen, for arranging for him to meet the Tree of Life. If not for that experience, talking to some of these entities would’ve already made him go mad ten times over by now.

“Does that remind you of anything?” The creature asked.

Hadjar pondered the question. He still needed time.

“Dreams!” He suddenly realized. “It’s like a dream.”

“Fate is a dream, Hadjar.” The creature nodded in agreement. “And just like a dream, fate is ever-changing and fickle.”

“All I know about fate is that people can’t change it anymore because of the gods,” Hadjar said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Maybe. Or maybe people just forgot how to distinguish between dreams and fate. Maybe you are still lying on an iron table and people in green coats are cutting you open with steel and inserting lightning bolts into your brain.”

Hadjar shuddered. This creature, whatever it was, had just described his last hours on Earth.

“Who are you?”

The creature turned its gaze away from the water.

Holy shit!

It looked into his eyes.

Holy shit!

“Do you know the story of the Potter, Dlahi Hadjar?”

Holy shit!

The lake, the fog, and the beautiful garden weren’t the creature’s domain, but its prison.

Vines shot out of the ground and coiled around Hadjar, pulling him into the dark earth.

Chapter 756

“Please help me! Please!”

A gray-haired young man was wandering the streets of a bustling city. He stumbled along, the heat of the merciless midday sun bearing down on him, moving erratically past people and their stands, seemingly running from something.

“Help me! I’m begging you!”

He grabbed the hands of passersby and clutched at their clothes, but all he heard in reply were shouts of disgust and insults:

“Get off me, you worthless piece of shit!”

“Don’t touch my son, you animal! You smell awful!”

“Guards! Guards! There’s an untouchable over here!”

People immediately covered their faces with cloth and hurried to the opposite side of the street from him.

An untouchable? Hadjar thought, staring at the scene unfolding before his eyes. Isn’t that what they used to call lepers? But that was thousands of years ago... We don’t have leprosy anymore.

“No! I’m not a leper!” The young man cried out desperately.

It was because of the black lines running from the corners of his eyes up to his chin, and the soiled rags that his clothes had turned into, that people were mistaking him for a leper. An untouchable.

The clanging of metal armor and the tramping of steel-toed boots hitting the pavement came from around the corner. The untouchables were forbidden from entering any city under penalty of death, as they could start a pandemic. You didn’t need much of an imagination to figure out what the guards would do if they got their hands on the young man.

Hadjar reached out to the young man who’d fallen to the pavement, but his hand went right through him.

“It is just a dream, Hadjar,” someone standing nearby told him.

Hadjar turned. Beside him stood the figure made of darkness and decaying flesh. A red, crystalline heart was beating in the center of its chest.

Memories gradually returned to his confused mind. He saw himself fighting the fog on the lake’s surface. He saw his companions disappearing one by one.

“It is just a dream,” the creature repeated, its voice heavy with sadness.

The guards came into view from around the corner.

“There he is!” One of them shouted. “If you don’t want to go to your forefathers, don’t let that bastard touch you!”

Hadjar didn’t recognize the coat of arms on their breastplates. He’d never seen armor like theirs before. They weren’t artifacts at all. But even back in the age of the Hundred Kingdoms, artifact armor had already been invented. So, what he was looking at right now was someone’s memory of a place and time far, far away from the present.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not a leper!” Holding up their shields and spears, the guards encircled the young man like he was some kind of dangerous prisoner or wild animal. “I’m just looking for help... I’m looking for Tisseh…”

Hadjar didn’t know why they were being so careful. The young man could barely move.

“Kill the bastard!” The sergeant snapped. “Be careful! Don’t let his rotten blood get on you!”

The guards raised their hands to thrust their spears forward when the youngest of them stepped forward.

“Are you completely out of your mind, boy?”

“Sir, I beg your pardon, but I think I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

“What name?”

“Tisseh.”

The ragged man immediately sprang up. He reached for the young guard.

“Do you know Tisseh?” He whispered, his lips trembling. “Have you seen her?”

“When did this happen?” Hadjar asked the creature standing next to him. His memories had returned. He now knew whose strange dream this was.

“In the days before the Great North Star went out,” the creature said with a hint of melancholy and longing in its voice. “The patroness of all wanderers.”

Hadjar had never heard of that star before. If even the memory of it had been lost to the ages, then… Just how many hundreds of thousands of years had passed since then?

“No, I haven’t seen Tisseh.” The young guard crouched and, ignoring the captain’s warning, gripped the ragged man’s hand with his own completely uncovered one and helped him to his feet. “Are you B-”

The desperate man’s name was drowned out by a sudden gust of wind.

“I am!” The ragged man nodded.

“Sergeant,” the guard turned to the officer “I know this poor man. He really isn’t a leper.”

“I see,” the officer said. “I doubt that you’d be touching him so carelessly if he were.” He watched as his subordinate touched the hobo’s bare skin without fear.

Hadjar recalled that leprosy wasn’t the same in this vast world as it had been back on Earth. It spread instantly from a single touch. Symptoms like putrefaction manifested in a matter of seconds.

“Who is he then, private?” The sergeant set his spear down beside him.

“A hobo.” The guard shrugged. “A crazy wretch of a man who loves to ramble. He always talks about his beloved Tisseh being stolen by Derger, the God of War.”

“Yes!” The worn out man, breaking his fingernails in the process, tried to hold on to the armor of the young guard. “He took her away in his chariot drawn by fiery dogs!”

He then told them about how he’d prayed to the Jasper Emperor for a week. That he had performed all the ancient rites he’d been able to find. But they’d all ultimately failed. He said that he’d shed more tears than all the family and friends of a fallen warrior combined. That he’d cried so much that the salt of his tears had burned two black lines into his skin.

“A madman.” The sergeant spat on the ground and looked at the ragged man. “Take him to the barracks and feed him.”

“And then?”

The officer turned around. He lowered his gaze, conscious of the inquisitive stares of the passersby who’d gathered around them.

“Then send him on his way,” the sergeant responded loudly. “We don’t need beggars here. Especially madmen like him.”

Helmet flashing under his arm, he started walking down the street. The other guards hurried after him. The young guard dragged the beggar away with him.

“Tisseh... Wait for me, Tisseh… Tisseh, I’ll come for you,” the poor man kept mumbling to himself.

Hadjar found himself back in the garden. He was breathing heavily and staring at the creature in front of him. The scarlet of its heart was reflected in his azure eyes.

“That was you...” he croaked. “You’re the Potter.”

Chapter 757

Hadjar had heard this story five, maybe six years ago. Einen had told it to him back when they’d worked as guards in Rahaim’s caravan.

In the story, one incredibly talented potter, who was able to sculpt everything that he saw, fell in love with a beautiful girl — Princess Tisseh. They ran away together and lived in a hut in the woods, enjoying the little things. He made pots for villagers and she worked the land and with animals. However, her unearthly beauty began to fade. The God of War, Derger, couldn’t stand seeing her grow old as he’d been in love with the beautiful Tisseh from her very birth. Somehow managing to violate the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, he interfered in the life of mortals and took Tisseh to the Seventh Heaven. The Potter was left to yearn for his beloved back in the mortal realm. Taking pity on the unfortunate man and his doomed love, the Goddess of Love created the immortality and godhood elixir for him, which was then kept safe by the ancient mage civilization. But then, in order to keep things balanced, the Potter was cursed. Even if he got close to the elixir, he still wouldn’t be able to detect it. Only the twisted logic of the gods would think that was fair! There was the elixir, the Potter, and a chance for him to find Tisseh one day, so the universe wouldn’t suffer, because no laws had been broken. The deities didn’t care about the fate of two toys they’d created for their own amusement.

“You’re the Potter,” Hadjar repeated, trying to catch his breath. He felt as if he’d been wrung out, torn into thousands of pieces, and then put back together again.

“I am what remains of him.” The undead fragment of the past declared.

Hadjar’s gaze was once again drawn to the beating, crystal heart. Demonic energy radiated from it. Gradually, the scattered pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

He finally understood where the Lake above their heads had come from. The same mages who’d used the elixir as fuel for their island and incurred the gods’ wrath in the process had probably cast this spell as well. They’d turned it into a cage for the creature that had once been the young Potter, and had thus ensured that the world above was relatively safe from it. Hadjar couldn’t help thinking that something was wrong with the creature… Something to do with the Tarez and the reason Helmer was so concerned about all of this.

Ba-dum, ba-dum… The crystalline heart kept beating.

“Why were you imprisoned here, Potter?”

“I am not him, per se,” the creature said, gaze focused on the water above them once again. “I am but a fragment of what he sacrificed to become what he is now.”

“Now?” Hadjar asked. “Is he still alive?”

“If you can call that living, Dlahi Hadjar.” The creature said those two words again. The words Hadjar had first heard when he’d come into this world. His mother had lulled him to sleep and called him ‘Dear Hadjar’ as she’d done so. “A man with a soul can’t defeat the god who gave it to him. But a man without a soul is no longer a man. The Potter isn’t dead, but neither is he alive. He is an ancient, wretched creature, wandering along a path that only leads to a single goal.”

The creature fell silent. If the Potter was truly ‘alive,’ he had to be the oldest living human. He probably remembered the Black General descending from the sky and, if Steppe Fang was to be believed, teaching humanity the path of cultivation.

Perhaps that was why the armor sets he’d seen in that memory hadn’t been artifacts. Back in those distant times, they hadn’t known how to make them, let alone how to defend themselves against wild animals that had their own path of cultivation. That was why the human race had been so weak that the elves had been considered a separate people in those days, complete with their own country, and not merely a clan that could fit entirely within the capital of a human Empire.

“What’s he trying to accomplish?” Hadjar asked.

The creature, this fragment of the past lost in its own descent into the abyss, didn’t respond immediately. It looked as if it were pondering whether to answer the question at all.

“One day, you will know, Dlahi Hadjar,” it finally said after a couple of moments of silence. “You will know... But not today. I will not tell you.”

“You know,” Hadjar sat down and then immediately got up again, “I heard a prophecy about my future once.”

“The Tree of Life.” The creature shook its head. “I remember… I heard that conversation.”

“How did you...? Never mind. I wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

“You would not,” the creature agreed. “But you are reaching higher and higher plateaus, Dlahi Hadjar. The higher you go, the farther you can see. But at the same time, the higher you go, the fewer people you meet. Your path is far and high up…”

“Riddles again… You...” He couldn’t find the right words to address the creature with, so he just waved his hand dismissively. “Will you tell me why you were imprisoned here and where I can find my companions?”

“Because I know the truth, Hadjar. Because I could make everything I saw. In doing so, I realized the truth that was feared by all, mortals and immortals alike.”

“And what is this truth?”

The creature turned to look at him.

“To find out, you will have to grant my wish, Dlahi Hadjar.”

Hadjar knew that he wouldn’t like the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he had no other choice.

“What do you want?”

“Kill me, Hadjar brought by the North Wind. Otherwise, your friends will perish, as I will let them slumber forever.”

Hadjar summoned the Black Blade.

“Oh, Dlahi Hadjar,” the unfortunate Potter’s fragment laughed. “I will not leave this life so easily. I will leave accompanied by fanfare and thunder! With lightning and fire all around… I will leave so spectacularly that I will be remembered forever!” The creature shouted and exploded with power that warped reality itself.

Chapter 758

The wave of power tore through the surface of the lake and crashed into the shield of ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’, making it ripple and shimmer. The ship rocked back from the impact.

Without a word, the clan leaders simultaneously placed their palms against the side of the ship. A flood of weapon mysteries rushed toward the gaping hole, but they still weren’t enough to patch it up.

“Orune,” Emperor Morgan said calmly.

The swordsman, who’d been cleaning out his ear with his pinky finger, suddenly grew serious. He rose, saluted, and bowed.

“Yes, my General.”

No one understood why Orune addressed the Emperor as ‘General’, and not as the rightful ruler of the Empire.

The sky was suddenly filled with white clouds. Like a falling star, a ball of lightning fell past them and enveloped the ship’s shield in a dense, sparking haze, patching the hole back up.

The ambassadors of the neighboring Empires couldn’t contain their horror. They’d heard that there was one person in Darnassus who, despite not being of Imperial blood, could still use a Divine level Technique. Had they been told that a barbarian like Orune was, in fact, a Lord equal to Emperor Morgan himself, the strongest ruler in all the seven Empires, they wouldn’t have believed such idiotic claims. Only the ruler of Lascan could probably match Morgan’s power.

“Look over there!” One of the high-ranking nobles shouted. His status wasn’t high enough to make him a member of the true aristocracy, but if one of the great clans fell, he and his family would fight to ensure their house became one of the seven pillars of the Empire. “What’s that?”

“By the gods and demons! Do you remember that tale our mothers used to scare us with?”

“About the devil that lives at the bottom of the Lake of Dreams?”

If they only knew that this particular tale was more than just a spooky story meant to scare misbehaving children. If they only knew that an ancient being dwelled beneath the rippling surface of the Lake.

“It seems like his disciple will never get a chance to surpass him,” Salm laughed nervously.

“What was his name again?” Brustor asked, waving his hand around as if trying to remember it. If there was one thing these two men could agree on, it was their hatred of Orune. “Hibar, was it?”

“No... Halal?”

“Nope. Honavar, maybe?”

The guests burst out laughing. Honavar meant castrated donkey in the old language. Jean was prepared for the worst, but nothing happened. Orune continued to stand behind Emperor Morgan. He’d appeared there without anyone noticing him. Including Morgan’s own guards.

“Your disciple,” the Emperor lifted his head from his fist for the first time since the Tournament began. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s an incompetent dog, my General. Unworthy of the effort to shave and bathe him. A prideful worm. Let wild beasts tear him apart, it’s no great loss.”

A half-smile appeared on Morgan’s face.

“In all the time we’ve known each other, Orune, this is probably the most flattering thing I’ve ever heard you say about anyone.”

“You’re right, General. If you asked me to choose between the clan Heads and sect leaders and all these other patriarchs currently present on this ship, and that mongrel, I’d choose the mongrel.”

The Heads of the clans choked on air in outrage.

“I hope he won’t disappoint us, then,” the Emperor said. “A storm is coming. We’ll need only the best.”

“A storm, my General?” Orune asked. “Do you mean that squabble we’re having with Lascan? Only their orcs are worthy of our notice.”

A moment passed, followed by a flash of lightning. A roaring laughter could be heard. It sounded like the ringing of swords against shields and the beating of war drums. Morgan laughed as if he were letting loose with a battle cry. It was no wonder that he’d made even the dragons respect him.

“Honestly, Orune, I don’t see why you value him so much.”

“It’s all my fault, my General.” Orune saluted. “I didn’t raise him properly. He thinks too much and does too little. I would ask you to wait a bit. It will soon occur to him that the creature might be able to shove a staff up his-”

The Emperor raised his hand and Orune fell silent. The ambassadors were struggling to figure out just how strong Morgan had to be in order to control a man like the great swordsman Orune.

The creature standing on the surface of the water held up its foggy, black staff. It uttered only a single word and unleashed a flood of power upon the world. The shields of the warships quivered. The ground within a radius of almost a mile around it caved in. Trees fell apart, turning into splinters and dust, adding a new note of crackling to the eerie symphony of thunder and lightning. A whirlwind of dark power, which even at this distance and through the shields smelled like rot and death, struck the lone figure of the unprotected Spirit Knight.

“The boy’s dead!” Brustor exclaimed with a victorious grin on his face. “It’s such a pity that my father didn’t live to see Orune’s face dripping with his own shit and-”

The obsidian tornado of destructive energy died down, revealing the unscathed figure of the young warrior who just shook his head as if he were trying to get dust out of his hair.

“How is this possible?” The Head of the Predatory Blades clan leapt to his feet.

He was followed by the Head of House Tarez, who then turned to the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School sitting next to Jean. The old man was unperturbed.

“Honorable judge, this is a violation of the rules! The boy clearly used a protective amulet!”

All defensive and offensive amulets and talismans were banned. Otherwise, the Tournament would’ve been a contest of wealth, not power.

“There was no violation,” the old man said.

The young warrior held out his left hand in front of him. He put his clenched right fist into it and bowed low at the waist. This gesture was unfamiliar to everyone.

Except for one of the spectators.

The ‘Master’ perked up slightly.

“How interesting…” he whispered to himself.

The boy raised his sword, a gesture that was immediately followed by the rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning. Orune laughed loudly.

“Come on, pup, show them your fangs!” He snarled, glaring at the seven most powerful nobles.

***

Minister Ju, who’d been wandering the land of the mortals for several centuries disguised as a simple courier, suddenly shivered. He hadn’t felt anything like this since the coup, which had happened almost two and a half million years ago.

Minister Ju, still maintaining his guise of a simple courier, turned to the east. The north wind was blowing. Somewhere out there, far away, at a distance that would be incomprehensible to mortals, a storm was brewing.

“A descendant of the wanderer?” Ju whispered. “But… That’s impossible… Traves was the last one… The Dark Storm clan was destroyed…”

Still, Ju had sensed it. He felt it even now. But most importantly, he could hear the roar of the strongest of the dragons, the Skystrider.

“Go!” Ju spurred his horse forward. “Go! Hurry!”

He had to do this! He had to find the young dragon before he moved on to the second part of the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique. Otherwise…

Chapter 759

“What’s going on?” The people on the skyships shouted.

No one had ever even heard of the Technique that had just been used. The creature hadn’t used any mysteries or energy, but it had still managed to cause everything in its vicinity to rot. It was as if it could control the very process of decomposition, something that was impossible for even peak-stage Lords who specialized in the true path of cultivation. It had to be some sort of magic.

And if that wasn’t odd and mysterious enough already, the young man the attack had been aimed at was standing in the middle of the Lake as if nothing had happened, unaware of the carnage that had taken place right behind him.

“How can a Spirit Knight stand on the Lake’s surface like that?”

“Who is he?”

Thousands of eyes were fixed on Hadjar. A swirl of black energy streaked with blue surrounded him. The shouts and cries were drowned out by a terrible roar. The sails of many ships shook as it struck them along with the thunder. The energy suddenly shrank down to a small sphere, then popped like a soap bubble.

The same young man still stood on the Lake’s surface, but he was wearing something else. Instead of his old, patched-up clothes, he now wore full armor made up of black plates. A cloak made of fog and silver flowed down his back. Emblazoned upon it was a coat of arms that no one had ever seen before. Strange as it was, it was too simple to hold anyone’s attention for more than a moment.

The armor was strong enough to withstand an Imperial level Technique, but it didn’t look heavy at all. On the contrary, it looked like a second skin due to how well it fit him.

“Is he crazy?” People whispered. “He’s fighting without a helmet!”

“Fucking hell! Do you know who made that Imperial armor? I want a set as well!”

“Maybe the Eternal Mountain clan?”

“What good is armor without a helmet?”

While everyone else was discussing the pros and cons of Imperial level armor without a helmet, deathly silence reigned on ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. It was broken only by the steady clicking of the dragon’s claws tapping against the armrest of his chair.

“A Call...” He whispered thoughtfully in the dragon language. To speak and understand it, one needed to have at least a drop of a Lord of the Heavens’ blood in their veins. “But which family does it belong to? I’ve never seen such potential before… What ancient rascal had fun with a human? Should I tell the Emperor? Hmm… No... Not yet...”

No one on the ship understood his muttering.

“Despite his impressive gear, he can’t deal with the monster using his armor alone, Orune,” Agvar said. He sounded nervous.

“Why are you worried about my pup, you ancient log?”

“Because, you hermit, my daughter was with him when he entered that Lake. But he came out alone. Mark my words, if-”

Orune’s eyes flashed like the lightning that streaked across the sky.

“You’ll what?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was as if the storm itself was speaking. “What will you do, oh mighty elven King, oh ancient Agvar?”

Raindrops the size of a fingernail began to beat against the ship’s shield like hands upon drums.

Agvar looked away and said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” Orune snorted.

Nothing in this world was as powerful as the hatred Orune felt toward the aristocrats. And they were well aware of it.

“Stop hiding your tail between your legs, pup!” He turned back to the Lake. “Show us your fangs!”

***

Hadjar could’ve sworn that he was hearing Orune’s voice, but he ascribed that to the nightmares that were still plaguing him.

“Wasn’t the garden your prison?” Hadjar asked the creature. “How did you get out?”

The fact that he was back in his own world wasn’t his doing. When the creature had made its desire known, it had activated some sort of powerful spell that had pushed them both through the water and the fog. If not for his ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique, Hadjar would’ve already sunk to the bottom again.

“Every prison has its lock, Dlahi Hadjar.” The creature’s voice easily overpowered the raging storm. “And every lock has its key.”

“Am I that key?”

The creature simply nodded.

“Oh, give me a fucking break already!” Hadjar exclaimed. “Only in bard songs have I heard of heroes that the world revolves around!”

He was getting rather tired of the fact that wherever he appeared, some ancient entity was already waiting for him. Though, admittedly, that probably had something to do with the wretched fragment of the first Darkhan’s essence lodged inside his soul…

“In all the ages I have lived in, no man of your power ev-”

Hadjar could see the creature opening its mouth, but he couldn’t hear what was being said.

“What a pity,” it said, noticing that the young man was struggling. “You are still too weak to understand the power of words.”

“What words?”

“True words, Dlahi Hadjar. The ones that created this world and everything that surrounds you.”

Hadjar felt as if he were being presented with a secret so important that if he took the chance to hear it, he’d be signing his own death warrant.

“Let us see if you can resist the power of the spell.”

Hadjar had already come in contact with magic back in the Sea of Sand. Even when performed by the mages of Underworld City, it had looked devastating. He really didn’t want to test how powerful this creature’s spell would be.

“If you think I’m just going to stand here defending myself, you’re wrong.”

It took less than a heartbeat for Hadjar to dive into the depths of his soul and call on his loyal friend for help. He summoned his treasured companion who’d come to his aid more than once over the past two years. The Quetzal bird.

Chapter 760

Back in the Wastelands, Hadjar’s Spirit had been no bigger than the palm of his hand and had lived in bushes that reached up to his waist.

Its nest was now a tree so tall that he had to take a step back and even tilt his head back in order to merely glimpse the top of it. There, nestled amongst the dark green leaves, rested a marvelous bird with a wingspan of more than five feet. Looking at it now, he was certain that the Quetzal had yet to reach its true form and that it had a lot of growing left to do. He’d honestly never heard of people’s Spirits being able to grow. Instead, they would remain forever frozen in the form they’d first appeared in. His Quetzal bird, however, seemed to be following its own set of rules.

“Will you go into battle with me again, my feathered friend?” Hadjar held out his hand toward the tree.

Unlike the other cultivators of the seven Empires, he didn’t just take power from his Spirit. He didn’t force it to fight with him or think of it as some sort of tool that he would use to secure his victory. Because the orcs had taught him about the ancestral path and how the ancestors had once fought side by side with their Spirits, he always asked his Quetzal bird to join him in battle instead. If it agreed, he gave it his power. And it, in turn, gave him its own might. Through this continuous exchange, they found harmony and strength.

With a flutter of its iridescent wings, the Quetzal let out a cry. Coiling its long tail around Hadjar, it soared into the sky.

***

“A simple Spirit Beast?” Brustor laughed. “I’d expected something more... Oh, I don’t know… Formidable… You’ve disappointed me, Orune.”

“Look more closely, Brustor,” Agvar pointed at the young man’s Spirit. “Have you ever seen Spirits that big before?”

The Head of the Predatory Blades clan wanted to object, but couldn’t. He’d really never seen such a huge Spirit in his life. As soon as the giant bird spread its wings, a barely noticeable ripple passed over the surface of the lake. Only in the oldest legends, preserved in the forbidden chronicles of the Hundred Kingdoms, could one find stories of heroes whose Spirits could influence reality.

What in the name of all the demons did Orune do to this monstrous commoner on that fucking Storm Mountain?

“By the gods and demons…”

“What the fuck is this?”

“Is it even possible to use a Spirit like that?”

Only the great swordsman, after seeing everyone’s reactions, finally smiled.

“Now bite him, pup!” He roared at the top of his lungs, outshouting the storm’s fury.

***

“I was planning to save this for the final round of the Tournament, but…”

Thanks to years of fighting experience, Hadjar knew when he could afford to hold back in order to try and learn something from the fight. However, right now, all of his instincts were screaming at him. If he didn’t give it his all, this creature would obliterate him so completely that even finding a speck of him would be hard.

The first attack had been a welcome slap to the face, a nudge in the back that friends usually started their brawls with.

Hadjar raised his hand.

Letting out another long cry, the Quetzal coiled its tail around his wrist. It then burst into blue flames that formed a hovering energy sphere.

Hadjar ran his left hand over his onyx blade. An image depicting a bird in flight appeared on its polished surface. Almost immediately, it changed into a young, barren tree.

“The way of the spirit warrior?” The creature looked surprised. “In my time, only a few people had a soul strong enough to fight alongside their Spirits. It would seem like the world was right about you…”

“The world?”

“I told you, Dlahi Hadjar. I will answer your questions only if you grant me my wish. Please, do not miss.” It tapped its crystalline heart with a boney finger. “Right here. Now, let us finish this quickly. I have waited for far too long already.”

The creature pointed its staff at Hadjar. It was saying something again. Hadjar could hear some of the words, but he couldn’t understand them. Not even his neural network could decipher them.

The stormy sky swirled behind the creature and gathered into a single cloud. It crept along the ground, leaving a trail of dry and cracked earth behind. Flowers and grass withered. The leaves fell off the trees and their bark dried up and crumbled to dust. Stones cracked and broke apart.

From within the gray haze emerged a pair of scab-covered, ghostly hands. They leaned forward, each one as big as a horse. The rest of the hands that emerged next to them weren’t any better, either. They emerged up to their elbows and stopped, their skin a sickly shade of ashen gray and full of pustules. A whitish substance dripped from them, burning the ground and killing everything it touched.

The creature said something, and the clawed hands flew forward. A storm thundered overhead, hitting the surrounding trees with lightning bolts, trying to start a fire. Luckily, any flames were immediately extinguished by the furious downpour.

However, all the lightning and all the water that fell on the hands disappeared without a trace.

***

“Whatever this thing is using, it’s clearly at the peak stage of the Lord level,” the Head of the Eternal Mountain clan said.

“That explains why the Lake of Dreams was considered a dangerous place for so many years. Few cultivators would be able to run into this beast and live to tell the tale.”

There were more Lords than there were Nameless in all of the Empires. But there weren’t a lot of Lords who were on the verge of advancing to the next level of cultivation.

“To survive, the boy will have to defeat a being that’s almost two levels above him in cultivation.”

As far as they all knew, only one warrior in all of Darnassus was capable of such a feat. And he was standing among them. Against the backdrop of the raging storm, he looked even more dangerous than the fury of Mother Nature herself. His eyes, as sharp as his blades, were fixed on his disciple.

And then Hadjar disappeared. All the clan Heads jumped up from their seats.

“That’s impossible!” They shouted in unison.

Aboard ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’, there were no more than nine people who could follow Hadjar’s movements. The sight made Orune laugh louder than the thunder. The lightning struck with such force and anger that it was as if the gods themselves were displeased with the power that his disciple was displaying.

“Stupid pup!” He laughed. “I told you that it was far too early for you to use that Technique!”

Chapter 761

Two weeks later, there wasn’t much left of Hadjar — he was now little more than a scarred skeleton. He weighed so little that a gust of wind could almost throw him off the cliff.

All this time, Orune had been feasting. For days on end, he’d done only three things: roast meat, eat meat, and beat Hadjar.

Every time the latter made any movements, he was punished with a stick to the back. Over the past two and a half months, he’d been hit so many times that the stones under him now had an outline of his body carved into them.

“Weakling.” Orune tossed aside another stick that had been reduced to splinters, broke off a piece of the roast, then sank his teeth into the juicy meat. “Were you going to defy three clans with that?”

Hadjar didn’t answer. It was difficult for him to remain conscious.

“If I hadn’t come along, you would’ve been fucked harder than the cheapest whore!”

Hadjar heard his words, but he couldn’t grasp their meaning. He was in a strange state — on the edge between life and death, reality and unconsciousness. He seemed to be at a crossroads. The path that would lead him back to life and reality was so shaky that it would collapse from a stern glance thrown in its direction. Only by standing still could Hadjar avoid immediately falling prey to the fangs of the predatory, ever-hungry void. The abyss that, from the very moment of their birth, matured in the soul of every person. The gaping pit that everyone filled with what they could: wine, women, drugs, art, money, family, or love.

Everyone found their own light, which they followed along a hidden road in their inner void, which inevitably led to death. But at least it was a death that didn’t hurt you by making you realize how empty the days of life had been.

Now, standing at the crossroads in the middle of nothingness, Hadjar realized that his path was… empty. There was nothing on it. Nothing that could help him pull himself out of the hole he’d fallen into. So, the hungry abyss was actually appealing to him. After all, it was much easier to fall down than to climb up.

“Come to me...” it whispered. “Do not fear… I will grant you peace…”

But Hadjar, his eyes still shining with defiant light, refused.

“No.”

When Orune once again swung the stick at him, he halted his strike a hair’s breadth away from his disciple’s bloodied skin.

Hadjar’s bony hand shot up. It grabbed the throat of one of the vultures that were picking at his flesh. Dragging the struggling bird closer to himself, he greedily sank his teeth into its neck. By the Evening Stars, he’d never tasted anything more delicious than the blood of this scavenger. By the High Heavens, he’d never eaten anything tastier than its raw, tough meat.

Orune put the stick down next to him and gave a predatory smile.

“You’re one of those people who take a long time to get it, aren’t you? Well, you talking pile of shit, you have fifteen minutes to finish your dinner and then we’re moving on to the next part of your training!”

By the Great Turtle, he would kill this crazy swordsman!

***

“Second strike: The Drawn Sword!”

With a quiet crack, the crystal shattered. Broken shards rained down on Hadjar, scratching his hands. They cut through his Call’s armor, which had already surpassed some Imperial level artifacts in strength, like a hot knife through butter. Drops of blood ran down his forearm and fell into the water, coloring it a faint purple.

“So that is how it is...”

The staff of fog fell from the creature’s hands. Before it even touched the Lake’s surface, it disappeared, blown away by a raging wind that hadn’t been created by the storm.

Only a heartbeat after Hadjar broke through the demonic crystal, an explosion rang out in the spot where he’d stood a moment earlier. It was so powerful that it vaporized several tons of water and obliterated the coastline. The earth, rocks, and trees were simply erased in the chaotic swirl of power and the Sword’s mysteries.

But the scale of all this destruction was small compared to what was happening behind the creature, which was already sinking into the water. At the moment of impact, a stream of black and blue energy had shot out from its back, leaving behind a hole so big and long that it looked as if a gigantic snake had slithered through. It was like a deep scar on an already wounded and decaying body.

“Some of you young folks been saying to me, ‘Hey Pops, what you mean, ‘What a wonderful world?’” The creature whispered as it died slowly, its demonic heart fading.

“What?” Hadjar asked, coughing out blood. He was bleeding from every orifice on his body. He could feel his body failing.

The Black General had warned him that using this Technique would kill those who hadn’t mastered the Weapon Kingdom yet. But he was so close... And, at the same time, so far away…

“Trust no one, Dlahi Hadjar,” it whispered. “Find out the secret behind your birth… Find out who you are... Who you really are… And never, ever forget the truth.” The creature pulled him close and whispered in his ear. “Everything that is visible is not eternal.”

Unclenching its hands, it cast one last look toward the water.

“How about all them wars all over the place? You call them wonderful? And how about hunger and pollution? That ain’t so wonderful either.”

Losing consciousness, Hadjar was almost ready to join the creature in the Lake’s embrace. In the back of his mind, he heard a familiar tune…

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…

Louis Armstrong had once said those words before singing his famous ‘What a wonderful world’ song. Hadjar’s mind lit up. His neural network, as if treating this as an order, played an old record in his mind, which, for years, had allowed him to hold on to a ray of hope as he’d lain in a cold hospital bed. It was his favorite song.

Hadjar was falling into the Lake…

Chapter 762

In order for his body to recover, Hadjar had had to use it as bait for four days in a row. Lying on the cliff, he’d waited for scavengers or birds of prey to come closer. All the while, Orune had continued to beat him, but this time, he’d done it whenever he’d pleased, rather than whenever Hadjar had moved.

Just like with the vulture, he’d grabbed the birds and sunk his teeth into their feathered necks. He hadn’t cared that he’d looked like a beast or that such behavior wasn’t becoming of a cultivator. He hadn’t cared about the lack of cutlery either, or the fact that it could all prove to be more trouble than it was worth at any moment. He’d wanted to survive. And in order to live, he had to eat. The only food he could get was the scavengers. It was either him or them. And he’d chosen himself instantly.

It was a simple thought but, for some reason, it came with great difficulty. In this harsh world, where the strong ruled and the weak humbled themselves, society had managed to create a system that denied the very simplicity of the world.

Three days later, when, without any warning, Orune brought his stick down toward Hadjar’s back, there was a thud. The branch hit a stone and broke in half.

Hadjar, standing several feet away, was staring at his teacher and breathing heavily. In his hands was a sharpened piece of wood.

“Not bad.” Orune grimaced. He kicked a wooden stool aside. “Sit down. Eat.”

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Hadjar wheezed.

Orune gave him the kind of look a person usually reserved for a dog that couldn’t learn to follow even the simplest of commands.

“Three months ago, you wouldn’t have even noticed that attack. And now you’re able to dodge it.”

As if to confirm his own words, Orune swung his hand. Hadjar saw only the afterimages that hung frozen in the air for a couple of moments. But even before the improvised projectile had left Orune’s hand, Hadjar had already known which way it would go. His instincts had sensed which direction the threat would come from.

There was a whistling noise, followed by a crack. A splinter had dug itself into a stone. Hadjar stood a couple of feet to the side of it.

“Eat.” Orune tore off another piece of the roast and tossed it into his mouth. He swallowed a huge chunk of meat almost without chewing, and then wiped his hands on his hair. Hadjar grimaced. “Do you know what annoys me the most when it comes to the Empire’s cultivators?”

“What?” Hadjar asked and sat down on a stool. It was as simple as the stool Orune was sitting on, and the spit the meat was being roasted on. Despite his position and power, Orune seemed to need nothing more than the sky above his head and the earth beneath his feet to be happy.

“They behave more like aristocratic bodyguards than warriors. Each time I visit Morgan at one of his parties, I want to murder them.”

“Morgan?”

Orune’s face hardened.

“You know him as His Imperial Majesty.”

It was funny how he’d never considered the fact that the Emperor surely had an actual name of his own. Perhaps it was due to the fact that no one ever addressed him by name. There was something strange about the Imperial family. It ruled all of Darnassus and had a powerful Inheritance to rely on, as well as a huge amount of funds and connections, but what it didn’t have was, well, a family. Hadjar didn’t know how many children the Emperor had, if he even had any. He had no idea if he had a wife, either. Hell, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t even remember what the man looked like. Not even his neural network seemed capable of remembering any portraits of the man he might’ve seen.

Things just couldn’t be simple, could they?

“Do you know why a warrior lives, Hadjar?”

Orune wiped his hands on his hair again and turned to the west. The clouds were being pierced by lightning like a cloth being worked on by the needle of a diligent seamstress. Thunder colored the sky white and purple, scaring away the birds perched on the cliffs of the steep mountains.

“To die, Hadjar,” Orune answered his own question. “We are swords in the hands of those who decide the world’s fate. Nothing less, nothing more. A sword doesn’t need fancy clothes, or huge houses, or honor, or respect. It just needs to stay sharp enough to cut the enemy and strong enough to serve its master for as long as possible.”

Hadjar looked at him. The wind grew stronger. Picking up rocks from atop the cliffs, it threw them somewhere in the direction of the emerald sea that stretched out beneath them.

The storm looked as if Mother Nature was venting centuries, if not millennia, of suppressed anger. Tearing her hair out in frustration, she cried and shouted at the heavens. It was both fascinating and frightening.

Orune’s gaze was blank. Hadjar had seen that look before, on the face of Dragon’s Tooth, the General of the Baliumian Army. He’d stared at Moon Beam, which had been Hadjar’s sword back then, with the same kind of empty gaze as he’d lain next to his beloved Moon Leen.

He’d also seen this emptiness in the gaze of a soldier. With those same, lifeless eyes, he’d stared at the rope in his hands. He’d come from the southern provinces, which had been torn asunder by King Primus, who’d cared more about the Solar Ore mine than the lives of his subjects. His parents had died of illness. There hadn’t been any money they could use to pay for medicine in their ruined village. His children had been taken to the mines. And his wife… He’d never spoken of her. He’d joined the Moon Army to free his children. He’d fought for them tooth and nail. And then... And then he’d heard that his children had already died. He’d been found behind the camp the following morning. The wind had gently rocked his body as it hung from a branch.

Orune seemed stronger than that, but still severely wounded. Hadjar noticed that the scars that covered his body weren’t there because Orune had been slower or weaker than his opponents. He was simply trying to hide the ones that had marked his soul behind those decoy scars. The true wounds were the ones he needed to heal.

Hadjar finally understood why Orune liked this accursed mountain so much. Desolate and hard to approach, it was just like Orune himself. Only those who’d managed to reach its very top were worthy of his attention.

“What was her name?” Hadjar asked.

Orune stared at the raging storm in silence. In the thousands of years he’d been alive, during all the wars and battles he’d fought, how many storms had he seen? How many evenings and nights had he spent on this mountain? How many times had he been certain that he wouldn’t live to see another day?

“It’s time for your third training session, Hadjar,” he said dryly. “Do you see those lightning bolts coming down?”

“I do.”

“Take your sword and cut one of them.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hadjar cried out.

Chapter 763

Hadjar came to his senses abruptly. This had already happened hundreds of times since he’d arrived to this accursed place. The only difference was that instead of Orune’s grin, he was staring up at Einen’s purple, inhuman eyes this time.

“Your habit of using Techniques that will probably lead to your own demise is still alive and well, I see,” he stated.

He’d pulled all sorts of vials from his medicine box. After drenching the bandages in some foul-smelling ointment, he was now cutting them into manageable pieces.

“Where are we?” Hadjar croaked.

The last thing he remembered was Louis Armstrong’s music. His neural network must’ve played it because the creature’s words had reminded him of What a Wonderful World. It was amazing how a small piece of an ancient soul could gain power comparable to that of a peak-stage Lord. But what was even more surprising was the fact that it had known about one of Earth’s songs. How was that possible?

“At the Lake of Dreams,” Einen said. “Well, what’s left of it anyway... Only you could destroy a place that’s been considered the most dangerous area in the Empire for hundreds of thousands of years.”

“I turned out to be even more dangerous, then.” Hadjar coughed.

“And modest,” Einen snorted.

With a wave of his hand, he put the medicine box back into his spatial artifact. Hadjar looked up at the sky. The storm was still raging. It hadn’t been long since he’d sunk into the water, then.

“Where are the others?” Hadjar asked.

“They’re here, don’t worry.” Einen nodded to the side.

With a lot of difficulty, Hadjar turned his head. He was lying beneath the remains of what had once been a tall fir tree.

Nestled amongst the branches, dirt, and stones lay more than a dozen cultivators. He recognized his group, but not the others.

“Is Laris here?”

“He is.” Einen pointed to a richly dressed young man with the face of an angel. It was no wonder that ladies swooned over him. Rich and handsome, and the heir to one of the most powerful clans, he was the kind of husband any parent would want for their daughter. “I put him in a medically induced coma. Just like the rest.”

“Even Dora?” Hadjar asked in a mix of shock and wonder.

Einen’s gaze grew heavy. His hand trembled. The knife that he was using to cut the bandages on Hadjar’s arm slipped, cutting into his skin. Hadjar looked at him in surprise. Einen wasn’t using any energy or mysteries, which meant that the material the knife had been made from was something extraordinary.

“A gift from Hera,” Einen explained, and hid the knife in the folds of his clothes. “She said that I’d sometimes have to remove the armor of the wounded. Imperial level metal is hard to cut through.”

Hadjar could guess what material had been used to make that blade, but he didn’t want to ask. He had enough problems with the elves already.

“The plan, as always, went awry.” Hadjar sighed.

“And his father is most likely watching us right now,” Einen said.

Hadjar looked at the broken tree and the shelter that had been hastily built under it. He’d thought that Einen had built it because of the storm at first, but… Well, Einen was slick and cunning. He knew how to play the game very well.

“What now, my barbarian friend?”

“Why do you always ask me that?”

Einen shrugged.

“If you ask me, I think it would’ve been easier and more effective to just sneak into the Predatory Blades clan’s district at night and spray-”

Hadjar looked at him sternly, as if to say: “Shut up before someone hears us, you idiot!”

“I’m sorry. It’s because of the Lake.”

Hadjar remembered that while he’d been fighting against the Potter’s soul fragment, the other cultivators had been in a magical dream that couldn’t have been pleasant.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know about the others.” Einen paused for a moment. His gaze focused on something deep inside his own soul, something in the past. “But I saw my mom.”

Not ‘mother’, but ‘mom’. Upon hearing such a soft, gentle word, Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s unfair, Hadjar,” Einen said while tying the bandage. He did it so tightly that Hadjar cried out in pain. But he didn’t reprimand his friend. “Some creature used its magic to make me see my mom. I tried to hug her. I tried to call out to her. But she was... like a shadow. She sat on the beach and looked out at the sea. She was waiting for my father and me…”

Einen rarely talked about his family. All that Hadjar really knew was that all his relatives had been killed. The sovereign people of the Islands had staged a large-scale campaign against the pirates. While Einen and his father had been fighting out at sea, his mother... well, she’d never seen her husband and sons again.

“I wanted to ask for her blessing. But she was silent… It was like I wasn’t even there. It’s unfair and-”

“It is,” Hadjar interrupted him.

Einen stared at him in shock.

“I’d give anything to see my mother again.”

They were silent for a while.

“Want me to help you up?” Einen finally asked.

“I’ll do it myself,” Hadjar replied.

Leaning on a tree and using a branch as a cane, he got to his feet. It was as if an alarm bell had been struck in his head. The world was spinning at first, but it soon calmed down.

“Is everything ready?”

Einen held out a small bottle. At first glance, it appeared to be empty, but a small pellet of something vaguely menacing stood frozen somewhere near the cork.

“You do realize that if this doesn’t work, Anise, Tom, and Galkhad will become our enemies?”

“Is that fear I hear in the voice of Einen the Islander?”

Hadjar hobbled over to Laris. How old was this young man? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? He was so young, but he was already a mid-stage Lord. He was worth a hundred of the Spirit Knights who’d decided to participate in the Tournament of the Twelve. And if he advanced even further, he would become stronger and be worth thousands of them.

The Empire had always preferred quality over quantity. Throw a hundred spiders in a jar, wait a week, and you’ll end up with one or two of the most powerful, most cunning, and most wicked spiders that could then be made even more powerful, even more cunning, and even more wicked.

Unpleasant as that might’ve sounded, Hadjar was a spider and the Tournament was a jar.

He leaned over Laris and, holding his nose to force his mouth open, popped the poison pellet into his mouth. The boy swallowed it reflexively, but didn’t wake up.

“In my opinion, the blackmail option wasn’t bad either.”

“True,” Hadjar agreed. But trying to blackmail Brustor would’ve been an utter waste of time. Those who could be blackmailed didn’t get to reach such lofty heights. “Fitting for aristocratic brats.”

“But…?”

Hadjar looked up at the sky. Somewhere out there, on one of the many ships, was Orune, watching him.

Demons take him!

“They’re just children.”

Chapter 764

“Orune.”

“Yes, my General?” The great swordsman saluted and bowed.

“You do know the laws of our country, don’t you?”

Silence reigned aboard ‘The Fury of the Mortal Skies’. Everyone knew what level the Technique that Hadjar had just used had been. It was obvious, thanks to the aftermath, the echo of its power, and the depth of the mysteries involved. Even the clouds were struggling to put themselves back together in the azure sky above the forest after being torn apart by it. Without a doubt, this Technique only needed one small nudge to reach the Divine level, if it wasn’t there already, and take its place among the top ten strongest sword Techniques in the Darnassus Empire.

“Divine Techniques… You taught him Divine Techniques, Orune,” Brustor was both taken aback by what he’d just seen and yearned with every fiber of his being to see Orune fall from grace. “You can’t do that without special permission, or permission from the Emperor himself.”

Morgan turned his head to look at him.

“Do you think that I have forgotten our laws, Brustor?”

To the delight of the other Heads, Brustor instantly turned pale and fell off his chair, getting dust all over his expensive clothes. He lowered his hands and forehead to the floor in an apology.

“Of course not, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“Then, do you think that I can’t remind Orune about them on my own?”

“Of course not, Your Imperial Majesty!”

Brustor could already imagine this asshole dying in agony. If everything went according to plan, the Empire would have a new ruler by spring. And then, perhaps, a peace treaty with Lascan would finally be signed. If that meant he needed to get down on his knees and give up a little bit of self-respect, then so be it. The main thing was that Morgan didn’t have a lot of time left to look down on others. As for Lascan — they could take the western kingdoms and provinces for all he cared. The barbarians living there weren’t worth a damn anyway. Neither were the eastern ones. It was high time to part with those subsidized regions.

“Remember who you serve, Brustor. Now sit back down. I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of this little trip.”

“As you command, Your Imperial Majesty.” Brustor got up and then bowed again. “I apologize for my impertinence, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Ignoring all the mocking glances and sneers, he sat back down in his chair and, without wiping the blood off his brow, turned back toward the forest. The other clan leaders began whispering amongst themselves.

Morgan looked at Brustor. He was not amused.

If you think that I don’t know about your little conspiracy, you’re dead wrong. You’re not the first, nor will you be the last fucking bastard that goes after my life and title. You’re all clowns. In a thousand years, I won’t even remember your names.

“Orune,” Morgan called out.

“Yes, my General?”

“Brustor, despite his lack of manners, is right. Teaching Divine level Techniques is prohibited.”

Everyone chuckled. Even just mentioning manners when talking to Orune was ridiculous.

“I’m aware of that. Those kinds of Techniques are too powerful and dangerous to be passed on to anyone.”

This law was deeply rooted in their history. Back in the day, one of the Emperors had decided to teach a Divine level Technique to his beloved. The girl, unprepared for such power, had gone mad and killed a tenth of the capital’s residents before finally killing herself.

“And?” Morgan raised his voice.

“I wouldn’t dare break the law, General,” Orune bowed. “Not unless I planned to kill you as well, anyway.”

The Nameless level bodyguards instantly drew their weapons despite knowing full well that they wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing against Orune.

“Where did the boy learn such Techniques, then?”

“Thanks to luck and the will of the Heavens and fate,” Orune bowed again. “He came across them during his travels.”

“Can you vouch for that?”

“I can, my General. But before I use my sword to cut my hand, I’d rather test it against yours first, my General, and, finally, gain fame worthy of bard songs. ‘An Honorable Death in the Face of a Tyrant...’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“There are many songs about you already, Orune. What are they called again? ‘A Drunken Swordsman and Ten Whores?’”

“Ha! What a crock of shit! There were twelve of them. Each more beautiful than the last. They were ten Imperial coins a night each!”

The ambassadors and the clan Heads struggled to understand the relationship between these two. By the gods and demons, their ‘friendship’ was more complicated than the international politics of the Seven Empires. Only Agvar was old enough to remember that the two of them had been friends since their youth. He also knew why they wanted to cut each other’s heads off, but never actually tried to do it.

Watching Morgan and Orune was like watching two lions play. They’d jump at one another, fangs barred and claws out, but they’d always stop shy of hurting the other too much. May the gods have mercy on the poor soul that finds themselves caught between these two.

“I’d like to meet this young warrior in person.”

“Shall I fetch you a ladder, my General?” Orune bowed.

“In a week’s time, the Cherry Feast will be held at my Palace in honor of the Seventh Heaven. You will be there, as always.”

“I’d rather eat a bucket of shit than spend a minute in your Palace, my General.”

“Bring your disciple with you,” Morgan ignored the complaints of his... Who? Enemy? Friend? Servant? Subordinate? “I want to introduce him to someone.”

“As you wish, my General.” Orune saluted. “But aren’t you afraid that he might become friends with your daughter?”

“You’ll make sure that that doesn’t happen. Or I’ll personally flay your pup.”

“Of course, my General! After that, I’ll personally impale your little girl on my sword. Even if it’s the last thing I do in this life.”

“We both benefit from ensuring that this feast runs its course as quietly and peacefully as possible.”

“As you say, my General.”

Orune’s and Morgan’s eyes glowed with barely contained hatred.

Mentor Jean, who was watching the two of them, wondered what he might’ve done to be punished like this. Why couldn’t he have made friends with the neighbor’s dog instead of Orune? The dog would’ve clearly been a better choice.

Chapter 765

Anise was the first to wake up. As soon as she opened her eyes, she drew her blade and jumped to her feet.

“Murderer!” She screamed and swung her sword, releasing a crescent of energy that kicked up a cloud of dust and stones from the ground and destroyed what little remained of the nearby bushes.

Hadjar swung the stick that he’d been using to stir the coals in the fire, diverting her attack. Instead of hitting him, it flew off into the sky where it exploded in a shower of sparks.

“Calm down, it’s all right.” Galkhad hugged Anise from behind. “It was just a bad dream...”

Anise went limp in his arms. Her sword almost fell from her hand, but she quickly regained her composure and returned it to its scabbard.

“Damn... Damn…” Tom kept repeating while slamming his fist against a tree trunk. Branches rained down on his head, turning into splinters before they even reached him. Realizing that he was crying in public, he turned away from everyone and wiped his face with the sleeve of his torn clothes. When he turned his face back to the fire, the tears were gone.

Dora was shivering slightly in the warm blanket that Einen had wrapped around her so carefully. It was wonderful to see how loving he was to her.

“Sit down.” Hadjar pointed with his stick at the stones. “Have some honey.”

“Honey?”

“Sweetness helps with fear,” Einen explained. “Calms the mind.”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Tom snapped.

But when he saw Anise and Galkhad sit down by the fire, he swore under his breath and joined them. They sat in silence for a while, scraping the golden honey from a bowl using some sticks. Anise leaned against Galkhad’s arm, Dora hugged Einen, and Tom moved closer to the fire.

Hadjar didn’t blame them for feeling afraid. He’d learned the hard way just how frighteningly realistic a dream induced by evil magic could be. Nightmares preyed on the deepest, darkest fears of every person, no matter their status or power. In this world, or any other, really, there was no one who could run away from their inner demons. Unfortunately, they sometimes caught up with you.

“Will they wake up soon?” Galkhad asked, looking over at Laris.

“Right about-“

“To arms!” Lairs leapt to his feet.

“-now,” Einen finished.

If this had happened a few years ago, Hadjar would’ve been impressed with the power and mysteries radiating from Laris’ sword, but... Now, even though Laris wielded the power of a Lord and mysteries bordering on the Weapon Kingdom level, Hadjar wasn’t impressed. He wouldn’t have taken it upon himself to judge which of them would be the winner of a duel between them, because he had no idea what Techniques and trump cards Laris possessed, but he wasn’t afraid at all.

“Tom? Anise?” Laris arched a thin eyebrow in surprise.

Hadjar could understand why all the daughters of nobility desired Laris. He was really handsome. And strong. And the heir to one of the seven great clans of Darnassus.

In other words, the perfect match.

Behind Laris, his henchmen were also waking up. There were six men in total. Two of the cultivators still couldn’t wake up. Hadjar looked at his friend, but the islander only shook his head grimly. Sometimes, a person couldn’t cope with the demons of their soul. Looking at their bodies through the World River, Hadjar saw injuries all over their smoldering energy structures. These cultivators hadn’t been able to overcome their emotional wounds.

“Hello,” Tom said with obvious hostility.

“I’m not talking to you, you idiot!” Laris growled.

Hadjar expected Tom to jump to his feet, draw his blade, and throw himself at Laris, but he did nothing of the sort. Restraining himself from hurling insults right back at his cousin, he turned back to the fire.

“You’re talking to my brother, Laris,” Anise said, pulling away from Galkhad’s embrace and rising to her feet to meet her cousin’s gaze. “Choose your words carefully.”

“Can’t this bug speak for itself?” Laris snorted and turned to Tom. “Do you remember, Tommy boy, how you always used to run to your big sister to complain when you were a child? Ten years may have passed, but some things never change.”

With a trembling hand, Tom drew his blade.

“Come on!” Laris twitched his wrist and beckoned him with the tip of his sword. “Try your hand, bug. Let’s see how much stronger-“

Anise swung her sword in a wide arc. Hadjar was surprised to find that he couldn’t tell if she’d used a Technique or not. One of the men behind Laris — a peak-stage Spirit Knight — only managed to blink before he collapsed to the ground, dead. Even his high-quality, Heaven level armor and shield hadn’t been able to save him.

“I see the cat has claws.” What had just happened had impressed everyone but Laris. He hadn’t even flinched. “It’s a pity that my father didn’t allow you to be my concubine. Our children would’ve been the best swordsmen in the country.”

Galkhad stood up. His axe appeared in his hands, and the air around him wavered with the power he unleashed. The giant obviously hadn’t been idle for the past two years… Judging by the pressure of the pure power he was emitting without any additional Techniques or mysteries, it was comparable to the initial stage of the Nameless level.

“I don’t care whose heir you are,” he growled, “say one more word like that to Anise and I’ll string you up on the nearest tree.”

“Oh, your lapdog can talk? And here I thought he was nothing more than a dick attached to an overgrown slab of flesh.”

“Shut up, Laris. Last I heard, you’ve been paying young boys from the Sea of Sand to warm your bed at night.”

Despite the very loose morals of the capital, senior heirs running into the arms of male partners was seen as them trying to run away from their duties. After all, it was their responsibility to continue the family line.

“I find the northerners more to my liking these days. They’re more… gifted, if you catch my drift, what with being descendants of giants and all that.” Laris’ smile became sickly sweet.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Galkhad growled.

“It’s a shame Anise got to you first, big guy... You would’ve warmed my bed up so nicely.” Laris sneered. He wasn’t afraid of Galkhad. Even though they’d lost that one duel to the Tarez, the Predatory Blades were still the strongest clan in the Empire, second only to the Imperial family itself.

“Go away, Laris,” a tired voice said.

Everyone turned around to look at Hadjar, who was still sitting on a stump and stirring the coals in the fire. Beaten and bruised, clad in torn robes, he looked more like a beggar than the disciple of a great swordsman like Orune.

That is, until you saw his eyes, which shone with determination and strength.

Chapter 766

“Do I know you, peasant?” Laris asked, moving his sword away from Anise so that he could point it at Hadjar. His group gathered around him, ready to fight. However, instead of drawing their blades, they took a step back. Their instincts told them that they were facing off against a wild beast, not a man they could easily cow.

“My name is Hadjar Darkhan.”

“Are you the disciple of that madman Orune?” Laris asked after a couple of seconds of trying to recall the name.

Hadjar slowly turned to face him.

“You’re talking about my Mentor, senior disciple. I’m not as patient as my companions are. I won’t warn you twice.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Hadjar kept stirring the coals with a stick as Laris continued to stare at him.

“What am I even doing here?” Laris finally asked. “The last thing I remember was getting dragged to the bottom of the Lake by some creature.”

No matter how unpleasant a person he was, it was difficult to deny the strength of his spirit. While the others were still affected by their nightmares, he showed no signs of distress.

“We saved your life, senior disciple,” Hadjar said, deliberately being polite. By doing so, he wanted to neutralize their difference in social status. Orune, demons take him, had taught him this little trick.

“Why did you risk your life for me, junior disciple?” Laris narrowed his eyes. “I don’t mind barbarians, but you’re too old for my tastes.”

“And you’re too much of a male for mine, senior disciple.”

“Then why?”

“Your relatives.” Hadjar gestured toward Anise and Tom. “They asked me to help you. So I did.”

“Why?”

“I hear family members often help one another.” Hadjar shrugged.

“Why did you help?” Laris clarified. “If you’re expecting my clan to owe you a favor, you can kiss that dream goodbye. I’d rather throw myself into that bloody Lake again than be indebted to an unwashed commoner.”

That remark was uncalled for. After ‘bathing’ in the Lake of Dreams, they were all cleaner than boiled silverware.

Hadjar shrugged again and turned back to the fire.

What followed happened so quickly that only a couple of them managed to react. A lightning bolt shot out of the tip of Laris’ sword and would’ve struck Hadjar in the neck had it not suddenly split in half and flown off somewhere into the forest. Hadjar tossed the burnt stick into the fire and reached for a new one.

Everyone stared at the two of them in awestruck silence. A commoner, using an ordinary stick, had managed to cut through lightning. What’s more, he’d managed to deflect the attack of the Predatory Blades clan’s senior heir.

“I’ll remember your name, Hadjar Darkhan.” Laris sheathed his sword. “We’re leaving,” he said to his group without turning around.

A few moments later, there was no one left in the woods except for Hadjar and his companions. Anise was back in Galkhad’s embrace. Einen was hugging Dora and caressing her hair. Tom was staring blankly at the fire while Hadjar stirred the coals. They were both silent, too preoccupied with their own thoughts. They were both relaxed, but also ready to kill.

Making friends when you were a cultivator had never been an easy task.

By the end of the night, everyone except Hadjar had fallen asleep. For all their cultivation, for all the great power contained in their bodies and souls, when it came to extreme exhaustion, even Lords needed to rest. Deep down within them all lay a frightened child that still feared the dark. They were afraid of it because they didn’t know what lurked in its depths. It didn’t even matter where you were in the world, it always followed you.

Hadjar didn’t allow himself to fall asleep. Even though Einen’s protective spell could be seen shining through the branches, he couldn’t allow himself to sleep. Not because he was on guard duty, but because he was waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Tearing through the barrier like it wasn’t even there, Helmer walked into their little camp. So quiet were his footsteps and so unfathomable was his presence that not even the air stirred upon his arrival.

“To its memory.” Helmer sat down next to Hadjar and handed him a bottle of wine.

“Thank you.” Breaking the neck off with the edge of his palm, he took a few sips, then poured a few bowls’ worth into the fire. The flames danced with an orange glow.

Helmer did the same, then drained the rest of the bottle in one gulp. A pack of little nightmares brought him a second one. He wasted no time uncorking it.

For about ten minutes, they just sat in silence, staring into the fire.

“You knew I’d come,” Helmer said, taking another sip of wine. Hadjar looked at him. Perhaps he should’ve been afraid of him, afraid of the monster that he’d known was actually real for years now, but, at that moment, Helmer looked nothing like the demon that could destroy a horde of monsters in an instant and reduce kingdoms to ashes if he so pleased. No. He looked like someone who’d recently lost something. Something very valuable and irreplaceable. He looked like someone who had been beaten by life.

“Are you the Potter?” Hadjar finally asked.

“A human can’t become a demon, Hadji.” Helmer’s half-smile looked sad. “Just like a demon can’t become a human…”

Hadjar turned back to the fire. For some reason, he believed Helmer. After all, he’d never deceived him. As far as he knew, at least. He was, of course, playing some game of his own, but it was far too complex for Hadjar to comprehend his role in it. Not to mention the fact that he still had no clue what Helmer was even doing here.

“What made you think I was?” Helmer drained another bottle. The nightmares had already brought him a third one.

“It used dream magic,” Hadjar said, stirring the coals. Sparks whirled in the cool night air. They stung his face and hands a little. It was a pleasant, warm feeling. “You’re the only one who can do that.”

“Hmm…”

“I don’t think the orc shaman could’ve conjured up such a nightmare.”

Helmer stared silently into the fire. Hadjar had realized long ago that it hadn’t been the orc shaman who’d sent him ‘home’, but Helmer.

“I gave him a heart a long time ago,” the demon said and poured some more wine into the fire. “I told him that it would only bring him bad luck, but he didn’t listen... An idiot in love. Remember, Hadji, nothing in this world is worth parting with a heart for... a human heart, at least.”

“Not even love?”

Helmer turned to Einen and Dora.

“Demons don’t experience love. Only passion and carnal desire. A desire to possess, but not love.” He downed another bottle. “Did it tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“The truth that it had learned.”

“It did.” Hadjar nodded. “It said that everything that-”

Helmer’s cloak suddenly covered his mouth. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it returned to the demon.

“Don’t say it, Hadjar. I’m strong enough to bear this truth, but you never know who else might be listening.”

“But-”

“I once saw an Immortal die when he heard the Potter’s words. Instantly. From soul wounds.” Helmer glanced at him briefly, then returned to contemplating the flames. “You’re still too young and too weak to comprehend even a fraction of the despair and depth contained in those words, Hadji. The Potter gave you a gift and... wounded you in the process. One day, that’ll either make you stronger or destroy you.”

For the next two hours, they drank in silence and watched the dancing flames. Every time they got splashed with wine, they turned red and rejoiced, exploding in a shower of sparks. At some point, Helmer disappeared as silently as he had appeared, leaving Hadjar alone with his thoughts.

If demons couldn’t love, were the false gods the same?

Chapter 767

They spent the next few days collecting tokens. In most cases, they didn’t even have to draw their weapons. The people they met, sensing their power and recognizing their faces, usually hurried to part with their tokens right away — it was better to lose their chance to fight in the Tournament than to die, after all.

That was how the cowards thought of it, anyway. Those who were courageous or just desperate to reach the top were willing to fight to the death. This, luckily, only happened once.

Galkhad defeated the three advanced-stage Spirit Knights on his own without so much as breaking a sweat. Hadjar had never appreciated the giant’s power as much as he had at that moment. By the Evening Stars, he would’ve loved to fight Galkhad in a duel.

By the end of the third trial, each of them had four tokens. If his neural network’s calculations were correct, that should be enough for them to qualify for the next round.

When the sound of the signal horn rang out over the forest, all the battles, no matter how fierce, came to a halt. The moment the trial ended, no one had the right to draw their weapon against anyone. It was the law. Those who defied it would be deemed traitors and accused of treason. Their fate would be unenviable, to put it mildly.

Less than an hour after the horn sounded, at least seven thousand cultivators gathered at the entrance to the forest. The rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School stood in front of the tired applicants, many of which were covered in both dirt and blood.

The judges who’d arrived with him started the monotonous process of collecting everyone’s tokens. The average number of tokens per cultivator was three. Some, like Laris, who had five, had been luckier than the rest.

However, to the surprise of many, it was the representative of the Tarez who’d brought back the most tokens.

Staring at the absolutely unnatural, blood red color of his hair, Hadjar wondered how he’d never seen this guy before. He sure stood out. Looking a bit more closely, he saw a spark of crimson energy nestled among his curls. That spark would be hard to mistake for anything else, especially after what had happened by the Lake.

He was tall, but looked awkward in his own skin and appeared to be slightly twitchy. The Tarez presented the judges with nine tokens. People immediately began whispering. Unlike Laris, Tarez had had no one backing him up.

“Did you hear anything about his training?” Hadjar whispered to Einen.

The islander just shook his head.

Hadjar sighed.

“I didn’t hear about it because it didn’t exist,” Einen replied and glanced over at the Tarez boy.

“How’s that?”

Einen spread his arms out and shrugged.

“He spent the past two years in the best whorehouses of Dahanatan. There are still bets going on about the number of virgins who’ve warmed his bed.”

“You’re saying that this guy did nothing but quite literally fuck around for two years and then brought back nine tokens? On his own?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.”

Hadjar cursed his rotten luck.

The rest of the ‘winners’ had brought back four to six tokens. These fighters had most likely been trained by their Masters or Mentors far from the hustle and bustle of the big cities. Their kind annoyed the imperial cultivators more than the famous disciples of the greatest Schools. Everyone at least knew what to expect from the latter, while these rogues and their Techniques were an absolute mystery to everyone.

Each member of the two sects had brought back three medallions, which was the minimum required to advance to the next stage. It may have looked like a coincidence to some, but not to Hadjar. According to his neural network’s calculations, there was less than a three percent chance that this had been a coincidence. Something was fishy here, and he didn’t like it.

“I am pleased to announce, honorable applicants, that the next stage, which will begin in a week’s time, will include eight hundred and eighty cultivators. I wish the rest of you who survived the ordeal good luck on your path of cultivation. The mere fact that you came so far in the Tournament is a credit to your skill and power.”

The spectators applauded as the defeated contestants left with their heads held high.

“To you who have advanced to the fourth round, I wish you good fortune. This is when the real Tournament begins.” The rector struck the ground with his cane. The judges went through the rows of contestants, giving out tokens with numbers to everyone. Some people thought that the organizers weren’t particularly imaginative: the fourth round was an exact copy of the second. “You know the rules. From this stage onward, we’ll hold duels until there’s only one winner left. You can get acquainted with the schedule after the end of the fourth and the beginning of the fifth round. Now, I would advise you to rest up and regain your strength.”

With those parting words, the rector simply disappeared into thin air. His movement Technique didn’t look as powerful as Orune’s did, but more like a cheap parlor trick. However, that shouldn’t be taken as a reflection of his overall power.

Hadjar stroked the scar on his right arm. It was unlikely that he’d ever forget that fateful evening when the rector had come to the Storm Mountain.

“Let’s go,” Einen said and turned toward the capital.

However, before they could even take a single step forward, a boat descended from the sky directly in front of them. The insignia on its single sail instantly attracted everyone’s attention ― it was the insignia of an Imperial messenger.

The nobles instantly bowed. Every citizen of Darnassus was required to treat the messengers as respectfully as if they were the Emperor himself. After all, they were the emissaries of his will.

Dressed in rich, bejeweled garments, the messenger walked by the startled and dumbfounded nobles.

“Hadjar Darkhan?” The messenger asked as he stopped in front of him.

Hadjar nodded calmly. “That’s me.”

“This is for you.”

The messenger handed him a scroll with the Imperial seal on it. While everyone else was trying to figure out if their exhaustion was making them see things, Hadjar just swore.

Chapter 768

“Are you really going to wear that to the reception?”

Dora, who was wearing a chic dress instead of her usual trousers and shirt, was standing in the middle of what was probably the most luxurious store Hadjar had ever visited. It was located in the most expensive part of Dahanatan. Renting a house here cost at least five thousand Imperial coins a month. Buying the house would cost more than buying an entire military brigade outright, so only the richest of the rich could afford the luxury of living here. This was also where the numerous administrative buildings, with their tall domes and spires, were located. For example, the Palace of the Generals, which was easily as big as the Royal Palace of Lidus.

Every restaurant, every residential and administrative building, and, as Einen had joked, even the public toilets, had a ventilation system.

Along the way to the famous Lady Brahmi’s atelier, Hadjar had met such an abundance of influential and rich people that he was afraid that their names and several-pages-long titles would clutter up his neural network’s memory.

The atelier faced the wall that enclosed the Forbidden City — the Emperor’s residence, and, consequently, had the highest prices and best reputation. This was where the elite of Darnassus got their clothing.

It was rumored that Lady Brahmi personally sewed clothes for the Imperial family and that she was one of the few people who could enter the Forbidden City for free.

As soon as they’d arrived, a stately young man clad in simple, black and white robes had come over to greet them. He’d bowed to Dora and invited them to sit on one of the sofas, the frame of which had been made from a rare, precious metal, while they waited. A single chunk of that precious metal could easily be sold for the fabulous sum of a hundred thousand Imperial coins. The wooden armrests were also exquisite, but neither Hadjar nor his neural network could determine which type of wood it was.

“Would you like something to drink?” The young man inquired.

“Three bowls of flower tea and three glasses of light wine.”

“Would you like some heather honey with that?”

“No,” Dora said a bit too sharply, causing the man to turn pale. In her mind, honey would forever be associated with the Lake of Dreams. “I apologize for being rude, Dalin, but please, no honey.”

“Of course, honorable senior heiress.” He bowed.

“Junior heiress,” she corrected him with a sad half-smile.

“You’ll always be the only heir of the Green Hammer clan to us,” Dalin said quietly. After giving equally deep bows to Einen and Hadjar, he left.

Sometimes, Hadjar forgot how rich the aristocracy truly was. Given Dora’s very calm and modest personality, he also sometimes forgot about her wellbeing. In moments like these, he remembered who she really was and where she’d come from. He didn’t feel an ounce of envy, however. He had the Black Blade. That was all he needed in life.

“You can’t go to the Forbidden City dressed in... in... in... that!” Dora waved at him vaguely, unable to find the right words to describe his ‘clothes’.

Hadjar got up and went over to the full-length mirror that stood not far from their sofa. Dalin came back with a tray of refreshments and placed it in front of them.

Not daring to even imagine how much a single drop of that tea cost, Hadjar stared at his reflection. It had been a while since he’d last shaved, but the beard went well with the strong lines of his face. He looked at his hair and the feathers and ornaments that adorned it. Through his tattered clothes, he could see the scarlet tattoo that covered his right arm from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his shoulder. Another tattoo, this one round and black, protruded from beneath his robes.

“Do you think I should shave?” He asked without turning around.

“I think, young man, that you should wear something that the servants of the Forbidden City won’t mistake for the rags they clean the floors with.”

The voice was simultaneously stern and sweet, and belonged to a woman that was standing by the window. He turned to meet her professional, appraising gaze. Her appearance was youthful, but the look in her green eyes spoke of confidence and years of experience. Her bronze skin shone in the light of the noonday sun, and her clothes emphasized all the charms of her body and hid the few flaws that she’d found in herself.

“Lady Brahmi!” Dora got to her feet and hugged her. The two exchanged a couple of air kisses. “I’m glad to see you.”

“My beautiful Dora.” Brahmi looked the elf over and smiled. “You’re wearing that dress on purpose, aren’t you?”

The girl blushed deeply.

“Why, you little fox!” Brahmi laughed. Her laughter was as sunny as midday in the desert, and as sweet as a ripe date. “Don’t think that flattering me will get you a quarter off.”

“I had to try.” Dora smiled.

Brahmi glanced over the elf girl’s shoulder, her black locks swaying. She greeted Einen with a stiff nod. The islander responded in kind.

“Haven’t had the chance yet?” She asked.

“I haven’t,” Einen repeated in a strained voice.

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that the two of them had already met. Dora must’ve brought Einen here before to try and influence her father’s opinion of him by making him look sharp. He was sure that Einen hadn’t let her pay for him.

“We haven’t been introduced.” Brahmi held out her hand to Hadjar. “Lady Brahmi.”

“Hadjar Darkhan.”

He knew that she’d offered him her hand for him to kiss, but he preferred handshakes.

“Interesting.” Brahmi smiled. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Chapter 769

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen, pup.”

Orune was sitting on a tree branch and chewing on some meat. Breaking the bones with his teeth, he’d suck the bone marrow out of them and then throw them away. Every time, no matter how hard Hadjar tried to dodge, they’d hit him in the neck or head.

A storm was raging above them. It had begun more than a week ago. And all the while, Hadjar, standing in the pouring rain with the Black Blade in his callused hand, had been trying to cut a lightning bolt.

Scarlet, blue, green, violet, and white bolts surged out of the dark sky and swooped down to scorch the cold, wet ground. They devoured trees and scared away flocks of birds. Mixed in with the crackle of lightning were the frightened howls and cries of the animals.

It had been three months since Hadjar had arrived to the Storm Mountain. He remained vigilant at all times. The smallest mistake could lead to his death.

This part of his training was proving to be especially hard. Back on Earth, surviving a lightning strike was nothing short of a miracle, so cutting through a lightning bolt was surely a feat worthy of a divine figure. There were maybe a handful of swordsmen in the entire Empire who could do that. Maybe even fewer than a handful.

“Any advice?” Hadjar growled.

Brushing his hair away from his forehead, he struggled back to his feet. Once again, he’d been unable to not only cut through a bolt, but to deflect it as well. A green one, the weakest of the five local varieties of lightning, had struck the Black Blade with full force. Since it was equal to an Imperial level artifact in power, it had been able to absorb a bit of its power, but the rest of it had slammed into Hadjar like a hammer.

Leaving a scorched hole behind where he’d stood moments ago, Hadjar flew back several feet and slammed into the trunk of a mighty tree, knocking it down.

“Don’t try to follow it,” Orune said, making unpleasant slurping noises as he sucked on another bone.

“Then how will I cut it?”

“If you can’t even comprehend that much, just let it fry you and rid the world of another idiot.”

“If you can’t even explain that much, just jump off a cliff and rid the world of another asshole.”

“There isn’t a cliff high enough that the fall would kill me.”

“Oh, I’ll find one, believe me!”

“You can’t even find lightning! You wouldn’t recognize a cliff even if you fell off it!”

“And you can’t even explain to a stone how it should lay on the ground.”

“The stone, unlike you, knows exactly how to do its job. Because it’s a stone!”

“I’m not lightning! I don’t know how it moves!”

“You aren’t a swordsman, either.” Orune broke the bone he’d been sucking on in half. Twirling the fragments between his fingers, he threw them into the sky without looking. “A swordsman knows when and where a threat will come from even before the threat realizes that it’s been noticed.” The two fragments simultaneously collided with a scarlet and a green lightning bolt. They burst apart in a shower of sparks and disappeared, leaving behind a unique smell. “A true swordsman destroys the threat before it can even strike.”

Orune took another bone from his pocket and began to gnaw on it. He looked like a contented animal. Sometimes, Hadjar thought that he was more beast than man.

“Fuck this shit!”

He couldn’t figure out how Orune had been able to predict where the bolts would strike while looking at him the entire time.

Guided by instinct, Hadjar suddenly jumped to the side. Lightning struck the tree stump he’d been sitting on, setting it ablaze. Once the rain put the flames out, instead of a stump, only coals remained. He hadn’t heard or seen it, but he’d managed to react the moment it had started on its way toward him.

“What the fuck,” he muttered and got to his feet, baffled.

“Too bad you moved,” Orune lamented. “You would’ve sizzled so nicely.”

“Shut up,” Hadjar growled.

“Yes, yes, it’s easier to shout at me than to deal with some measly lightning. Your mediocrity sickens me.”

“You’re a fucking madman!”

“A normal person looks like a madman when they find themselves in the loony bin.”

Hadjar was both fascinated and intimidated by Orune’s ability to philosophize whenever he wanted. A flash of insight, comparable in brightness to a green lightning bolt, suddenly struck him.

Whenever he wants…

All his life, he’d trusted his senses. He’d relied on them far more than his neural network. Not caring about the fact that he was cheating, he ordered it to calculate the trajectory of the lightning. Unfortunately, it didn’t have enough data to provide him with any useful results.

That was fine, he had other means of getting what he needed. Closing his eyes, he focused on the energy flows and looked at the sky through the World River. He was so focused that he couldn’t hear or see Orune’s reaction.

“Barely took him a week…” All traces of mockery vanished from the swordsman’s expression and voice. He was making sure that no animals came near their training area. He’d been spreading Sword Mysteries out for miles around them for days now. It would be enough to ward off any predators. “It took me a month…”

Hadjar was dumbfounded by what he’d seen. The sky looked like a piece of colorful cloth that had been thrown into the water, bleeding various dyes that were then washed away by the stormy waves raging above the surface. Each flash of lightning looked like a thread being pulled out, then dispersing into a cloud of energy. A few moments before each flash, a knot would appear in the ‘cloth’, which would then give birth to a new thread.

Hadjar opened his eyes and jumped toward a spot where he’d noticed that a knot was forming. Unfortunately, he was a bit too slow and the lightning bolt hit him square in the chest, knocking him out.

“Understanding what you need to use isn’t the same as understanding how you need to use it. Let’s see how long it takes you to master this skill.” Orune grinned.

Chapter 770

“Stop fidgeting,” Dora whispered.

“I can’t!” Hadjar growled. “It’s so uncomfortable!”

“Clothes made by Lady Brahmi can’t be uncomfortable. They’re the best!”

“That same Lady Brahmi also said that it would take her a week to make me a decent outfit.”

“That’s what she always says. When she made a dress for my father’s wife, she also claimed it would take a week, but in the end, she finished everything in three days. It’s kind of… Part of the legend of the best atelier.”

What? Your father’s wife? Not your mother or mom?

Dora’s slip of the tongue didn’t escape Einen either, which meant that the islander also had no idea about Dora’s past.

Well, they had only met three years ago in the Forest of Shadows, when Dora had needed Hadjar’s spatial ring to take some of the power from the Spirit that had lived in that forest. She’d used some sort of special, dangerous Technique, which she’d stolen from her own family library. She’d explained that she would need that power for the Tournament of the Twelve… Even back then, Hadjar had found this very strange, and that had happened before he’d learned anything about how the Darnassian aristocracy did things.

"Just stop fidgeting and stand still! It’ll be our turn soon.”

They were standing in a long queue that led to the gates made from Blood Gold — a metal that shone with a rich, scarlet hue.

Regardless of what position a guest occupied, their rank, social status, or merits, if they received an invitation from the Emperor and weren’t within the territory of the Forbidden City at the time they got it, they had to pass through the Gates of Rage and deal with its guards. As a result, the line of people that had shown up for Emperor Morgan’s reception stretched all the way down to the very end of Eighth Avenue.

Hadjar kept tugging at the sleeves of his new blue-and-white doublet. It was insanely high-quality and terribly beautiful, according to Dora. Hadjar didn’t see much difference between it and his old clothes, except he’d gotten used to his old outfit. It had felt like a second skin to him.

His new outfit had certainly cost a lot of money. His boots had been fifteen thousand Imperial coins, and the doublet — twenty-three thousand! He’d even had to throw in some beast Cores to pay for it. Fortunately, after the two years he’d spent on that fucking Storm Mountain, he had plenty of those.

But what bothered him the most was what he’d seen in Greven’Dor. Ana’Bree had shown him a vision of his future, where Hadjar, wounded and bloodied, had lain in the snow, dressed in this exact doublet. So, he was also a little uncomfortable with the fact that he was walking around in his own funeral attire.

“Look! It’s that commoner!” He heard.

“Yes. I think your grandfather was talking about him earlier.”

“He’s rather handsome.”

“Even a diseased hobo would look good wearing Lady Brahmi’s clothes.”

“But the Emperor himself sent him a personal invitation!”

“Why?”

“He’s a personal disciple of the great swordsman Orune!”

“Really? But he’s not wearing a wooden token of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.”

“That’s the real mystery! He’s only a fully-fledged disciple!”

“Really?”

There were plenty of similar conversations going on around them. During his time as the General of the Moon Army of Lidus, Hadjar had gotten used to receiving way too much unwanted attention, so he didn’t really care.

“You’re famous, my barbarian friend,” Einen poked him in the side.

“No more than you.”

Hadjar was definitely right. There was almost as much talk about Einen spreading through the queue for the Gates of Rage as there was about him. People were drawn to their romanticized role as heroes of the commoners. Such rags-to-riches stories of success always appealed to people. However, they tended to forget that before the ‘riches’ came, there was always a lot of blood, sweat, and loss. And only the kind of person who could overcome all these difficulties would receive a personal invitation from the Emperor.

Hadjar would’ve rather avoided the drama. However, there was no way he could’ve done so: all 880 cultivators who’d qualified for the fourth round of the Tournament of the Twelve had received an invitation to the Imperial reception.

The only difference was that Hadjar had received a personal one. It was, of course, a very noticeable difference to those who lived for court intrigue. Hadjar would’ve still preferred to avoid the reception. However, given that Einen would be accompanying Dora, he’d had no choice but to come along to support his friend.

His first teacher, South Wind, had once told the young Prince to stay as far away as possible from anything that smelled bad. And, according to the old man, the Royal Palace of any country usually stank the most.

“Invitation!” Something thundered overhead.

Hadjar, preoccupied with his own thoughts, hadn’t noticed that they’d reached the gates. They were met there by two golems. In some ways, they resembled the ones that guarded the entrance to ‘The Holy Sky’ School. Except for the fact that, instead of a giant golem with a spear, a twenty-foot titan wielding a two-handed sword loomed over them. And the tiger was absent as well, replaced by a much larger, armored boar.

“Honored guards,” they bowed in unison.

Each of them held out their own invitations without straightening their backs. The titan waved its hand over them, and the boar sniffed them as well.

“You can go in for free!” An artificial voice boomed.

As soon as Hadjar stepped over the threshold of the gates, he began to wonder whether the Palace was actually just a Forbidden City. Calling it the Forbidden Land would’ve been more appropriate in his opinion.

“Holy shit!” Hadjar breathed out. “Can I get a map?”

Chapter 771

Strange as it might seem, the Forbidden City wasn’t located on a hill like other Royal Palaces. On the contrary, the vast territory that the Imperial family occupied, which surpassed even the huge Predatory Blades clan’s district in size and majesty, was located in the lowlands a few hundred feet below the city.

The view from the other side of the veil that covered the Gates of Rage was amazing. In the middle of a ‘rocky pool’ almost 30 miles in diameter, was a garden more beautiful than anything Hadjar could’ve ever imagined.

There were lakes of flowers, in which beautiful young men and women stood in various poses. But when he looked more closely, he saw that they weren’t moving. The sculptor who’d created these statues had been so skilled that they’d fooled even a Spirit Knight for a split second.

There were streams full of water that was so clear that, if it hadn’t been for a light wind, it would’ve looked like the channels were just empty. Bridges made of wood, precious metals, and even stones spanned the streams. And each of them was a work of art unto itself: they depicted scenes from the past, fairy-tale stories, or just the abstract fantasies of the sculptors.

He saw entire forests comprised of the rarest and most beautiful trees, the leaves of which swirled in a graceful dance along the wind. Golden gazebos stood on the intersections of countless paths paved with noble stone. And all the paths led to a single building.

Hadjar had never seen such a huge Palace before.

It could’ve easily accommodated about a million people. It was huge, but it didn’t look massive, despite its heavy, square, domed roofs with protruding edges. It retained its beauty despite the murder holes alternating with the most exquisite stained-glass windows, through which the muzzles of guns could be seen. These guns used special, lead bullets for ammo.

Hadjar understood perfectly well what this technical progress was leading to. He’d seen the results of it back on Earth, even if the World River had been absent there. He was glad that, at the moment, even the Emperor of one of the richest Empires could only afford to acquire a dozen artifact guns per year.

High fortress walls surrounded the Palace. Special cultivators kept watch from atop them. They led a variety of winged monsters around by their reins. They were called paratroopers, and were feared, elite units.

As far as Hadjar knew, they usually kept watch on the Empire’s border with Lascan. These men and women were silent killers who didn’t need ships, as they had their own ‘flying pets’ instead. For such people, crossing the border unnoticed and enacting some kind of sabotage was just a Tuesday.

The Palace truly did look worthy of being the residence of the Darnassus Emperor, even though it was more impregnable than any castle. It was so majestic and so beautiful that it took your breath away.

“Look,” a delighted Dora whispered.

She pointed at a gigantic, magical hieroglyph that was circling above the central tower of the Palace. Hadjar had never seen anything like it before. All magical symbols he’d ever seen before, regardless of whether they’d been Einen’s protective runes or the magic that allowed ships to soar into the sky, had been made of pure energy or magic crystals, but this one…

“How is this even possible?” Hadjar gasped. “Fucking hell!”

“I have no idea.” Einen opened his inhuman, purple eyes wider, but even they couldn’t reveal the secrets of the mysterious hieroglyph to him. “It’s made from stone, isn’t it?”

It was. A few miles above the Palace, a multiton, stone colossus was slowly floating in circles. A steady stream of grayish energy kept pouring into it from the Emperor’s residence. By imbuing the hieroglyph with power, it created a veil that stretched over the entirety of the Forbidden City and disappeared within the garden walls.

“Come on,” Dora, who was the first to recover, said. The elf had most likely been here before. “We’re holding up the queue.”

Hadjar turned around. Indeed, in the few minutes they’d spent admiring the landscape, no one else had come through the Gates of Rage.

Following Dora and Einen, Hadjar stepped onto the stairs leading to the garden. Carved directly into the rock, they looked like ordinary mica at first, but as soon as he set foot on the first step, it instantly flared with energy.

“Sparkling Amber,” Hadjar was both surprised by and indignant at the luxury. “Isn’t that a rare alchemical reagent?”

“It is.” The islander nodded.

The sheer value of these steps was mindboggling. At times like these, Hadjar, as someone who’d just spent three quarters of his fortune just to buy a new doublet and boots, began to realize just how unfair the world truly was.

Hadjar himself only needed his sword to live a good life, but the same couldn’t be said about the provinces of the Empire, especially the weak and poor regions, such as his own birthplace, the Kingdom of Lidus. All the Sun Ore that would eventually be dug up in Lidus wouldn’t be worth as much as the stairs leading to the garden of the Emperor of Darnassus. But why should they bother selling the stairs if they could simply bring one of their provinces to the brink of civil war instead?

“How many people are attending today’s reception?” Einen still had his eyes open.

Walking along the paths to the Palace, the trio joined a single, gigantic stream of guests. There were nobles, prominent political figures, the true arbiters of the Empire’s fate (also known as the aristocrats or high nobles), famous artists and bards, as well as distinguished officers.

All of them were dressed ‘richly’. Hadjar couldn’t understand it. In his opinion, no matter how expensive a person’s clothing was, it wouldn’t help them on the battlefield, or in regions like the Storm Mountain.

One might’ve argued that these gentlemen and ladies dressed like this only for receptions, but Hadjar knew better. Some Generals never took off their fancy clothes. And neither did the politicians or most of the nobility. While the provinces were fighting for survival and war loomed ever closer, these people… partied. Something was rotten in Darnassus. The stench that South Wind had told him about so long ago was now so prevalent here that Hadjar winced.

He didn’t know that two green eyes were watching him intently at that very moment…

Chapter 772

The main entrance to the Palace was also amazing. It was quite literally too lavish for the two friends to not be impressed, even if they resented the wastefulness.

“Look,” Dora shouted again. She couldn’t understand why the two men were in such a strange mood. “These steps were forged from Cursed Metal by the founder of the Eternal Mountain clan a hundred years ago!”

Hadjar looked down at his feet. He couldn’t believe that the 96 steps leading up to the Palace were actually made from metal instead of a noble stone, as they had all the properties of stone. And considering the fact that ever since his training on the Storm Mountain, Hadjar always looked at everything through the World River, this was doubly impressive. How had the blacksmith been able to disguise the metal’s energy flows so well that it could pass itself off as stone?

“Why Cursed Metal?” He asked, more for the sake of conversation than out of any real interest.

As they walked up to the richest porch in the Empire, Hadjar watched the other guests closely. They all had one thing in common — each guest visited the Emperor completely disarmed. No armor, weapons, artifacts, talismans, or amulets were allowed. Only medallions that could show off their accomplishments and spatial artifacts were permitted. But even the spatial artifacts were negated by special runes scattered all throughout the Palace.

“Because, according to one legend, a cursed man forged a sword from it that could kill a god.”

Hadjar and Einen slipped and nearly sprawled out on the stairs in their shock.

“Pardon?” They asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Have you never heard of it?” Dora was surprised as well.

She was wearing a snow-white, sparkling dress and her hairstyle flowed down her back like a waterfall. She was the kind of beautiful only an elven Princess could be. Hundreds of eyes followed her every move.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly realizing who she was talking to. Einen and Hadjar had grown up in very simple regions and had never really heard such legends before. “It’s a very old story. It’s about a young man who divided his soul into many parts because he wanted to stop being human. And he infused one of the fragments of his soul into the metal.”

Maybe the story Dora was talking about had nothing to do with the legend of the Potter, but... Hadjar could’ve sworn that he’d just found another piece of the puzzle. He still didn’t understand what it was, not really, but he felt like even more than just his own life depended on him solving it.

“But how did he make metal into stone?”

“Have you really never heard this story before? Every child in Dahanatan knows it. The Cursed Staircase leading up to the Emperor’s Palace is one of the main attractions of the city.”

“Perhaps it is,” Hadjar agreed. “For those who grew up in the capital and its surroundings, and not on the other side of the world.”

“I’m sorry,” Dora said again. “I keep forgetting that you both came from far away…”

Einen put his arm around the Princess and held her close.

Hadjar heard the other guests whisper angrily in response:

“I’ll kill that shameless upstart!”

“Calm down! That’s Einen the Islander and Hadjar Darkhan, the Black Swordsman. They are prodigies of the younger generation.”

“Damn it! Where did commoners get such power?”

“I wish I knew... if only…”

Despite everyone around them being unarmed, they were still powerful cultivators. There were very few other Spirit Knights among the guests. It was mostly just Lords.

“The legend claims that the man could split his soul because it was hard but brittle, like burnt clay. The shards of it that he infused into the metal turned it into stone.”

Hadjar mentally went back to the day he’d discovered the secret of Decater’s tomb. He remembered standing atop a cliff of skulls and bones, the Sea of Blood lapping at its shores — the place where a fragment of the Black General’s soul had resided, waiting for his Inheritor. He remembered three huge stone swords stuck in the ground near the gate with the fire rune.

“Were there ever any swords made from the stone?”

“No one knows, Hadjar,” Dora shrugged her shoulders. They were decorated with ice patterns. “When the founder of the Eternal Mountain clan, the greatest blacksmith in the history of Darnassus, made this Staircase, the Emperor asked him to try and forge a sword from the Cursed Metal as well. It took the blacksmith ten years, but-”

“Not just ten, but a hundred and ten,” a familiar, deep voice interrupted the elf.

A few steps above them, almost at the entrance to the Palace, stood three cultivators. Tom Dinos was wearing a silver, military-style doublet with monograms that merged together into the coat of arms of the Predatory Blades clan.

Anise was wearing black again. Her shoulders were covered with golden feathers, and her back and flat stomach were completely exposed. A narrow strip of fabric covered her breasts. The hem of her dress was long and flowing. Against the backdrop of the white Staircase and columns, she stood out like a star in the night sky.

“It took one hundred and ten years,” Galkhad repeated. In his emerald green doublet that matched Anise’s eyes, he looked a little strange, like a dressed up bear. “My honorable ancestor spent a hundred and ten years on that sword. But it-”

“It split in half as soon as it was touched,” Dora finished for the giant. “I’m glad to see you, friends.”

After an exchange of formal pleasantries, they walked past the only cultivators who had the right to wear armor and weapons here — the Emperor’s personal guard corps. The 1026 warriors were famous for their unsurpassed skill. To serve in this corps was the greatest honor a member of the military could ever hope for. Only Lords at the middle stage and above were ever admitted into their ranks. Their leaders were six Nameless ones at the initial stage. Hadjar didn’t even want to imagine what kind of combined power they could wield.

With that thought in mind, he brought up the rear of their squad and entered the Imperial Palace of Darnassus. At that moment, he realized that it had taken him almost ten years to get here since he’d left Lidus…

“Elaine,” he whispered to himself. “How are you, my beloved sister?”

Chapter 773

After walking through the garden, up the Staircase, and through the porch, Hadjar felt like it would be impossible to surprise him again. But he’d been wrong.  Inside, the Palace contained all the possible elements of luxury that existed in this entire world.

There was a fountain that, instead of water, shot out streams of molten, precious metal, expensive wine, and sparkling stones, each of which cost a fortune. The tapestries on the walls had been woven from the highest quality materials. The floor made from noble stone and wood was covered in the skins of animals that were at the first level of the Spirit Stage, which was equal to the human Nameless level. Any organ, or any other component extracted from the body of such a monster would cost an absurd amount of money. Their Cores were impossible to buy, not because there wasn’t anyone willing to sell or buy them, but simply because such a large amount of money could never be collected, even from all the residents of Dahanatan.

And now Hadjar was standing on a Sky Tiger’s skin. It was one of the great, legendary breeds of animals. Their ability to use Blue Fire was almost unrestricted at the Spirit Stage, and their ability to fly made them a real danger to anyone. This was the kind of beast whose roar alone could wipe the capital of Lidus off the face of this nameless world.

“What are your plans?” Galkhad was looking for someone.

Hadjar didn’t really want to meet the person that the giant from the Eternal Mountain clan was looking for.

“There’s still an hour before the reception starts.” Dora was holding Einen’s hand and was also looking for someone. “Until then, it’s customary to make useful acquaintances and engage in polite conversation. Can we split up for now, and when they invite us into the hall, we’ll meet up again?”

“Good idea,” Tom, clicking the heels of his cavalry boots together, was the first to leave.

Anise and Galkhad followed him. They headed toward a group of people who, even in all this dazzling splendor, were hard to miss. The mere fact that Galkhad was going to introduce his beloved to the rest of the Eternal Mountain clan made things far too obvious. If the clan Head was really so displeased with his youngest son’s choice, he would’ve hidden Anise, and not exposed their relationship to the public.

“Let’s go,” Dora said, pulling Einen into the crowd. The islander gave an apologetic look to his friend. Hadjar found himself alone with a bunch of strangers.

“Well,” he shrugged. “Maybe the food here is passable.”

Hadjar headed toward the most pleasant and satisfying smell he could detect. Obviously, the main courses would only be served at the reception, but he could still eat here as well.

Hadjar located a table laden with appetizers.

“Well, it’s something at least,” Hadjar sighed with relief.

Pushing aside a senior officer of one of the armies, a Lord at the initial stage, who squawked in outrage at his behavior, Hadjar reached for the cold cuts. Fucking Orune! He picked up a fork from the table and dove in.

“Young man,” someone hissed, “were you never taught any manners?”

“I was.” Hadjar nodded. He skewered a piece of meat with his fork and popped it into his mouth… True bliss! “For example, when you’re standing at a table with appetizers, either start eating or fuck off.”

“I’m talking to a lady!” The officer snapped back.

He was middle-aged, with gray hair. Hmm, so he’s at least a thousand years old. Hadjar had learned how to determine the age of Lords and Spirit Knights by now.

Looking past the officer’s shoulder, Hadjar saw the girl. She was beautiful and very alluring. Her every gesture promised carnal pleasure. It was easy enough to guess that the lady wasn’t just enjoying herself, but also… working at the reception. Cultivators also had their own priestesses of love. The girl, who was a Spirit Knight at the initial stage, could probably do things in bed that Hadjar couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Try not talking to her, and offer her a snack instead,” Hadjar shrugged. “For example, a blood sausage.”

The hint was more than obvious.

The girl’s eyes flashed with anger. Hadjar chuckled inwardly. For five years, he’d worked as the musician of a brothel. He’d seen all sorts of whores. He disliked the ones who’d forgotten they were whores the most. This bitch, who had more money than Lidus had ever seen, was looking down on others. It annoyed him.

“You little brute!” The officer shouted. “I’ll-”

He didn’t manage to finish his threat. An immensely powerful aura descended upon their small area near the table. The expensive whore, whom only high-ranking cultivators could afford, started coughing and immediately retreated. The officer lasted a little longer. Then, blushing furiously, he cast a parting, menacing glance at Hadjar and hurried away.

Hadjar himself, gripping his fork so hard that it bent in his hand, withstood the pressure. Moreover, he idly wondered if he would be executed immediately should he use his Call and summon the Black Blade.

“Who are-”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you, young man,” a slightly growly, but still human voice interrupted Hadjar.

It was the Master who’d personally been introduced by the Emperor before the Tournament. He was tall and slender, dressed in expensive clothes and with very strange, artificial-looking eyes. He also wore an odd turban… Hadjar had seen many of those before, but only in the Sea of Sand. The man standing before him was very peculiar. Then he noticed the absolutely haphazard way the Master’s turban had been arranged! Even the children of the desert did a better job with their turbans!

“I’d like to talk to you in a more private setting, young man,” the Master’s hand reached for Hadjar’s shoulder. It smelled very familiar. Hadjar’s eyes widened in surprise. It couldn’t be!

“I’m sorry, venerable Master, but I’m afraid I must insist on talking to him first.” The smell of fragrant herbs and flowers washed over Hadjar’s face and then a small, gentle hand grabbed his wrist and led him away from the table and the crowd. They cut through the throng of people with the speed of a shooting star and soon found themselves in a dark alcove situated in one of the corridors. All Hadjar could see was bright, red hair and green eyes.

“I need your help, Hadjar Darkhan,” she said, her voice a little harsh, but still pleasant.

“Who are you?”

“Me?” She blinked in surprise. “Well, it makes sense that you wouldn’t know... I am the Emperor’s daughter and I need your help to save his life! The conspirators are going to kill my father. And they will do it today!”

Chapter 774

There was a huge difference between knowing what you needed to do and how you needed to do it, but only now, while training in the forest of the Storm Mountain, did Hadjar finally come to grasp it.

“Fucking shit!” He swore when he missed a lightning bolt yet again.

A red, fiery ribbon flashed across the dark sky, creating fiery swirls and storms, and then struck Hadjar in his already scarred chest. A week had passed since he’d figured out what trick Orune had used to predict where the lightning would go.

“It’s a kind of progress.” Orune, still lying on the same branch, was carving a figure out of a piece of wood. “A little more practice and I can use you instead of a storage crystal.”

Hadjar flipped him off, then looked around through the World River.

Over the past few days, he’d become so used to viewing the world like this that he no longer paid attention to all the colors that opened up before his eyes. Noticing a growing spark of energy in the lake of crazy colors, which had replaced the normal sky in his now enhanced vision, Hadjar, his Black Blade unsheathed, jumped in the direction where the lightning bolt should be striking soon. But just like hundreds of times before, he was too late. By a millisecond. Another lightning bolt left behind a scorch mark on Hadjar’s chest, sending him flying.

It was raining. The large, cold raindrops falling on Hadjar’s face gradually brought him back to his senses. His clouded mind jolted back to reality. He was lying in the center of the clearing, his arms outstretched. This place had changed greatly since Orune had originally led him to it. It looked as if mighty warriors had been fighting all over it for many centuries — dug up earth covered in terrible scars, uprooted trees, burned stumps, and ash could be seen everywhere.

The storm in the sky hadn’t subsided for three weeks. During that time, Hadjar had managed to catch at least several thousand lightning bolts. Faced with such a trial, any other Heaven Soldier would’ve gone to their forefathers already, but not Hadjar Darkhan. A dragon heart beat in his chest, making his body stronger than any other cultivator’s at this same level. He’d also drunk the orcs’ Wolf Broth, which made him even stronger. He’d even progressed by using the dragon meditation Technique, the ‘Path Through the Clouds’. He’d changed it as well, making it suitable for a human with a dragon heart to use.

Hadjar wasn’t a simple Heaven Soldier. And so, he was still alive. Burned, bloodied, scarred, and charred in places, certainly, but he was still breathing. However, he sometimes fantasized about how quiet and peaceful it must be outside his forefathers’ house…

Hadjar closed his eyes. He needed to look through the World River again and…

Something bit into his left cheek. Putting his hand up to his face, Hadjar was surprised to find a simple wooden splinter there. He pulled it out, opened his eyes, and stared at the piece of wood.

“What-”

Hadjar looked at the world through the World River. Nothing could escape his gaze, which now pierced the very currents of energy. But still, somehow, he hadn’t noticed a simple splinter that he would’ve been able to easily catch had he not closed his eyes.

“A true warrior never closes his eyes,” a voice came from the branch above him. “Even when staring death in the face.”

Hadjar, propping himself up on one elbow, turned to his Master and was about to ask what he meant by that. But he didn’t. He recalled the time when Orune, while looking into his disciple’s eyes, had broken two lightning bolts with a simple bone. Orune hadn’t closed his eyes to look at the streams of the World River back then…

“The storm is ending.” For the first time in two and a half weeks, Orune jumped down off the branch. He held a wooden figure in his hand, but Hadjar couldn’t see what it was. “If you don’t succeed by then, get off this mountain. This is no place for you.”

For a moment, Hadjar wanted to do just that — to lay still on the ground, caressed by a fresh, cold downpour, to leave and forget all the difficulties and dangers that this maniac had put him through. However…

He couldn’t get stronger that way. He wouldn’t get any stronger by learning how to swing a sword from an old, wise Master who would hover over him like a mother hen and correct his every move.

A true cultivator could only become stronger when someone threw them into the very maw of hell itself. Then, they would offer them a hand up, but only if the cultivator had the resolve to reach it. Orune was holding his hand out to Hadjar.

Hadjar couldn’t very well show that he was too weak and cowardly to take it. Not just to fucking Orune, but to himself most of all. Who would be left lying in the clearing if Hadjar surrendered? A worthless corpse.

Orune had left Hadjar in that pit of hell. He’d put him in front of death, and he was waiting for his disciple to boldly look it in the eye.

Leaning on his sword and swaying, Hadjar got to his feet.

The sky was darkening. It was inky, like a crow’s wing. The clouds were falling upward into the abyss, that cold, boundless space in which all the stars abruptly disappeared, sooner or later.

Orune took a step back and stood under the only tree that had survived. Clutching the wooden figurine so tightly that his palm began to bleed, he stared at his disciple. If an hour ago, Orune had had to fend off predators, now even those who’d reached the Primeval Stage were running for cover. The moment of the Invisible Death atop the Storm Mountain was approaching. When he’d first come to this cruel place in search of power, Orune had been forced to run away from the Invisible Death three times.

He’d only overcome it on his fourth attempt. He’d laid it at his feet, admired it for a moment, and then, stepping over it, had gone on to look for his next opponent.

His disciple wouldn’t even get a second try. Time was working against them. If he couldn’t fight it right here and now, he’d never be able to do it.

Orune remained silent. In the gathering, almost palpable gloom, his eyes glowed. He’d spent too much time on the Storm Mountain, among mighty beasts, so long, in fact, that he’d begun to forget what it was like to be near a human he wished to see…

Well, it didn’t matter. Young wolf cubs, when their fangs appeared and their bones became stronger, were expected to learn quickly.

His disciple’s fangs, even in this gloom, looked darker than the abyss. His bones were strong enough to handle the fury of the storm. It remained to be seen whether he’d finally learned how to hunt or whether he would continue to fall asleep hungry until he died.

Orune watched his disciple open his eyes and stare up at the sky, his face exposed to the rain. There, inside the abyss itself, the last lightning bolt was born – the Invisible Death — the last flash of the storm’s anger that, for some unknown reason, had no color.

In the moment before it escaped from its dark captivity, the world finally lost all its color. Hadjar didn’t move. Thunder struck quietly. And then the clouds disappeared and the joyous midday sun finally came out, illuminating small patches of the world. It played with the dew drops on the leaves and the grass.

Hadjar stood in the middle of the clearing. The blade of his sword was still smoking a little. To the right and left of him, lava congealed in wide holes in the ground.

“You get fifteen minutes of rest,” Orune ordered. “And then we’ll continue.”

Hadjar turned to him and nodded stiffly. His blue eyes shone exactly the same as Orune’s did.

Twenty days... It had taken only twenty days for his disciple to master the Gaze skill — to combine his ordinary vision with the ability to observe and comprehend reality through the World River. The skill that even Lords could only grasp after six months of training. Orune, back when he’d been a Spirit Knight and had had no Master to guide him, had managed to do it in a month.

Hadjar Darkhan, son of Lidus, was ten days ahead of his Master …

Turning his back on Hadjar, Orune opened his bloody hand and grinned. He held a tiny wooden dragon in his palm.

Chapter 775

After hearing the words ‘I am the Emperor’s daughter’, Hadjar wanted to leave immediately. The girl standing in front of him could really have been a member of the Imperial family. Moreover, she really did seem like the kin of his Imperial Majesty, Morgan. Not because of her lush, red hair, green eyes, marvelous figure, and pretty, oval face, but because of her energy structure.

After his training on the Storm Mountain, Hadjar no longer needed to close his eyes and concentrate, plunging into a kind of meditation, in order to look through the World River. Now he saw energy flows and energy bodies alongside physical reality. Of course, he didn’t see them all the time, but with a little effort and focused intent, he could pull it off. They didn’t look nearly as clear and detailed as they would normally, but it was more than enough.

Using the Gaze, Hadjar only really saw particularly strong concentrations of energy. However, this allowed him to be one step ahead of any opponent who hadn’t mastered the Gaze. To the uninitiated, it might’ve seemed like an animal’s sense, but it was actually a Technique. Hadjar automatically reached for his chest. The scars he’d received on that accursed mountain were no longer there.

The red-haired girl’s energy body was amazing. Thanks to the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique, Hadjar had been able to not only expand his channels as much as the human body could handle, but also to increase their length, which made his Techniques faster. Right now, however, he could see the difference between his independent research and experimentation and the Inheritance passed down and improved by the Imperial family for hundreds of generations.

What normally looked like energy threads in ordinary cultivators were tightly twisted ropes in the Emperor’s daughter. What usually looked like ropes were closer to rivers in her case.

Run comparative analysis of energy structures, Hadjar ordered mentally.

[Request is being processed…

Analysis completed.

The target’s energy structure surpasses the host’s structure by 21.4598%]

This girl was no older than seventeen or eighteen and already had a more developed energy body than Hadjar did!

That was because of the Imperial family’s well-developed Inheritance, as well as their immense resources, both monetary and alchemical. Not to mention access to the best Mentors and Masters. It wasn’t surprising that, in each generation, the strongest warrior was the Emperor’s heir.

Hadjar had actually seen this red-haired girl among those who’d passed the fourth round…

“Your Imperial Highness,” Hadjar bowed as gallantly as he could.

“We don’t have time for this!”

The redhead grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hall. Hadjar didn’t resist. He didn’t know enough about how one should behave around the Imperial family to know what he could and couldn’t do in this situation. Making an enemy of one of the Imperial heirs wasn’t part of his plan. Not for the next three and a half years, at least, since he had to focus on becoming a Lord in that time…

“You can’t-” Two soldiers from the Emperor’s personal guard corps crossed their warhammers, barring their way forward, but then snapped to attention a moment later. In perfect unison, they stepped in opposite directions, pressed their backs against the walls, and made room for them to get through the door.

Hadjar had never seen such lavish doors before... but, to be honest, he was already getting pretty tired of being surprised by the local decor.

“Your Imperial Highness!” The guards roared and bowed in unison.

Hadjar grimaced slightly. The way the guards had bowed made Hadjar envy their grace. However, without even knowing it, the guards had confirmed Hadjar’s assumption. He was indeed being led around by the Emperor’s daughter, the junior heiress of the family. Or, in other words, a walking pile of contradictions…

“At ease,” she said, and almost kicked the door open, then closed it behind her just as abruptly.

Hadjar found himself in a small hall. He admired the really beautiful stained-glass windows for a few moments.

“So, what’s this about?” He asked, turning back to the redheaded girl.

She was a little taken aback. She wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a casual tone.

“Didn’t you hear me, disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School? I said I needed your help to save my father!”

“I did, Your Highness,” Hadjar was about to bow again, but then decided that, since he couldn’t imitate the guards’ grace, he should just nod. “I heard you perfectly well the first time. But what exactly should I do about it?”

The redhead’s eyes widened, and then they flashed with rage. She reached for the bracelet on her arm. A magic symbol flashed on her spatial artifact. Something smelled like it was burning… The girl pulled her hand back and licked her burnt finger. A simple, empty scabbard dangled next to her slender thigh.

“Your words, Hadjar Darkhan, sound like treason!”

“I was tried for treason once before, Your Highness, so don’t waste your time threatening me. You’d better get right to the point.”

“I already did!”

Hadjar sighed. He suspected her confusion was due to the fact that the heirs of Darnassus had never left the Forbidden City and their social circle was limited to the senior heirs of the seven aristocratic families.

“Again, with all due respect,” Hadjar bowed as best he could, “You’re the junior heir to the throne. And you’re a woman.”

“So?” The Princess’ green eyes were now filled with an ocean of rage.

“Well, in every Empire, a ruler has only one heir. A man. And so it was with His Imperial Majesty. And then you were born. And what you’re telling me right now doesn’t sound like concern for your father, but rather, an attempt to draw me into a plot to eliminate him. And this, again, with all due respect, sounds like a messy but quick way to commit suicide. I’ll take my leave now.”

Hadjar bowed again and was just about to leave when he heard a soft whisper. The whisper was an oath. Hadjar stared in disbelief as the Princess cut her palm in his presence and swore an oath to him, a mere commoner. Her blood flashed golden, and then the wound closed back up.

“Do you believe me now, Hadjar Darkhan, disciple of the great swordsman?”

Hadjar still wanted to say no, but was forced to say:

“Yes.”

Chapter 776

Hadjar was sitting on the cold floor. He didn’t care that he’d dirtied his expensive doublet. Next to him, the Princess was also sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her dress was also dirty and rumpled. Damn it, that’s such a waste! It must’ve cost a real fortune! He thought idly. Through the wall, they heard the Emperor’s reception kick into high gear. The reception in the Palace, in the very center of the Darnassus Empire, to which Hadjar had received a personal invitation. If someone had told him this would be his future fifteen years ago, he would’ve laughed in their face.

“Can I ask why you need my help?”

“Because you’re the only one, except for the assassins themselves, who can use weapons in the Forbidden City,” the Princess replied.

Her voice sounded a little tired, and she was trembling slightly. It would be easy to mistake her for a seasoned warrior because of her Lord level cultivation and her monstrous energy body, but... she was far from it. The Emperor’s eldest son had been sent to the border with Lascan several times by now, but she was just one of the many flowers in his garden. A carefully nurtured and protected flower.

The Princess was incredibly beautiful and strong, but she didn’t have any real life experience or military expertise.

Hadjar started. He’d experienced all this once before, in his own homeland, the distant, outlying Kingdom of Lidus.

“How do you know of it?”

The Princess turned to Hadjar. Her green eyes twinkled slightly.

“You won’t believe me,” she whispered.

“Try it,” Hadjar insisted. “At the very least, you can always take an oath and-”

The Princess’ eyes flashed with a new surge of rage. Hadjar immediately shut up. What should’ve been just a joke intended to lighten the mood had only made things worse. Even a lowly nobleman swearing an oath to convince a commoner of the truth behind their words was already considered a permanent stain on their honor. And she was the daughter of his Imperial Majesty, Morgan. She was probably still mentally reliving the moment of her oath and cursing herself for her desperation.

After all, the girl had had every right to order Hadjar to obey her. And if he’d refused, it really would’ve been considered treason and punishable by death.

“I had a dream,” the anger and indignation in her green eyes changed to shock and even fear. “I saw a monster... It talked to me, showing me all sorts of visions… Visions of my father being killed by evil shadows and... and... it... showed me you, and your sword that you can summon from within your soul.”

Hadjar was shocked at first, but then it dawned on him.

“May I ask you a question, your Imperial High-”

“Akena,” the Princess interrupted him.

“What?”

“Akena,” she repeated. “That’s my name... You can call me by my name.”

Hadjar swallowed and nodded. It wasn’t every day that the heiress to the Imperial throne asked someone to call her by her first name.

Akena... His neural network immediately reacted and, after searching through its database and performing an analysis, easily translated her name from one of the ancient languages. It meant ‘North Star’. Hadjar thought it was a beautiful name.

“Okay. Tell me, Akena, was this monster wearing a living, predatory cloak and a wide-brimmed, gray hat?”

The girl started. Her eyes filled with even more fear. This was enough for Hadjar to recognize ‘the monster’, but he decided to make one hundred percent sure.

“And he was also holding a bleeding sphere, wasn’t he?”

“How did you know?”

Hadjar swore so harshly that the Princess’ cheeks grew redder than an overripe tomato.

“That monster is called Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares.”

The redness left the girl’s cheeks. She turned pale.

“Helmer? But he’s just a horror story for misbehaving kids! My nannies used to scare me with tales of his dastardly exploits when I was a kid!”

“Well, now you know he’s far more than just a scary story.”

Akena wanted to say more, but didn’t. It dawned on her. The thought both attracted her with its hazy romanticism and repulsed her with its implications.

“You’ve already met him,” she said. She wasn’t stupid, after all. “But... but... how did you survive?”

“Oh, it’s a long story. Let’s not waste time dwelling on it.”

Akena sighed. She clearly needed time to collect her thoughts, but she pressed on anyway.

“I need your help because you can summon your armor and use your strange sword, which, to my surprise, isn’t blocked by my father’s artifact, in the Palace.”

Hadjar remembered the stone hieroglyph floating over the central roof of the Palace.

“It’s because of that thing,” Hadjar pointed up at the ceiling, “that no one can use a weapon?”

Akena nodded.

“It also creates such a powerful veil that even if Lascan’s strongest battleship fired all its guns at us, we would remain unharmed.”

Hadjar whistled.

“How much energy does such strong protection require?”

“Everything my father can give. The artifact creates the most powerful shield in the Empire, but at the same time, it renders my father almost defenseless. If he stopped channeling energy into it for even a moment, the veil would fall. It would then take at least half an hour to restore it, and he’d have to-” Akena broke off. She bit her lower lip.

Hadjar took her carving knife (his was in his spatial artifact) and cut his palm. He solemnly swore not to disclose state secrets.

He was starting to smell that stench South Wind had warned him about. The old man had told him to stay away from Palaces and close to a fast horse.

“And should the veil fall,” said a weary Hadjar, “Lascan spies and saboteurs will instantly take advantage of the situation… And your father won’t exactly be fighting fit right after he cuts the connection, will he?”

Akena nodded.

“And our intelligence agency has reported that at least a thousand Lascanians have entered the city over the past year.” Apparently, the Princess had decided that, since she’d already shared one secret, she could afford to share another. “So, whatever happens, he’ll be faced with a very difficult choice…”

“And does the whole capital know about the reception?”

“Of course.” Akena answered.

“But what about his personal security corps? There are dozens of them. And all of them have their weapons and armor!”

Akena’s gaze was expressive. Too expressive. Hadjar growled in annoyance.

Chapter 777

Who, despite the protections offered by the artifact, was allowed to use weapons and armor in the Palace? Who was trained to conduct combat operations in these kinds of situations? None other than the people considered to be some of the best fighters in all of Darnassus, and who also had easy access to His Imperial Majesty!

“These shadows that you saw… Were they members of the guard corps?” Hadjar realized.

“They were.” Akena nodded a little shakily. “But I didn’t see who they were, exactly. Helmer didn’t show me their faces.”

“I don’t think he knows himself,” Hadjar hissed.

It was only a week ago that he’d last seen the demon. They’d sat together and shared a drink in honor of the dead fragment of the Potter’s soul. Hadjar guessed that, even back then, the Lord of Nightmares had already known about the conspiracy. So, he’d had enough time to tell Hadjar about it. Instead, he’d sent a nightmare to the Emperor’s daughter…

“So, we know this much: everyone in the Palace, even the most powerful of cultivators, can’t use weapons,” Hadjar decided to sum up.

“And most of their Techniques as well, due to that,” Akena confirmed.

Hadjar didn’t argue the point. Of course, disarming cultivators at the Lord and Nameless levels was a very tricky thing to pull off, especially if they’d mastered the Weapon Kingdom. Come to think of it, Hadjar hadn’t seen any such cultivators around and he asked the Princess about it.

“Everyone who’s mastered the Weapon Kingdom is greeted by father in person after the official part of the reception is over,” Akena replied. “It’s a great honor and-”

“A wonderful precaution,” Hadjar finished for the Princess. “Where is that fucking Orune when I need him the most?”

Hearing the great swordsman, a man who was second only to Emperor Morgan himself, being referred to in such a rude manner, made Akena choke on air. Then she remembered that she was speaking to the swordsman’s own disciple.

“So, only Lords and Nameless ones who’ve mastered the Weapon’s Heart and nothing further are around,” Hadjar concluded. “And where are the others?”

“Outside the Forbidden City.” Akena pulled her knees up and hugged them. The wide slit of her dress completely bared her thigh. A very beautiful thigh, at that. In different circumstances, Hadjar would’ve... He needed to focus! “Like I said, my father will come out to greet them personally at the Gates of Rage, after which they will hold a meeting in the garden. This happens after each reception.”

Hadjar remembered that he hadn’t seen the Head of House Tarez among the other guests, which meant that he’d also mastered a Kingdom… But what Kingdom? The merchant clan had never been famous for their prowess on the battlefield, but rather, for their skill at political maneuvering and making money.

Fucking Helmer!

“But even a disarmed Nameless wielding the Weapon’s Heart is still… Holy shit!”

“Yeah.” Akena nodded. “One of the assassins I saw is one of the six Heads of the corps. And he’s a Nameless. As far as I can tell, he’s a swordsman who hasn’t mastered the Weapon Kingdom yet.”

“Does anyone else know about the conspiracy?”

“No. And no one should know about it! As you rightfully stated, Hadjar Darkhan-”

“Just call me Hadjar.”

Surprisingly, the request to use only his first name caused the Princess to pause a little.

“As you rightfully stated, Hadjar… this is indeed a conspiracy. I don’t know how, but the guards have been bribed, despite the fact that they are bound by so many complex oaths that I don’t understand how this is even possible.”

“And anyone we ask for help will be just as confused.”

“I’ve been explaining all of this to just you for an hour now. And as we’re sitting here and chatting, the conspirators are preparing to make their move.”

Hadjar looked at Akena again. The Princess’ mood changed as rapidly as the weather in early spring.

“Did your dream show you when the assassination attempt was going to take place?”

“The murder,” Akena corrected him. “It will happen while my father is giving his speech to welcome everyone to the event.”

“When he’s surrounded by the largest number of guards,” Hadjar guessed.

He looked out the window. The rainy season had come to the capital, so the sky was overcast. The atmosphere was already oppressive, and the storm just made it even gloomier.

“22 guards.” Akena added.

“And how many of them are assassins?”

The Princess considered his question, “I saw three regular shadows. And the fourth one was the most... dense.”

“A Nameless.”

“A Nameless,” Akena repeated quietly.

“That means we have twenty-two suspects, four of whom are the actual assassins.”

“Exactly. So we can’t exactly puzzle things out while sitting here.”

Apparently, to calm her nerves, Akena was looking at the situation like some sort of riddle that her tutor had assigned her. Hadjar was all for it. No matter how strong the Princess was, if she faltered at a crucial moment, then... nothing good would come of it.

“We’ll be facing a Nameless level swordsman, one of the Heads of the guard corps, an experienced warrior with centuries of combat experience under his belt. Princess, don’t think I’m afraid. I just want to warn you that, even if I use all my trump cards, I won’t be able to hold him back for more than a split second.”

Hadjar didn’t tell her about the demon core given to him by Helmer after his adventures in the Wastelands, as he had no idea what effect it would have. He didn’t want to suddenly find himself standing in the middle of a burned down Palace and be known forever as the man who’d assassinated the ruler of Darnassus. Although…

“I can hold him back,” the Princess bit her lip.

“For how long?” Hadjar decided not to go into too much detail. If the Princess said she could, then she could.

“A second,” she shrugged, “One and a half, at most.”

At the speeds at which Lords, Nameless ones, and prodigious Spirit Knights like Hadjar fought, a second could seem like an eternity. Whatever trump card Akena had, it was truly powerful. She was the junior heiress of the Imperial family, after all.

“So, we need to... Wait!” Hadjar suddenly realized something. “Why didn’t you just swear an oath to your father?”

Another expressive look. A shiftier one this time.

“You did. And he knows,” Hadjar guessed. “And-”

“Your status as the great swordsman’s personal disciple isn’t enough to get you a personal invitation from the Emperor all on its own.” The Princess smiled for the first time that evening.

The unpleasant smell that Hadjar had previously detected turned into the true stench of a cesspool.

“When did you have that dream of yours?”

Hadjar already knew the answer, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Four months ago.”

South Wind had been a really wise man!

Chapter 778

Every single one of Orune’s ‘training exercises’ thus far, may he drown in donkey shit, could’ve been described as an elaborate method of execution, and each had been more terrible and impossible than the last, but this was just…

“Become a Spirit Knight before the full moon rises,” Hadjar imitated Orune’s voice mockingly.

…so removed from common sense it sounded like a joke.

Hadjar, covered in blood, was cutting the Core out of the body of a huge Steel Bird, which was at the Ancient Beast Stage.

After spending three months on the Storm Mountain, he could now kill the beast that had caused him so much trouble at first. Of course, it still took a lot of effort, but... Hadjar could feel that he’d become faster. His body had lost all the excess weight that he hadn’t even noticed he had before, the unnecessary baggage that had made him slower and less agile. He’d had no idea that his body had accumulated so many impurities. They’d been made up of the particles of dead tissue that had come to be as a result of both his physical and energy wounds not healing fully. They’d accumulated over time, creating a negative effect.

Hadjar had finally gotten rid of them. Or rather, his teacher had done it for him. His approach had been cruel, bestial, and even incomprehensible. Hadjar himself, before his battle with this Ancient Beast, had doubted whether Orune had been teaching him or tormenting him. But what Orune had done to his body had been more effective than any alchemical pills or natural reagents.

Had it been hell? Yes. Had it been necessary for Hadjar to grow? Also yes.

The Gaze was the most valuable thing he’d learned during his training. If not for the tiny improvement to his odds that he gained from being able to simultaneously observe the physical world and the world of energy, even with his newly purified and renewed body, he still wouldn’t have been able to defeat the Ancient Beast.

“Fuck this shit!” With another jerk, Hadjar was finally able to cut through the strong veins of the creature and take its Core. It was a small, yellow crystal, no larger than a little finger. In Dahanatan, it would’ve cost him about 1500 Imperial coins.

“Twenty-six,” the satisfied Hadjar put the extracted Core into his spatial artifact.

By the time he finished carving up the bird, night had already fallen on the forest that covered the gorge of the Storm Mountain range. Hadjar, jumping off the carcass, swung his sword several times. Its powerful, deep Sword mysteries scattered around the outskirts. They carried not just his energy, but also his physical strength. This was a trick he’d learned by spying on Orune — although he’d long ago started suspecting that everything he had learned by ‘spying’ had actually been shown to him. This Technique allowed him to scare off predators that were weaker than the Ancient Stage. The more powerful ones were forced to consider if the prey would be worth fighting. As a result, even Primeval Beasts, despite their hunger, preferred to go hunting first, and then maybe fight against such a strong opponent in order to try and devour its core.

Sitting down next to the dead Steel Bird, Hadjar started a fire. Never, even after they became a strong cultivator, should a person stop respecting the life-saving flame.

The fire kept the monsters away because they feared it on an instinctual level. Except for those monsters who’d been born in harmony with the element and could control it. It lured those monsters in. However, as far as Hadjar knew, such creatures didn’t live at the foot of the Strom Mountain, they lived directly atop it.

Cutting a rather large, juicy piece of meat off the bird’s leg, Hadjar skewered it on a stick and started roasting it over the fire. True cultivators didn’t need food… But, Hadjar now followed one simple principle: ‘We are what we eat’. So, after each hunt, he ate the meat of powerful beasts. That way, he made himself stronger, even if only by a tiny bit. It was a bit like the southern cannibal tribes’ way of life, but even so…

“Initiate training mode.” Hadjar ordered. “Use ninety percent of effective processing power. Leave five percent for the current task. Use the remaining capacity to scan the area. Highest risk mode.”

[Processing request...

Switching over to ‘Training Mode’.

Reducing energy used in the ‘Removing the Sword’s Seal’ task by 85%…

Processing request…

Terrain scan finished.

‘Highest Risk for the Host’ Mode activated.]

From the moment Orune had sent Hadjar out after giving him that strict deadline, Hadjar had plunged into his neural network’s training space every night. It looked the same as it had before — a boundless white space in which copies of all the opponents Hadjar had ever fought were presented to him. There were also windows depicting every area Hadjar had ever visited or seen hovering in the sky.

Above the heads of each digital opponent hovered performance figures — their effectiveness at using their abilities in battle.

Anise had the highest score — 17.3%. A few months ago, Hadjar had only had a modest 6.8%... which hadn’t even been a realistic figure. He hadn’t scored it in a real fight, but while training with a wooden dummy. In a real fight with a live opponent, Hadjar’s capabilities didn’t even reach 3% of his maximum potential.

The number was a little better now. After his training with Orune and these nightly visits to the training mode, Hadjar had reached 4.25%. An almost twofold improvement to his indicator! Of course, this was reflected on Hadjar himself as well.

However, that didn’t mean Hadjar had become twice as strong. Rather, he’d become about 1.5% stronger. But even these crumbs of power usually took years of training for some cultivators to gain, and not just a few weeks, like in his case.

He chose a Primeval Giant as his opponent, as it was the most convenient foe to practice the ‘Flying Sword’ Strike on. Despite the fact that the Inheritance had implanted the Technique in Hadjar’s mind and body, he still had to train to use it to its fullest potential.

Working on the Technique took him half the night. And then he was thrown out of the training mode by a signal from his neural network.

The fire had already gone out.

He’d learned to trust his senses after all this time, and so Hadjar slowly sniffed the air. The familiar smell that he’d sensed before during all these weeks of hunting became clearer and more defined. It belonged to a Steel Bird at the Primeval Stage, second level. A monster that had to be avoided. But not by Hadjar. In addition to the twenty-seven Cores from flying monsters no lower than the King Stage, he also needed pollen collected from a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover to advance in his ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique. And this Steel Bird would lead him right to it.

Hadjar, after biting off a huge piece of the cold meat, went hunting. A peak-stage Heaven Soldier against a second level Primeval Stage monster? It was as if Hadjar would soon be fighting against a Nameless!

Chapter 779

“What makes you think they’ve been poisoned?” Akena asked.

Hadjar led the Princess by the arm, which was why other male guests were looking at him with envy and hatred, striding along the barely lit corridor with her. They were heading back to the hall where the guests were gathering. The reception and the welcome speech of His Imperial Majesty were going to start soon.

“Because it’s the simplest explanation,” Hadjar said, “which means it’s probably the right one.”

“But how could they create a poison that can keep some of the guards out of the fight and turn others into oathbreakers? Breaking one’s oath leads to a horrific death.”

“If I knew, Princess, I would’ve either gotten killed by now, or become the master of this whole world.”

Akena smiled slightly. For the second time that evening. Hadjar felt pleased with himself. Akena was very pleasant to be around. Despite the fact that she was the junior heiress to the throne, she was very warm and kind.

Akena spoke about oathbreakers like a person who’d seen the consequences of becoming one with her own two eyes. Hadjar had never seen a death caused by the World River — the personification of the laws of the Heavens and the Earth — before. That one time with Arkemeya didn’t count. Fucking hell! Why was Hadjar remembering the dark-haired half-breed right now?

“If you had that dream four months ago, then they’ve been poisoned for a long time now.”

Hadjar saluted the slightly dumbfounded guards, who even forgot to bow to the Princess for a second.

Then, coming to their senses, they roared:

“Your Imperial Highness,” and bowed gallantly.

Hadjar wondered how they did  that while wearing full plate armor… He would have more trouble imitating their bows than trying to identify the conspirators. He would guess that they were from House Tarez. Why did he think so? Well, Helmer was involved in this case, and he wanted to bring the Tarez and their shady dealings to light. Besides, the merchant clan was constantly using that strange demonic energy. The most damning bit of evidence was that the Head of House Tarez was absent from the reception. Of course, he hadn’t stayed away just because he’d mastered the Kingdom of something, but also... Because that would be the perfect alibi! The conspiracy would succeed, the Emperor would be killed, and the Head of House Tarez wouldn’t be there, ensuring his innocence in everyone’s eyes. Not even the Heads of the other aristocratic clans would suspect him…

If not for his deal with the Lord of Nightmares and a little bit of added information, Hadjar himself would’ve never suspected the traders.

“That’s rather logical.” Akena nodded, and smoothed Hadjar’s doublet absently. “Please try to look happier, you are at the Emperor’s reception with his precious daughter, after all.”

Hadjar snapped out of it.

They were standing in the reception hall that Akena had ‘kidnapped’ Hadjar from less than an hour ago. Everyone there was looking at them. They were all interested in the duo that included Her Imperial Highness in it, trying to analyze what consequences their pairing might have.

Soon enough, they were almost overwhelmed by a tsunami of people, which thankfully crashed against their breakwater, Galkhad. Hadjar didn’t know how the giant of the Eternal Mountain clan had managed to get ahead of everyone. Executing an incredibly smooth and skillful bow, Galkhad straightened up and introduced himself:

“I am Galkhad, my Princess, a junior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan, a disciple of the inner circle of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, and a close friend of your companion.”

As all aristocrats tended to be, this giant was duplicity and slipperiness incarnate. Apparently, in his circles, this kind of behavior was taught to everyone practically from birth.

“Nice to meet you,” the Princess said with a restrained nod.

“Allow me to introduce you to my companion.”

According to the rules of etiquette, a man should always speak first. It was a kind of echo of this world’s strictly patriarchal past. “Anise Dinos.”

“My Princess,” Anise curtsied. “I am Anise Dinos, a servant of the Predatory Blades clan, a disciple of the inner circle of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, and an ally of your companion.”

Hadjar fought the urge to roll his eyes. This kind of etiquette, which delighted some of the common people, got under his skin. Not for its pretentiousness and manners, which looked nice enough, but for its inherent deceit and duplicity.

“I’ve heard about you.” Hadjar heard the note of delight in the Princess’ voice. “I’m very glad to see you in my father’s house, senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan.”

Her words had the same effect as a bomb going off in the middle of the room. Anise’s eyes, those of a stern and unyielding swordswoman, became wet with unshed tears, and a ripple of whispers surged through the guests. Hadjar understood what the Princess meant. She’d just declared herself an ally of Anise Dinos and had also refused to recognize the current Head of the clan, along with his eldest son.

Hadjar — again! — had somehow gotten himself stuck in the middle of political machinations, by some fucking miracle.

“I hate schemes!” He hissed.

Fortunately, he noticed a familiar face and, wanting to steer things away from intrigue, interrupted Galkhad, who’d started to babble something.

“My Princess-” Hadjar bowed slightly.

“Remember, it’s Akena, not Princess.”

Another ‘bomb’ exploded in the hall. Hadjar realized that even if he didn’t die while trying to save the Emperor, his life would never be the same again.

“Akena,” Hadjar cleared his throat, “Let me introduce you to my closest friend, Einen the Islander.”

The bald pirate, also dressed in a doublet and leading Dora by the arm, had been approaching his friend. No one could understand Einen’s facial expressions. No one except Hadjar, that is. To everyone else, the islander looked happy to receive this honor, but Hadjar could read his true feelings:

What’s going on here barbarian? What have you done now?

The two of them hadn’t needed words to understand each other for a long time now.

“My Princess,” Einen bowed. “Let me introduce you to the companion of my heart, Dora Marnil.”

To the friends’ complete bafflement, Akena responded with the most restrained and haughty nod possible. And Dora gave her a silent curtsey in return. In the language of Palace intrigue, this meant theirs was the most hostile relationship you could find around here. What had happened between Dora and Akena?

What have you gotten yourself into, barbarian?

Hadjar gestured back:

The Emperor is going to be assassinated. We have to help her save him.

WHAT?

At that moment, a heavy silence fell over the hall. Everyone began to bow and curtsey. Emperor Morgan himself walked between the rows of gathered people. He looked truly majestic and mighty.

“No… no… no!” Akena wailed. “He shouldn’t be coming out now… The welcome speech is always at the beginning of the feast!”

“I am glad to welcome you all to-”

Hadjar realized that not everything had gone according to their plan when the lights went out in the hall as soon as Morgan started talking.

For the second time in his life, Hadjar was somehow involved in an attempt to kill a ruler. Maybe things would go better this time? By the Evening Stars and the High Heavens both, he liked this even less than he did intrigue!

Chapter 780

For most cultivators above the Heaven Soldier level, darkness was no issue. They could see equally well in the light of noon as they could in the darkness of midnight. But that fact didn’t apply to the artificial, magical darkness that had suddenly enveloped the hall.

“Why are they starting so early?” Akena cried out in panic. She clung so close to Hadjar that he felt the room heating up...

Hadjar didn’t point out that she’d had her dream four months ago and that, during that time, the conspirators’ plans could’ve changed dozens of times over.

“Do you see anything?” Hadjar asked in the dialect of the Islands. Of course, he was talking to Einen, who had inhuman, purple eyes. Only he might’ve been able to make something out in this magical darkness.

“No,” answered Einen. “This is strange, Hadjar… I can’t see anything at all!”

Something incredible was happening in the hall at that very moment: the many Lords and Spirit Knights, who’d thought themselves to be the gods of Darnassus, were screaming, running around like headless chickens, stumbling, falling, and panicking like mere mortals would.

“Evening Stars help us!” Hadjar gasped. “Neither do I…”

Whatever Technique the conspirators were using was able to not only block everyone’s vision, but it also covered the World River in an impenetrable, gray veil. And so, the cultivators could see neither physical reality, nor the energy flows.

Suddenly, Hadjar punched the dark void. His knuckles crunched into someone’s jaw, and judging by the resistance he encountered, an initial-stage Lord staggered back and then ran off. Soon, the sounds of cursing and falling bodies filled the entire hall.

“Hadjar?” Galkhad growled out. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Protect the Princess, big man.”

“This isn’t what we agreed-”

Akena didn’t have time to finish protesting. Hadjar, guided by the sound of her voice, shoved her in Galkhad’s direction and disappeared into the crowd.

Where magic and Techniques had failed him, the power of his neural network’s computing module came to his rescue. After all, a human had many more senses they could rely on apart from vision.

Compensate for the loss of vision, Hadjar ordered mentally.

[Processing request...

Request completed.

Compensation mode has been enabled.

Power consumption is 78.965%]

His neural network was now able to show him blurry images. Using all his remaining sensory organs, it projected what was happening in the hall in the form of green, misty figures.

That’s how Hadjar was able to see that a girl was lying on the floor not far from him. The same girl that had recently been ‘chatting’ with the prominent officer. Despite her high cultivation level, only half of her head was still beautiful. The other half had turned into a bloody mess shaped like a military boot. Apparently, the distinguished officer wasn’t the kind of guy who stood his ground…

A few feet to his left, he noticed a scuffle. About ten people were hitting each other and shouting something. Perhaps they believed that the darkness was the perfect excuse to resolve their political or personal issues.

There were three, possibly even four ‘scuffles’ that he could discern. His neural network’s capabilities weren’t limitless and were only able to project the blurry images in a small area around Hadjar.

Turning around, he saw that Einen, Dora, Galkhad, and Anise had arranged themselves into a square formation. Standing shoulder to shoulder and assuming hand-to-hand combat stances, they were shielding the Princess with their own bodies…

It suddenly dawned on Hadjar.

He realized who, even if it was impossible to use weapons, could still unleash the full power of their Techniques, mysteries, and energies.

At that very moment, the hall was filled with the melodic chime of a broken stained-glass window. Then, destroying the chime’s melody in a manner similar to how someone had recently smashed the expensive window itself, the roar of a Technique filled the air as it thundered into the hall. Judging by the echoes of its energies and mysteries, it was at the Imperial level.

“Protect The Emperor!” The corps sergeant barked. “Fulfill your sacred duty and meet your forefathers with honor!”

All twenty-two guardsmen pulled out their artifact shields from their spatial artifacts, plunged them into the luxurious stone, and pulled out their spears as the shields grew larger. They looked like an impregnable fortress, and a Nameless level swordsman stood in front of them in all his glory.

“Idiot,” Hadjar growled.

He was already enveloped in his foggy, black armor, and the Black Blade, with the blue hieroglyph at the base of its missing guard, lay in his hands.

“What an idiot I am!”

The guardsmen were not weak-willed slaves who had to protect the Emperor under the penalty of death. They might’ve been seen as such by a demon who was confused by the human way of life. With only a little information to work with, he’d showed Akena the conclusion he’d come to on his own.

But it would be immensely difficult to create a substance that could poison twenty guards at the Lord level and lure the Nameless guard to their side, forcing the guards to kill the strongest cultivator in Darnassus before they perished due to the World River’s punishment. That plan was far too complicated.

To Helmer, who’d never been a ‘weak’ Nameless, it probably didn’t matter, but to humans, the difference would’ve been obvious. No one had poisoned the Emperor’s guard corps… No one had poached the Nameless guard… Everything was a lot simpler than that — the conspirators had hired assassins.

“Clever,” a voice came from beneath a heavy, armored helmet, “but not enough!”

One of the Heads of the guard corps raised his titanic sword. It was 6 feet long, 1.5 feet wide, had no cutting edge, and it weighed more than four tons. One glancing blow from it would leave no trace of anyone whose body hadn’t reached the Heaven level in terms of sturdiness, no matter what defensive Techniques they used or what kind of armor they wore. The heavy sword was the embodiment of savage power.

Hadjar had already seen immensely powerful cultivators fight. Back on the Storm Mountain, he’d seen two titans clash — his Master and the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. But even after witnessing that battle between two of the pillars of Darnassus, the Nameless swordsman’s strike still looked impressive to him.

A wave of energy full of Weapon’s Heart level mysteries swept away part of the hall. Moreover, for the second time in his life, Hadjar felt someone’s Technique affect not only the physical world, but destabilize the flow of energy as well. The attack, which assumed the form of the armored head of a horned elephant, slammed into the assassin’s Technique. The impact of that collision echoed throughout the Palace.

The Spirit Knights closest to the epicenter of their clash were scattered across the hall like broken puppets. Drops of blood landed on Hadjar’s face.

The Lords, who had much stronger bodies, managed to hold out, but even they looked bad: their clothes were torn, they were covered in bruises and bloodstains, and some even had obvious fractures.

A battle between Nameless wasn’t something that anyone other than cultivators of equal power could afford to stick around for.

“Heavens help us!”

Three blurry shadows flickered near the hidden servants’ door. It was used to clear away dishes and bring in new treats. Such a simple but effective choice…

Two poisoned daggers flashed and one poisoned dart whizzed by. The Nameless level cultivator and guard, a pinnacle of the cultivation path of all the seven Empires, someone who’d lived for thousands of years, died in less than a heartbeat. He dropped his sword as he died and it slammed into the guard formation. Their shields flashed with magic runes and sigils. A real fort, built from bricks of power, sprang up around the Emperor. But its walls began to crack from the very first attack that landed on it.

“Take a hit if you have to!” The sergeant thundered. “Protect the Emperor! Do your duty!”

A Nameless level cultivator entered the hall through the broken stained-glass

window. He was a master of hand-to-hand combat who didn’t need a weapon. Next to him were three peak-stage Lords who’d mastered the use of daggers. They’d armed themselves with kitchen knives dipped in poison. The knives were used to cut into the meat of high-level beasts and were therefore all Heaven level artifacts. It was all so easy to pull off. So simple... And that’s precisely why no one had expected the assassins to do just that. Not even Helmer.

“Fucking hell!” Hadjar swore again. “Are you with me, my Spirit?”

The hall was filled with the shrill cry of a bird and, once the huge Quetzal bird spread its wings wide open behind Hadjar, he charged into battle. Alone. Against a Nameless level assassin and his underlings.

Chapter 781

Hadjar carefully peeked out from behind the bushes. As usual, he was smeared with mud and covered in leaves. He’d never shied away from getting dirty if it could save his life.

By the Evening Stars! Hadjar mentally exclaimed in admiration.

A Steel Bird at the Primeval Stage wasn’t that huge. It was smaller than even a Royal Eagle. It was almost like a living piece of metal.

However, despite the fact that each of its feathers was actually made of steel, they made the exact same sound that ordinary feathers would make. Its claws resembled a falcon’s. So did its beak, its plumage, its habits, its movements, even the way it bit into the broken carcass of a deer with predatory but graceful movements. The deer hadn’t simply been killed, but broken: the Steel Bird, a Primeval Beast that was capable of singlehandedly destroying a merchant skyship, hadn’t wasted its power. Instead of using its hard-won energy, it had simply lifted the deer into the air and then let it go. Gravity had done the rest.

And now it was feasting. It bit into the deer’s neck, the most tender and delicious part of the whole animal. It dipped its beak into the gory mess, tore off a chunk of meat, swallowed, looked around, and then returned to its food. It was careful and smart. In fact, its intelligence was a match for that of a human adult.

Where’s that damned clover? Hadjar kept looking for the valuable plant, but couldn’t find it. However, the Steel Bird, which shimmered as the moonlight reflected off its metal feathers, positively reeked of it.

It wasn’t much of an issue for Hadjar to get twenty-seven Cores from flying monsters, but finding a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover… The symbol of good luck was very rare. And it barely ever grew older than a century, let alone three. And after that, it bloomed only once every ten years. Its pollen also attracted bees from hundreds of miles around. They liked to harvest it to add it to their honey.

The fact that the Steel Bird smelled like such a rare reagent was nothing more than blind luck, which was normally so lacking in Hadjar’s life.

It couldn’t have been simple for once? Hadjar sighed.

Considering the fact that nothing but grass grew on the cliff where the Steel Bird was currently savaging the deer carcass, and the smell was gradually fading, Hadjar had to assume that the clover wasn’t anywhere nearby…

The conclusion was obvious: the clover was blooming in one of the areas the bird had visited tonight. Therefore, Hadjar had two choices: the first and most reasonable was to just turn around and leave. Most cultivators would’ve done so. But if they did, they would never progress beyond the point where they’d turned their backs on the path of cultivation.

So, that left the second option, which bordered on insanity. If it worked, however, bards and minstrels would be able to make a decent song about it.

Hadjar, who’d spent more time on the Storm Mountain by now than ninety percent of the Spirit Knights and Lords of ‘The Holy Sky’s School, had come to understand the habits of such powerful predators. He’d had no other choice, in fact. If he hadn’t figured them out, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to ‘enjoy’ Orune’s second training session.

Calming his racing heart, Hadjar took a step forward. Then another, and another… until he stood, completely unarmed, right behind the Steel Bird. A Primeval Beast at the second level, comparable in power to a human cultivator at the initial stage of the Nameless level, a bird whose body was comparable to a Heaven level artifact, one that was used to feeling like the strongest in any situation.

And that was how it felt right now as well. Continuing to eat, the bird didn’t pay any attention to the energy signature that shone behind it. It was a two-legged beast whose fangs couldn’t hurt it. What would be the point of wasting time on it?

Fighting the weak creature might result in a lot of surprises, but it wouldn’t make it any stronger. There was no point in hunting the weakling, either, as the bird was almost full anyway.

As long as the two-legged creature didn’t try to take its food and wasn’t aggressive, it could stand behind its glorious form as long as it wanted. Soon, it would finish its meal and fly off to look for-

The bird sniffed. At first, it seemed to it like the smell was only a small trick being played by the wind coming in from the mountains that belonged to the Lords of the Heavens, but the smell was clearly coming from behind it. The smell was hard to confuse with anything else, although it was so faint that it was unlikely that anyone else on this entire Mountain except the bird itself would’ve been able to identify it.

It had fled the Dragon Lands as a baby bird, but it had never forgotten their scent. Mighty serpents covered in impenetrable scales, with horns that plowed through mountains, breath that tore the sky apart, and the ability to take on two-legged forms and speak. They were frightening to anyone that was smart enough.

The two-legged creature behind it managed to scare the bird, but not for long. The bird spread its wings to escape this deceitful serpent, but stopped. It sniffed again. The creature smelled faint. This two-legged wasn’t a Lord of the Heavens, but their blood still flowed through its veins.

It turned around. It looked into the weakling’s ugly, blue, huge eyes. It saw resignation and despair in them. This creature clearly didn’t want to live anymore. It was bruised, cut, and covered in blood, bites, claw marks, and scars. It might be strong, but not strong enough to live on the Storm Mountain with its head held high.

Well, it would be merciful and grant the creature’s death wish.

It would feed the creature’s flesh to its chicks. They would get to devour the pollen of the four-leaf flower and the blood of a Lord of the Heavens, and one day, they would become the rulers of this mountain. And their descendants would, perhaps, one day be able to achieve the same glory as the Lords of the Heavens, and then they, too, would be able to assume a two-legged form.

The bird let out a long, piercing cry and flapped its steel wings silently. In one fell swoop, it closed the distance between them and, clutching the body of the lame two-legged creature in its talons, soared into the sky.

Hadjar was lifted into the sky in a split second. Flying with claws embedded in his shoulders couldn’t exactly be called comfortable. The Steel Bird had pierced his body with its talons so easily and quickly that it was as if it didn’t exceed the Spirit level in toughness. The distance the bird had covered with just one flap of its wings would’ve made all the Imperial designers of high-speed ships blush. Blood trickled down Hadjar’s arms and disappeared somewhere in the clouds beneath him.

Hadjar had no idea where the Steel Bird was taking him. All he knew was that wherever they were going, he would either grow stronger there or die. Well, nothing new about that.

Chapter 782

Orune, who was standing atop a tree a few miles away, rubbed his forehead wearily. Why hadn’t his disciple taken the easy way out? Had Orune really managed to influence him so much in just the past few months?

Of course, he’d always suspected that his disciple used some sort of special meditation Technique for his cultivation that required rare reagents, but the pollen from a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover was a bit…

Orune had understood everything rather quickly: he’d watched his disciple spend all day hunting for flying monsters, and then abruptly rush after a creature that he, not even theoretically, could ever overcome… There had to be an objective reason for that idiotic decision. And Orune had found only one — the smell of the clover that permeated the Steel Bird.

“You idiot,” growled Orune. “Where are you going, you fucking bastard?”

By the gods, his disciple had no idea how much of a moron he was being.

Orune held out his hand toward the clouds. White lightning enveloped his figure, and then he disappeared.

***

Hadjar opened his eyes and found himself in the largest nest he’d ever seen. He’d lost consciousness due to blood loss after a few hours of being carried.

Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, it was already noon. Given the bird’s speed and the current time, the distance that the Primeval Beast had covered was beyond his comprehension. They were most likely now on the very edge of the Storm Mountain somewhere.

He was surprised to find that he wasn’t the only one in the wide, bowl-shaped nest. There was a pile of dry twigs, leaves, traces of animal remains, and three eggs in there with him. They gleamed like metal and each of them had an individual pattern on its surface. The Steel Bird itself was nowhere to be found, so Hadjar tried to get out of the nest. But as soon as he leaned over the side of the nest, he realized that it wouldn’t be quite so easy.

“Not bad,” Hadjar whistled in astonishment.

Below him, he saw a raging sea of clouds. The Steel Bird had managed to build a huge nest out of branches and place it atop a high mountain peak. Realizing where he was, Hadjar felt cold. Hugging his knees in an attempt to retain some warmth, he began to examine the nest. The bird must’ve… There it was!

With a trembling hand, Hadjar summoned his Black Blade and started butchering the carcass. Fortunately, the boar lying next to him had just been killed. Apparently, the Steel Bird had wanted its future offspring to eat fresh meat. After cutting up the boar, Hadjar threw its skin, still wet with blood, over his shoulders. The winds that blew so high up on the Storm Mountain could make even a peak-stage Spirit Knight shiver. If not for his strong body, Hadjar would’ve already been talking to his forefathers.

Well, his acting skills, developed over the years he’d spent as a circus freak, had helped him get into the nest, but that wasn’t the end of his ‘adventure’, just the beginning.

“Where is it? Where is it?”

Now that he’d solved the first problem, Hadjar started working on the second, much more serious one. If he couldn’t break through to the next level of cultivation in the near future, then getting out of this mess alive would be impossible.

However, no matter how long Hadjar crawled around the nest and searched for a four-leaf clover, he couldn’t find it.

“High Heavens take me!” In his anger, Hadjar struck the side of the nest.

The wave of his energy that passed through the branches didn’t even bend them, but it did shake them a little. The eggs didn’t even move. Still, it was enough to make Hadjar sneeze due to the traces of corrosive pollen in the air.

After blinking back tears and enduring a flash of pain, Hadjar wiped his bloody nose. Any ingredient as powerful as the pollen of a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover was bound to have both useful and destructive properties.

“That’s impossible…”

Hadjar moved his hand away from the nest. His palm was covered in bloody dots, as if someone had just stuck a thousand needles into his skin.

Viewed through the Gaze he’d developed in his last training session, this nest looked ordinary. But…

Walking over to the very center of the nest, Hadjar sat down in a lotus position. After placing his hands on his knees, he began to breathe slowly and evenly. Gradually, the shape of the World River started appearing in his mind’s eye. It was as if the entire world was floating on the very surface of an endless stream of energy. Everything that was visible generated its own threads of power that connected with the general current.

Hadjar didn’t even bother to curse. He realized just how smart the Steel Bird really was. It had disguised the clover, making its nest out of it, or rather, out of its roots. The clover’s flowers were located in a special niche under the very spot where Hadjar was now sitting. Even more amazing was the fact that the clover wasn’t three hundred years old, but at least five hundred years old!

“That’s too lucky…” whispered Hadjar.

Each time he’d progressed with the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique, he’d encountered some sort of oddity: he’d had to overcome difficulties, or work with much higher-quality ingredients, or even slightly modify the process itself, making it suitable for humans to use.

But this time, Hadjar doubted he could pull it off. There were only twenty-six Cores of flying monsters in his spatial ring. The pollen was also protected by the nest, which was made of strong roots he would never be able to break through.

It turned out that, in order to get to the pollen, he would first have to absorb all of the energy from the roots. A rough, dirty, and difficult task. To a mortal, it would feel like drinking clay. After that, if he somehow survived, he would have to simultaneously absorb the energy of the pollen of a five-century-old plant and the energy of the three Steel Bird eggs, hoping that their mommy didn’t return early and kill him for murdering its chicks.

“Ancestors!” Hadjar had never prayed to the gods or to his ancestors before. But if this situation wasn’t worth praying over, then what was? “My parents’ ancestors. Honorable ancestors sitting at the table in the house of my forefathers. Venerable ancestors of my forefathers. I’m here. I’m not stopping. I won’t give up. Give me your support. Give me your strength…”

***

“Lend me your strength… If I die, don’t turn me away...” Hadjar whispered as he prayed. “First Strike: Flying Sword!”

Behind him, the Quetzal bird flared up in a swirl of energy, then drew itself into the Black Blade. It was immediately decorated with the pattern of a bird flying off from a small tree.

Hadjar swung his sword in a smooth arc. A graceful and incredibly light typhoon broke out. Even in this gloom, it looked like inky darkness personified. Then the silhouettes of dragon-swords flashed in its very center. Each of them carried the full power of one of Hadjar’s strongest swings. There were dozens of them. Their echoes pushed back the Lords who had survived the initial clash.

A wave of black dragon-swords met the Nameless level assassin’s weakened steel palm. There was a massive explosion. A whirlwind of energy, invisible in the enchanted darkness, tore through the stone ceiling, floor, and walls.

Hadjar flew back and crashed into the guards’ shields. He slid down them, spitting out blood, and staggered to his feet. If it hadn’t been for his Call’s armor…

The Nameless one, whose Technique Hadjar’s attack had clashed with, hadn’t even budged.

“Not bad.” A voice came from the darkness. Because of the distance between them, Hadjar could no longer see his green silhouette created by the neural network. “But stupid. One measly Spirit Knight trying to fight me? You aren’t even worth spending-”

The assassin’s words were drowned out by a tiger’s roar full of rage and bloodlust. A white, flaming tornado rose up next to Hadjar. White fur with blue and black stripes gleamed as the tigress landed on the broken stones. After the two years that Azrea had also spent on the Storm Mountain, she’d become huge. Hadjar, even standing completely upright, barely went up to her shoulders.

“You took your sweet time,” Hadjar smiled and patted his faithful friend on the back of her neck. “What should we do, Azrea?”

Another roar that rolled like thunder through the hall, conjuring flashes of white lightning, burst forth from the Primeval Beast’s massive maw.

Chapter 783

Hadjar made a last-ditch effort, pushing through channels that were almost completely clogged with dirty, foul energy, and was finally able to dry a sufficient chunk of the four-leaf clover’s roots. A small hole, the size of a regular bowl, formed right under his feet. It was deep enough that only a layer thinner than a fingernail separated Hadjar from the flower and its pollen.

Emerging out of the depths of the World River back to reality, Hadjar could barely keep his back straight. He felt like he was suffocating, as if something inside of him was burning and clogging up his lungs, veins, and arteries. Barely restraining himself from instinctively clawing at his own throat, Hadjar scooped up the Steel Bird’s eggs with trembling hands.

Life had already sprung up in them. He didn’t need the World River or his Gaze to sense it, to feel the beating of the chicks’ hearts and their irrepressible, burning desire to live, to see the world, to spread their mighty wings and soar through the sky. The voice of the ancestors spoke inside the little chicks. They were to be born in a week, maybe a week and a half at most.

But this world, a world of martial arts and cultivation, was cruel. Only the strongest, the most cunning, or the most brutal survived here.

Placing the eggs in front of him and spitting out black, dirty, and poisoned blood, Hadjar knelt down and rested his forehead against the branches.

“Forgive me,” Hadjar said, coughing and spitting out what felt like oil instead of blood. “Forgive me for not giving you the chance to stand up for yourselves.”

Hadjar knew that the strong devoured the weak, but there wasn’t an ounce of honor in the act he was about to commit. It was akin to killing a human baby…

But Hadjar wanted to live. And if there were three unborn chicks acting as an obstacle on his way to seeing the next dawn, he would do to them what any predator would’ve done to him. He would eat them.

Spitting out even more slimy, black blood, Hadjar straightened up, returned to the lotus position, and began to breathe. It was difficult, much more difficult than trying to breathe with a severe cold completely blocking your nose.

He felt as if he were drowning in clay or mud, possibly even quicksand or maybe thick oil.

The World River trembled before Hadjar. He’d thought he would become heavier because of the dirty energy of the clover’s roots, but the energy flows pushed him back to the surface. The mud he’d clogged his energy body with wasn’t allowing him to sink into the World River.

If this continued, the Steel Bird wouldn’t need to kill him. He would simply die because his energy structure would collapse and rot away.

Well, thought Hadjar, I really have nothing to lose!

His power, which had been trapped inside his Core until now, surged out into his channels. Anyone, especially a healer, would’ve considered Hadjar mad or suicidal after seeing him do this. Even a simple practitioner with no knowledge of medicine could understand the consequences of trying to drain the entire supply of energy in a cultivator’s Core through their blocked channels all at once. It was like erecting a dam before a raging river — it would instantly flood its own pool. The energy, unable to break through the clogged channels, would simply surge into the only other place available — the physical body. It wouldn’t be like the crumbs of power a cultivator normally used in their Techniques. It would be an instant flood of the Core’s entire capacity, an unstoppable flow of power that could sweep away everything in its path. It would tear his body apart even if it were three times as sturdy as a Heaven level artifact.

“Be free!”

Gathering all his will, Hadjar brought it down upon his own Core.

A tsunami of power, the pure essence of what he was drawing in from the World River and processing with every passing second, swept through his main energy channels. The feeling of drowning in clay was replaced by the sensation of falling into a lake of molten metal.

In the physical world, a swirl of black, blue-veined energy rose up around him. It cut and tore at the roots that the nest was made of. Blasting upward many miles into the sky, the vortex of power suddenly disappeared, staining the clouds black.

Hadjar gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. Once blue, the color of an azure sky, they now looked like two abysses marring his face, which was already contorted in terrible agony. Only a few blue threads brightened the two darkening voids.

Hadjar’s veins were also black and streaked with blue. The entire process resembled that time Nero had been poisoned in Balium. Covered in a web of dark lines, Hadjar spat out black blood. It ran down his lips, out of his eyes, ears, and nose. It drenched his skin and torn clothes. The more black blood flowed out of Hadjar, the cleaner his channels became. All the filth that had clogged them up in the last hour was leaving his body along with the purified essence of his power.

The next quarter of an hour, which felt like an eternity to Hadjar, was like a marathon. The most important thing here wasn’t speed, but endurance.

Hadjar could easily die from the wounds caused by his own energy breaking through from the inside out. Blood was already streaming down his torn flesh. His consciousness gradually faded, but Hadjar held it steady with his steely, unbending will. He forbade himself from passing out, and somehow, he actually didn’t. This was his path. Sneering at pain and difficulties, he always kept marching forward.

When there was so little blood left in his body that his skin looked pale even underneath all the black, dried up filth, Hadjar’s eyes finally began to brighten.

Most of the muck had been pushed out of his body, along with those grains of impurity that inevitably appeared in any cultivator.

Hanging on the edge between reality and oblivion, which would lead to his death if he surrendered to it, Hadjar turned his gaze inward. His channels were now completely cleared up. And this would’ve once again shocked any healer. For even Hera, when she rendered her services to the wealthiest of Darnassus, would assure them that she couldn’t make their channels completely clean. Hadjar had found a method that could, but would cost nine out of ten cultivators their lives. He was lucky to have survived it.

But that didn’t mean that he could simply relax, exhale, and continue to meditate. His Core, having been drained to the point of dryness, felt like a heavy stone in his gut. He wouldn’t be able to survive even ten more heartbeats with it so empty. That meant only one thing — it had to be refilled urgently.

“Here goes nothing!”

Howling, Hadjar did something that not even a Lord would dare to try; he began to, all at once, absorb the energy of the pollen, fill his energy body with the power of twenty-six flying monsters’ Cores, and, on top of that, he also drew power from the still-living chicks. No cultivator was able to absorb the energy of a still-living being. It was only possible to drain a Core. And Hadjar was no exception.

The Black Blade appeared in his hand. Like a hungry beast, it pierced the three steel eggs. Dozens of black wisps penetrated the unborn chicks’ bodies and began to devour their energy.

The eggs, which had been sitting in the nest, absorbing the energy of the clover’s roots, flowers, and its pollen, contained very special chicks. Each of them, even before birth, was at the fourth level of the King Stage. In other words, by human standards, these monsters already had the power of an initial-stage Spirit Knight. Maybe it was a good thing that they would never get to be born…

Hadjar, surrounded by three separate streams of energy at once, continued to sit in the lotus position. He didn’t know that the distraught Steel Bird was already flying toward him.

Chapter 784

“Is that Azrea?” Galkhad, while punching someone he could barely make out in the darkness, glimpsed a short, barely noticeable white flash.

A wave of tremendous, monstrous, animalistic power washed over him and the others, leaving no doubt that it belonged to a Primeval Beast.

“Who else could it be?” Anise answered his question with a question.

The echoes of the menacing, bestial roar had just now stopped reverberating through the hall. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this roar could send weak Heaven Soldiers to their forefathers all on its own, as a Primeval Beast at the first level was the equal of a human peak-stage Lord.

“What’s going on?” snarled Galkhad.

He took a step forward, but then immediately returned to their formation. Right now, he wasn’t just covering the backs of his beloved and allies, but also protecting the Princess herself. While he didn’t particularly care about Akena, this could turn out to be one of the greatest feats in the Eternal Mountain clan’s history.

“Where’s Tom?” With a deft flick of her hand, Dora threw away the nobleman who’d pounced on them. She’d most likely not intended the action to be so humiliating, but in circumstances like these, they didn’t have time for niceties.

“I’m here” A voice came from the darkness. “I’m making my way over to Hadjar!”

“Wait!” shouted Anise. “We need your help and-”

“Believe me, sister, he’s the one who needs help right now!”

Tom, clutching a kitchen knife, worked his way through the crowd to the area where the clash of terrible energies could be felt.

***

“What a cute little kitten,” the Nameless laughed. “You’ve got a beautiful pelt. I think I’ll make a cloak out of it!”

Azrea, angered by those words, slapped her paw against the stone floor. Her claws flashed like four white rents in the fabric of the darkness itself. And four lightning bolts, resembling the attacks of a cultivator with mastery over the Sword’s Heart, shot out. Sparks flew from them, melting rocks, slicing through steel, and causing even Lords to flee in panic. Without their Techniques, armor, and weapons, they bore little resemblance to the menacing, arrogant, and swaggering ladies and gentlemen they’d so recently been.

In response to Azrea’s attack, the Nameless took a step forward. He finally entered the neural network’s range once more and Hadjar was able to see his outline. He really was a melee fighter. As Hadjar had suspected, he wasn’t wearing ordinary armor, but one conjured by a Call. The helmet that covered the Nameless one’s head looked like the skull of some sort of horned animal. In fact, the entire armor, from its shoulder pads to steel boots, looked like something primal, streamlined, and dangerous. His clenched right fist looked like a steel hoof, and his outstretched left palm was like a dangerous, sharp horn.

Anyone who believed that an herbivore couldn’t be dangerous had clearly never encountered an enraged elk. Sometimes, even a pack of wolves couldn’t bring it down.

Punching forward with his fist-hoof, the Nameless sent the silhouette of a fist, one the size of a house, out in front of him. The echoes of the Technique tore down columns and shattered the ceiling. Stones rained down on the heads of the already terrified guests.

Four white lightning claws collided with the Fist Technique. Hadjar, anticipating the explosion of destructive energy, crouched down a little and hid behind the black cloak of his Call.

The explosion was so powerful that, for a moment, it was even able to dispel the impenetrable darkness. Hadjar, leaning out from behind his cloak, was able to see just how amazing the Nameless’ Call looked.

Hadjar himself had armor that was as sturdy as an Imperial level artifact, but this assassin’s Call... It clearly wasn’t a match for Traves’ Divine level armor, but it was still much stronger and more powerful than what Hadjar was wearing. The color of steel, it was decorated with numerous complicated patterns and ornaments.

“Hold him,” Hadjar whispered.

Azrea growled and pushed off the ground. The hall behind her turned into a sea of fire and white lightning bolts. Dozens of Spirit Knights were injured, unable to dodge a simple charge from the Primeval Beast.

Turning into a ball of white lightning and leaving a trail of fire in the air behind her, Azrea slammed into the Nameless’ defensive Technique. The assassin’s twelve strikes formed an energy shield in front of him that was made up of metal palms. Azrea jumped at it, and two lightning bolts, one white and the other steel gray, crashed into the Imperial garden, where they continued their fierce battle.

“It’s interesting that you have a Primeval Stage pet,” one of the peak-stage Lords stepped forward, twirling a kitchen knife between his fingers, “but honestly, I don’t care enough to spare you. And you won’t have time to tell me before I end your life anyway.”

He made a quick, short lunge, which, if not for his Gaze, Hadjar would never have been able to see. Even such a fast Technique needed the assassin to channel the energy for it first. His wide channels would certainly make many cultivators green with envy, but they were quite ordinary in terms of length.

Hadjar was faster than any of the assassins could’ve imagined. The sea of fire and lightning hadn’t even subsided yet before it was engulfed by a wave of darkness. In the spot where Hadjar had just stood, a deep hole appeared in the solid stone floor, and black energy spread out like a dragon’s wings behind him. Even compared to the darkness, it still looked like a portal to the abyss. People from all corners of the hall screamed in terror as they saw something even darker than the darkness itself.

Hadjar didn’t care.

He was moving at a speed that no Spirit Knight should’ve been able to manage. He didn’t parry or dodge the thin beam of energy that could’ve easily gone through both Imperial level armor and a Heaven level body. Hadjar, who’d taken a half-step to the side before the attack, raced parallel to the beam, moving so close to it that he risked bumping right into the Technique if he moved so much as a hair closer to it.

But he didn’t make any wrong moves, and his own Technique followed him.

The second assassin, armed with a dagger, joined the fight as well. The third assassins was still trying to shake off the echoes of Azrea’s lightning bolts and was out of it.

The Lord level assassin, his pilfered kitchen knives crossed in front of him, suddenly spun around on his axis, simultaneously delivering both rapid, pinpoint lunges and cutting swings. A thread of water flew toward Hadjar, hundreds of piercing droplets swirling around it. This kind of attack had the piercing power of a lunge and the cutting power of a swing. Hadjar had already seen such a combination of two completely different Techniques before and, quite frankly, when it had been performed by his own fucking Master, it had looked much more formidable. Wait, his Master? Had he actually just thought of that maniac as his… No time for that now!

“You’re-”

The assassin didn’t get to deliver his threat. Hadjar, stopping abruptly, used the momentum of his rush, all the while clenching his teeth and ignoring the wild pain in his tendons, to bend his knees and soar into the air.

The black dragon silhouette circled around the first beam in the air and landed on the floor close to the first assassin, unfurling two massive, black wings of energy.

“How-”

Hadjar’s fist smashed into the Lord’s jaw. It felt like hitting a mountain, even with his gauntlet to cushion the blow. Was it even possible to move a mountain with a punch? It was for Hadjar. The assassin flew back, blood gushing from his face. Without looking, Hadjar swung the Black Blade down in a powerful slash.

“Black Wind!” He said.

Cutting through the air, an incredibly dense, extremely dark sword that only had a few bright blue patterns marring its perfect darkness crashed into the water comet. A furious dragon writhed inside the blade as it did so. Another burst of power exploded between the two cultivators. The Lord level assassin spat out blood and took three steps back. When the echo disappeared, he expected to see the Spirit Knight slamming against the wall, but instead, he only saw an armored boot.

With a kick to his stomach, Hadjar launched the Lord up into the air, and then, with a roar, put a quarter of his power and the full depth of the Sword’s mysteries he’d already grasped into his next swing.

Even though the assassin was wearing ordinary clothes, he was still a peak-stage Lord. His body was harder than an Earth level artifact.

A slash, so dense and full of energy that it cut through the magical darkness for a second, struck the Lord’s chest. A warm, bloody rain drenched Hadjar’s face. To his left and right, the two halves of the assassin’s body thudded to the floor.

The hall, which had been chaotic mere moments ago, suddenly fell silent. They couldn’t see, but they could still feel the energy flowing around them. The power of a peak-stage Lord had just disappeared, while the power of an initial-stage Spirit Knight had remained.

How was this possible?

“One down.” Hadjar licked his lips, which were now splattered with the Lord’s blood. “Two to go.”

Swinging his sword, he charged forward with a bloodcurdling roar.

Chapter 785

The assassin who’d been struck by the steel-covered fist couldn’t believe his eyes at first. Protected from the magical darkness by a special artifact, he’d just witnessed one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen: a Spirit Knight, clad in the armor of a Call and armed with an Imperial level blade, had turned into a foggy dragon and torn apart his comrade — a peak-stage Lord. This Spirit Knight’s attack had also destroyed the ceiling above their heads, which had been made from Damp Earth Stone — a type of stone that even a volley from forty cannons couldn’t damage.

Who was this Spirit Knight?

He, Trumir, a cultivator of the Sleeping Star clan, the best assassin clan in Lascan, wouldn’t sully their clan’s name. He couldn’t let the Dead Moon clan claim they were better and more professional than them!

“South Beam!” The Lord, who was finally taking his enemy seriously, used one of his four deadliest Techniques. It was intended to be used with daggers, but he, a cultivator who’d been on the verge of comprehending the Dagger Kingdom for seven centuries now, could even use it with a kitchen knife, or a simple toothpick! The dagger was a melee weapon and its greatest weakness was its short range. The ‘South Beam’ Technique was designed to overcome that issue.

He would take the head of this Spirit Knight back to Lascan!

***

The knives in the assassin’s hands flashed with power. Viewed through Hadjar’s Gaze, it looked as if they’d turned into vague, greenish clouds. Ten bright, powerful rays of concentrated energy burst forth from their tips all at once.

Hadjar stopped in midstride, turned on his heel, and sent a stone block that was falling from the ceiling toward the enemy with a kick. Despite weighing half a ton, it flew through the air like a stone from a sling, and then crumbled.

Each of the rays turned into an exact copy of the assassin. It looked like eleven peak-stage Lords were now standing in front of Hadjar. Each of them had an identical energy body, which meant that even the World River was fooled. Their hearts were beating. They were breathing. It was a truly potent Technique.

“I’m still so lucky.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar watched the assassin armed with steel darts. He was still bound by Azrea’s lightning bolts, but it wouldn’t take him more than twenty heartbeats to finally throw off the shackles.

Hadjar wasn’t sure if he could cut through the lightning bolts and destroy the trapped Lord in a single blow, so he left him alone for now.

A moment later, Hadjar was ready to try it anyway… As all ten copies of the other Lord, and the original as well, presumably, blazing with green light, charged him in unison.

“Not a bad Technique!” Hadjar admitted. “Heaven level cloning… You’re from the Sleeping Star clan, aren’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter, you filthy Darnassian mutt! I’ll take your head back with me and mount it like a trophy!”

“Say hello to Derek for me, assassin.”

Hadjar wasn’t just wasting his time by talking to the enemy. As he fought off dozens of lunges, hundreds of slashes, and thousands of stabs, he tried to determine which of the enemies was the actual assassin by goading them into speaking.

“You don’t even deserve to say the name of the great hero! Derek of the Steppes is more of a man than you’ll ever be!”

In the end, Hadjar’s little ruse almost backfired on him. For some reason, he had no doubt that they were talking about the same Derek. But when had he become a great hero? In Lascan, the title of ‘great’ was given only to the same kinds of monsters as in Darnassus. And as far as Hadjar knew, besides Orune and the Emperor, there were only five others in this Empire with such a title, including the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’s School.

His astonishment, which lasted less than a fraction of an instant, played a major role in the battle. At the speeds at which Spirit Knights and Lords fought, every microsecond of inattention could lead to one’s death.

Sparks flashed as yellow lightning bolts whizzed through the air. He staggered back, lost his rhythm, and then a dagger slammed into his right and then his left side. Spinning on his axis and forcing his cloak to spread out like a dragon’s wings, Hadjar put some distance between him and his foe.

Spitting out blood, he ignited the energy inside his Core. Hot and furious, it instantly burned away the poison that was already reaching for his heart.

Both the assassin and Hadjar were startled. The assassin couldn’t believe that a simple Spirit Knight had been able to burn out a poison that could kill even a Nameless. Hadjar was shocked because the clones, even if imbued with energy and mysteries, had actually been able to break through his armor.

“The Kingdom level of weapon mastery,” croaked Hadjar. “You’re close to it.”

“Your head, you pathetic dog, will become one of my greatest trophies. Radiance of the South Beam!”

This Technique drained half the Lord’s power when he used it.

Fucking kitchen knife! If he’d had a proper weapon, he would’ve killed this strange Spirit Knight by now.

Hadjar felt it with his entire being as the eleven identical assassins lit up with power. They all lunged forward with their right knife. Eleven rays of energy rushed at Hadjar all at once, comparable in power to the one he’d had to dodge at the beginning of the battle.

Having no other options, Hadjar grabbed the handle of the Black Blade with both hands. After delivering a wicked slash he’d put all the Sword’s mysteries he’d mastered and a quarter of his own power into, he roared:

“First Strike: Flying Sword!”

For the second time that evening, a wave of energy filled the hall. Inside it raged hundreds of dragons, each of which possessed the power of a direct and brutal attack with the Black Blade.

The Imperial Technique struck the eleven assassins’ beams that had entwined in a single stream. That stream of steel-colored light stabbed right into the center of the dragon tsunami. It pierced through the veil of power, then smashed a dozen dragon strikes to pieces, and after losing most of its power, it pierced through the ‘First Strike’ Technique itself, which proved that it was also at the Imperial level.

“Oh fuck!” Hadjar shouted in panic.

There was nothing surprising about this outcome. The Black General’s Technique, which had once enabled the Last King to take over the Hundred Kingdoms, was intended for use against an entire army. It had a lot of crushing power, but it was also dispersed in a wide area. The assassin’s beam, on the other hand, concentrated all its power into one point. It could only kill one person, but the assassin didn’t need it to do more than that.

***

The Lord level assassin, with an effort of will, formed a shield from his own copies. The ten clones lined up in front of him. The dragon wave destroyed the first three clones, then slowed down slightly. Six more clones were obliterated with a lot more difficulty. But the last one, the tenth clone, wasn’t even hurt.

Even so, the monstrous Technique was worthy of acknowledgment — the entire wall behind the Lord crumbled and flew out into the garden like a hail of stones, falling on the backs and heads of the fighting Nameless and Primeval Beast.

“Your head will-”

The Lord abruptly stopped talking. His eyes widened.

***

Hadjar understood that, at this short distance, he wouldn’t be able to dodge or evade his foe’s attack. So, he decided to use a Technique that, like many others he tended to learn, would cost him rivers of his own blood.

Moving his sword as if he were returning it to its scabbard, Hadjar assumed a lower stance. He concentrated so hard that he could feel the dust shaking around him. Just before the enemy Technique pierced his chest, he swung his sword as fast as his body would allow.

A wave of Sword mysteries swept through the hall. The Palace walls and ceiling were instantly covered in a thin network of cuts.

The Black Blade struck the pommel of the ray-dagger after it moved through a wide, cutting arc. There was a brief flash, and then, after losing a further half of its power, the assassin’s piercing beam turned completely around. It struck the startled Lord’s chest.

Dragging him a few feet across the floor and leaving a shallow stab wound behind, it wasn’t enough to kill his enemy, but it was enough to let him close the distance between them.

“You wanted my head, right?”

Hadjar’s fist, clad in his Call’s armor, slammed into the assassin’s lips. Tearing them to shreds and crushing and knocking out nearly all his teeth, Hadjar almost touched the back of the assassin’s throat with his fist. He then put his foot on his foe’s stomach, grabbed his opponent by the upper jaw and, using the full strength of his entire body, pulled upwards. The Lord’s body convulsed. A fountain of blood drenched the still standing section of the wall behind the assassin. Hadjar threw half of the Lord’s head at the third assassin, who hadn’t yet managed to throw off the shackles of Azrea’s lightning.

“One left.” Two predatory, bestial blue eyes shone brightly, peering out from a face completely covered in enemy blood.

Chapter 786

The upper half of the assassin’s head slammed into the cage of lightning bolts, was instantly covered in white fire and, after being reduced to a handful of ashes, scattered in the wind.

Taking advantage of the brief respite, Hadjar took a few pills from his spatial ring. Popping them into his mouth, he felt an explosion of borrowed, alien power erupt in his Core. It wasn’t as pure as the essence Hadjar had learned to harness from the World River after training on the Storm Mountain, but after fighting against two Lords, Hadjar’s energy reserve had dropped to a point where it was difficult to maintain his Call.

In the past two years, he’d advanced far enough to maintain the Black Blade for a full day and his Call’s armor for seven minutes without much difficulty, provided he had a full reserve of power and spent it exclusively on keeping his Call and sword going.

Alas, in a real battle, power was drained much faster than that. At best, Hadjar could only use three ‘Flying Swords’, and then he would collapse.

Thus, the energy pills helped now more than ever. While shoving them in his mouth, Hadjar almost cried. Each of them cost at least 1500 Imperial coins. Hadjar wondered how many pills and alchemy ingredients he could’ve bought instead of his expensive but ultimately useless doublet.

Hadjar’s greedy musings were interrupted by an explosion of power. A tricolored pillar of energy burst out of the peak-stage Lord’s chest and finally destroyed the lightning cage. It also tore a hole through the distant ceiling of the already dilapidated hall. Massive stones came crashing down toward the guests’ heads.

Hadjar was about to cut through the stone that was falling directly toward him, but he didn’t manage to do so in time. A scarlet sword slash reduced the falling stone to rubble.

“What are you doing here?” Hadjar barked angrily.

Next to him stood a blurry, greenish silhouette. The accursed Tom Dinos, armed with only a kitchen knife, had decided to play the hero.

“I’m helping you, commoner,” Tom spat out venomously. “This Lord is clearly stronger than the ones you just fought.”

“Why-”

As if to confirm Tom’s assessment, a vortex of power sprang up around the last Lord, and when it disappeared, the assassin was wearing sturdy, light robes. The deceptively simple fabric had the strength of an Imperial level artifact.

“When did almost every other cultivator start using a Call at the Imperial level?” growled Hadjar.

Of course, this wasn’t actually the case, but the fact that four cultivators with powerful Calls were trying to kill the ruler of Darnassus made this battle very unusual and somewhat confusing.

“Darnassian dogs!” The assassin crossed his arms. Between his fingers, the remains of the ice picks he’d been wielding were trapped in what looked like claws. “We’ll string you all up by your own intestines! Our soldiers will rape your women! Your children will spend their lives scrubbing our shit!”

“He certainly knows how to trash talk, doesn’t he, Tom?”

“You’re crazy, barbarian!” Tom held his little knife out in front of him the same way he would hold a sword. “He’ll kill us!”

Hadjar didn’t reply to that. He’d already seen the difference between fighting an unarmed Lord who couldn’t use more than a quarter of his real power and facing the kind of opponent they now had to deal with.

The assassin didn’t waste any time. When he finished spewing his threats, he released his power. A storm of sharp, piercing energy imbued with the Throwing Knife’s mysteries at the Weapon’s Heart level filled the hall.

There were dozens of screams from the Spirit Knights. Many of them, after being wounded by the echoes of the Lord’s power, fell to the floor, drenched in their own blood. Even the energy fortress that had been erected by the Imperial guard corps was now covered in a network of small cracks and holes. One of the guardsmen gasped and fell to the floor, but the fortress of energy didn’t disappear.

As soon as the warrior fell, he was instantly dragged inside the formation, and the ranks of guards tightened and restored the protective formation’s potency.

It was undeniably true that the peak-stage Lords and Nameless ones were truly the greatest force in the seven Empires.

“You got a plan, Dinos?” Hadjar cut through the air with his sword. A veil of darkness spread out from the Black Blade. Stretching across the hall, imbued with the Sword’s mysteries, it was able to cut off the wave of the Lord’s power. But, affected as it was by the enemy’s power, it could probably only withstand the onslaught for a few more seconds. Hadjar was using a sword, but the assassin was relying on his willpower alone. If the enemy had been armed with even simple throwing knives instead of ordinary ice picks, both Tom and Hadjar would’ve already been dead by now.

“Why in the High Heavens are you asking me?” Tom shouted over the roar of the two powers clashing.

“You’re the one who came over here to help me out!”

“Should I leave, then?”

Hadjar just growled in annoyance. Tom laughed. Maybe the young man was nervous, or had gone mad after failing his mission to bring back Ana’Bree’s heart.

Hadjar’s veil, just as he’d expected, didn’t hold out for long. Torn to pieces, it scattered in all directions, cutting through the rocks and the guests’ bodies alike.

Some nobles, upon finding the hole in the wall that led to the garden, tried to escape through it, but were immediately burned to death as they got close to the fierce battle between Azrea and the Nameless. Hadjar didn’t have time to listen to the echoes of their battle, but even so, he could still feel every one of their clashes. The fight between Azrea and the Nameless was disturbing the very flow of energy in the World River, so it would be impossible to miss it.

“Can you use the ‘Thunder God’s Sword’ Technique?”

Hadjar swung his sword with all his might. The figure of a dragon created from a combination of darkness and the Sword’s mysteries appeared in front of Hadjar and Tom. It spread its wings out and wrapped them around the two cultivators. Hadjar had created this Technique on the Storm Mountain, and at the moment, it was his best defensive Technique.

“With this piece of shit?” Tom waved the knife in front of Hadjar’s face.

Another wave of power slammed into the dragon’s wings. They buckled and quivered, and then rays of incredibly sharp and piercing power struck them as well, punching holes through them. One of them flew past just an inch away from Tom’s face.

“Okay! I’ll do it!” Scarlet flashes of lightning sparked around Tom. They weren’t as powerful as Azrea’s, but still impressive, especially when you took into account the fact that Tom was armed with just a kitchen knife. He certainly hadn’t wasted the past two years on booze and whores. “Dismiss your Technique!”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Let’s send this bastard to his forefathers!”

As he dismissed his defensive Technique and prepared to face the Lord level assassin’s killing Technique, Hadjar suddenly realized that he was about to fight alongside Tom Dinos. He briefly considered switching sides.

Chapter 787

It was the last stage of his training in the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique. The moment when Hadjar finally saw its limits wasn’t frightening, but rather, unnerving. It was just like when an ordinary person was disquieted by an event that would inevitably come to pass far into the future. However, any future eventually became the present. Any event would, sooner or later, land with all its weight on a person’s shoulders and force them to confront it. And now it was Hadjar’s turn to face something he’d never actually expected to have to deal with.

He had no idea what would happen next. After all, his current training with the Cores taken from flying beasts at the King Stage and the pollen of the ancient clover was the final step of the manual Traves had given him.

Hadjar was certain that switching to a different meditation Technique would prove to be a deadly trial for him. Even a simple practitioner would struggle to pull it off, let alone someone more advanced. That was why the Techniques that could lead to the highest levels of cultivation possible were so valuable. The more you were forced to swap meditation Techniques, the greater the toll became.

Hadjar wasn’t a simple practitioner anymore… Would he even survive such a transition? He didn’t want to think about that right now. All his efforts needed to be focused on survival if he hoped to make it through this.

The Black Blade pierced the Steel Bird’s eggs and devoured the essence of the unborn chicks. Hadjar then fed on the energy coming from the unborn birds’ Cores. Each of them still contained a lot of power, despite the circumstances. At the same time, he also had to contend with the Cores of twenty-six animals at the King Stage and above as he did this.

Armed with only his willpower, which took the form of a sword, he fought them all over again. Their wings, claws, beaks, mouths, and stings beat at his soul and tormented his mind. None of the monsters, even after their deaths, were willing to voluntarily give up a piece of their soul. It was one thing to kill a creature and cut its Core out of it, but it was quite another to extract energy from that same Core and use it in one’s cultivation. It wasn’t for nothing that most people in the Empire believed that only the poor and the suicidal used raw monster Cores that hadn’t been alchemically processed in their training.

Hadjar’s soul, struggling against the fragments of so many creatures, was gradually covered in wounds. In the physical world, an alien, bestial power was flowing out of his energy body and its multicolored, thick streams mixed with his black and red blood. Gradually, the nest turned into something brown and unpleasant. It smelled like death warmed over. But Hadjar didn’t give up.

Time after time, he unleashed his will upon the monsters’ remnants and, cutting off small pieces from the fragments of their souls, devoured them greedily. The more he fed to his emptied and purified Core, the stronger he became. His emotional and physical wounds, while opening up in some places, were also gradually healing in others.

Hadjar’s skin darkened as his muscles grew stronger. After a few moments, which felt like months in the world of the souls, Hadjar completely absorbed the energy of all the Cores.

He’d taken another step along the narrow path between life and death, but there was still a long way to go. A way that began with the absorption of the clover’s pollen and ended with him consuming the energy of the unborn chicks. The scroll of the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique had said that, in order to ascend to the skies, one’s soul and heart have to be stronger than steel, otherwise, they would be blown off the path by the wind. But at the same time, bodies, both physical and energy ones, also have to be lighter than feathers, otherwise they will fall through the clouds and crash into the earth.

All the previous ingredients and training used in this meditation Technique had strengthened Hadjar’s essence. They’d made him stronger than steel or stone. And now, the most difficult part had come — becoming lighter than a feather. This was the only way he would be able to ascend to the azure heights and walk on a cloud, become as fast as the wind, and as sudden as a lightning bolt. That was what his venerable ancestor’s Technique had said.

The twenty-seven Cores he’d collected from flying monsters were supposed to make Hadjar’s energy body lighter than a feather, but the Black Blade hadn’t finished its feast yet, which meant Hadjar didn’t have enough energy, so he decided to deal with his physical body first.

What could be lighter than the pollen carried by insects? And what could be more powerful than the pollen of the ancient symbol of good luck, which people had been whispering their prayers and wishes to for eons?

With another effort of will, Hadjar broke through the thin membrane that separated him from the flower that grew under the base of the nest. A pillar of pollen shot up into the air and began to swirl around in the wind.

The Technique, originally intended for young dragons to use, had said that the training should be done using the pollen of a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover that weighed no more than two horse hairs. Right now, however, there was a lot more pollen from a much older plant circling around Hadjar. He was sure it weighed three, or even four ounces total. An entire horsetail probably didn’t weigh that much.

Spreading his arms out wide, Hadjar opened all his energy gates. Streams of power from the World River that now also contained the pollen’s energy penetrated his energy body. With each surge of power that passed through a gate, Hadjar felt like a miniature sun had just exploded inside him. He gradually unwound all these suns into the finest golden threads he could turn them into. He then sent these threads into his own veins and arteries. Once inside, they split into tiny grains of energy that burned through his body like wildfire. Like a sinister virus, they attached themselves to every molecule of his body, making him feel as if he were melting from the inside.

For almost anyone else, such pain would’ve been impossible to endure, but Hadjar was already used to pain. In fact, he didn’t even consider this the most torturous experience of his life.

After a while, he was able to absorb almost three quarters of the energy that the decaying pollen could provide. With every heartbeat, he felt his body grow lighter and faster. Considering the fact that he’d just been sitting there motionless all this time, the feeling was confusing.

“One last push,” Hadjar grunted.

The Black Blade was now shining with a sinister, dark light. It had finally absorbed all the energy from the unborn chicks, leaving only mummies inside the steel eggs. Obeying Hadjar’s will, it didn’t process the power, but kept it contained.

As soon as Hadjar gave the word, all that energy surged into him. All the power of the three unborn birds was concentrated within that energy.

He screamed, not in pain, but in horror. He found himself alone, facing the limitless number of possibilities that these chicks’ lives could’ve had.

It was one thing to absorb the already formed energy of a beast or a person who’d already lived their life and whose past was ‘carved in stone’, and quite another to devour every drop of potential belonging to someone who hadn’t yet been born, and had therefore had an unlimited number of possibilities before them. Each of these possibilities looked like a galaxy of events in the universe of the chicks that would now never get to live out even a single one of those possibilities.

Crushed by the weight of this incredible power, Hadjar was flattened against the bottom of the nest. He’d only felt such power once before — when he’d touched Ana’Bree’s heart. And now he had to not only absorb all this power, but also transform and recycle it to his own advantage.

With great difficulty, barely resisting the incredible pressure, Hadjar returned to the lotus position. He wasn’t going to give up even if the actual universe fell on his shoulders.

***

Orune was standing on one of the highest points of the Storm Mountain, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching his disciple meditate in the Steel Bird’s nest. However, what he was witnessing right now could hardly be called meditation. In all his centuries, Orune had never seen anything like it. Never before had he seen a Heaven Soldier trying to break through to the Spirit Knight level radiate such immense pressure. Even several miles away, Orune could feel the waves of power surging out from his insane disciple.

“By the castrated demon!” The great swordsman cursed.

Suddenly, an inhuman roar shook the air, rolling through the sky above the Storm Mountain. A pillar of black, blue-veined energy followed. Incredibly high and dense, it assumed the shape of a black, blue-patterned dragon, which spread its gigantic wings above the clouds.

Chapter 788

The black dragon wings cracked as a bright, scarlet light flared up, so sharp and intense that it was able to briefly cut through the magical darkness.

“Thunder God’s Sword!” Tom roared.

For a moment, the simple kitchen knife in his hands stretched out and took the form of a sword forged from scarlet lightning. A flash that looked like a mail-covered hand clutching a heavy, shining blade split the room. It slashed at the assassin’s chest with all its might.

Hadjar had to give Tom credit — at the moment of impact, the Technique had clearly exceeded the Heaven level and had even come close to the Imperial one.

The Lord blocked Tom’s Technique that the young noble had put all his power into, making it so his attack had been almost as potent as if he’d attacked with a real sword. The assassin crossed his improvised throwing knives in front of him. Tom’s Technique struck them and... Scattered all around in a hot, searing spray, which covered the ground almost like a carpet, one that Hadjar was already running over.

Behind him, a dark dragon spread its wings once again. A whirlwind of power blasted the stones beneath his feet. He turned into a shadowy Lord of the Heavens, running at a speed that even peak-stage Spirit Knights couldn’t manage. His sword flashed like a predatory fang. Tearing his own throat open from the inside with an animalistic roar, Hadjar abruptly stopped next to the Lord and swung his sword diagonally.

A wave of dark power followed in his blade’s wake. The floor cracked. With a single swipe, Hadjar and his opponent both found themselves at the bottom of a hollowed out section of floor that was several feet deep. To their left and right, dark energy echoes spread out, breaking through the remaining walls and surging into the beautiful garden.

They swept away gazebos, evaporated the water in the streams, and turned beautiful trees and flowers to dust. And that was just an echo of Hadjar’s true power!

For Hadjar to win, he couldn’t let his enemy get farther from him than the Black Blade could cover in an instant. The Lord, who specialized in fighting at more medium range, and was protected by his Call, didn’t have any such concerns.

“You’re too weak.” The assassin didn’t raise his voice, but Hadjar could hear the condescension in his tone even over the roar.

The Black Blade, which surely must’ve hit the Lord’s chest directly, was suddenly whizzing through nothing but air, and then cut off part of the ceiling, the attack finally dispersing somewhere far above them. The ancient hieroglyphic artifact was still hovering in the sky, and the assassin, who’d been standing next to Hadjar moments ago, was now 30 feet away. Hadjar hadn’t even seen him move!

The Lord made an odd gesture with his hand. The blast of air that followed looked like a white haze. It scattered fragments of multiton blocks of stone everywhere and lifted dead bodies into the air before tearing them apart. From the center of this terrible cataclysm, an ice needle flew out. Flying at an incredible speed, it left behind a whole line of ice crystals. As they fell to the floor, they rose back up and bloomed into sharp, beautiful flowers.

“Ice Flower Trail!” The Lord shouted.

Hadjar once again moved the Black Blade as if he were sheathing it. He also tried to deflect the Technique back at the Lord, but failed. His foe moved much faster than Hadjar could. A simple ice pick, a weak artifact not designed for battle, was a deadly weapon in the Lord’s hands.

Plunging it into Hadjar’s chest, breaking through his Call’s armor, and managing to bury it a few inches into his flesh, the assassin then lifted Hadjar off the ground with the force of his attack. Trailing icy droplets that turned into beautiful flowers in its wake, the Lord’s Technique blasted him a dozen feet through the air and then pinned him to the wall.

Hadjar tried to pull the ice pick out of his chest, but he soon realized that he couldn’t even move. As soon as he’d slammed into the wall, the dagger had exploded in a shower of those same icy droplets. And as they’d covered his Call’s armor, they’d left icy roots as lethal as the dagger itself behind. They’d pierced his flesh, covering it in freezing wounds, then embedded themselves in the wall. A moment later, Hadjar had been covered in dozens of sharp ice flowers that were holding him down so tightly that he couldn’t even open his mouth.

Tom, judging by his neural network’s projections, was lying on the floor, unconscious.

“Brother!” A shout came from the back of the hall.

“You fought well, Darnassian dog,” the Lord level assassin was toying with another ice pick he was holding in his hands, “You can meet your forefathers with dignity. Ice Flower Trail!”

Another white flash illuminated the magical darkness. Hadjar had no way to protect himself from this attack. Einen, who’d probably already summoned his shadow ape and Call, wouldn’t be able to protect his friend in time.

The assassin was right.

He was an initial-stage Spirit Knight who’d singlehandedly sent two peak-stage Lords to their forefathers… A man who’d tried to protect the Emperor… The bards would sing about him for centuries…

Hadjar roared. His inhuman roar shook the walls. By straining all his muscles and sending bursts of crystal-clear power essence throughout his body, Hadjar forced the ice flowers to gradually break apart.

“Impossible,” the assassin whispered.

No Lord could’ve broken out of the shackles of his ice flowers with their power alone. How was this simple Spirit Knight managing it? What incredible power did he have? Fortunately, the Empire of Lascan would never have to deal with it. His second ice pick was already close to sinking into the Spirit Knight’s chest and-

Roaring purple flames filled half the hall for a moment and caused all the ice flowers to evaporate. The assassin’s second attack didn’t reach its target.

“Why don’t you pick a fight with someone in your own league, you Lascanian bastard?”

Hadjar, who’d spent almost all of his remaining power on one last, desperate attempt to cling to his fading life, recognized that voice with utter bewilderment. It belonged to a robed figure that now stood in front of him as he slid off the wall and fell to the floor.

“Mentor Markin?” Hadjar croaked out.

His Call dissipated, and the Black Blade went back into his soul.

“You fought well, honorable disciple,” the strongest mage of ‘The Holy Sky’ School said without turning around. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

He made several gestures with his hands. A dozen magic runes and hieroglyphs flashed into existence all around him. Merging together, they formed a magic circle from which a Thunderbird flew out, piercing everyone’s ears with its shrill cry.

Hadjar had never seen anyone cast an Imperial level spell so quickly before. And he’d never seen a battle spell of such immense power before, either!

The bird, instantly destroying the annoying magical darkness, crashed into the huge ice flower that the assassin had tried to hide in.

Smashing the enemy’s defensive Technique to pieces, it struck the assassin’s chest. He took a few steps back and spat out blood.

A tornado of yellow lightning exploded behind him. They’d finally destroyed the last remnants of the wall that had managed to survive the past few minutes.

Markin waved his hand and all the magic lights inside the hall flashed at once. The darkness finally disappeared, revealing the aftermath of the chaos that had reigned within it. Markin waved his hand again, and hundreds of magical symbols swirled into existence around him.

“No Lascanian bastard," his voice boomed. The elements were raging all around him: multicolored ice, flames, wind, water, lightning, and steel, taking on a variety of shapes and forms, obeyed the will of this Lord level mage, “is going to run wild in my country as long as I draw breath! Nature’s Fury!”

Earlier, people had been blinded by the darkness, and now it was difficult to distinguish anything in the bright, white light, which was the echo of the incredibly complex and powerful spell that Markin had been able to create in just a few moments. Hadjar would’ve never imagined that the normally silent Master could wield such power!

When the white light finally disappeared, there was only a deep hole left in the spot where the Lord level assassin had been standing previously.

‘Thanks-”

Hadjar suddenly stopped talking. His heart skipped a beat and his vision dimmed.

When he could see again, he turned toward the garden. There, laughing loudly, the Nameless stood in front of Azrea, who was lying on the ground and breathing heavily. Bloodied, her claws bared and her paws broken, she was still trying to reach him. The assassin, laughing maniacally as he did so, swung his fist.

“AZREA!” Hadjar shouted desperately.

Chapter 789

“Weakling,” a voice came from somewhere above him.

The world froze. It became so quiet that the drops of blood falling to the floor could be clearly heard. No one could move, not even Markin, and he’d the Magic Kingdom.

Hadjar saw the glint of hatred and envy in Mentor Markin’s dark eyes. Suddenly, the air smelled like fried meat, whores, sex, steel, and blood. Hadjar recognized the smell instantly.

Beside him, the great swordsman Orune stood with his arms crossed over his powerful, scarred chest. For the second time in his life, Hadjar saw the powerful cultivator unleash his aura completely, which was imbued with such powerful and deep mysteries that just trying to move, even if you could, seemed like an incredibly dangerous idea.

Everything turned into the Sword. Orune’s Sword. Everyone standing in the vicinity of the great swordsman was now inside that Sword. Not just on the edge of the blade, either, but directly inside it. Orune’s own physical blade was still in its scabbard, in a dormant state. Just like everything else.

The Nameless’ fist, who was now looking around in a panic, froze a couple of inches above Azrea’s bloodied head.

The Primeval Beast had fought with dignity. She had even injured her opponent. But, since she was only equal to a peak-stage Lord, she hadn’t been strong enough to defeat the Nameless.

“What are your orders, my General?” Orune’s voice was calm, but Hadjar knew exactly what kind of relationship the two strongest swordsmen in Darnassus had, so he noticed the undercurrent of hatred.

“Tear him apart, my faithful dog!” The Emperor’s majestic voice, full of power and authority, thundered.

Hadjar also knew that this was why Orune hated dogs so much.

A wide, predatory, inhuman grin distorted Orune’s face. He took a step forward. Just a simple, ordinary step. He didn’t even draw his sword. A tsunami of power suddenly erupted around him. It easily vaporized the stones that had survived the recent battle.

Another step, and the sky above the capital turned a steely gray as lightning bolts flashed. Thunder boomed so loudly that the stained-glass windows crumbled to dust.

Another step, and thousands of the trees all over the beautiful Imperial garden turned into a pile of dust and splinters. An ocean of leaves and cut grass filled the sky.

Orune stretched out his hand in front of him, and a small leaf landed on it. No bigger than a coin, it looked utterly serene and harmless.

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. He knew what Orune was going to do next…

The great swordsman took his fourth step. White lightning, as thick as a castle tower, roared down from the sky. It struck the dome and made the Emperor stagger, forcing him to surreptitiously wipe away the blood at the corners of his lips. The lightning caused the garden to burst into flames. It was suddenly so bright outside, despite it being nighttime, that it could rival a clear, cloudless afternoon.

Another step, and the whole world around them turned into the Sword. Each of the cultivators present understood that their lives were in the hands of Orune now. He didn’t need to draw his sword or use a Technique. His will alone would be enough to kill several thousand proud cultivators, from Spirit Knight to Nameless.

This was the power of the true Kingdom that Orune had cultivated over dozens of centuries and to which he’d dedicated himself. Completely. Without hesitation.

It wasn’t a pathetic parody, like those flawed, prototypical versions of the Sword Kingdom that other cultivators possessed. It was genuine, true power.

“Lascanian,” Orune held the leaf between his index and middle finger as he leveled it at the Nameless. “I want you to know that I will personally drown your country in blood. For every Darnassian who died today, I will repay Lascan with ten thousand of its sons and daughters! For every house destroyed, I will destroy a city! For every child’s cry, I will make your country weep an ocean of tears! Me — Orune! The chained dog of Darnassus!”

Orune spread his fingers. A gust of wind caught the leaf. It whirled it around, and then threw it toward the Nameless. Hadjar saw a primal horror in the assassin’s eyes. The man had finally realized who he was facing. But it was far too late. Death had already raised its scythe.

One leaf turned into ten. Ten became a thousand. A thousand transformed into a veritable sea. And all of them passed through the Nameless. The green curtain disappeared. Only a single leaf fell back to the ground, untouched. A small drop of blood dripped down its edge.

The Nameless vanished. His influence on the World River vanished. His whole aura vanished. Only the slight aftertaste left behind by the death of such a powerful cultivator still lingered in the air.

Orune had obliterated him with a single leaf. Such was the power of the great swordsman, the man who was an entire army all on his own. The man whose heart was as broken as the hall behind him. No one else could see it, only Hadjar. There was no joy or excitement in Orune’s eyes, only the shadow of regret and sorrow.

By the time the wind started blowing again, Orune was no longer there. Only a white haze remained, left behind by the white lightning bolt that had broken through the dome.

The Emperor covered his mouth with his hand — no one should see His Imperial Majesty bleed. To the common folk, he was a being who stood on par with the gods. And the gods didn’t bleed…

“Azrea,” Hadjar whispered.

He reached for his faithful friend, but succumbed to the growing darkness before he could get to her. His mind drifted away into the soft, warm darkness as he lost the battle with his exhaustion.

Everything was quiet. The world froze once more. Not because of Orune’s power. It froze as it processed the aftermath of the second Lascanian attack on the Darnassian capital. Before, they’d struck at the capital’s heart, its very future — the young nobles, and now they’d wounded its very soul. The beautiful Imperial garden, which had been the muse of many poets, bards, minstrels, and artists for centuries, was now in ruins.

The rare trees, whose seeds had been brought in from the remotest corners of Darnassus, and which had been carefully tended to by gardeners as if they were their own children, had disappeared. The paths paved with precious and rare stones were pitted. The gazebos, fountains, canals, ponds, and the beautiful, majestic birds had disappeared. Only ruins remained, covered in a multicolored blanket of petals — a flowery funeral shroud for the lost majesty of the garden.

A word filled the air. A word that was now on everyone’s lips. A word that was deeply engraved in the hearts of everyone who saw the ruins. War.

Chapter 790

Hadjar was standing in the middle of an endless expanse of darkness that ranged from the gentle twilight where lovers hugged and timidly squeezed each other’s hands, to the bleak darkness where a mother cried as she held her own child’s dead body.

Looking closer, Hadjar realized that he was actually standing on the surface of a black lake that shimmered in the light, a light which had no visible source. The lake was so big that it could’ve been mistaken for the entire universe, one devoid of stars and completely lifeless, empty, and cold.

Hadjar shivered. The last thing he remembered was reaching for the energy of the three unborn chicks. Then the universe had come crashing down on him.

“Hey!” Hadjar waved his hand frantically. Ahead of him, he saw a figure wearing a black, hooded robe. “Wait!”

Hadjar tried to take a step forward, but the lake suddenly turned into cold tar and refused to let him go. He seemed stuck in this one place. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even lift his feet off the surface of the tar lake.

“Wait!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “Who are you?”

The hooded figure now stood somewhere near the horizon.

“Who am I?”

Hadjar couldn’t even recoil. He only managed to fight off a momentary impulse to shield his face with his hands.

In front of him, a simple hood glistened, covered in something viscous and dark. It had clearly spent a lot of time in this world and had experienced a lot of rain, which had at least removed the dust from it. It had seen a lot and had a lot to tell. This hood contained more memories and knowledge than some people acquired in their entire lifetime.

“Who am I?” The figure that had been standing on the very edge of his perception only a moment ago repeated as it now stood right in front of him. “Tell me, Mad General, who am I?”

“Your voice,” Hadjar wanted to touch the hood, but he couldn’t even raise his hands. He suddenly realized that the grip of the black tar had reached his hands. It had snaked around his arms like a strong rope and was forcing him to stand there, swaying slightly, “It sounds familiar…”

The figure turned away. It took a few steps forward and stared at the lake surface beneath its feet, peering into the infinite shades of darkness that existed within the tar lake.

“What do you see around you, honorable General?” The figure asked.

“Darkness.”

The figure chuckled sadly.

“Is that it?” The edge of the hood moved away. It pointed at the lake. “Look closely, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind, and tell me… What do you see?”

Hadjar, not knowing why, peered into the tar lake as well. He gazed as best he could into the shimmering darkness. If someone had never looked into the abyss themselves, they could never understand those who had. When a person looked into the light, they felt unburdened and happy. Their soul easily rushed forward. Light was simple and clear. There were no shades to it. It either existed or it didn’t.

Darkness was multifaceted. It was complicated. And it was always there. When the light reigned, it only suppressed the patient darkness temporarily. Calmly and confidently, the darkness would endure. Someday, the light would recede and the darkness would rule once more.

When there was nothing, darkness reigned supreme. When everything disappeared, the darkness would once again become the lonely Queen of Nothingness. ‘What is your light without my darkness?’ One of the greats had once asked. He’d also peered into the darkness of his own soul. Just like Hadjar was doing right now. Perhaps that great man had managed to find a ray of hope in his own abyss, a thread which had come down to him in the darkness and allowed him to return to the light, that warm and simple pleasure.

Hadjar didn’t see his own salvation anywhere. When he peered into the darkness, he couldn’t even see his reflection, only the swirling gloom.

“Nothing,” Hadjar answered honestly.

The cloaked figure lowered its head.

“I see nothing as well,” it said.

“Who are you?” Hadjar asked again.

“Once upon a time,” the figure began, ignoring the question, “there was no light or darkness here, honorable General. Only an endless expanse of blue. And I floated in it freely. My wings were strong. My dreams carried me forward.”

Dreams…

Hadjar had also dreamed… But that had been a long time ago.

He’d first dreamed when he’d been bedridden on that distant planet called Earth...

He’d wondered on starry nights, lying awake as he looked up into space, whether someone was looking back down at him from up there? Someone who was dreaming about everything that was happening to Hadjar…

When was the last time he’d dreamed?

Maybe when he’d lain in a trench and dreamed that a cannonball wouldn’t hit him. Had his dream been stronger than that of another soldier who had been killed by that cannonball?

Maybe it was when he’d wandered the deadly dunes of the Sea of Sand, wishing for the next oasis to not be a mirage.

Maybe he’d last dreamed when he’d fought countless enemies in Dahanatan, over and over again, trying to figure out why he’d even come here.

The actual answer was frighteningly simple.

Hadjar had stopped dreaming the moment the scabs had disappeared from his hands, his wooden crutches had been replaced by strong, muscular legs, and his sores had been replaced by scars from countless battles. Hadjar hadn’t dreamed since then.

He’d only set goals for himself and succeeded, over and over, climbing up the sheer wall of this cruel world all the while. He’d climbed in the vain hope that, one day, he would be able to climb so high that, instead of the dark stone blocking his view, he would finally get to see the endless sky in all its glory. He would be able to spread his wings and fly, reach the horizon and find out what lurked behind that hazy spot where the sky merged with the earth.

“I know who you are,” Hadjar whispered.

A wrinkled hand covered in scabs and sores appeared from beneath the cloak that looked like a broken wing.

“You’ve forgotten about me, honorable General,” a familiar voice said.

The figure pulled his hood down. Clear, blue eyes stared at Hadjar. His own eyes, shining brightly in a disfigured, ghastly face. A Ron’Jah appeared in the freak’s hands. Hadjar recognized it — thanks to that very same musical instrument, Hadjar had survived those ten years. Ten years that he’d spent dreaming of the sky, which had hung over his head, mocking him with its boundless freedom.

Hadjar started playing a simple song, the simplest one he’d ever known.

His fingers, which had grown accustomed to wielding a sword instead of an instrument, were clumsy on the strings. They cut his fingers. Drops of scarlet blood, or perhaps fragments of his very soul, fell into the gathering darkness.

Hadjar played as poorly as if he’d just picked up a musical instrument for the first time in his life.

The freak played so beautifully that it was as if his hands had been created for the sole purpose of extracting the most beautiful of sounds from just a few strings.

They played together.

They played for so long that the very concept of time became useless to determine the length of this period.

Then the freak disappeared. He fell into the dark lake. The broken Ron’Jah remained behind. Its base was rotten, its strings were torn, and its pegs were missing.

“Forgive me,” Hadjar whispered.

He leapt into the black lake. Into the very depths of his own soul, into that darkness that had long ago dried up, back when he’d given up on his dreams. Every move seared him. Every foot he swam took away his power, then his legs, replacing them with wooden crutches. It took away his handsome face, turning it into an ugly and terrifying visage. It sapped the strength from his muscles. It made terrible, fetid sores and scabs erupt across his skin. It took away his glittering armor, leaving only an old, battered, hooded robe behind.

Finally, he found it. He held it close and whispered:

“Forgive me.”

The freak, now hidden beneath his cloak, was clutching a small, blue baby Quetzal, the symbol of freedom. Hadjar hugged his own dream tightly.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I’ll always be with you. I’m your strength. You’re my strength. Nothing will ever change that.”

The chick spread its wings. A huge bird, hugging Hadjar with its talons, broke the shackles of the tar lake and flew up into the sky. After they both left these mysterious depths of the soul behind, a small speck of blue light appeared in the gloom that reigned there. It was a testament to the fact that no matter how powerful the darkness was, the light would never give up. The light wasn’t as simple as it may have appeared. There were so many shades of light that no living being could truly see them all and grasp its complex nature.

***

Once the torrent of black energy subsided, Orune could finally see his disciple. Hadjar, sitting in the lotus position in the center of the nest, looked different. And not because all the scars were gone from his body, his muscles had gotten a little tighter and stronger, and he appeared to be a little taller and even more handsome than before. No, his disciple simply looked more complete, as if he’d found something he’d lost along the way. He looked like a Spirit Knight.

The Steel Bird’s cry pierced the air.

“Let’s see how you handle this opponent,” Orune chuckled, “My disciple… Hadjar Darkhan, Knight of the North Wind.”

Chapter 791

Hadjar opened his eyes and smiled. It had been a long time since he’d woken up surrounded by white walls, lying on a soft, warm mattress covered with white bed linens instead of waking up on the cold, wet ground.

“An infirmary,” Hadjar savored the word. “It would be hard to confuse it with anything else.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever meet again, descendant of Darkhan.”

Hadjar sat up as abruptly as his bandaged, injured body would allow.

“Where’s Azrea?”

“Who?”

“The tigress.”

“The great swordsman took her with him.”

A middle-aged woman sat directly in front of him. By the Evening Stars, she was beautiful. Her soft, green, simple dress fit her just as well as the most exquisite dresses from Lady Brahmi’s atelier would have.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Hadjar tried to bow.

“Cultivators rarely change with age,” Dora’s aunt, the best healer in all of Darnassus, replied without taking her eyes off of a mortar she was using to grind some herbs. “We elves change even more rarely.”

Hadjar looked around. “I’ve heard that you all live ten times longer than humans on average.”

There was no one else in the infirmary. Because his neural network had been able to collect data while he’d been unconscious, he knew that only a day and a half had passed since the assassination attempt, and he found this kind of suspicious.

“We are born in harmony with the Forest, descendant of Darkhan, and we carry a grain of its energy with us. Even such a small speck of its life force allows us to look at the passage of time with condescending disregard.”

“That sounds good to me.”

For the first time since their conversation began, the elf looked over at him with her inhuman and beautiful, but… also false eyes. On the Storm Mountain, Hadjar had seen what elves really look like. He wondered if Einen knew what his beloved actually was. He probably did, since his special purple eyes saw more than any ordinary ones ever could. But, like anyone who saw more than others did, Einen didn’t care much about physical appearances.

“What does?”

“The ability to look at time with casual disregard,” Hadjar repeated. “Alas, I don’t have that same luxury.”

They were both silent for a while.

Birds were singing behind the stained-glass windows, which meant that Hadjar was still in the Palace of His Imperial Majesty. They were probably nestled amidst the ruins.

“More than three years have passed-”

“Have the conspirators been identified, or-”

The elf and Hadjar started speaking and then stopped speaking, almost in perfect sync both times. It would’ve been kind of romantic had they not disliked each other. Their animosity was apparent in every move they made and every syllable they uttered.

“They haven’t.” The healer answered. “They covered their tracks too well. The whole capital is already aware of what happened. Even flags are at half-mast-”

“So, Lascan knows, too.”

The healer nodded. When she finished mixing some ointments, she ordered:

“Lay back on the pillows.”

Hadjar did so obediently. As he lay down on the feathered bed, he suddenly realized that he’d never lain on anything more comfortable or soft in his life. He felt as if he were lying on a cloud…

“Fucking hell!” He suddenly cried out in surprise.

The ointment, whatever it was, burned as painfully as the breath of a Horned Salamander, a creature that Hadjar had fought on the Storm Mountain. He’d just wanted to roast some meat by using its breath… Back then, he hadn’t yet learned how to discern when that fucking Orune was joking and when he was being serious.

“Aren’t you the black swordsman who singlehandedly sent two Lascanian peak-stage Lords to their forefathers?”

Hadjar was about to respond with something caustic, then realized that he hadn’t seen the famous healer at the reception.

“Don’t be so surprised, descendant of Darkhan,” the elf pressed the bandage down a little harder than was strictly necessary. Hadjar grimaced in pain, but endured it out of sheer spite. “I already told you that the whole capital knows what happened at the reception. Including your own achievements.”

Hadjar swore. He didn’t need that kind of glory right now. If everyone at the Tournament knew what to expect from him, then he couldn’t count on the element of surprise. He hadn’t used all his trump cards during that battle, but still, his opponents now knew a fair bit of his tricks. Damned gossips!

“Is treating me really such an unpleasant experience for you?” Hadjar suddenly asked.

“I’m treating a descendant of the Enemy. Three years have passed… The poison should’ve weakened the Enemy’s soul fragment by now, but instead... I can feel that it has only grown stronger.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, as far as you’re concerned. You still have four years,” the elf thought about this for a moment, then added, “Give or take a few months.”

“A few months?”

“There’s always a degree of inaccuracy when it comes to such complex matters,” she shrugged and sat back down in her chair to resume her work with the mortar.

“We’re discussing my life here!” Hadjar grumbled. “In this particular matter, I would appreciate as much accuracy as possible!”

“You, descendant of Darkhan, should be glad that I didn’t let my brother kill you. Also, I’m still waiting for my answer! Why is the fragment inside you only growing stronger?”

Hadjar stared at the elf for a while. He had no idea what level of power she was at, but he suspected that, in a simple one-on-one fight, he would lose. After all, healers, if they really knew their stuff, could not only heal, but also kill.

“I have no idea.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“But you do! If you don’t want me to-” She stopped abruptly, looking off to the side, where the entrance to the infirmary was. For some reason, it was on the south wall.

“We’ll continue our conversation later.” She put the mortar down on the bedside table, stood up, dusted off her dress, and curtsied in advance.

The gears in Hadjar’s head were spinning so fast that smoke should’ve been coming out of his ears. He swore. The door opened and the Emperor of Darnassus came in, striding toward him, surrounded by various people.

Chapter 792

Up until that point, Hadjar had only heard about Emperor Morgan thanks to the bards’ stories and songs. Well, Orune had also told him about the Emperor, but, considering the relationship between the great swordsman and His Imperial Majesty, Morgan was basically the ‘universal villain’ in all of Orune’s stories. Poverty? Blame Morgan! Bad harvest? Blame Morgan! Twist your ankle while walking along a perfectly flat path? That’s right — blame Morgan!

And now Hadjar had an opportunity to make up his own mind about this man. Although, perhaps a being that had reached such a high level of power could no longer be called a mere man…

He was tall, but not as tall as the men of the Eternal Mountain clan. He was also broad-shouldered and powerfully built, exuding honor and dignity. He wore the most expensive and beautiful clothes that Hadjar had ever seen. The Emperor’s shoes alone cost more than Hadjar had been able to earn during his two years on the Storm Mountain.

Morgan was accompanied by his retinue — members of the guard corps, including three of the Nameless ones (Where were those fuckers during the attack on the Palace?), and numerous advisers, secretaries, and pages. There were also women in his retinue. Each of them was a heavenly beauty, a living personification of lust and carnal joy.

Like any man who had just experienced a dance with death, Hadjar was bursting with testosterone. So, before trying to perform an awkward, seated bow, he covered the tented area between his legs with a pillow. His awkward actions didn’t escape the notice of the Emperor’s concubines. They smiled and blushed at the unintended compliment. Hadjar was sure that any of them would gladly agree to give him a night of unearthly pleasure and…

“So, this is the disciple of my faithful dog,” Morgan’s deep, truly Imperial basso voice interrupted Hadjar’s thoughts.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Hadjar bowed. Even when he’d been perfectly healthy, he’d done it awkwardly, due to his many years of no practice. When he tried to bow while lying on the bed, he made many of the advisers and nobles snort and cover their faces in disgust. Hadjar didn’t care. All of them, both in Lidus and out here, were the same kind of useless fop. With a few exceptions, of course.

“Don’t trouble yourself, young warrior.” Morgan kept his hands clasped behind his back. His Imperial medallion swayed slightly on his powerful chest. Forged from simple, mortal iron, it had been imprinted with only a single magical rune. It was so complex that looking at it, even when he wasn’t trying to see its energy flows, made Hadjar’s head spin. Whatever that symbol meant and whatever power it had, Hadjar didn’t ever want to be its target.

“How is our hero doing?”

“He’s on the mend, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Hadjar watched Morgan interact with Dora’s aunt with a great deal of surprise. Morgan was speaking to the great healer the same way Akena had spoken to Dora. From the very first syllable, the deep, mutual hatred between them could easily be heard.

“Then you’re free to leave, Hera.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” the healer curtsied deeply. She quickly gathered up her many phials, put them in a wooden bag, slammed it shut, and was gone in a flash. It took her about a minute. As she left, she slammed the door so hard that the stained-glass windows rattled. What the hell was going on between the Green Hammer clan and the Imperial family?

“Elves,” Morgan said, and his numerous retinue supported him with a roar of approval. “When will they stop-”

“With what?” Hadjar asked automatically, and then, coming to his senses, added hastily, “Your Imperial Majesty.”

However, despite his respectful tone and the fact that he’d used the right form of address, the retinue still looked at him like a barbarian. The smile faded from the concubines’ faces as they lost interest in him. The councilors shook their heads sadly. They presumed that a rising star of Darnassus had just faded without ever getting a chance to shine brightly.

A moment later, their original welcoming masks returned to their faces. Morgan laughed, clutching his stomach. His laughter made the very air vibrate. Hadjar could’ve sworn he heard drums beating somewhere nearby. Even the Emperor’s laughter contained enough power to kill a weak Heaven Soldier.

Was Morgan even human? He had been once, but he’d stopped being human a long time ago. Now he was a powerful, ancient creature that possessed the past and the appearance of a human. Just like fucking Orune.

“Do you see how tense these fleas are?” The Emperor didn’t care that the ‘fleas’ could hear him, nodding toward his retinue. “According to an old law, anyone who talks directly to the Emperor without permission should be immediately executed, or sent to the mines, at best.”

“Why?”

Morgan laughed again, making his thick, short, black-and-white beard shake. One of the courtiers raised a hand to his mouth in disbelief. Hadjar realized that he’d reflexively asked another question without permission. Well, he had a fairly solid excuse: he’d recently battled against peak-stage Lords, earned new scars in the process, and even sent a couple of them to their forefathers.

“Now I have no doubt that you are my dog’s disciple, Hadjar Darkhan.” Morgan looked at him, and Hadjar noticed that his eyes were slightly reddish. Not like the eyes of the demon worshippers were, but rather, they had a unique coloring, like Einen’s. And Akena’s, though the Princess had only a small, scarlet spark in the very depths of her green eyes. Was that their Inheritance?

Hadjar remained silent. Morgan waved his hand dismissively as he sat on the healer’s vacated chair.

“Now that you’ve already started talking, you might as well keep going,” he thundered in a commanding tone. Then again, once you sat for centuries on the ‘main stool’ of the Empire, you probably forgot how to speak in any other manner. Hadjar knew that much from his own brief experience as a General. Sometimes, you just got so used to bossing people around that you forgot other options even existed.

“Why are people sent to the mines for such a minor error?”

“Because it’s disrespectful to the crown, or something like that,” Morgan shrugged. “Maybe one of my ancestors had an inferiority complex. Maybe it was my great-great-great-great-many more times-great-grandfather, Bulig the Drunk. His diction was quite poor, you know.”

The retinue started whispering amongst themselves.

“Shut up!” Morgan snapped, and cracks crept across the floor. “This is my home and the home of my ancestors, and I can bloody well say what I think about them! I don’t give a damn about your opinion on this matter, respected pundits. None of you were there with me at the battle of the Crystal River, where we reclaimed from the other Empires everything that my great ancestors had drunkenly sold off.”

Morgan was clearly using the word ‘great’ mockingly.

“Now leave us.”

“But-” One of the Nameless leaned forward.

“After last night, captain Truvar, I feel safer with this brave young man than I do while surrounded by the entire guard corps,” the Emperor interrupted him.

Hadjar knew what Orune was capable of, but he doubted that even his Master could throw almost fifty people out the door with simple words alone.

Morgan could. The retinue was swept away like dust beneath a broom, and they soon disappeared behind the door.

As soon as they left, Morgan, winking at Hadjar, took a bowl and a bottle out of his spatial artifact. It wasn’t full of tea…

“Now, let’s talk in private, Hadjar Darkhan.” The Emperor poured tart, spicy wine into his bowl, sipped, and added, “Or should I use your title, Mad General?”

Chapter 793

Hadjar’s heart skipped a beat. Then another. And another. And then the ‘gears’ in his mind spun with greater speed than ever before. What were his chances?

In his spatial ring, Hadjar still had that trump card he’d gotten from the defeated Dead Moon clan assassin who’d come for him on the Storm Mountain. But how long would it delay a monster like Emperor Morgan? And even if it did, what then? Hadjar was in the heart of Darnassus — inside the Forbidden City itself. It was difficult enough to enter the Forbidden City, to get past the guardian golems and a slew of various defensive spells... but it was far more difficult to leave it.

However, Hadjar still had to try. He wasn’t going to die so easily after narrowly surviving his most recent fight.

He was reaching for his ring with his will when another fit of laughter from Morgan stopped him.

“I adore you young ones! You’re so strong, conceited, and stupid!” The Emperor drained the bowl in one gulp, then looked at it, the bottle, and decided to smash the bowl on the floor and keep drinking straight from the bottle. He reminded Hadjar of Orune. If, of course, Orune had been raised by someone other than the beasts of the Strom Mountain. “Did you really think, Hadjar Darkhan, that after your little escapade in the Wastelands, my people wouldn’t look into you and your life?”

Hadjar, to be perfectly honest, wasn’t thinking about much at all at the moment. He was mostly weighing his chances of leaving the infirmary on his own two feet and, preferably, not to visit the house of his forefathers. Alas, the odds of that happening weren’t exactly in his favor.

“Was it Anise?” Hadjar asked.

The Emperor’s gaze hardened and grew heavy. Apparently, Morgan wasn’t completely dismissive of the ancient rule that no one should speak directly to the ruler of Darnassus without permission.

“Do you know why that stupid law still works in our country?” The Emperor took another sip. “Out of respect for the Imperial family. Something you haven’t shown yet.”

Morgan didn’t move a muscle, didn’t disturb the energy flows, he didn't even use any mysteries.

Hadjar screamed in pain as a long, scarlet line spread across his chest. A moment later, it healed, leaving behind a scar and several torn bandages. The healer would be displeased, but she’d wisely escaped from the infirmary a while ago.

“You may ask your questions now,” Morgan said.

Hadjar had to grin and bear it. This wasn’t the time or place to defy the Emperor. Being brave wasn’t the same as being stupid.

“Was it Anise?”

“Boy,” Morgan smiled indulgently, “I’ve met more maidens named Anise in my long life than there are hairs on your entire body.”

“Was it Anise Dinos? Did she tell you about my past?”

Another burst of laughter followed, as thunderous as the coming of a spring storm, and as sharp as the sword slash that ends a warrior’s short life.

“If the Head of my spy agency had been here, he would’ve tried to end your life for such a grave insult. Hadjar, I have all the power of Darnassus at my disposal. Do you really think I need the help of one of the daughters of another clan Head? A clan whose name I won’t even remember in a hundred centuries, at that.”

Hadjar had a pretty good excuse for his intellectual clumsiness: it was unnerving to hear the ruler of a country proclaim you an enemy of that very same country. And that was exactly how the Mad General was seen in Lidus — a kingslayer, a rebel, and someone who fought against the power of Darnassus.

“Then why-”

“Why are you still breathing?” Morgan interrupted him. He set his bottle down on the table and leaned back in his chair, fiddling idly with his glittering robes. “I’ll tell you the truth: your Master played a big role in that.”

“Orune?”

Morgan nodded, “He grew attached to you and-”

“That seems unlikely, seeing as-”

Hadjar stopped talking. He realized that he’d interrupted the Emperor again. Given Morgan’s steely gaze, he wasn’t particularly pleased about it. Still, considering that Hadjar’s heart was still beating, His Imperial Majesty was making allowances for his current circumstances.

“Your blade isn’t a tenth as sharp as my dog’s sword,” Morgan said, and picked up the bottle of wine again, “But your tongue is even longer than his.”

Hadjar bowed clumsily.

“Please forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty. I must’ve been hit quite hard on the head during the battle. My mind is still a little fuzzy.”

“You probably were,” Morgan chuckled. “Anyway, Orune played a big role in your survival. When the loyalty of my dog is on one side of the scale, and the life of an ant that bit my heel once is on the other, I’ll always choose my dog’s loyalty.”

Orune hated dogs… And about a year ago, Hadjar had found out why.

“I’m not hearing any apologies, Hadjar Darkhan.”

“For what?”

Another stern look reminded Hadjar that he really shouldn’t defy the Emperor and should really stop playing the fool. Morgan was as dangerous as a dragon right now, while Hadjar was a hare, because he could only hope to win with cunning, not strength.

“With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty,” Hadjar bowed again, a little clumsily. It was really difficult to bow while sitting in bed. “Would you ask for forgiveness from the person who was indirectly responsible for the death of your family?”

Morgan’s eyes flashed fiercely. The air around them vibrated with power, the stones cracked, and the stained-glass windows rattled so hard that they seemed like they were about to break.

“Do you dare accuse me of anything?”

“Of course not,” Hadjar replied, still bowing. “That’s why I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I have no reason to.”

The pressure immediately disappeared. Or rather, it lingered, but only because of Morgan’s loud laughter.

“You might be Orune’s disciple, but you’re just as slippery as your friend from the Islands.”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that the Emperor knew about Einen as well. That led him to some conclusions about what was happening… None of them good.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said suddenly. He said it firmly and, judging by his tone, he spoke from the heart. “I really do feel sorry about what happened to your family, Prince of Lidus, Hadjar Duran. But that doesn’t change the fact that Lidus, as my subject, was required to perform certain duties that it didn’t perform, so it faced certain consequences as a result.”

Ten years ago, Hadjar might’ve drawn the Black Blade and even spat in the Emperor’s face in response to his words, but… now he just turned to the stained-glass window next to his bed. Morgan’s words had hurt him, but the Emperor was also right. Hadjar understood that now better than he ever had before. In this world, only the strongest survived. His father, King Haver, despite all his virtues, had refused to follow the path of power. He’d placed the lives of all those who’d entrusted their fates to the crown of Lidus at risk. Of course, this didn’t excuse Primus in the slightest, but… it did justify the Empire acting in its own best interests.

Hadjar Darkhan wouldn’t be himself, however, if he allowed such a statement, uttered by the man he’d wanted to kill for a while now, to remain unanswered.

“Your legionnaires, Your Imperial Majesty, fought like cheap dockside whores.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the infirmary, and then it was torn to shreds by another burst of thunderous laughter. Strangely, Hadjar felt calmer now, as if another weight that had been pressing down on him for decades had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders.

Chapter 794

“I would very much like to hear your story, to learn what sort of adventures led the Mad General to the very center of Darnassus,” Morgan, taking another bowl from his spatial ring, filled it with wine and handed it to Hadjar, “But I don’t have that much time.”

Hadjar took a sip. The wine was tart and spicy and, surprisingly, not the best that Hadjar had drunk in his life. The kind of wine that the ruler of all of Darnassus was currently drinking could easily be found in any roadside tavern.

“May I ask you a question, Your Imperial Majesty?”

Morgan waved his hand to signal his permission.

“What are you doing here?”

The Emperor smiled.

“All of my advisers would’ve rather cut their own stomachs open than asked me a question in such a direct manner.”

“I’m not one of them, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“You aren’t.” Morgan agreed. “May I ask you, young Hadjar Darkhan, a question of my own? Do you know why Orune, for all his power, is only my chained dog, and not the newest Emperor of Darnassus?”

Hadjar had sometimes wondered about that very thing. There was no doubt in his mind that Orune hated the current Emperor with all his heart, but, at the same time, he still served him faithfully.

“Because he knows how to bite and hunt. He’s a pro at it.” Morgan turned to the stained-glass window next to him. What he saw there wasn’t the ruined garden, but a past that had united two of the most powerful swordsmen in Darnassus. “But he doesn’t know who to bite or when to bite. He’s like a drawn sword — insanely sharp, but absolutely useless without a proper wielder.”

Hadjar doubted that Morgan would ever be brave enough to say this to Orune’s face, but he didn’t share this thought.

“Power is only half of what you need on the path of cultivation, young warrior. The most important thing is,” Morgan rested a finger against his own forehead, “your mind. Keep it as sharp as your sword, and maybe Darnassus will have a second great swordsman one day.”

“So that you, Your Imperial Majesty, can have a second dog?”

“I’ve always wanted a kennel of my own,” Morgan shrugged. “But back to your question. I am only here because my honor dictates that I have to repay the good deeds of those who have done right by me.”

Hadjar stared into Morgan’s eyes for a moment. He truly hated intrigue, and every extra minute he spent in the Forbidden City was making him choke on the local stench. The stench created by all the underhanded schemes that were going on around here. And the grand puppeteer was currently sitting in front of Hadjar. Like a spider, he’d already spun his web, and a single wrong move would trap Hadjar in a dense cocoon from which he would never escape.

“You knew about the assassination attempt. It’s likely that you knew about it even before Ak... Her Imperial Highness told you about it. You might’ve even known about it before disciples from all over the Empire went to the Wastelands.”

Morgan’s smile changed from neutral to predatory. Goosebumps ran down Hadjar’s spine.

“I didn’t hear a question, young warrior.”

“And I didn’t hear you denying it,” Hadjar retorted. “I very much doubt that Markin and Orune, even if they’ve mastered their respective Kingdoms, could’ve broken through your dome. You can execute me immediately for my impertinence, but I saw what my Master’s Technique did to you when it struck the dome.”

Morgan’s smile faded.

“Careful, Hadjar. You aren’t a dog just yet, only a pup. Do you know what they do with puppies that nobody wants? They drown them.”

“Perhaps. But since you haven’t had me executed already, it would be useless to do so now that your trap has already been sprung.”

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Explain.”

“I’m quite sure, Your Imperial Majesty, that you are the mastermind behind the assassination attempt,” Hadjar blurted out.

Morgan was silent for a moment. Then, without a word, he placed a simple soldier’s carving knife on the table. Hadjar got the hint. He grasped the knife and cut his palm, uttering the oath he knew was expected of him.

“Does anyone else know?” Morgan asked.

“I didn’t have time to share my conclusions with anyone.”

“That’s good. Otherwise, Darnassus would’ve lost several of its brilliant sons and daughters at once…”

Hadjar shivered. He had no doubt that this hadn’t been a threat, only a simple thought spoken aloud.

“How did you know?”

“Ana’Bree’s heart. It all started with that. The nobles would’ve had to find out about the fae’s location from someone. And I’m sure that someone was actually your agent. It was the same with Decater’s tomb. The rector was only an intermediary between you and the disciples.”

“Why would I do all of this? Or do you think that the ruler of Darnassus has nothing better to do than entertain children?”

“No,” Hadjar took a sip of the wine. He still didn’t know if this would be the last wine he ever drank. “You were only weaving your web. One thread was the fae, to see which of the aristocrats are loyal to you, and which are loyal to themselves.”

“Aristocrats are always loyal to themselves first and foremost,” Morgan said.

“The second thread were the disciples. You wanted the heirs of the clans at odds with each other,” Hadjar continued. “War is coming and you don’t need a strong aristocracy to fight it. In fact, it’ll only slow you down.”

“Any military adviser would make fun of you right now.”

“The problem with military advisers is that they rarely visit the frontlines. I know very well, Your Imperial Majesty, who it is that rules the country during and after a war. Not those who wear the crown, but those who hold the General’s medallion in their hands.”

Morgan said nothing. Hadjar knew that he had hit the nail on the head. A large-scale war with Lascan was inevitable. And Imperial families sometimes fell while others rose up during such turbulent times.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re well aware of all the high-ranking officials who have something against you. But, if you deal with each of them separately, then the others might grow suspicious and become even more cautious.”

Morgan frowned.

“Go on,” he said.

“And so, you decided to get rid of anyone who might challenge the throne at the worst possible moment before the war begins. You gathered them all in one place. Disarmed them. Took away their armor. And then, in total darkness, most of the undesirables died. Quickly, easily, and without upsetting the people, who, in turn, only started hating Lascan even more.”

There was only silence in the infirmary for almost a minute, and then Morgan raised his hands.

Clap, clap, clap…

The applause seemed genuine.

Hadjar, lying on the feather bed, listened to its rhythm, trying to figure out what this meant for him.

“Get well soon, Orune’s pup.” Morgan got up and headed for the door. “The Tournament will continue soon, and then the war will begin. I expect you to prove yourself worthy of your Master’s favor in both of them.”

Morgan had almost reached the door when Hadjar called out to him:

“If I figured it out, then others will as well.”

Morgan turned around. His predatory smile flashed again.

“The smart ones will figure it out,” he agreed, “but those who are smart enough to do so will also be smart enough to be afraid as well. Don’t underestimate the power of fear, young warrior.”

Morgan turned to leave, but stopped suddenly, as if he’d just remembered something.

“Speaking of fear…” The air grew heavy with deadly power once again. “My daughter spent time with you, Hadjar.”

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds.

“Get well soon,” Morgan repeated, then left the room.

Morgan hadn’t even threatened him. Hadjar was still useful, so wasting him as a resource would’ve been foolish. However, threatening him directly wouldn’t have done much. And had the Emperor threatened his homeland and sister, Hadjar would’ve found a way, even thousands of years in the future, to get revenge. Morgan knew that very well. After all, he loved his daughter.

Hadjar leaned back in the bed. Large drops of sweat ran down his forehead.

“Heavens help me!”

Chapter 795

During the next three days he spent in the infirmary, Hadjar was visited only by a kind of local nurse. A young, slightly shy girl who went by Terasella. An unusual name, but Hadjar wasn’t one to judge. She changed Hadjar’s bandages, checked his wounds, complained about his new scar, and told him about the current state of the city.

“After the assassination attempt on His Imperial Majesty, the city’s become crowded with guards,” she said, coating yet another bandage with a fragrant ointment.

Only in the bards’ and minstrels’ songs could a mighty Spirit Knight plunge into meditation after a battle and then go on to fight new ones. In the real world, things worked a little differently. Hadjar, adding his own meditation efforts to Hera’s healing abilities, could only hasten his recovery slightly. Still, he’d taken a hit from a peak-stage Lord while only being at the Spirit Knight level. If Hadjar hadn’t trained on the Storm Mountain, hadn’t had a dragon’s heart, and hadn’t drunk the Wolf Broth, he would’ve been dead right now.

“They’re making constant inspections,” the girl complained, swapping one of his bandages for another. “Some of the younger guards do whatever they like. They almost pulled up my skirt while searching for ‘forbidden herbs’”.

“What about the people? They’re not protesting?” Hadjar asked.

“They’re not saying a thing.” The girl shrugged. “Everyone’s scared. The war is coming. Alchemy and artifact shops are making money hand over fist. Today, my grandmother couldn’t even buy a simple cough remedy. It cost sixteen coins. Sixteen coins, Hadjar! Not so long ago, for that kind of money, you could buy a box of that curative potion, and now you can only get one bottle!”

That’s how their rare conversations went. The nurse came twice a day — in the morning, and in the evening. Every time she went back out into the corridor, Hadjar noticed the gleam of the guards’ polished armor.

The girl had told him that they weren’t allowing anyone to visit the black swordsman, but Hadjar suspected that Emperor Morgan hadn’t yet decided what to do with him and was hedging his bets. How else could you explain the fact that, according to his neural network’s conservative estimates, six mid-stage Lords were on duty outside his door at any given time?

And if Morgan hadn’t yet decided what to do with Hadjar, what would he do with Darnassus? Hadjar had no doubt that Morgan would make the most of this upheaval. It was what His Imperial Majesty did best. By imposing martial law in the capital and flooding it with guards, he was making it impossible for the other nobles to try and take the throne. The guards had become a new variable in the current situation. And when one was planning something as dangerous as a coup, any variable could turn into the eradication of an entire family. So, all the plans that the conspirators had been preparing for decades would have to be postponed until they planned everything out once more, right down to the smallest detail.

In addition, by organizing an attempt on his own life, the Emperor had reinvigorated the economy of the Empire. The markets were overflowing with both goods and money, which the people were trying desperately to get rid of. They wouldn’t be able to fight off enemies or feed their children with a bag of money. The main thing was to survive the war, which they didn’t need money to do, but goods instead. And those goods would, later on, be used instead of money when bartering.

Of course, Morgan didn’t plan to lose the war, so all these changes and turbulence were actually good in the long run, as far as he was concerned.

Everything would be ready to go by the time the war began, if it wasn’t already: the Tournament would be over, the most advanced skyship — the ‘Fury of the Mortal Skies’, had already been constructed, military maneuvers on the border with Lascan were being executed flawlessly, and the reemergence of two powerful sects, which had previously stayed in seclusion, had even been arranged. It was clear that the first battle would commence right after the Tournament ended. Hadjar had no doubt that the troops would be marching to the border in less than a month.

“Evening Stars help us all,” Hadjar repeated for the umpteenth time. It was raining hard. The rainy season was in full swing and the sky was cloudy. “The border with Lascan is wider than the Sea of Sand. How many troops will both sides even bring to it?”

Hadjar, remembering his first flight to Lascan, still couldn’t wrap his head around just how large-scale the war with Lascan would truly be. The border between the Empires was truly vast, and the troops on both sides were innumerable.

How was it even possible to manage such overwhelming numbers? How could the Emperor hope to direct a battle when he commanded over a billion soldiers? And that billion wasn’t even the total power of the country, being only one of its many armies… In Lidus, such numbers would seem impossible to muster, and would sound like nothing more than excerpts from ancient epics.

Hadjar knew full well that he would soon have to fight for Darnassus.

War…

Hadjar spent another day and a half lost in thought and his memories of the wars between the barbarian Kingdoms of Lidus, Balium, and others.

When the nurse left his room the next day, Hadjar decided that if he spent even a few more hours in the infirmary, he would go crazy.

Leaning on the bedside table, he got to his feet. Next to it, behind a screen, was a full-length mirror. Walking over to it, Hadjar looked at his reflection. Not much had changed about his appearance, except for the addition of a few new scars courtesy of the ice flower Technique and His Imperial Majesty’s displeasure.

Hadjar found his clothes behind the screen. Just like he’d thought it would, the doublet had completely fallen apart. Fortunately, Lady Brahmi’s atelier guaranteed free repairs for any outfits made by her. After all, they knew who their customers were. Not simple homebodies, but powerful cultivators.

Taking out the clothes in his spatial ring, Hadjar put on his old and worn, but much more comfortable, simple clothes. On his feet, instead of the shiny leather shoes, he wore his plain bast shoes, which were wrapped up to his knee with rags and tied off with leather laces. Hadjar’s leather belt was replaced by a scarlet rope tied in a beautiful knot. After hanging a jar of water on it, Hadjar went to the door.

He still had a slight limp, and the patches on his energy body made by the healer flickered slightly.

Analysis, Hadjar ordered mentally.

Recently, he’d tried to use his neural network more often, just to get used to it. He had far-reaching plans on the computer chip, which he wasn’t planning to destroy by simply not understanding technology.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

The host’s current state is at 80% of his full combat potential.]

Hadjar had thought as much, but he’d wanted to make sure.

Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he stepped out into the corridor and saw three drawn swords, two axes, and even a spear.

Should he have expected anything else?

Chapter 796

Those who haven’t seen the sunrise from atop a mountain haven’t seen the real sun. Not the kind that made a tired farmer hide under an awning, or the one beneath which, on a hot day, a city dweller hurried about their business. No, this was the real sun, which primitive peoples had worshipped for hundreds of thousands of years, which they’d drawn on the rocks in their caves, the one they’d prayed to every morning and, as they’d turned toward the life-giving rays, had made them even happier to see that they’d been able to survive yet another night.

Hadjar, covered in blood and wounds from claws, a beak, and steel feathers, burns from steel-colored lightning and deep gouges caused by the cutting wind, was sitting on the scarlet plateau. He watched the sun rise over the mountain range.

Somewhere below, among the broken trees, was the corpse of the Steel Bird, a Primeval Beast.

He was breathing heavily. With each exhalation, blood spurted from his mouth, and his breaths sounded thick and hoarse, like a bubbling, boiling soup trapped under a heavy lid.

The Steel Bird had clearly punctured one of his lungs. The pain was excruciating, and he was choking on his own blood, but he didn’t care. He watched the sunrise. The first warm rays of the sunrise pierced through the clouds and touched his face. Carefully, tenderly… As if all the grief the Mad General had brought with him didn’t exist anymore, as if there were no burned cities and villages in his past, as if there were no mothers who would never hug their sons again because of him and his conquests.

Then, over the horizon, cutting through the still unyielding darkness, a pink ribbon suddenly shot out. It touched the peaks of the harsh, snow-covered giants. It flew over them like a hand, clearing away the remnants of the night as affectionately as a mother taking care of her small, dirty son after he’d been in a fight.

The mountains trembled. They shook themselves out of their slumber and reached for the sun. The clouds turned scarlet and gold. The deadly, pale shroud turned into a cozy scarf.

As soon as the rays of the sun, like a golden blanket, fell on the treetops, the forest at the foot of the mountains came to life. It threw off the shackles of darkness and, turning green once more, reached for the light. Birds started singing.

The water that gurgled in streams, thundered in waterfalls, and whispered softly in lakes suddenly glistened with all the colors of the rainbow. The fish riding the waves glittered like precious stones.

The wind, once alien and cold, became warm and soft, caressed by the sun. It was gliding across Hadjar’s wounded body. It was hugging him.

The sun shone equally on everyone. It gave warmth to sinners and saints alike, generous in its all-consuming warmth and compassion.

No wonder they’d made a god out of the sun back on Earth. Just as thousands of years ago, the sun had been drawn on the walls of caves and prayed to, at the end of the 21st century, when his life as a cripple had ended, they’d drawn anthropomorphized suns on icons and prayed to those.

Tears were streaming down Hadjar’s cheeks. How many years, how many miles, how many battles ago had he last cried? Initially bitter, the tears were soon warmed by the sun. The only entity that had ever tried to comfort Hadjar on his deathbed by saying that everything would be okay.

And that was all a person needed to move mountains, overthrow tyrants, reach for the stars, recover from the most lethal of diseases, and find the unknown. They needed someone to tell them that everything would be okay. Nothing else. These words, despite being so simple, were much less popular than the ‘three most important words’, but they contained far more power.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I betrayed you…”

Hadjar remembered how the Freak’s Shadow, a manifestation of his past, a forgotten musician who’d dreamed only of the sky, had fallen into the abyss of oblivion. He’d ended up there for one simple reason — Hadjar had forgotten about him, about his Ron’Jah, about his music. He’d forgotten what had saved him during his entire life back on Earth, and then during his decade of endless wandering.

“Forgive me.”

He recalled his journey to the Spirit World. He remembered seeing a small, blue baby bird inside a dark creature. It had felt like he’d found a Spirit that would be faithful to him. But that hadn’t been the case.

Hadjar had been so wrong…

He’d never left this nameless world and gone to the Spirit World. In reality, he had always been there. Everything in the world, even the stones on which he was dying right now, had a Spirit. In that merciless darkness, Hadjar had simply found something that had always been with him regardless. A piece of himself. His dream. A part of his torn soul. His music. The Quetzal bird represented all of it.

He’d forgotten about that musician, about the sky and his dream, about music. But every time he’d struggled, when his life had hung in the balance, the Quetzal bird had spread its wings and given him the strength to continue to fight. It had been there for him. His dream.

Forgotten and buried in the darkness of oblivion, it had nonetheless remained loyal to him. Like the sun. Warm, unbiased, and equally loving to all. It didn’t matter if you prayed to it or not. It would give you warmth anyway. Whether you believed in it or not, it would still rise up after the darkest hour of the longest night and caress your tired and frozen soul. Omnipresent. Forgiving.

It wasn’t surprising that it had been depicted on icons back on Earth. By showing the sun as more human, people were drawing a dream.

The tears on Hadjar’s face dried. His groans and the wheeze of his punctured lung turned into the whistle of naked steel and the beat of war drums.

“I would never let that happen.” He croaked.

He wouldn’t let the gods take it all away from the common folk.

Hadjar took a step. His broken leg twisted beneath him and he fell. But he continued to crawl toward the edge of the cliff.

“I would never let that happen.” He repeated.

He wouldn’t let the Black General’s fragment destroy everything for his stupid revenge. Scrabbling desperately and leaving a trail of blood behind him, Hadjar continued to crawl toward the cliff.

“I would never let that happen.”

He wouldn’t let himself forget who he really was ever again.

Hadjar Darkhan... without his many titles, without any regalia, was just a simple man. Someone who, just like billions of others, woke up in the morning and was glad to see the sun again.

A pillar of energy as blue as the azure sky itself flared up, and not a man, but a wounded, bleeding Quetzal bird made of energy fell from the cliff. With a high-pitched cry, it flapped its wings furiously and almost reached the boundless blue of the sky, but then dropped down like a stone.

White lightning flashed. Strong hands picked up the wounded bird.

“Weakling,” Orune whispered affectionately, and then, turning back into a lightning bolt, he disappeared with the bird in his hands.

Chapter 797

“What seems to be the problem, honored guards?”

Hadjar, pretending not to notice the weapons pointed at him, took a few more steps forward. He only stopped when three sword points were pressed directly against his chest.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” a guard corps sergeant stepped forward, judging by his regalia. He was an advanced-stage Lord. “Go back to your quarters.”

Hadjar studied him. He was a middle-aged man with gray-streaked hair and a tired look in his eyes. He had most likely lived for more than twenty centuries and his life was coming to a close.

Hadjar looked around at everyone. There were also a few women among the guards, who were wearing fine armor and had purple cloaks trailing behind them. To him, a man who’d spent so long on the battlefields, they, even while wearing armor, looked no less tempting than beauties in scandalous dresses. The two swordswomen, noticing Hadjar’s gaze on them, were confused at first, but then their faces darkened. Their swords pressed harder against his chest.

“Stand down,” the sergeant growled.

The girls immediately eased up. Nevertheless, two scarlet trickles could now be seen on Hadjar’s bandages.

“Go back to your quarters, Hadjar Darkhan,” the sergeant repeated, “before something unfortunate happens.”

Hadjar pointed a thumb behind him.

“That’s an infirmary. If you want to take me to my own quarters, I don’t mind, but I’m not going back to the infirmary.”

“This is a direct order from His Imperial Majesty,” the sergeant insisted. “You will either go back inside immediately, or we will return you to your room by force. I can assure you that you won’t get off with just a few new bandages after we do.”

Hadjar smiled. Perhaps, in the two years he’d spent on the Storm Mountain, he had adopted his Master’s habits, may he always end up sitting on a rotten cactus, and the famous Orune smile. The guards stepped back when he grinned at them, and the sergeant shifted his grip on his battleaxe. Which was an Imperial level artifact, by the way. When had Imperial level artifacts become available to everyone? Previously, Hadjar had thought that one of those would cost you half the Empire, but now even he had a set of full Imperial level armor and owned an Imperial level sword. Sure, they weren’t exactly the regular kind, but it still counted, dammit!

Both of these items now appeared on Hadjar: black armor with blue patterns and a silver edge covered his body. It felt like a second skin. The Black Blade materialized in his hand and a blue hieroglyph flashed along its missing guard.

The pressure of Hadjar’s power reverberated throughout the wide corridor. The armor of the warriors closest to him was cut by invisible blades. The fight that Hadjar had just survived either made a cultivator stronger or killed them. Hadjar had gained several insights into the path of the Sword, which had strengthened his understanding of the Sword’s essence and, consequently, had made the mysteries he wielded deeper and stronger.

[Recalculating the host’s overall skill…

Recalculation finished.

Potential growth can reach up to 3.7%.

Current growth has reached 0.46%.

Overall performance enhancement - 4,513%.]

Sometimes, Hadjar regretted the fact that he’d given his neural network the command to display relevant information when he grew stronger. It was annoying.

“Are you planning to commit treason, Hadjar Darkhan?” The sergeant directed energy into a medallion that was part of his armor, and his head and face were soon covered by a heavy helmet that looked like a bear’s head.

Hadjar realized that the best kinds of armor held a resemblance to animals. Apparently, the best blacksmiths tried to make the armor they forged not just strong and durable, but also beautiful.

“With all due respect, honorable sergeant, I haven’t heard a single proper warning since we’ve been standing here. To answer your question, no, I’m not going to commit treason.”

“Then go back inside.”

“Please, sergeant, tell me what the Emperor’s order was. His exact words.”

“Go back to the infirmary, you son of a-” One of the guards barked.

Hadjar was well aware of the fact that he was being provoked, but there was a line that a true warrior wouldn’t allow anyone to cross. For any reason.

A black dragon wing covered the hall. Where Hadjar had just stood, the floor exploded into stone chips. The swordsmen who’d been standing next to him were thrown aside. Their swords flashed, deflecting the multiple echoes of his simple hand motion. The Black Blade was at the guard’s throat before he could even finish his insult.

“You’d better think twice before you finish that insult,” Hadjar’s voice had lost all of its human features. It was more like an animal’s roar now. His blue eyes shone with a predatory, bloodthirsty gleam.

“You’d better think twice before making your next move,” the sergeant’s axe was resting on Hadjar’s shoulder.

The rest of the guards had managed to overcome the echoes and had joined him. Hadjar was once again scratched by numerous weapons.

“Sergeant, by the laws of Darnassus, you must tell me the Emperor’s orders. Otherwise, I’ll consider you Lascanian spies and act accordingly.”

“Do you really think you can handle us, boy?”

“The two assassins were also convinced I wouldn’t be able to handle them.”

“We aren’t the same as the unarmed and half-naked assassins you fought.”

Behind Hadjar, the blue Quetzal bird spread its wings. Its high-pitched cry left deep, bleeding scratches across the guards’ uncovered faces.

“Try it,” Hadjar growled. He stared at the pale-faced guard who still had the Black Blade at his throat. “Come on. Give the order. My sword hasn’t drunk the blood of Lords for several days now. It’s hungry.”

There was only silence in the corridor.

“Stand down,” the sergeant said at last.

“But sir! It’s because of him that our corps-”

“Stop that!” The warrior barked, and the guards took a few steps back in unison. They all put their weapons away at the same time. “The Emperor’s instructions were as follows: Hadjar Darkhan can return to his quarters or leave the Palace at his own discretion.”

“I’d rather leave the Palace,” Hadjar nodded.

His armor and Black Blade disappeared in a light, black haze. He strode toward the stairs that led to the exit.

“The guard corps will never forget how you besmirched our reputation!” The sergeant called out.

Hadjar didn’t slow down or stop. He was well aware of the fact that the Emperor wouldn’t let him out of his web so easily. Thanks to his schemes, Hadjar had become a persona non grata in the eyes of the corps, a man who’d sullied their honor and ruined their reputation in the eyes of the entire Empire. Fucking politics…

Thanks to his neural network, Hadjar managed to find a way out of the mazelike corridors and soon found himself back in the Imperial garden. Its restoration was in full swing. The number of workers engaged in the project was mindboggling, and the garden looked like a huge anthill as a result. Hadjar took a deep breath and immediately turned around. Two familiar, snakelike pupils stared back at him.

“We were interrupted last time,” the ‘man’ wearing the strange turban said. “I think we can continue our conversation now… May the High Heavens always be above your head.”

Oh fuck, Hadjar thought.

Chapter 798

The smell of delicious meat, seasoned as it was with spices and fragrant leaves, would’ve brought anyone back to their senses. And Hadjar was no exception. Despite the fact that slipping into unconsciousness had given him a sense of peace, he opened his eyes as soon as he smelled it. It wasn’t easy. His eyelids were heavy and it felt like trying to open the gates of a fortress with just a toothpick.

Hadjar found himself on the same plateau where Orune had beaten him bloody with various sticks a few months ago. As Hadjar now knew, he had done this to allow Hadjar to rebuild his body anew, to make it stronger and saturate it with the useful meat of powerful animals, something Hadjar hadn’t been able to do as a child. That had very effectively reduced the gap between him and the heirs of the aristocracy. Without Orune, Hadjar wouldn’t have even thought of trying such a thing and would’ve simply failed to catch up completely. Not even the most insane epics had the heroes torturing themselves while on the brink of death just to ensure their bodies were in top form.

Like last time, his Master sat on a wide stool and carefully turned a spit that had the body of a five-horned boar roasting on it. It was the size of a bull, with five horns and two pairs of sharp tusks. Orune’s spit was a branch as thick as Hadjar’s own arm that he’d cut down from a nearby tree.

It was evening. The black velvet of the night sky shimmered with a scattering of twinkling stars.

“Weakling,” Orune said.

With his bare hands, he grabbed the still sizzling, roasted boar meat, tore off a huge chunk of it, and threw it at Hadjar. To catch it, Hadjar had to lean back on the rocks. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any pain. Looking down at himself, Hadjar realized that, apart from a dozen or so terrible scars that had replaced his old ones, he looked good.

“How-”

“The Leafy Peace Pill,” Orune explained. He tore off another piece of meat for himself. He grabbed some meat from the boar’s leg, but for Hadjar, he’d torn off a piece from a spot near the spine. That’s where the meat that was the most useful for cultivators tended to be in animals. “I had to use two at once.”

Hadjar, who had almost taken a bite of meat, froze. A Leafy Peace Pill! The cost of such a thing was exorbitant! Only outstanding alchemists could create such an alchemical miracle, one capable of healing even absolutely lethal wounds on any cultivator up to the Nameless level. Only alchemists who’d reached the peak stage of the Lord level, and thus had mastery of the Alchemy’s Heart, could make them. There were very few of them in Darnassus. The reagents that were required to create such a pill were extraordinarily rare and the complexity involved in their processing... The pill was so expensive that Hadjar didn’t even know the true cost of it. And Orune had given such a pill to him! Two, even!

“T-thank you,” Hadjar said, stuttering slightly.

“You’re welcome!” Orune stuffed his mouth full of meat and began to chew. “But it’s fine. I’ve got a few more.”

He swallowed, belched, tapped his chest, then tore off another chunk of meat.

“Eat,” he urged, waving his food at Hadjar. Drops of dried blood and meat juice landed on Hadjar’s face. “You need to build up your strength. At dawn, we’ll begin our next training session. Time is running out, and you’re still so weak that that sparrow almost beat you. My disciple…”

Orune shook his head mournfully and began to devour the meat again. The carcass, by the way, twitched on the spit. By the Evening Stars, Hadjar hoped it was just the skewer being wobbly, and that they weren’t roasting the animal alive.

“That sparrow was at the Primeval Stage.”

“If it had been at the Ancient Stage, I would’ve left you to die. The Empire doesn’t need useless pieces of shit.”

“And what about the other useless piece of shit that sat in the trees during the fight?”

“Oh, did you spot me?”

“No, I’ve just realized that you're a damned sadist who enjoys tormenting others.”

“Stop complaining like a grumpy whore…”

“All right,” Hadjar raised his hands in defeat. “I admit it, you aren’t a sadist. You’re a pig. Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

Orune belched again and tapped his chest.

“She died when I was three months old.”

Hadjar didn’t immediately swallow his next bite.

“My condolences.”

Suddenly, laughter rolled across the rocks, as hard and sharp as a sword. Orune took a sip of some potent brew, wiped his lips on his arm, and then wiped that on his own hair. It appeared to be a custom of his people.

“You didn’t know her, Hadjar. You didn’t know me then, either. Why bother with those empty words of commiseration? Leave the ass kissing to the court dogs.”

They ate the meat in silence for a while. Every time Hadjar finished his piece, Orune tore another chunk off and threw it to him without looking.

“The last time we sat like this, I asked you what her name was.”

“Whose name?”

“The name of the girl you lost.”

Hadjar had seen eyes like Orune’s many times before. The eyes of a person who was living on pure inertia, clinging to something that seemed significant to them, but they didn’t really understand why it was significant, since there was no one to share their successes with. The eyes of a person who had lost their beloved. Not the kind of ‘beloved’ that bards and minstrels sang vulgar, hackneyed songs about, but the truest kind, the one you only met a single time in your life…

“What makes you think I’m going to open up to you, pup?” Orune wiped his lips again, then squeezed one nostril and blew his nose into the fire. The flames hissed and surged up, licking the boar’s hide. The great swordsman cursed and spun the spit harder.

Hadjar leaned back on the rocks and looked up at the stars. They were so far away and cold, but still beautiful. The night sky was a cemetery of forgotten times.

“Anise Dinos.”

“What?”

“Anise Dinos,” Hadjar repeated. “That’s the name of the former senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan.”

“What about her?” Orune chewed on a bone. “Did she refuse to fuck you and now you’re suffering? Or did she fuck you so well that you can’t forget it?”

Hadjar smiled. Now that he’d gotten used to it, Orune’s rudeness was somewhat pleasant, like a cold shower after a hard day’s work. It brought him back to reality, which was sometimes as crude as the great swordsman himself.

“Neither.”

Orune froze for a moment with the bone between his teeth.

“Do you prefer boys?”

“I don’t.”

“How can it be neither, then? Look, I have a New Creek Pill if you need it…

Hadjar choked on his food. A New Creek Pill was worth a dozen of the Leafy Peace Pills, because a New Creek Pill couldn’t be recreated by any alchemist in the seven Empires. They could only be bought in the Dragon Lands, which meant that ordinary citizens believed they could only be found in ancient tombs. It was rumored that a New Creek Pill was able to regrow the lost limbs of cultivators, even ones at the Nameless level.

“Thank you, but I still have all my… appendages.”

“Great!” Orune exhaled in relief. “A eunuch disciple would’ve been awfully embarrassing. My forefathers would’ve laughed at me!”

“Go to the demons!” Hadjar exclaimed. “I thought I loved her. But it turned out that I didn’t. There!”

Orune laughed. He laughed long and hard, and then abruptly stopped laughing and exhaled the words abruptly:

“She didn’t have a name.”

Hadjar blinked several times before he could manage to ask:

“How is that possible?”

Orune looked different. It was as if the skin of the beast that he usually wore had suddenly fallen off and he wasn’t Orune the beast right now, but the great swordsman, the man more songs had been written about than there are stars in the sky, an epic hero and the idol of boys everywhere.

“It’s an old story, my disciple. But on a night like this, perhaps we can indulge in a few memories. And perhaps it would be fair if I rewarded you for your efforts with a short story about your mighty, handsome, unsurpassed, daring in both bed and in battle, most incomparable-”

“Just shut up and let me eat in peace!”

Orune laughed. His eyes, for just a moment, stopped being empty.

Chapter 799

“Well…” Orune tore a whole leg off the roasted boar carcass. Holding it, he stared into the distance at the forest that spread out below the plateau. “More than twenty centuries have passed since then, my disciple.”

Twenty centuries... Looking at Orune, a man who appeared to be in the prime of his life, it was sometimes easy to forget just how old he really was. It suddenly became clear to Hadjar that while Orune’s body was still young, his soul… Hadjar had seen that same look before. A look directed at the shadows of the past. His ancestor and first true Master, the venerable Traves, had had it. He had been a creature with a truly old soul.

“I was young, Hadjar. Young and incredibly talented. I was born on the fringes of the Empire, but soon attained the kind of power that no one else in my country could match. At the age of six, I was already beating army officers, true cultivators all of them, in duels. They were three times taller and five times heavier than me, but they couldn’t keep up with my sword. At sixteen, I was already an advanced-stage Spirit Knight and had mastered the Sword’s Heart. I was bored. No one, for miles around, could defeat me. Even the Lords who came to our town weren’t a challenge. I beat them all.”

Hadjar wanted to say that he could relate, but he couldn’t, not really. He’d been forced to leave Lidus before he could earn the title of its strongest swordsman.

Orune took a bite of the boar leg and continued his story:

“By that time, I was stinking rich. My house was bigger than the King’s Palace. There were always plenty of women in it, too. Grub, lust, and steel guided me, my disciple. In the mornings, after eating my fill, I trained until late at night, and then slept with women. Always different women. Sometimes, I slept with seven women at once, and didn’t rest until each of them was exhausted.”

Orune smiled like every old man did when remembering the times they’d last been full of determination and enthusiasm.

“But I was still bored. So bored that I left it all behind. I left my wealth, I left my women, I left my homeland, although... I didn’t really understand what a homeland was. I was born in a gutter, you see. My mother, a cheap whore, took care of me as best she could. But one of her most perverted clients decided to rape her one night... with a carving dagger. I lay in a basket, covered in dirty clothes. I saw what was happening through the gaps in the pile of clothing.

A chill ran down Hadjar’s spine.

“Can Spirit Knights really remember so far back?”

“They can. I managed it, anyway.” Orune nodded. “And I couldn’t let that bastard get away with it. But, my town was just a simple stop on a long trade route famous for its whores. So, I spent a lot of time wandering all over the Kingdom, looking for that bastard. All I knew,” Orune opened his hand and a medallion with the hieroglyph for ‘sun’ engraved on its surface appeared in it, “was that he wore this medallion.”

“The Sun Warrior Mercenaries,” Hadjar murmured. “But they disappeared... almost three thousand years ago…”

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Orune’s homeland was in the southern provinces, where the Sun Warrior Mercenaries had ruled during the decline of Darnassus. They’d been a group of thugs whose atrocities had been infamous for centuries. Even back in Lidus, Hadjar had heard some terrifying songs about them.

“They did.” Orune nodded. “When I found out who that son of a bitch was, I couldn’t think of anything better to do than to join them. I wanted to get closer to my enemy. To be honest, I did some pretty nasty shit back then that sometimes makes me shudder when I remember it, especially on nights like this…”

Had Orune really been a member of the Sun Warrior Mercenaries? Hadjar had heard that their Blood General, a powerful mage, had done awful things more than once when he’d been hired by the nobility or even royal families. Things like mounting babies’ heads on spikes, then impaling their raped mothers on them as well was the least gruesome bit mentioned in the songs. Usually, these kinds of songs had ended in a tavern brawl — people had just needed to vent their rage after hearing about such evil being committed. Had Orune been involved in any of that?

“I’m not proud of it, Hadjar. My attempts to wash away my sins later on led to... I’ll tell you about it later.” Orune cleared his throat, unable to look his disciple in the eye. “Their leader was a short, eerily handsome and cruel mage with multicolored eyes — one was brown, the other was blue. And he had hair like gray ash. He was strong, Hadjar. I doubt that even now, even if I teamed up with that damned weakling Morgan, no less, we would be able to defeat him.”

Hadjar swallowed and looked around. He was certain that his Imperial Majesty Morgan wouldn’t be happy to hear what Orune was saying about him.

“Then he disappeared. After the battle for Zadastor City, the fucking bastard disappeared. And we… the Sun Warrior Mercenaries simply slaughtered each other. I don’t know why, maybe we were drugged, or maybe the leader had cast some kind of spell on us before departing, but we butchered each other for a whole night. Only a few of us were left alive in the end, including me.”

Orune went quiet. He tore the meat off the boar’s leg with his teeth. He did this too quickly and harshly, as if he was trying to comfort eat.

“What happened to your mother’s killer?”

Orune chuckled. Hadjar’s heart ached at how morose the sound was.

“After I participated in my first assault, I found out that he’d died just a month after he had murdered my mother.”

Nocturnal predators howled.

“How long were you a mercenary?”

Orune turned to Hadjar. His eyes showed an emotion. It was pain. An ocean of pain. Someone else’s pain, which Orune was still experiencing as his own. It wasn’t a wound, but a terrible scar that sometimes still bled.

“Six years, my disciple. Six long, shitty, bloody years, my disciple.”

“But why-”

“I wasn’t bored with them,” Orune interjected. “It was the first time in a long while that I wasn’t bored. Every month, we fought against the armies of various Kingdoms. We captured cities. We ate our fill. We fucked women. A variety of them. From young virgins to their own mothers. After we won a battle, the city we’d just conquered would always be given to us to do with as we pleased for three days straight…”

“Fucking hell, Orune! FUCKING! HELL!”

“Yeah…” The great swordsman nodded. “I’m cursed because of what I did, my disciple. Maybe it’s not visible, maybe I don’t have an actual mark on me, but I know I’m cursed. When I die, my forefathers won’t embrace me. No matter what I do, no matter how much good I do for this damned country, no matter how many lives I save, I will be forgotten. An abyss awaits me, Hadjar, one my own ancestors will gladly condemn me to. There will be no rebirth for Orune, my disciple, no next life, and no glory to be found in the house of my forefathers.”

They were silent for so long that the fire eventually petered out.

“What happened next?”

“I woke up atop a pile of corpses. By the gods, Hadjar, I’d killed at least ten thousand of those bastards. I would’ve been so glad if even one among them had been strong enough to kill me, but… I was still alive. I was the strongest again. Standing on that pile of corpses, I stared up at the night sky. It looked like the one above us right now.”

“What did you do then?”

“The same thing I’d always done,” Orune shrugged, “I sheathed my sword and started wandering, looking for someone to kill me. But with each battle I fought, I only grew stronger. And so it went until I met her, that unnamed girl…”

Chapter 800

“Why do you keep saying she was unnamed?” Hadjar asked.

It might’ve seemed strange that he was still talking to Orune instead of spitting in his face and leaving. He wanted to do it, but who was he to judge other people?

“Well, her parents gave her a name, of course. But I didn’t know it.” The pain in his eyes gave way to a bit of joy. “She was a blind dancer, Hadjar. I met her in the camp of the Keren people.

“The Keren? The traveling actors?”

Orune nodded.

“The ones who steal horses, and children, and anything else that isn’t nailed down?”

The great swordsman laughed, “If you believe that, then you must also believe that everyone in your barbarian Kingdom wears animal skins and lives in caves.”

“Okay, fair point…” Hadjar admitted.

He knew very little about the different peoples of the world, and what little he did know came from bards’ songs, who liked to tell stories about the Keren people kidnapping a Baron’s daughter or wife and running away with the girl. Everything usually ended on a happy note. The songs praised the Keren’s thieving prowess, acting skills, and their musical talents.

They claimed that the God of Art, Telesel, had been personally involved in the creation of the Keren. So, great poets, musicians, and actors sometimes ‘revealed’ that they had some Keren blood in them. The bards also tended to sing about Keren girls who suddenly found themselves being kidnapped princesses.

“I’d been traveling for three decades, Hadjar. But when I met her... well, it’s worth mentioning that the Keren people, compared to the Sun Warrior Mercenaries, were real saints. We sometimes stole, but only when there was nothing to eat.”

“But you could’ve hunted…”

Orune smiled. It wasn’t his famous, predatory smile, which frightened everyone around him, but a most common kind of smile — warm and nostalgic.

“I forgot to mention… After I set out on my journey, I swore I would never draw my sword again. For many years, I was true to my word. I even threw the sword I had killed the mercenaries with into the nearest stream.”

A swordsman who’d thrown away his sword? Hadjar had been born without half his soul, but Orune had gone even further: he’d simply torn out half of his soul and thrown it away. To a swordsman who’d mastered the Sword’s Heart, a sword wasn’t just an object, but a real part of them.

“She danced for me that night,” Orune closed his eyes dreamily. “A blind girl of such beauty that I, a man who’d known thousands of maidens, had never seen anyone like her before. I fell in love with her, Hadjar. I fell in love with her at that moment. I couldn’t imagine myself living without her from then on. I could live without a sword, but not without her. A cruel bit of irony, isn’t it? I have a sword now, but I don’t have her…”

Orune bit into the meat he was holding once again and chewed it fiercely. A piece of boar’s leg fell to the rocks, rolled, and then disappeared over the cliff.

“The second night, we loved each other. Under a cart, Hadjar. Under a fucking cart loaded with manure. But the wet earth felt like the best of beds to me, and the manure above my head was the most exquisite of canopies.”

Hadjar nodded. That sounded more like what he’d heard about the Keren people. In addition to stealing and performing with great skill, they were also amazing lovers.

“I spent a week with them.”

“And you didn’t learn her name in all that time?” Hadjar was surprised

“It sounds strange, I know,” his eyes darkened and he kept talking. “And then… It wasn’t Lascanians, I don’t think. At the time, I didn’t know anything about the Empires at all. But warriors, each of them a peak-stage Heaven Soldier, attacked the city where we were performing. I’d never seen anything like it before. There were hundreds of thousands of them. A whole horde of true cultivators. And I didn’t even have a sword with me…”

“But you were a Spirit Knight who’d mastered the Sword’s Heart!”

“I was!” Orune snapped. "But I was bound by my oath! I wasn’t going to spill anyone’s blood!”

The stones around the great swordsman cracked, and the air was suddenly saturated with incredibly deep mysteries. Hadjar had no doubt that this entire mountain peak would disappear in an instant if Orune simply willed it to happen.

“The city burned, disciple, like the ones from many years ago.” Hadjar knew his teacher was referring to his own time as a mercenary. “I went looking for her... Her father had sent her and her brother to perform as minstrels in a tavern. By the gods, Hadjar, she used to sing so perfectly…”

Orune’s eyes glistened with memories.

“I found her, Hadjar. I don’t know if karma or fate really exists, but it sure found me. She’d been mutilated. Killed. Raped. Her body buried under a pile of burning garbage. Just like all the bodies I’d left in my wake so long ago.” Orune’s hands were shaking so badly that the boar’s leg fell out of his grip. “The only girl in the whole damn world who didn’t see the blood on my hands, who didn’t see the specters of the people I’d killed in my eyes, who’d accepted me, who’d fallen in love with me. And I couldn’t protect her… I lost her, Hadjar. The gods punished me, and they punished her for being with me. She shouldn’t have loved me. She would’ve lived longer if she hadn’t.”

“You don’t know that, Or-”

“I do know it!” Stones flew down the cliff, cut by his aura. “I was the one who suggested we go to that city. I led them to their deaths… That night, Hadjar, when she was performing at that tavern, I was watching the city guards training! I’d wanted to reminisce about old times. She’d even asked me to go with her, but I lied, just to get a glimpse of the guards as they trained, comparing them to myself…”

Hadjar said nothing. Orune stopped talking. Finally, Hadjar asked:

“What happened next?”

“Then I met Morgan. Then there was the battle at the Crystal River. Then the endless wars in which I fought for Darnassus. But let’s talk about that later.”

Orune rose and drew his sword.

The night sky turned into a single white lightning bolt that was so powerful it could cut through the entirety of the Storm Mountain. It illuminated a simple skyboat in the darkness, revealing the short, gaunt old man standing on it. He leaned on his cane and stared at their plateau.

“Hello, geezer,” Orune bowed slightly.

“You defied the Emperor’s order, Orune. You are forbidden from taking disciples, and you know it.” Despite the fact that the old man was far away, his voice thundered all across the mountain. “I came for your life.”

Orune smiled his predatory grin at that.

“Sorry, geezer!” He growled, as a wild, unimaginable power sprang up all around him. “If you’d come sooner, I would’ve gladly given it to you! But now I can’t. I have a pup I want to raise into a true beast!”

Orune turned into a white lightning bolt. The old man raised his cane. A battle began that shook the Heavens and the Earth. A battle between two great warriors.

Chapter 801

The vertical pupils, which the dragon Master didn’t even try to hide, identified him as an ancient monster that was at a very high Stage of cultivation. Given Hadjar’s promise to Azrea’s dying mother, he’d spent some time researching how a monster could become human. His venerable ancestor, Traves, had also known a little about the subject, because the Lords of the Heavens, with the exception of the rogue clans that were hunted by the Immortals in the Sea of Sand, had two forms from birth. They only considered their animal form suitable for meditation and long-distance travel. They spent most of their lives in their human form.

It wasn’t enough to simply become a strong beast at the Primeval Stage to turn into a human, or to even be able to speak a human language.

Azrea’s mother, despite being at the Ancient Stage, had lived for many thousands of years. Her mind had been able to break through the bonds of animal instincts, but some human concepts had remained incomprehensible to her.

To learn how to turn into a human, a beast had to either have dozens of generations of two-form beasts in its lineage, or to reach a cultivation Stage comparable to a human Immortal’s level. So, Azrea still had a very long way to go.

The dragon Master had had his two forms from birth.

Hadjar started to move, but before the energy from his Core even reached his legs, a heavy hand gripped his shoulder. The Master bound Hadjar’s energy body, leaving him unable to utilize his inner power.

“I just want to talk, young man,” the Master waved his free hand in front of his eyes and they instantly lost their unusual, vertical pupils and became ordinary brown eyes.

With exactly the same ease, he got rid of his very distinctive scent as well, the one that Hadjar had remembered thanks to just that one cave where Traves had been trapped for thousands of years.

A true dragon stood in front of Hadjar. A representative of the Lords of the Heavens, who ruled the seven Empires. Hadjar figured that the Empires barely noticed their subjects. Most likely, the relationship between the seven Empires and the Dragon Lands was the same as the relationship between Lidus and Darnassus – the dragons collected tribute from them, and that was it.

“And may the High Heavens reside in your home,” Hadjar responded finally.

The Master nodded, not at him, but at his own thoughts.

“You had a dragon for a Master already,” he said. “That’s good... Very good indeed.”

Releasing Hadjar’s shoulder, he started walking. Hadjar, after a moment’s hesitation, took a deep breath and followed after him.

For a good ten minutes, the two of them walked toward the Gates of Rage. Life bustled all around them. Surprisingly, none of the garden’s many workers paid any attention to them. And not because they didn’t care. If nobles passed by while leaving the Forbidden City, the gardeners would watch them go. It was easy to read the hidden hatred and envy in their eyes. The nobles themselves even walked past the foreign Master without so much as showing him some respect with a simple nod.

“How is this possible?” Hadjar said out loud.

“I told them to ignore us. As you can see, my word is stronger than your human skills and Techniques.”

Hadjar had already heard about Word Magic. The fragment of the Potter’s soul had mentioned it, and had said that it was the most powerful kind of magic. Much stronger than even the one Markin used, and he’d successfully destroyed the fully armored peak-stage Lord.

“What do you want from me, wise Master?”

The dragon laughed. It sounded like a growl.

“I don’t think I’m worthy of the title ‘wise’, young man. Immortality is still beyond my reach.” Turning sideways, he held out his hand. Hadjar could clearly see his lips moving, but he couldn’t make out any sounds. The wind started to blow. It gathered a few petals of the scarlet flowers and then scattered them over the Master’s exquisite clothes, forming a pattern that looked like a flower bush. “The Red Light is an insanely rare, but completely useless plant. Still, it’s a pity that more of it didn’t survive the attack…”

Hadjar said nothing. He had no idea what the dragon was talking about. To be honest, he would’ve preferred to never encounter a representative of the Dragon Lands at all. At least not anytime soon, since he definitely wasn’t ready to pay  Traves back for his heart yet, which he would do by planting a tree and... Killing the Dragon Emperor.

“It’s as rare as you are, Hadjar Darkhan,” the Master faced forward again, rested his hands behind his back, and kept walking.

“Do the Lords of the Heavens really have so few bastards? I’m not the only one who wields the Call of your kind.”

“You’re right. A young, hotheaded dragon sometimes does absolutely dumb things. The Ministry of Internal Affairs tries to monitor the spread of our seed, but it isn’t always possible.”

“Then I hope you enjoyed our conversation,” Hadjar said, bowing slightly. “Please excuse me, venerable Master, but I have urgent business to attend to.”

“Urgent, you say?” The dragon in human form repeated with an amused smile. “Our seed is indeed scattered across the seven Empires, but you, young man, are a different case altogether.”

The dragon stopped abruptly. He turned and put his hand on Hadjar’s chest. He did it so quickly that Hadjar didn’t even have time to react. The Master’s power wasn’t directed at Hadjar, but at the area around him. It created a swirl of flower petals and grass all around them.

The gardeners were briefly distracted from their work. They admired the sudden, colorful dance of the flowers, and then continued to restore the garden.

Hadjar swallowed. If the Master hadn’t dispersed his power into the air, he wouldn’t have survived. Nor would the entirety of the Forbidden City have survived.

One gesture from this dragon was capable of destroying an entire district of Dahanatan. And given his Word Magic, close combat wasn’t even his true strength. The dragon wasn’t a fighter, but rather, a mage.

Holy shit!

“Do not be afraid, young warrior.” The Master narrowed his eyes slightly at Hadjar, then withdrew his hand. “If I’d found your existence objectionable to my country’s standards, we wouldn’t be talking right now. And Darnassus would’ve had to build a new capital.”

It didn’t sound like a pompous, empty threat, but like a simple statement of fact. If he so chose, the dragon could raze the entirety of Dahanatan, with all its cultivators, to the ground. Would he offer Hadjar a chance to become his disciple? It sounded too good to be true.

“What do you want from me?” Hadjar repeated his question.

“I just want to talk.”

Hadjar didn’t even have time to blink before they were no longer standing in the center of the Forbidden City. They now stood atop a hill that was a hundred miles from the capital.

“Why did you transport us here?”

“Just in case,” the Master explained. “I have enough respect for Morgan to not want to burden him with the headache of building a new capital.”

Chapter 802

If Hadjar hadn’t already gotten used to being threatened by creatures that could end his existence with just a thought, he would’ve probably been afraid. He had to admit, however, that even he felt a little wary.

“What do you want to know, venerable Master?” Hadjar’s voice shook slightly.

Over the course of his life, full of wandering and adventure, he’d met ancient Spirits, priests of the gods, Immortals, an emissary of the Demon Prince, and even the Enemy himself. He carried a fragment of his very soul inside himself. However, this was only the second dragon he had ever spoken to, after Traves.

“Where did you get that dragon’s heart, young man?” The Master’s face instantly lost its veneer of kind politeness.

Maybe it was just Hadjar’s imagination, but he could’ve sworn that something bestial had just reared its head underneath the Master’s human features. Something terrible and predatory. Now he had no doubt that the Master’s turban hid his horns. What Traves had proudly worn in his human form, the Master was hiding in order to pass for a human. That fact calmed Hadjar down a little.

“My-”

The dragon suddenly raised a hand. The wind made his expensive clothes flutter. The sun was setting behind them. If the situation hadn’t been so tense, it would’ve looked beautiful.

“Think a few times before you answer me, young warrior. I can detect even the tiniest hints of a half-truth in your words. Either answer me properly, or accept your fate and go to your forefathers with dignity, without resorting to lying.”

This wasn’t even a threat. The Master simply wanted him to tell the truth.

“My ancestor gave it to me,” Hadjar said.

A yellow lightning bolt struck the ground near him. It split the hill they were standing on in half.

The unoccupied half of the hill fell over with a crash. As huge boulders, kicking up clouds of dust and rumbling like spring thunder, were raining down all around them, the Master was staring at Hadjar.

Hadjar got the hint. Sighing as he realized that there was really no way he could beat such an ancient and powerful creature, he began his story. While telling it, Hadjar saw a variety of emotions flash across the Master’s face: from fear to genuine interest.

“Show me,” the dragon demanded after Hadjar finished his story. It had taken him a quarter of an hour to tell it.

“What?”

Instead of answering him, the Master held out his index finger. His nail transformed into a short claw. With a casual swing, the dragon cut through Hadjar’s clothes to expose the black tattoo of his Call. It was on his left pectoral muscle, over his heart. The black hieroglyph dragon was coiled up within a circle of other runes and symbols whose meaning even Hadjar’s neural network couldn’t decipher.

However, it was obvious that the Master understood them. He recoiled and raised his hands in a completely instinctive salute of the Dragon Lands.

“Cover it,” he whispered. Before Hadjar could grasp the meaning of his words, the Master lost his composure and shouted, “Cover it immediately!”

Hadjar pulled his torn clothes over the mark of his Call and tightened his belt. His old robes would need more patching up.

“Dark Storm…” The Master breathed out. Suddenly, as if he’d lost all his power, he sat down in a lotus position. Holding his head in his hands, he breathed heavily and whispered: “How is this possible? How is this possible? No, it can’t be… I saw it with my own eyes when all of them were... all of them…”

Hadjar didn’t know what to do, so he sat down next to the Master. Just in case, he focused on his spatial ring and checked if the demon leader’s Core was still there, just to make sure that he had a trump card if he needed to escape.

“Master-”

“Shut up!” The dragon thundered. His inhuman roar was as powerful as a storm. “Don’t say anything. A Dark Storm! I should kill you right here and now.”

The Master’s eyes flashed menacingly, and Hadjar was preparing to pull out the scarlet Core, when suddenly, the dragon’s entire body drooped and he hunched over. He suddenly radiated weariness.

“What do you know about your Master?” He asked suddenly, and then added, “I’ll warn you to keep being truthful with me. In fact, if I even think you’re trying to hide something from me, I’ll vaporize your very soul. You’ll never see the house of your forefathers.”

A staff suddenly appeared in the Master’s hands. Almost 6 feet long, it was so thick that it would be useless to try and use it as a weapon in melee combat. Its surface was covered in elaborate, carved runes and sigils. When Hadjar looked at it for too long, he thought that the figures on it were gradually moving. They were intertwining to become the runes and sigils he’d seen initially, and then separating to continue their journey along the staff’s surface.

Hadjar swallowed nervously.

The power of the staff was incredible. A cursory glance at it was enough for him to be blinded by the multicolored splendor of the energy streams that were coiled all across its surface. It was a Divine level artifact!

Hadjar’s second story took a lot less time to share. He told the Master about his training with Traves and the dream he’d shown him. After Hadjar finished talking, the Master meditated for almost an hour. For that entire hour, Hadjar kept the demon Core ready. He had no idea what would happen if he followed Helmer’s advice and dropped his blood on it. He only hoped that the consequences would be less painful than his soul getting obliterated.

“By the High Heavens and the True Spirits,” the Master finally sighed. Still holding his staff across his lap, he rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. “If anyone ever finds out that I didn’t kill you the second I learned all of this, my entire family will disappear, along with your precious Lidus and Dahanatan.”

There was no threat in his words yet again, only deep regret at the inevitability of such a fate.

“Is transferring a heart from a dragon to their direct descendant forbidden?” Hadjar asked.

“It’s undesirable. But it has occurred. Very rarely, but it has.”

“Then why are you so-” Hadjar waved at the Master vaguely.

“Because it’s one thing for a simple dragon to pass on their heart to their descendant.” The Master looked up at Hadjar. “And it’s a different matter entirely when the nephew of the deposed Emperor does it.”

Hadjar blinked several times. Had Traves really been the nephew of the Dragon Lands’ former Emperor? It sounded both shocking and... incredibly ironic.

Chapter 803

The tale of the deposed ruler was becoming a staple of Hadjar’s life: at first, it had just been his own father, the King of Lidus, who’d been killed and replaced by his brother, Primus. Then he’d met Anise Dinos, the former senior heiress of the Predatory Blades clan, whose father had suffered the same fate. And the same thing had apparently happened to the family of his Master, Traves. The only thing that could explain this coincidence was that there was a constant struggle for power going on in this nameless world. Kingdoms and families would rise up to be overthrown by others who were stronger and fiercer. A never-ending cycle of blood and steel, in which only the strong survived…

Wait! If Traves had been part of the Imperial lineage of the Dragon Lands, then that meant that... Hadjar was one, too, not only because of his heart, but also because of the fact that his entire family were descended from Traves.

“I see you understand the situation,” the Master said with a wry smile, “but don’t expect me to bow at your feet.”

Hadjar nodded slowly.

“I’ll warn you right away: if you’re hoping you can just ride a white horse into the Dragon Lands and claim the throne, nothing good will come of such folly.”

“Venerable Master, I am well aware that power, even in a rundown Kingdom, is never given away for free-”

“No, you don’t understand” the dragon interrupted him. The ancient, powerful creature stroked his staff nervously. The animated carvings followed his movements. “The previous Emperor was the worst calamity the Dragon Lands have ever known. His name was erased from history, and his entire family was killed.”

“Traves never told me about that.”

“He was ashamed, as was everyone from the Dark Storm clan...” The Master shuddered as he spoke the clan’s name. “What do you know about your clan?”

“Not much,” Hadjar shrugged. “They were farmers and shepherds. The current Emperor’s troops killed them all.”

“Nothing important, then,” the dragon said thoughtfully. He mulled things over for a while, and then, as if making up his mind, he took a deep breath, “I think it’s only fair that the last of the Dark Storm clan learns the history of his ancestors. After I finish my story, you can decide what to do about what happened.”

The Master didn’t even move, but suddenly, a large, blue, silk cloth appeared between him and Hadjar. Decorated with patterns made from precious metals and equally precious stones, it served as a simple tablecloth to the dragon Master when he travelled, even though Brahmi would’ve given her soul to acquire it.

A moment later, a white jug full of cherry juice and two bowls appeared atop it. The Master, according to the laws of hospitality, first poured Hadjar a drink, and then poured one for himself as well.

“The Dragon Lands were founded by the first dragon tribe,” the Master began, “They were called the Thundercloud clan.”

Hadjar wanted to ask how this was relevant to the Dark Storm tribe’s story, but decided to remain silent. He wasn’t stupid enough to interrupt an already overwrought dragon.

“For hundreds of eons, the Thundercloud tribe ruled our growing country. Producing the strongest warriors and the wisest of rulers, they led us to a bright future. But, along with the Dragon Lands, the Thundercloud clan also grew. At some point, the Emperor had not one, but two heirs. That didn’t exactly ensure peace in the nation.”

The ensuing pause was too long, so Hadjar decided to share an observation he’d made a while back:

“Emperor Morgan also has two children,” he said leadingly.

The Master nodded.

“His family will suffer the same fate as the Thundercloud clan,” he sipped some of the juice and set the bowl back down on the tablecloth. “If a ruler doesn’t get rid of their second heir while it’s still a baby, the Imperial family, like any other noble family, will be split in half between the ruling branch and the secondary one. The same thing happened to the Thundercloud clan. That’s how the Storm Cloud clan and the Dark Storm clan were born.”

“But why is that such a bad thing?”

“Because, little warrior,” the Master refilled his bowl, “When a clan splits apart, its beginnings are also separated. What was once whole is now divided. And, except for some rare cases, that never leads to anything good.”

The Master’s words contained an ancient wisdom. Even without grasping it fully, Hadjar now understood why the fact that Darnassus had a Princess wasn’t common knowledge.

“The Storm Cloud clan remained in power, and the Dark Storm clan really did devote themselves to agriculture for several eons. Even though they were richer than the sun itself, their men went out into the fields every day, and their women baked delicious bread.”

Hadjar recalled Traves’ dream, and how hard he’d worked to cultivate the soil.

“The power and wisdom of the Thundercloud clan were separated. Power isn’t given to the wise, only to the strong. The strong always fight for power, although they’re rarely equipped to wield it responsibly. And the wise, despite being the best of rulers, are too... wise to seek power.”

Hadjar had already heard a similar statement somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Our country still thrived at first, but then...” The Master took several gulps of his drink. He was clearly nervous. “Then the Emperor’s mind began to fade, and his thirst for power grew. And so, we started wars. First one, then two, and then a third... The Dragon Lands were no longer the country of wisdom and peace, but an aggressor. We conquered more and more territory. Subjugated entire nations. Created the-”

“Seven Empires,” Hadjar finished for the Master.

“Exactly,” the dragon nodded. “As the power of the Dragon Lands grew, the Emperor also wanted to strengthen his grip on his country. That’s when the purges began. Entire families were subjected to a fate far worse than death. The Dragon Lands were flooded with rivers of blood coming from its own citizens. And so it was until the Night Lightning tribe rebelled. They killed the Emperor and his entire family. All his children. All his bastards. Every creature that had so much as a drop of the Storm Cloud clan’s blood in them. And then they... they-”

“-destroyed the Dark Storm clan.”

“No one wanted to do something so horrific, Hadjar. Believe me, no one did, but... We had to be sure that the Dragon Lands would once again be able to see a peaceful dawn, that no demon would emerge from the darkness of the past to claim the throne and plunge the country back into a sea of blood and discord.”

They were both silent for a while. The wind was blowing. It brought flower petals with it. In the skies over Dahanatan, clouds of flowers drifted along.

“You said ‘we’,” Hadjar suddenly realized.

“I was one of those who came to the Dark Storm clan’s lands. I was one of those who killed Traves’ parents. I killed the family and friends of the great hero Traves. For committing such an atrocity, to this very day, I have carried a burden that is heavier than the world we live on.”

“Great hero?”

The Master sipped some more juice.

“The vision that the great hero showed you is just the tip of the iceberg, a mere shadow of the sin that still haunts the Dragon Lands to this day.”

“What sin?”

The Master, without ceremony, grabbed the jug by the neck and emptied it on the ground.

“We killed an innocent child, Hadjar. We killed what was perhaps the only salvation our country could’ve had. Between you humans, because of your weak blood, kinship is forbidden. But there is no such restriction between dragons. After hundreds of centuries, the Dark Storm tribe and the Storm Cloud tribe finally reunited. They had a son. And nobody, apart from the current Emperor and his three advisors, knew about it.”

Hadjar tried to process what he’d just heard.

“These hands, Hadjar,” the Master held out his trembling hands. “These hands were involved in taking the throne from one despot and giving it to another, even more terrible ruler. By the High Heavens, the current Emperor surpassed his predecessor long ago, and he’s already destroyed the only dragons who could’ve stopped him.”

Hadjar really wanted a drink right now, but not juice.

“Only a few other beings know what I’ve just told you. Those who were lucky enough to escape the fate of getting killed or exiled to the mines.” The Master handed him a dagger. “Take an oath, Hadjar Darkhan. Otherwise, I’ll destroy you, and then I’ll go to my forefathers, as my soul won’t be able to survive another sin.”

“What oath?”

The Master’s eyes flashed menacingly as he steeled his resolve.

“That you will come with me to the Dragon Lands and seek justice. That you’ll overthrow the usurper Emperor!”

By the Evening Stars, it was the simplest decision Hadjar had ever made. He answered calmly and quietly:

“I won’t.”

Chapter 804

The wind was blowing. It swirled flower petals all around them, giving the impression that the Master and Hadjar were sitting within a painting.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said, young warrior?” The dragon’s hands, which were gripping his staff, were now covered in diamond-shaped, bluish scales.

The ghostly image of a wave of shimmering energy appeared behind the Master. It covered the horizon, touched the ground, and then soared up into the sky. Thanks to his Gaze, Hadjar could see the flashes of energy inside the mirage. But even without it, he could still feel the pressure of the dragon’s power perfectly well. One touch from that staff, even just the focused desire to use its power, would be enough to destroy a weak Spirit Knight. A trickle of red flowed from Hadjar’s nose. He didn’t care.

“I heard you quite well, venerable Master.”

“Then you don’t have the courage to challenge the Emperor. Apparently, the dragon’s blood has turned into tepid water in your human body.”

“Perhaps you’re right, venerable Master.” The Black Blade appeared in Hadjar’s hand, and his Call’s armor covered his body in dark steel. “But you and I are in my country. We are sitting on a hill in Darnassus. This is my homeland. My sister and my friends live in the Kingdom of Lidus. The graves of my brother and my parents are there. And one day, I will find my peace there as well.”

“I’m not asking you to take the throne of the Dragon Lands, Hadjar,” the Master shook his head.

“You aren’t.” Hadjar agreed. “But you are asking me to leave my home, my country, and fight someone else’s war.”

“This isn’t someone else’s war! The Dragon Lands are your homeland too, your ancestors’ homeland!”

Multicolored sparks shot out from the mirage behind the Master. They set fire to the clouds. A blanket of fierce flames, stretching out for many miles, covered the hill. Hadjar wasn’t afraid, just tired.

“The homeland that imprisoned my ancestor for millions of years. That killed his family. That pitted the seven Empires against each other for thousands of years and limited our level of cultivation. You are suggesting that I help the country that considers us humans to be nothing more than slaves.”

“If it hadn’t been for the dragons, your Empires wouldn’t even be here today! The Last King would’ve destroyed everything he could reach! Erhard was mad!”

A fiery lightning bolt came down from the sky. Like a tornado, it sank into the ground at the foot of the torn apart hill and melted a hole a hundred feet in diameter. It wasn’t even a direct attack or a spell, just the Master’s pure anger assuming the form of a flash of power.

“War is coming to Darnassus, venerable Master,” Hadjar rose to his feet and turned to face the capital. His cloak fluttered in the raging wind. “And I’m not going to abandon my home at a time when it needs me the most.”

For three long, terrifying seconds, the firestorm raged in the sky. Then everything stilled as quickly as it had begun.

“I was wrong, young warrior,” Hadjar stood with his back to the Master and therefore didn’t see his face, “The dragon’s blood still burns within you. We will continue this conversation after the war with Lascan is over.”

Hadjar turned around. He was standing alone on the remaining half of the hill. All that remained of the foreign Master were melted stones and the exquisite silk cloth. With an effort of will, Hadjar put it into his spatial ring. If the opportunity presented itself, he would sell it to Lady Brahmi.

“I guess bringing me back would be too much to ask?”

Hadjar dispelled his Call, returned the Black Blade to his soul, and began the long trek back to the capital.

***

The capital, just as the court healer had claimed, was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. People scurried through the streets, crowded around shops, and the shopkeepers themselves were just grinning widely.

“How dare you? Just yesterday, these pills cost six coins an ounce! But now they cost eighteen! That’s three times more expensive!”

“I am aware, honorable customer. If you don’t like the price, you can go to another shop!”

“Fuck you! Give me six ounces and choke on my coin, you vulture!”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you. Please come again!”

The customer spat at the merchant’s feet, almost knocking over his counter of various alchemical products in the process, and then continued down the street.

“Best amulets and talismans in Darnassus, all at yesterday’s prices!”

As soon as those last two words were uttered, a whole mob of customers rushed to the other end of the street. A cultivator who’d just placed his goods on a wooden counter was almost swarmed to death. The customers threw their purses and wallets at his face. They were screaming as they demanded that he sell them his amulets. Hadjar, as he was passing by, saw that most of the amulets and talismans were pretty weak and largely intended for domestic use with the help of the Gaze.

“Defensive enchantments at the Spirit Knight level! They will last for at least a month after you apply them to your house! Seventy coins to start the bidding!”

“Eighty!”

“I’ll give you ninety!”

“One hundred and ten and that’s my final offer!”

“One hundred and ten it is!” The merchant snatched up the bulging purse and placed an amulet in the customer’s outstretched hand. It was a square piece of cloth embroidered with scarlet and golden threads.

The buyer was immediately pushed aside by others, and he ran down the street to catch the herbalists and farmers. Even cultivators sometimes needed food. So, even those kinds of products were in high demand.

Hadjar shook his head. The overjoyed customer hadn’t even bothered to check what exactly he’d just bought. The seller did indeed sell offensive and defensive amulets, but he’d given something completely different to the buyer. A hundred and ten coins for an amulet that created the smell of a freshly mown meadow in a house? It normally cost two coins at the most. They were usually made by disciples of scribal mages to let them practice a little before they moved on to something more serious.

“Where were you, barbarian?”

Einen came up to Hadjar, cutting through the river of desperate humanity. They clasped forearms and hugged each other tightly. They’d parted only a few days ago, but it felt like several years had already passed.

“I was in the Palace infirmary,” Hadjar answered. He decided not to mention that he’d also had an unusual conversation right after. It wasn’t the kind of information one talked about while standing in the middle of a crowded street.

“You really poked the hornet’s nest, Hadjar,” Dora said from behind Einen. As always, she was more beautiful than the first rays of the sun. She was dressed in simple, but high-quality clothes. “They say you almost got into a fight with the guard corps.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“The guards.” Dora smiled.

Hadjar shook his head wearily.

“There’s a problem,” he sighed. “Our plan will have to be tweaked a little.”

He remembered that the first item on their agenda was to overthrow the current head of the Predatory Blades clan. Then the Tournament. Then the Tarez conspiracy. Then the upcoming war. And after that would come the dragon Master, who apparently didn’t plan to leave Hadjar alone. He really wanted to get drunk…

Chapter 805

Compared to the bustling capital, ‘The Holy Sky’ School looked like an island of calm. When Hadjar, Einen, and Dora went to the elevator, everything looked the same as always. Some of the disciples were heading down to earn Glory points, while the rest were waiting around for the elevator, which was a huge iron platform. Not much had really changed.

However, one difference was very noticeable: all disciples, without exception, stood with their weapons bared and in full armor, which clearly emanated energy enhanced by amulets. Everyone was ready to fight to the death at any moment. The three of them looked far too relaxed and kind of awkward by comparison.

“Look, that’s Einen the Islander and the former senior heiress of the Green Hammer clan…”

“I heard they made it to the fourth round!”

“Weren’t they the ones who were involved in that mess in the Wastelands?”

“By the way, who’s that with them?”

“Are you new here or something? That’s Orune’s personal disciple! The black swordsman!”

“But he’s only wearing the medallion of a fully-fledged disciple! Also... who’s Orune?”

“High Heavens give me strength… Get this idiot away from me!”

As Hadjar walked to the elevator, he could feel the disciples’ eyes on him. He didn’t care. The fourth round was only a few days away, and he wanted to get through the entire Treasure Tower before then. The Glory points he’d acquired in the Wastelands and the first three rounds of the Tournament, along with all those monster Cores he’d brought from the Storm Mountain, had to be enough to sprint all the way up to the seventh floor.

“Hadjar Darkhan.” Someone put a hand on Hadjar’s shoulder.

He turned around, not out of any real curiosity, but because he was surprised that someone could approach him without being noticed. Even the Ancient Stage predators of the Storm Mountain hadn’t been able to sneak up on Hadjar. He really hadn’t expected for some of the disciples to be able to do it.

“Look, that’s Silsh Saloum, a personal disciple of Mentor Charon, and a junior heir of the Poison Ivy clan.”

Hadjar glanced at the man. He wore a simple, wooden token with the coat of arms of ‘The Holy Sky’ School carved into it. The young man was shorter than average, narrow in the shoulders and hips, and had a constitution that made it seem like just a small push would be enough to make him fall apart. At the same time, he exuded the aura of a mid-stage Lord. He carried two short knives at his belt. Not daggers, but knives. They looked like simple kitchen knives. Nevertheless, each of them was an Imperial level artifact.

“We don’t know each other.” Hadjar gently removed Saloum’s hand from his shoulder.

“Some of us won’t be happy to see you,” the junior heir of the best alchemist clan had a voice that matched his figure — light and thin.

“I don’t remember having any dealings with the Poison Ivy clan.”

Saloum smiled, and his gaze was the only thing that stood out amidst the general impression of weakness he gave off. Even predators didn’t have such an intense look in their eyes. It was as if Saloum wasn’t looking at him, but right through him. Only the most experienced of killers looked at people that way when they didn’t want their victims to feel their gaze on them.

“Don’t try to get a wooden token, Hadjar.” Saloum said, patting him on the shoulder and then walking away. There was nothing out of the ordinary there, except for the fact that after Hadjar had removed Silsh’s hand from his shoulder, he’d been holding it tightly by the wrist. When had Saloum managed to get out of his grip without Hadjar even noticing him do it?

“Hey…”

Hadjar turned to ask what he meant by that, but saw no sign of the young man. He’d simply disappeared into the crowd of disciples, even though they were currently traveling up atop the platform that led to ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

Even when he used the Gaze, and then looked through the World River itself, he didn’t find the Lord. Somehow, Saloum had managed to hide himself both from his eyes and the flows of energy. That was the true power of a proper personal disciple of the School, someone who was being carefully nurtured by an organization that had thousands of years of history.

“Personal disciples don’t like letting new people into their ranks,” Dora explained. “It isn’t enough to just become the disciple of a Mentor or Master to wear a wooden token. You also have to earn the recognition of the other personal disciples.”

“I don’t care,” Hadjar snorted. “Over the past few years, I’ve spent less time in the capital than I have running errands for the School. And I’ve never even attended a single lecture.”

“Actually, that’s how most disciples live,” Dora smiled sadly. “Only the wealthiest disciples, who can afford to convert Imperial coins into Glory points, can stay in the School and simply attend lectures, training, and classes. The others are usually busy on missions.”

“Can I ask you a blunt question?”

Dora shrugged. Hadjar interpreted this gesture as a sign of agreement.

“Why did you travel with us, then?”

Dora and Einen looked at each other. It was enough. Hadjar instantly understood everything from just that glance.

As the platform ascended toward the huge plateau, the disciples were met by two guardian golems, as always. This time, Hadjar was able to determine their level: each of them was at the middle stage of the Nameless level.

The inspection procedure had been altered significantly and now looked like a deadly test. The tiger looked into the eyes of everyone who entered the School grounds, and the giant left a small, bleeding cut on their cheeks. Fortunately, even Heaven Soldiers had the power to heal such a tiny wound without it leaving a scar.

Perhaps it was Hadjar’s imagination, but the tiger seemed to spend more time looking at him than it did the others.

“You may pass!” The steel giant thundered after the tip of its spear left a small scratch on Hadjar’s face. When the spear had touched his skin, it had felt as if Hadjar’s energy body was being examined by a very sharp, unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you, venerable guardian,” Hadjar bowed.

The ancient construct responded with a nod.

Once inside, Hadjar looked around. Everything looked the same as before: the paths, the training grounds, the Forest of Knowledge, the dormitories that he’d never had time to settle in, the Hall of Fame, the individual houses of the personal disciples, and the Treasure Tower in the center of it all.

Back when Hadjar had seen this place for the first time, ‘The Holy Sky’ School had blown his mind with its grandeur and antiquity. Nowadays, Hadjar saw it as a place that had made him a little stronger, but had drained him dry in the process.

“Are you going straight to the Treasure Tower?” Einen asked.

Hadjar nodded.

With that, the islander took Dora’s hand, and they headed toward the inner circle disciples’ dormitory.

Meanwhile, Hadjar headed toward the only place in ‘The Holy Sky’ School that he actually cared about.

Chapter 806

At the foot of the Tower, Hadjar saw the old man sweeping the stones of the Tower square. Even when the floor in front of the Tower looked pristine, he still swept it with his simple broom made of twigs and a single long branch.

He looked like a real human, but he was actually a golem, created with immense skill and knowledge that, alas, had been lost to time. Some branches of the path of cultivation were stronger in modern times, and some had been more potent in ancient times. This was perfectly normal.

“Ah, Hadjar! Hello,” the old man was standing with his back to Hadjar, but he wasn’t surprised to see that the golem still sensed and recognized him.

“Hello, honorable Keeper,” Hadjar bowed.

The old man stopped sweeping the floor, turned around, and leaned on his broom. Today, he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was only an incredibly complex, but still soulless construct. His eyes were dead but beautiful, like frozen amber.

“You’ve changed, Hadjar,” the old man said suddenly.

“For the better?”

“Only time can tell if it’s for better or worse. I saw someone change like you did… Once. What was that boy’s name? … Orune, I think. He always brought me the best brooms, and he sometimes stayed to help me sweep the yard.”

Hadjar was struck by a thought that was very obvious and, at the same time, mind-blowing. He looked again at the golem, its broom, and then at the Tower itself. What did the position of Keeper really entail? If any intruder wanted to steal the knowledge of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, the only one who would get in their way was the old golem. What kind of power did this creature have to be entrusted with guarding the holiest of holies in the ancient School for thousands of years?

“Were you his Master?”

The old man smiled slightly. “If you look at a hare and learn to jump by imitating its movements, does the hare become your Master?”

Perhaps there was some sort of deep wisdom to be found in those words, but Hadjar wasn’t in the mood to wade through a veritable jungle of the ancient creature’s musings.

Bowing to the old man as one ought to bow to the Master of their Master, Hadjar stepped toward the Tower.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, North Wind.”

Hadjar turned around abruptly, but there was no sign of the old man and his broom. If Hadjar had suspected that the broom could hurt someone before, now he was certain that it could actually take someone’s life.

Once he was inside, Hadjar found himself in a crowd of disciples. The vast majority of them wore the silver tokens of an outer circle disciple. They were grabbing all the alchemical products they could afford off the shelves.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yep, I took a mission to capture some Ice Vultures. They live not too far from my house.”

“But Ice Vultures are at the Ancient Stage! They’ll tear you apart before you even see them coming.”

“The mission has no deadline. So, I’ll try to protect my family from the war first, and then I’ll deal with my debt to the School.”

These kinds of conversations were fairly common in the Tower right now. The disciples, just like the citizens, were buying any items they thought might be useful during the war. And after leaving the Tower, they would hurry to the platform. Some might’ve called them rats abandoning a sinking ship, but not Hadjar. He thought of them as worthy sons and daughters. They couldn’t aid the country itself, but at least they could help their own families.

There were far fewer disciples on the second floor. On the third and fourth floors, which only fully-fledged disciples who’d passed the tests had access to, there were almost no people perusing the numerous shelves.

Hadjar was surprised to find that he’d been able to climb the spiral staircase and come to this floor even though he hadn’t passed any of the tests yet.

“What the hell?”

Then he looked down at his feet. The area that served as a sort of divider between the second and third floors flickered slightly. Above it loomed a hieroglyph that meant ‘power’. Apparently, Hadjar had indeed passed the test — only someone with sufficient power could get to these floors. This simple test helped weed out those who weren’t yet ready to learn high-level Techniques.

“High-level indeed,” Hadjar said aloud and smiled.

Not too long ago, he’d actually considered defensive and offensive Techniques at the Earth level something worth investing in. And now he looked at them with a bit of condescension, and even arrogance. None of them could compare to the Imperial (and beyond) level Techniques he’d learned from the Black General, or the Heaven level ‘Sword of the Light Breeze’ Technique Traves had taught him.

Taking one of the scrolls off the shelves, he read its title, which was ‘The Reflection in the Dead Lake’, and then he looked at its price and information tag:

Military Technique utilizing inner energy.

Weapon: Dagger.

Price: 49,000 Glory points.

Level: Earth.

Number of volumes: 1.

Fucking shit! Was the only thought that came to Hadjar’s mind. Almost fifty thousand points for a Technique that only had one volume! It would never get stronger and probably contained a single attack.

Hadjar put the ancient scroll back on the shelf and headed for the stairs. Upon closer inspection, he realized that most of the third and fourth floor scrolls, with a few exceptions, consisted of only one volume.

A Technique that began at the Spirit level in its first volume, but in the final, sixth volume for example, ended at the Imperial level, would cost many times more than a single-volume Imperial level Technique. That was because more volumes contained far deeper knowledge, much more information, and led a cultivator to their goal a lot more smoothly than an instant immersion in the mysteries of the Imperial level did.

In addition, without proper training, a person couldn’t really understand the complex concepts described in an Imperial level scroll. After purchasing such a scroll, they also needed to spend half as many points to attend the relevant lectures.

Wandering around the fourth floor, Hadjar encountered only a few other fully-fledged disciples. They were carrying bottles and bundles of alchemical products with them. Except, unlike the products on the first floor, the things on offer up here were much more expensive, of far greater quality, and had some truly incredible properties. For example, the Seven Winds Grass, which cost 15,000 Glory points per half a gram, could give a cultivator more energy than a King Stage monster’s Core. It was highly sought after by the alchemists and healers. But Hadjar didn’t care about any of that right now.

At the very end of the hall, he found what he was looking for. A broad, jade tablet with a carving depicting the God of Wisdom bent over a scroll was lying on a velvet cushion:

Inner circle disciple exam.

Price to take the exam: 270,000 Glory points.

Hadjar could’ve sworn that the price had been a lot lower last time. It would seem that it wasn’t just the street vendors who were inflating their prices in the days leading up to the war.

Fortunately, Hadjar, thanks to the Wastelands and the Storm Mountain, had been able to acquire an impressive amount of Glory points — almost half a million.

This was one of those rare moments when he could feel rich.

Taking the fully-fledged disciple token off, he placed it against the jade tablet and immediately felt himself being pulled into it. The accursed tablet, just like the stone in the Wastelands, was a spatial artifact!

Chapter 807

Hadjar found himself in the middle of a hall that was somewhat similar to the temple of the God of War, which he’d visited in that abandoned city in the Wastelands: the same scarlet columns, stone-paved floor, and numerous pedestals. Only, instead of statues of Derger and his Generals, there was a sleeping golem on each of them, of varying shapes and appearances. They ranged from a simple soldier leaning on a spear to an old man looking far off into the distance with a cane in his hands. That golem somewhat resembled the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

One of the golems went up to Hadjar. Clad in heavy armor and leaving broken paving stones in his wake, he carried a longsword across his shoulder, of the kind that required the use of special Techniques for strengthening one’s flesh from early childhood to wield. It probably weighed more than seven tons, and a single swing of that blade would create a wave of pressure strong enough to destroy a Heaven Soldier if they didn’t dodge in time.

Swordsmen wielding broadswords were considered to be one of the most terrifying threats on the battlefield. They were feared as much as the legendary and incredibly rare ambidextrous swordsmen.

In his entire life, Hadjar had encountered only two natural-born ambidextrous swordsmen. One of them, Mrax, a follower of the Raven sect, had been killed by Hadjar. The other one... well, Hadjar hoped to see him choke to death on bird droppings one day...

“Greetings-“

“Black Wind!”

Hadjar’s body was instantly enveloped in the black fog of his Call. It solidified and took the form of sturdy plate armor. The Black Blade appeared in his hands. The sword’s blade flashed with darkness and a thundercloud formed in the sky. Darker than a moonless night, it stretched out for almost a dozen feet, and then, taking the form of the Black Blade itself, but with a roaring dragon coiled up within its length, it struck the head of the golem who didn’t even get to finish his greeting.

The golem moved his heavy sword to block the attack, but the Black Wind Technique, as if it hadn’t encountered any resistance at all, cut the creature in half. The two halves hit the floor, which cracked from the force of the impact, sending up clouds of dust with a loud bang.

“Not bad,” Hadjar nodded, flexing his shoulders and glaring at the remaining constructs. “Well, who’s next?”

It turned out that no one was. Hadjar, blinking, suddenly realized that he was standing in front of the jade tablet once again. He was back on the fourth floor of the Treasure Tower, like he’d been kicked out of the mysterious golem-filled hall.

“What the fuck?” Hadjar breathed out.

While he’d been able to notice the moment he was pulled into the spatial artifact, the return trip had been a complete surprise to him.

“You know, for at least the last thousand years or so, no one has ever passed the inner circle disciple test in quite the same way you just did.”

Behind Hadjar, still sweeping the floors with his broom, stood the old golem. Hadjar saluted, bowed, and noticed the emerald token of a disciple of the inner circle hanging from his neck. Straightening up, he held it in his hand and was surprised at its weight. Such a heavy piece of magic jade with an energy structure could probably fetch him some good money at the jewelry market.

“I thought personal disciples were supposed to receive a wooden token.”

“They are.” Taking a ragged handkerchief out of the pocket of his plain canvas pants, the old man carefully began wiping the dust off the ancient shelves with it. “But you can only get the wooden token from your Master.”

Hadjar didn’t remember fucking Orune saying anything about giving him the token personally. Then again, all he’d ever gotten from his Master were painful beatings with a stick or with a wooden training sword.

“All right,” Hadjar shrugged and turned toward the spiral staircase that led up to the fifth floor. “I can manage without that damned token.”

He’d already taken a few steps toward it when the old man called out to him:

“Have you ever wondered, North Wind, why a personal disciple — the crown jewel of ‘The Holy Sky’ School — wears a simple wooden medallion, while even a disciple of the outer circle — no more than a servant — gets a silver one?”

Hadjar, at first surprised at the ease with which the golem talked about the School’s unjust treatment of some disciples, was soon able to put it all together. ‘The Holy Sky’ School, as well as the ‘Quick Dream’ and ‘Meltwater’ Schools, had all been founded during the Empire’s most trying times, when endless wars and a daily struggle to survive were basically just a normal part of life. Back then, the fact that tens of thousands of talented cultivators would end up being nothing more than servants hadn’t been strange at all. What would be the point of spreading their resources thin by trying to train up ten thousand strong warriors when they could simply focus their attention on twenty of them and turn them into real monsters? The kind of monsters that would each be worth at least ten thousand strong warriors in a battle. Ever since then, nothing had really changed in the Schools.

“No, I haven’t.”

Hadjar didn’t have time for meaningless rants and philosophy, but he felt like this conversation might help him in some way. In addition to that, Hadjar also respected the old golem too much not to hear him out.

“Silver, gold, even jade,” the old man continued to sweep the floor. The dust rose, hiding the golem up to his knees, “They’re all dead, inanimate, extracted with a pickaxe and fire. They’re frozen tears of time that come to us from the past.”

Perhaps, when he wasn’t cleaning, the golem wrote poetry?

“But wood,” the old man ran his hand carefully over the handle of his broom, “It’s alive. It breathes. Trees breathe in all the filth and horror of this world. But those things don’t make trees any weaker. On the contrary, they grow and get stronger, becoming more powerful. They give us shade in the heat. They give us shelter in the cold. They absorb all the dirt and give us clean air. What is the power of dead metals, North Wind? Only their beauty. But no matter how ugly a tree is, it is stronger than all of them. It gives hope to the weak and support to the strong.”

Hadjar felt like a boy peering into a well filled with sand that had come from the divine hourglass that measured the life and death of the universe itself.

“Thank you for sharing your wisdom, honorable Keeper,” Hadjar bowed.

He went back to the door that led up to the fifth floor, and just as he opened it, he heard:

“All of us, North Wind, will one day have to decide what our power is for. Just as metals and wood once did, so long ago.”

Hadjar shook his head. The old golem’s words were as difficult to understand as the Tree of Life’s ramblings had been.

When he reached the fifth floor, Hadjar was surprised to realize that he wasn’t in a dark room, but in a hall that would’ve been the pride of any Palace.

Chapter 808

Hadjar stood on pink marble, surrounded by numerous paintings and tapestries. A magical, unreal, but still warm and gentle light was pouring through the windows. A few alchemical pills rested atop racks made from precious metals and encrusted with gems. Hadjar went over to one of them and looked at the tag:

Quick Step Pill.

Doubles the effectiveness of all movement Techniques.

Price: 14,000 Glory points per two ounces.

Two ounces, according to his neural network’s calculations, were exactly four of these pills. Some might’ve said that this was a useless alchemical trinket, especially since one would need to take a deadly mission in the Wastelands or the Desert of Death (the only region belonging to ‘The Holy Sky’ School that Hadjar hadn’t visited yet) in order to afford to buy it, but they’d be wrong.

If you think about it, one such pill could save someone an incredible amount of money or points they would’ve otherwise spent on a ‘life-saving’ defensive artifact or a talisman with an amulet that might deflect a foe’s Technique.

After all, if a person’s movement Technique suddenly became twice as fast, they could avoid almost any enemy. For example, Hadjar would even be able to escape from a Nameless at the initial stage. That’s why it wasn’t too pricy at all.

Hadjar moved on. Below a wall where a tapestry depicting a battle had been hung, were racks of various weapons. Artifacts of all sorts lay on scarlet, velvet cushions resting on elaborate tripods. Each of them was at the Heaven level. It was worth noting that, in the treasury of one of the richest sheikhs of the Sea of Sand, a Heaven level artifact had been considered the pearl of his collection.

But here, even after just a cursory inspection, Hadjar noted dozens of them.

“The Dagger of Seven Acuities,” he read on one tag. “A Heaven level artifact. No special properties. And it costs 106,000 Glory points…”

He left without examining the dagger any further, despite its obvious and quite impressive sharpness.

He moved on to the last row of shelves. Once he was there, Hadjar decided to look at one of the most expensive kinds of scrolls on the fifth floor — multi-volume Techniques. The first volumes could be purchased here, and the subsequent volumes could be purchased higher up, on the seventh floor, which only six of the disciples in the entire School had access to.

“Scroll of the Fiery Hand. These are the first two volumes out of six in total. It’s at the Spirit level and costs 75,000 Glory Points…” He read quietly.

Hadjar whistled in appreciation. Galkhad had told him about this Technique. Not all the warriors in his clan used weapons, as some were skilled in hand-to-hand combat. According to the nobleman, the sixth volume, which reached the level of an Imperial Technique, allowed a cultivator to melt metal and turn the very earth into magma with their bare hands. A palm strike enhanced by the Technique from the sixth volume could vaporize a small pond or lake. And such incredible knowledge would only cost someone seventy-five thousand Glory points?

“Not like I expected anything different,” Hadjar grumbled under his breath.

Before the assassination attempt on the Emperor, the officials had almost been giving away all sorts of knowledge and resources to the population.

It was no wonder that ‘The Holy Sky’ School had done the same, just in a more cunning and insidious manner. It had inflated prices on the first few floors, forcing even the fully-fledged disciples to go out on missions, but on the top floors, which only the most talented and capable had access to, the prices had been lowered. Hadjar wasn’t against it, but it seemed a little unfair to him.

He still had plenty of Glory points to spend and, as far as he knew, the sixth and seventh floor’s trials were free to take. Everyone with an emerald token who passed the test could climb up to the sixth floor.

But Hadjar didn’t do that just yet. As he wandered among the many scrolls, he sometimes reached out and took one from its shelf, put it in a special bag, and then kept going.

After his training on the Storm Mountain, not to mention learning the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique, he’d lost several very important Techniques. He could no longer use the ‘Wind’ stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique. It simply wasn’t designed to handle the depth of the mysteries and the power that Hadjar now possessed.

By using the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique, he risked exposing himself to such powerful energy feedback that he would end up completely immobilized for a while. And the stronger Hadjar became, the higher the risk got. So, before anything else, he decided to get a new movement Technique. He’d outgrown the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique in the past (without even getting to master it, unfortunately), and now he’d outgrown the Technique of his great ancestor, Traves.

“Let’s see what my beloved School can offer me,” Hadjar muttered.

He sat down at a special table, paused to look around, but there was still no one else in the room with him, and then unfurled the scrolls he had taken.

“The Moonwalk Technique…”

The runes that spelled out the title were written in one of the dead languages. To decipher the scroll, Hadjar would’ve had to spend forty thousand Glory points. But, thanks to his neural network, he had no trouble reading dead languages.

“Maybe Michael Jackson used this…” Hadjar smiled. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

He read the description of the Technique. Like any movement Technique that ended up reaching the Imperial level, it had its own strengths and weaknesses. For example, it said that after mastering the final, fifth volume (which, of course, was on the seventh floor), Hadjar would be able to move as fast as ‘a soaring arrow’ at night. But, in the daytime, the Technique would make him only twice as fast, or maybe three times as fast at best. The speed boost would depend on the phase of the moon. The closer it was to the full moon, the faster the ‘Moonwalk’ would make him, up to a point where, during the full moon, Hadjar would become almost seven times faster.

If he combined it with a Quick Step Pill, no initial-stage Nameless would be able to kill him. Well, if they didn’t have the same Techniques and pills he did, at least…

“Not that.” Hadjar shook his head and put the scroll in a special vase. As soon as the scroll was inside the vase, it immediately disappeared, and, as far as Hadjar knew, it reappeared on the same shelf from which it had recently been removed.

Reading one scroll after another, Hadjar became absorbed in his research. He left some scrolls behind on the table, and put the others in the vase, going through them quickly. Some didn’t suit him because of their restrictions, while others required reagents that were simply too difficult for him to acquire. All Techniques that eventually reached the Imperial level needed the cultivator to use special natural and alchemical components.

Of course, he could’ve just climbed up to the sixth floor and started with a Heaven level Technique, but that would’ve done more harm than good.

Finally, there were only two scrolls left in front of Hadjar.

“The White Lightning Step…” Hadjar read the title of the first scroll. He didn’t need to read the description because Orune used this very Technique. Hadjar hoped to see the white lightning bolt hit him in the head one day.

The second scroll was for the ‘Way of the Wet Silk’ Technique. Despite the fact that its name sounded like the name of some inexpensive brothel, Hadjar had kept it around.

“Fucking hell! Who am I trying to kid here?” Hadjar, remembering that he didn’t have time to waste, put the ‘Way of the Wet Silk’ scroll in the vase and left the scroll for the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique in front of him.

After pressing his token to the sealing wax of the scroll with a heavy heart, he parted with almost a hundred thousand Glory points. That was the price of the first of eight volumes that comprised the ‘White Lightning Step’ Technique. In peacetime, it would’ve cost him five times as many points. As soon as the transaction was completed, an exact copy of the scroll appeared right inside his token. Hadjar put the original back in the vase and then walked to the end of the hall.

There, on the huge tapestry, in the middle of the raging battle depicted on it, was a small notch designed to fit a token. Disciples weren’t allowed to talk about the trials of the sixth and seventh floors, so when Hadjar applied his token to the notch, he had no idea what was waiting for him.

Chapter 809

Using his foe’s own momentum against him, Hadjar threw a warrior running toward him over his shoulder. Clutching his saber tightly to avoid dropping it, the warrior managed to land on his feet, but Hadjar stabbed his throat with the Black Blade the moment he did so. Without straightening up, using only his inertia, Hadjar turned and swung his sword behind him. His blade cut off the head of another enemy warrior, and only then did Hadjar get a chance to stop and look around.

Just moments ago, he’d been standing in front of the tapestry depicting a battle between the steppe dwellers clad in leather armor and some knights. There’d been hints to suggest that the battle had taken place in Darnassus. In reality, the battle had occurred before any of the seven Empires’ time. It had taken place during the era of the Hundred Kingdoms. And now Hadjar was taking part in it.

“Sais’shatal tuklish!”

Hadjar didn’t ask his neural network to translate the dead language of the steppe people. Without turning around, he swung the Black Blade downwards in a powerful, ruthless attack.

“Black Wind,” he said calmly.

He writhed in pain as a curved saber slashed at the chainmail that was draped over his plain leather armor. The links crumbled under the force of the direct hit, and he felt the saber pierce the leather and rip through his flesh as well. His long-suffering right side could not catch a break!

Putting some distance between him and his attacker, Hadjar spun on his heel. Another short saber came close to his hip, but ultimately couldn’t even graze the edges of his pants.

With a hard punch to the jaw, Hadjar knocked down a steppe dweller and then, grabbing the handle of the Black Blade in a reverse grip, slashed at his throat.

Blood spurted from the man’s carotid artery, and the vaguely… Asian? (Hadjar wasn’t sure, it had been a long time since he’d lived on Earth) steppe dweller fell to his knees, clutching at his torn larynx.

Reversing the motion, Hadjar once again intercepted a foe’s sword, and then he cut off his head. In war, there were two attacks you could always count on to end a fight — cutting into or through someone’s neck, or stabbing them in the stomach and piercing their spine. Being ruthless was the only way he could protect himself from being ambushed from behind later down the line.

“What is going on here?” Hadjar mentally reached for his Core, but suddenly realized that he didn’t have even a drop of energy he could use. Hadjar lacked even those few pathetic bits of power that any practitioner received after opening their first nodes. In other words, he was a mortal now. A simple soldier.

“Captain Hadjar! Captain Hadjar!”

Well, maybe not quite so simple…

He turned around and was about to deliver a quick slash, but he stopped when he realized that two wide eyes were staring right at him in surprise.

“Captain!” A young soldier with a patchy beard and moustache froze. “It’s me, lieutenant Klot!”

“Indeed it is,” Hadjar lowered his sword. “I’m sorry.”

A moment later, moving with violent suddenness, he tackled the lieutenant off his feet. A halberd being wielded by a rider passed only a hair’s breadth above Hadjar’s back. Klot leapt to his feet and tore an axe out of the nearest dead man’s back.

He swung it straight at the horse’s leg. It whinnied as the steel sliced through its soft joint. The startled animal collapsed onto its belly, bleeding profusely. The steppe dweller managed to jump out of the saddle in time and, rolling forward, tried to get back to his feet, but failed.

Hadjar stomped on the tip of the halberd with the heel of his steel boot. The steppe dweller made the mistake most inexperienced and young soldiers tended to make — he held on to his weapon too tightly. The wooden shaft of the halberd struck the steppe warrior’s Adam’s apple like a predatory snake and he began to fall back, wheezing. When he instinctively let go of his weapon, he signed his own death warrant.

Continuing the motion of his kick, Hadjar stepped over the shaft with his other foot, clamped it between his heels, and spun again. The halberd shot up like a crossbow bolt, straight into the steppe dweller’s chest. Punching through his light armor, it dragged him several feet across the ground before they both stopped moving.

“That was... amazing, captain,” the lieutenant gasped in awe as he rose from the ground.

They were, as far as Hadjar understood thanks to his vast combat experience, on the edge of one of the flanks. The cavalry formation of the steppe army had recently charged them. After breaking through the line of infantry covering the knights’ backs, the enemy cavalry had charged into the back line of the knights, who were already mostly dead or mortally wounded by this point.

Only in epics did the cavalry boldly trample the infantry to death. In the real world, they usually ended up pulled to the ground and butchered. Apparently, however, the enemy cavalry had been wildly successful.

“Report, lieutenant!” Hadjar gave the order out of sheer reflex.

After the young man, who’d only started shaving recently, straightened up, gave a strange salute, and said, “Yes, captain!” Hadjar finally snapped out of it. What was he doing? This wasn’t a war between Lidus and the nomads! He wasn’t Hadjar Traves, an officer of the Moon army, any longer.

He was Hadjar Darkhan, the black swordsman of ‘The Holy Sky’ School! A Spirit Knight, not a mere mortal.

“The General has ordered you to breach the south gates of the castle!”

“What?” Hadjar asked as an afterthought.

The lieutenant immediately sighed and looked forlorn.

“I think that, unless you slept with his daughter or something, he really shouldn’t be sending our entire unit off to die.” The young man turned toward the castle that was displaying a flag with the exact same emblem as the enemy riders wore — a wolf howling at a red moon.

Arrows rained down upon them from the castle. They blocked out the sky and killed many of the soldiers who were besieging the castle. Burning resin was dumped down on them from large cauldrons. Siege cables were cut and broken. Siege towers were quickly set ablaze, as they were the perfect target for the fire arrows of the enemy archers. Hadjar only noticed a few flashes of energy here and there. Almost no Techniques were being used in this battle.

“The General says we have two hours to get it done. If we fail, we’ll be executed. I don’t think he was joking, captain Hadjar.”

The lieutenant rubbed his cheek, which had a darkening bruise on it that he clearly hadn’t gotten in the current battle.

“We need to capture the fortress wall, then?” Hadjar asked thoughtfully.

In his life, he’d faced many absurd and convoluted trials, but this one was almost ludicrous, even by his standards. Orune, may someone cut off his balls one day, hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that only one in a hundred disciples could pass the sixth floor’s test. The nobles, who’d been born with energy coursing through their bodies, probably couldn’t even imagine themselves playing the role of a mere mortal, especially a minor officer or soldier.

“Follow me, lieutenant!” Hadjar commanded firmly.

For the next hour, they cut their way through to a siege tower, which some soldiers were rolling right up to the wall. Along the way, Hadjar met up with the rest of his unit — twenty experienced warriors who all greeted their captain with a strange salute.

Pushing his soldiers into the tower, Hadjar led them higher up the stairs. He knew perfectly well that if the tower got too close to the wall, it would be the lower floors that got targeted first — if they burned down, the entire structure would collapse with them.

As he’d predicted, by the time the ‘mouth’ of the tower opened and its ‘teeth’ caught on the wall, the lower floors were already burning, and the people down there were screaming in pain.

Atop the wall, they were met by steppe dwellers defending the fortress. A hundred bows being fired at once was a kind of salute, right? Hadjar shielded himself with the body of his nearest dead comrade. After a dozen arrows plunged into the corpse, Hadjar discarded it with a brief nod of thanks to the dead man and charged into the enemy’s ranks with a savage battle cry.

Acting on pure instinct, he managed to avoid a ghostly saber attack that cut through the stones around them and split the lieutenant who didn’t understand what was going on in half. Rolling to the side, Hadjar jumped back up to his feet and faced his opponent. A steppe dweller armed with a curved sword and a whip stood in front of him.

“Fucking hell!” Hadjar raged at the unfairness of it all.

His opponent was at the Transformation level. Whoever had come up with this trial was clearly insane!

Chapter 810

Cutting through the air and leaving a whitish haze behind in the process, the whip lashed out like a coiled snake. It bit into the rock beneath Hadjar’s feet with such speed it looked like a blur. Stone chips cut his face. Blood flooded his eyes. Jerking to the side, he clenched his teeth in pain, that simple, oh so mortal sensation.

His current body hadn’t been strengthened by dragon blood, it hadn’t experienced the power of the orcs’ Wolf Broth, and it hadn’t been hardened for two years up on the Storm Mountain. So, even the echo of an attack from a Transformation level practitioner’s whip was enough to peel away his skin and flesh.

As he tumbled down the stone stairs, Hadjar managed to grab one of the steppe dwellers and use him as a shield. The second crack of the whip drenched Hadjar in the warrior’s blood. The steppe man’s legs tumbled off the wall as his body was split in half. Hadjar used his torso like a board to slide down the rest of the stairs. Leaving a trail of blood behind on the stairs and balancing on the mutilated torso, from which guts and entrails kept spilling out, Hadjar flew down the stairs.

As he slid down, he plunged the Black Blade into a crack in the masonry and pushed hard, soaring into the air. He did this just in time, as the whip cracked again where his feet had just been a moment ago. It turned the remaining half of the steppe warrior’s body into bloody mincemeat.

Luckily for Hadjar, the whip got stuck in the dead warrior’s torn leather armor for a second. This momentary delay was enough for Hadjar to land feet first right on the taut whip. The practitioner, even if he was an experienced soldier, hadn’t been prepared for this turn of events.

He didn’t have time to release his grip, and when the whip sagged beneath the weight and force of Hadjar’s descent, he flew right toward him. The Black Bade was still lodged in the crack in the wall and he needed to hold the whip down firmly, so there was only one way for Hadjar to attack. When the practitioner was close enough to him, Hadjar, growling, slammed his head directly into the man’s stomach. They fell to the ground together, wheezing and sprawled out in different directions.

For a couple of seconds, Hadjar just lay on his back, gasping for air. He tried to focus despite the ringing in his head and make sense of what was happening around him. With a cry, someone brought a battleaxe down on his head. Hadjar managed to turn his head away enough to avoid dying, but his cheek was cut. Another flash of pain sobered him right up.

Leaping to his feet and ignoring the fact that his cheek hung from a patch of skin and his cheekbone was peeking through the torn flesh, Hadjar kicked the axe out of his attacker’s hands, and then drove the Black Blade hard into the man’s stomach. He jerked his hand up several times, cutting the warrior’s stomach wide open. Guts and blood spilled out in a shower of gore.

With an animalistic growl, he crouched down and hid from a dark, barely visible crescent of energy that the practitioner had launched at him.

By the Evening Stars! If this had been the real world, that feeble attack wouldn’t have even scratched his clothes. This lowly practitioner wouldn’t have even been able to breathe in his presence. Hadjar was normally strong enough to kill this man with his will alone.

Pushing the disemboweled corpse aside, Hadjar straightened up and, with a swing of his sword, clenching his teeth all the while, cut off his own cheek, which had been swinging from a strip of flesh until that point.

The battle raged around him. The smell of burnt flesh made his eyes water a little. The blood, mud, and viscera that covered everything squelched grotesquely.

Hadjar’s unit was fighting somewhere up on the parapet. Around him, the steppe dwellers, with the savage ferocity of new recruits who had just tasted blood for the first time, were killing the soldiers who’d managed to break into the inner courtyard of the fortress.

“Isash toshuk!” The practitioner spat.

In his right hand, instead of a whip, he now held a small, round shield with a spike in the center. In his left hand, he held a long, curved saber made from black metal with golden ornaments.

It was only a Spirit level artifact, but it looked so amazing that even Hadjar wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity to wield such a work of art.

The steppe dweller was covered head to toe in leather and steel armor: he had gauntlets and greaves, a leather skirt and chest piece, steel bracers, shoulder pads, and even a helmet. The areas of his body that weren’t covered by his armor were protected by intertwined leather straps that made sure his armor was cinched tightly.

“You should’ve known this was a bad idea, you fucking bastard,” Hadjar spat blood and saliva through his bared teeth, “I’ve missed all of this so much!”

Hadjar kicked clumps of wet earth into his enemy’s face. The warrior protected his eyes with his shield. The mud struck the steel spike and spread out like a black oil stain across the shield.

Hadjar wasted no time, forcing himself to ignore the pain wracking his body with an effort of will, and charged in. His bloody leg dragged slightly behind him, which meant he couldn’t quite use his full strength or speed to attack his foe. But what he managed to muster up was still enough for him to slam into the shield with his shoulder. The practitioner staggered back, lost his balance, and Hadjar took advantage of that. He gripped the steel spike with his left hand, cursed inwardly at the pain as his palm got cut, and jerked his hand up. The edge of the shield, which was covered in iron plates, hit the steppe dweller’s chin. There was an unpleasant crunching sound. Teeth and blood shot out through the warrior’s torn lips. The practitioner staggered even more and Hadjar, cutting his left hand all the way down to the tendons, pulled the spike firmly aside.

Weakened for a moment, his foe couldn’t resist the force of the move and left his chest open for a split second. His saber was raised too high up, and the peculiar nature of his weapon didn’t allow him to quickly bring it back to a defensive position. Intercepting the man’s blade with a reverse grip, Hadjar slashed his own across the steppe warrior’s torso. The scarlet blood that spurted out of the ruined armor and cut flesh was his reward for all the pain he’d suffered through.

Alas, he was a mere mortal right now, and his opponent was a Transformation level practitioner. Given that the warrior’s flesh had been more difficult for Hadjar’s blade to cut through than his leather armor, his foe had already progressed past the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage.

Just like his own recent flash of pain had sobered Hadjar up, so too did this bring the steppe warrior back to his senses. He suddenly sprang into motion like a deadly whirlwind. Pushing the edge of his shield to the side, he turned on one leg and used the second to kick Hadjar’s wounded side. The wound exploded like a volcano. Blood drenched the ground, and Hadjar rolled through the mud and quickly ducked under a flaming hay cart. He’d managed to dodge just in time as, a moment later, another crescent of energy ripped through the bloody, black mud he’d just been standing on.

Once he was under the cart, Hadjar had less than a heartbeat to plan his next move. The experience he’d gained in hundreds of battles was put to use.

With his elbows, Hadjar knocked the pegs out from under the cart’s wheels. Despite its weight, it immediately rolled down because it was on a slope. Grabbing its trestles, he propelled himself up and jumped as hard as he could, landing a few feet away from where he’d recently been fighting.

“Ishtari!” The practitioner shouted.

His saber flashed with a golden glow, and then, as he swung it downwards, a stream of golden light formed another crescent. It was several times stronger than the previous one had been. But what amazed Hadjar wasn’t the Technique that blew up the cart and sent people flying everywhere. The Technique had contained the mysteries of two Spirits at once! The Saber Spirit and Fire Spirit both! How was this possible? Unfortunately, Hadjar had no time to think about that right now. The explosion had thrown him right into the middle of the battle between the knights and the steppe infantry.

Chapter 811

Hadjar deflected a crossbow bolt that had been fired directly at his heart at pointblank range with the flat of his blade. Sparks burned his face and hands, and the bolt bit into the shooter’s thigh instead.

Still lying on his back, Hadjar, who couldn’t use his sword or his hands, snarled and sank his teeth into his enemy’s Achilles tendon. Gnawing through the man’s pants with his teeth alone, Hadjar yanked out a piece of his flesh. The crossbowman screamed in pain and lost his footing, falling to one knee. Grabbing the armor of the howling steppe dweller, Hadjar climbed up by leaning on his body and, now standing over the warrior, grabbed his neck with his bloody left hand. Squeezing his fingers as tightly as he could, he tore out his opponent’s Adam’s apple.

Or rather, he tried to. What he ended up doing was just… Crushing a thin larynx. A dark-skinned girl fell to the ground, gasping and choking on her own blood, clutching her throat as she convulsed. Her helmet fell off and her black hair scattered all across the ground, instantly blending in with the black mud.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hadjar used the toe of his boot to kick the crossbow that had fallen out of the girl’s hands into the air. Catching it in midair, he turned and jumped away, loading a steel bolt and pulling the trigger as he did so.

The bolt whizzed through the air and sank right into the eye socket of a spearman. The man didn’t manage to impale Hadjar’s chest before this happened. While still in the air, Hadjar wrapped his leg around the shaft of the spear and, as he landed on his back, tore it from the hands of the screaming, blinded steppe dweller.

Disregarding the wounded man, Hadjar once again found himself on the ground, covered in blood and dirt. He grabbed the shaft with his left hand. It was slippery because of all the blood coating it, but he held it firmly enough to angle the shaft toward the ground and prop himself back up by using it for support.

He was back on his feet in an instant. He cut off the blinded man’s head, then extended his left arm in a swift, powerful throw. The spear went through the decapitated man’s head as the head soared into the sky, then slammed like a gigantic arrow into the chest of the last of his three opponents. It punched through him, dragging him several feet across the sticky ground, then pinned him down.

“Ishtari!” Someone behind him howled.

Without turning back to face the odd man who could use Techniques that harnessed two different Spirits at once, Hadjar ran forward. The man impaled on the spear was still wheezing and trying to hold on when Hadjar ran up to him.

A golden crescent cut through the screaming warrior. Fragments of his body, now engulfed in flames, rained down like grisly hail over the battlefield. At the last moment, Hadjar pushed off from the spear shaft, spreading his arms out, and jumped backwards. He leapt over the practitioner’s head, landed behind him, and, without slowing down in the slightest, tried to dash forward in a straight line.

If he’d had an energy body, even such treacherous mud wouldn’t have been a problem for him. But he was a mere mortal. His foot slid slightly in the viscous slush. He couldn’t regain his footing in time. The Black Blade was less than a heartbeat late, but sometimes, that was all it took to decide the outcome of a fight.

Hadjar’s sword bit into the practitioner’s back, but by that point, the man had been able to get his bearings. Turning around, he batted Hadjar’s sword aside with his shield, then slashed his saber across his opponent’s chest.

Hadjar rolled away immediately to put some distance between them, and then grimaced in pain. His chest burned. Blood poured out.

He’d lost so much blood during this fight that he felt sick. An ordinary man would’ve fainted long ago, but not an experienced warrior like him. Hadjar’s willpower was unyielding enough to allow him to continue the fight despite his grievous wounds.

Once again finding himself on the ground, Hadjar grabbed the dirt and threw it at his foe’s face.

“Dulahris harmun!” The steppe dweller roared and dodged.

He hadn’t fallen for the same trick a second time. Oh well. Hadjar rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. Then he immediately howled. The leg that had been wounded by the whip was growing numb and was now refusing to obey him.

Limping, he came up behind a steppe swordsman. Hadjar stabbed him in the back and through the heart with the Black Blade, turned around, and shoved the still twitching body at the practitioner.

The dying steppe dweller dropped his weapon and took a few steps toward the practitioner out of sheer inertia. When he recognized his ally, he grabbed him by the shoulders and whispered something pleadingly. The practitioner, without slowing down, cut the wounded man in half. Calmly, he walked forward, stepping between the two bloody halves of the boy that were falling to the ground.

“Captain!” The soldier who’d been ‘saved’ by Hadjar jumped in front of him and screamed in pain.

He raised his shield and sword in front of him, but a ghostly crescent of energy easily sliced through the simple, non-artifact steel. Despite losing both his arms up to the forearm and gushing blood from the grisly wounds, the soldier, demonstrating that he possessed true valor, still rushed at the practitioner. He tried to tear out the warrior’s throat with his bare teeth, but soon fell to the ground, cut to pieces.

“Damn it,” Hadjar said.

Retreating and staggering as he dragged his bloody leg behind him, he dodged the second ghostly crescent with the last of his strength. Angered by being forced to fight a prolonged battle against a mere mortal, the practitioner was now carelessly throwing them out. He was swinging his saber like a fan.

He tried to dodge another crescent, but suddenly realized that he had nowhere left to go. With his back pressed against the wooden, iron-studded gates, Hadjar was a hair’s breadth away from meeting his forefathers.

The ghostly crescent that cut off his left ear left a deep gouge in the gates. Splinters bit into his face and neck. Hadjar didn’t even notice the pain anymore. He simply watched death, in the guise of a steppe dweller, come for him.

“Damn it,” Hadjar repeated.

He hadn’t obeyed his orders. He hadn’t opened the gates. He’d lost. For the first time in his life, he’d lost in a war. What would happen to his people now? What would happen to their parents, children, wives, and husbands? Who would tell their relatives that their beloved son or daughter wouldn’t be coming back from the war?

“Weakling,” came a voice from beneath the helmet.

It was so familiar. The practitioner yanked the helmet off. His black hair, streaked with gray, fell across his shoulders. He had square cheekbones and strong, steely eyes.

“Primus,” Hadjar breathed out.

“Did you really think you could have your revenge despite being so pathetic?” His uncle laughed. A kinslayer. A usurper. And he was laughing at him. “Look around you, nephew! All your people are dead!”

There was silence, broken only by the crows flapping their wings over the many dead bodies. They’d broken into the capital. They’d reached the Royal Palace. Hadjar was even pressing his back against its gates as they spoke. He was drowning in the blood of his warriors, his loyal friends and soldiers who’d all been impaled on spears and swords, hacked apart, or just crushed to death. Hundreds of thousands of bodies littered the Royal garden.

“You’re weak, Hadjar,” Primus growled, raising his sword above his head. From the bloodstained length of the blade, Hadjar’s own reflection stared back at him. His blue eyes had dimmed. There was no snarling, writhing dragon to be found inside them anymore.

Is that it? A voice sneered in his head. That hated voice… He’d heard it on the Storm Mountain. Every time he’d bled, vomited, mended his bones, and raised his training sword again and again… He’d heard those words: Is that it?

Fucking Master Orune, while repeatedly bringing Hadjar to the threshold of his forefathers’ house, had always asked him with pure contempt, “Is that it?”

Chapter 812

“Is that it?” Hadjar asked.

Primus’ sword descended toward his head, but he didn’t notice, too lost in his own musings.

“Is that really it?”

He looked inside himself, but couldn’t find his energy body there. However, that didn’t matter. The enemy could take away Hadjar Darkhan’s Call, his energy, his Core, his vision, his legs, and even cripple his hands. They could take away all his Techniques, mysteries, and even the Black Blade. But they couldn’t take away the one thing that was always in his heart — Hadjar’s own blade that had resided there for many years. The one he hadn’t found, bought, or inherited. This blade had been forged by him, with his very soul. That sword could never be taken away from Hadjar.

“That isn’t all I have to offer!”

Hadjar opened his eyes. The Primus in front of him merged with the steppe dweller, distorting the figure into something abstract and indistinct. The Royal garden merged with the castle, and the dead bodies constantly shook and rippled.

Hadjar grabbed hold of the Black Blade and acted as if he were unsheathing it.

For twenty years... every day, every minute, every second, he’d lived with nothing more than his sword to give him meaning. He didn’t need anything else, just a sword and a target. And that was something that no one could take away from him. The Sword was in his heart. His heart was still beating. This meant that whoever tried to take that power away from Hadjar would never succeed.

With a roar worthy of an enraged Lord of the Heavens, Hadjar blocked the saber-sword of the steppe dweller-Primus.

Just before their blades collided, Hadjar suddenly felt someone standing behind him. Someone played with his illusory cloak. Someone rejoiced with him in battle. Someone wrapped him in armor so strong that it was impossible to break. Someone infused a speed that couldn’t be overcome into his sword. Someone made his Black Blade as blue as the cloudless sky. Someone whispered to him:

“My friend…”

The Sword’s mark! Hadjar only then realized that, in this illusory world, the Sword’s slave mark had disappeared from his back!

His blade shattered his foe’s sword and Hadjar found himself on a floor covered in mosaics.

***

“I’m glad to see you passed that test.” The old golem was sweeping the sixth floor, where Hadjar had reappeared.

The first thing he did was... No, he didn’t check his energy body, Core, Quetzal, or his Call. He dove into the depths of his soul. Initially full of hope, he was disappointed to once more see the steel symbol in front of him. Made up of 999 sword strikes and imbued with the very essence of the Sword, the hieroglyph that resembled a beetle… Was still there, weighing his soul down.

“I regret-”

Hadjar stopped talking. Back then, in that underground grotto of the mountains of Balium, Hadjar had had two options: risk his own life, or risk the lives of the thousands of people who’d put their fates in his hands. He’d chosen to risk his own life, and he would do so every time.

“It’s such a painful trial, isn’t it, North Wind?” The old golem continued to sweep the floor covered in beautiful mosaics, “But useful… Very useful.”

Hadjar shook his head. The Bedouin ornaments chimed, and the two orc feathers in his hair rustled slightly. He was himself again, scarred and tattooed, an initial-stage Spirit Knight.

He was sitting in a lotus position in a wide, spacious room. The only difference from the previous room was that the floor, instead of marble, was covered in mosaics. They depicted a man who had two very different halves for a face: the right half was pleasant and beautiful to look at, while the left half looked like the ugly visage of a demon and induced terror.

“Did the orcs ever tell you the story of the two wolves?” The old man suddenly asked.

Hadjar twitched. He almost asked a stupid question, but then he touched the feathers in his hair.

“Two wolves… One is good and the other is evil? The one you feed wins.”

“Good and evil?” The old man was surprised. He stopped, leaned on his broom’s handle, and began to scratch his beard. “Feed them? I’ve never heard that story before.”

Hadjar realized that he’d heard about the inner wolves not from the orcs, but back on Earth. They’d always been mentioned in any situation where a person had to fight against an inner demon.

“Then… They didn’t tell me the story.”

“That’s good.” The old golem nodded and continued to sweep the floor. “This story makes the weak weaker and the strong stronger. Well, perhaps any knowledge does that. You know, North Wind, some things can only be known by the strong and persistent. Like the story that the unfortunate man from the Lake of Dreams told you.”

Hadjar was really nervous now. The golem being able to guess about his time with the orcs by the feathers in his hair was one thing, but how did he know about what had happened in the Lake of Dreams? Especially about the things that the fragment of the Potter’s soul had told him?

“How-”

Then it dawned on him. The Keeper of the Treasure Tower was responsible not only for storing knowledge, but also sharing it. It suddenly became clear to Hadjar why the disciples were forbidden from talking about the trials of the sixth and seventh floors. It was because everyone had to overcome their own, custom trial, one that the old golem had created just for them.

“I think you’re now strong enough to listen to this story,” the old man continued sweeping the immaculate, perfectly clean mosaic of the floor. “Once upon a time, there were two wolves. One was white, big, beautiful, and proud. The second was gray, small, frail, and weak. They both hunted in the same forest. The big one always took food from the weak one. The weak one only ate scraps. And so it went for years. Until one day, the gray, weak wolf found a rare fruit. But he failed to eat it in time. The white wolf took it away. He then ate that fruit, which gave him energy and created a Core inside him. The white wolf moved to a different forest. He grew stronger, but always relied on his Core. The small, weak, gray wolf suddenly realized that he couldn’t hunt on his own. He starved and almost died, until he managed to catch some mice. All the other wolves made fun of him. But he survived. And then, after becoming a perfect mouse hunter, he caught rats. Then hares. It took him a long time, though. By the time he was hunting hares and ordinary puppies, the white wolf had become a legend in all the forests, the strongest being to ever live.”

Hadjar looked at the mosaics and shuddered. The beautiful side of the face and the demonic side suddenly swapped places.

“And then something terrible happened in the forests,” the old man continued. “They were attacked by tigers. One of them managed to injure the white wolf. He lost the ability to use his Core and could no longer protect his pack. The tigers kept going and came to the forest where the gray wolves lived. They attacked them, but… No tiger that attacked their forest survived. They were all overpowered by the gray wolf in the end.”

One day, you will come to understand that true power isn’t in Techniques and energy, but in you, Traves’ words echoed in Hadjar’s head.

“A useful trial,” the old man repeated with a nod. “It’s good that you passed it. It’s good that you aren’t a white wolf…”

Hadjar rose to his feet, then bowed deeply and said:

“Thank you for the lesson, wise Keeper.”

He turned back to the shelves, but was interrupted.

“If you want, you can start the trial of the seventh floor.”

“But-”

“You won’t find what you’re looking for in here, North Wind. A Technique for Strengthening the Body that would suit you doesn’t exist in the Empire.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened to the size of an Imperial coin.

“A dragon’s heart and the Wolf Broth,” the old man said, shaking his head. “To supplement such powerful enhancements, you would need a Technique even more powerful than the Divine level. Lesser Techniques will only harm you.”

The Keeper of the Treasure Tower… The founder of the School had left behind perhaps the best adviser that could be found in all of Darnassus for his School’s top students.

“What about a meditation Technique?” Hadjar asked.

“You won’t find a suitable one even on the seventh floor.”

Hadjar was thunderstruck.

“But I’ve heard that there are Imperial level Techniques up there!”

“Yes, there are. And you could choose any one of them, but switching from a dragon meditation Technique to a human one would leave you crippled at best.”

“Then why should I bother with your test at all?”

“Because if you succeed, I’ll tell you a secret.”

Hadjar arched an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you where to find the second volume of the great ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique… The ‘Path Through the Stars’ Technique.”

Chapter 813

Hadjar wanted to go and hide in the cave where Orune lived, but then he realized that he couldn’t move. He was being held prisoner by four magic runes that swirled around him. They formed a shield of white lightning. He touched his ‘cage’. Small bursts of electricity leapt at his palm. Each of them was so imbued with the Sword’s mysteries that Hadjar doubted that even an Imperial level Technique could break through this cocoon.

“Do you have what it takes, old man?” Orune laughed.

Lightning struck with incredible force. Hadjar had never seen anything like it before. It slammed into the rocks. The ground beneath his feet trembled and the thousands of cracks merged into a complex pattern.

A deluge of white energy hummed around Orune’s sword as thousands of lightning bolts intertwined. The dark, starry night suddenly became brighter than a cloudless afternoon.

Orune held the 11ft sword made of lightning bolts as easily as he would a simple stick. The incredible Technique put no strain on him.

“Stop flapping your jaw,” the old man shook his head.

He leaned on his cane. It was short, no more than 3 feet long, and it really didn’t look like it could hold back the power of Orune’s Technique, the echoes of which produced flashes of fire. Raining down on the ground, the echoes burned the ancient forest with white flames, felling trees that even the Black Blade couldn’t cut through easily. Even the stones around them began to melt.

“You’re too rude, geezer!” Eyes shining as brightly as his Technique, Orune raised his lightning blade over his head.

A vortex of power swirled around him. The Sword’s mysteries contained within it were so deep that the shield surrounding Hadjar began to tremble slightly, and the stones evaporated outright, merging with the white energy.

Orune roared like a hungry bear. His roar merged with the thunder. The sword grew a few feet longer, and then came down in a violent slash. A huge, sharp, white lightning bolt surged forward. The Technique’s echoes spread out like a blanket of fire for many miles around. It burned the air, setting the sky itself ablaze.

Hundreds of beasts, birds, and the rare few cultivators currently training on the Storm Mountain all looked up at the flaming skies. This was the kind of battle that could give one the inspiration or insights needed to better grasp the nuances of their chosen path of cultivation.

The attack, burning the air in its wake and carrying death and destruction with it, its echoes melting the mountain peak, covered the miles that separated Orune from the old rector in a split second. Hadjar couldn’t have even imagined such speed was possible before today.

In the split second before the lightning sword struck the old man’s shoulder, the rector raised his cane slightly and slammed it into the bottom of his boat. A slightly yellowish maple leaf appeared in front of him.

Carried by the whirlwind of Orune’s dominating, all-consuming, and destructive power, it floated in front of the old man, directly in the path of the white lightning sword Technique. It froze at the exact point where the full power of that terrifying attack would land.

Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. All that incredible power contained in the white lightning struck the leaf and suddenly dispersed. Bursting like a soap bubble, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The surrounding world was once again plunged into the haze of night, diluting the starry, acrid gloom.

Orune landed on the rock ledge, spat out blood, and wiped his lips clean. The old man didn’t move. The leaf, which now had a tiny hole in the center of it, continued to glide smoothly toward the forest.

“You’re still strong.” Orune wiped another trickle of blood away with the back of his hand.

What had just happened? How could a simple leaf force the great swordsman to retreat and even injure him? Injure a cultivator whose body had reached the Heaven level of toughness, and was being supported by a powerful defensive Technique as well!

“Let’s see how you handle this!”

Orune pushed off from the rock with such force that the broken ledge flew into the dark abyss. Hadjar felt the tremor with his feet. A sound wave crashed into the rocks. Orune left a white streak of energy behind in his wake.

The great swordsman crossed the distance between him and the old man faster than it took Hadjar to blink. Just before impact, he covered himself in a white lightning bolt, which became his armor. It was a defense that burned the very air around him and exploded with incredible force upon contact.

Hadjar had no doubt that if he’d merely found himself in the vicinity of that armor, he would’ve instantly disappeared.

Orune didn’t create a huge lightning blade this time, but his sword suddenly became so saturated with lightning that it emitted a blinding flash. It could be seen for several miles around, taking the lives of weak animals and birds.

The old man, without even looking up, lifted his cane a little, and then struck it against the bottom of his boat again, just a bit more firmly this time. It sounded like the creaking of an old, withered tree.

A thousand maple leaves appeared in front of Orune’s Technique. They swirled almost playfully, inconspicuous, light, and completely harmless. They trapped Orune in a tight cocoon, one so dense and cramped that the world turned dark again, and the recent bright flash disappeared, smothered by the leaves.

Hadjar couldn’t see what was happening inside it, but a few seconds later, the cocoon exploded in a torrent of lightning, which kept going, slamming into the ground and turning it into a pit. Trees and rocks disappeared into a white sphere. The lightning also struck the sky and turned the clouds into burning, plummeting rags.

Orune himself, bloodied and covered in hundreds of small cuts, flew back toward the mountain peak like a cannonball. He slammed into it back-first and brought down several more enormous stones in the process.

Coughing up blood, he fell to the plateau where Hadjar was standing. Upon closer inspection, Orune’s wounds weren’t just minor scratches. Each of the cuts was bone-deep.

“You know it’s useless to resist,” the old man wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with the edge of a white handkerchief. “Your cultivation level is simply too low to deal with me.”

“Really?” Orune’s breathing was heavy. “We’ll see, old man…”

He suddenly grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands, and then abruptly spread them apart. With a thunderclap, a shining white sword appeared in each of his hands. Orune roared like a savage beast and the world around them changed…

Chapter 814

“The second volume of the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique?” Hadjar asked.

“Yes.” The Keeper was still calmly sweeping the perfectly clean floor.

If the Keeper had created the trials for the sixth and seventh floors, then there was no doubt he’d performed a thorough search of Hadjar’s mind. He hadn’t done so on a whim, but to make the most difficult, useful, and feasible test for him.

“But Traves didn’t tell me anything about a second volume!”

“Your ancestor couldn’t have known about it,” the old golem bent down, picked up something Hadjar hadn’t managed to spot, and, with a grunt, put it in the pocket of his simple clothes. “The second volume is the secret behind the power of the current Emperor of the Dragon Lands.”

Hadjar was shocked. Just recently, he’d had a conversation with the foreign Master, who had actually turned out to be an envoy of the Dragon Lands. Despite their talk, Hadjar hadn’t found out why the dragon had really come to Darnassus. He certainly hadn’t come here to take a talented young disciple back with him. Only a few of the regions in the Dragon Lands were even suitable for human Lords to reside in, and that was only because their bodies were at the Earth level of toughness.

However, the Keeper had just casually told Hadjar something that could end up costing not just him, but the entirety of ‘The Holy Sky’ School… and Dahanatan as well, their lives!

“Why is this simple dragon Technique such a huge secret?” Hadjar asked.

The old man kept cleaning. It seemed like even the end of the world wouldn’t be able to make him stop doing his work.

“I’m just a simple golem, North Wind. I only know what my creator told me and what was once within the walls of the Treasure Tower.”

Hadjar pounced on those last few words more desperately than a starving cat would pounce on a mouse.

“So, you had the ‘Path Through the Stars’ scroll here in the Treasure Tower before?”

“No, North Wind. Such power would’ve probably destroyed the Tower and half the capital as well. No paper nor ink would’ve been able to convey its meaning.”

“No paper nor ink…” Hadjar repeated, mesmerized.

He’d heard the bards’ stories of Techniques so powerful that their very existence could destroy untrained cultivators. They were said to be stored in mythical vaults that didn’t involve them being written down, or even drawn. No one knew how this knowledge was supposed to be shared. Well, very few people actually believed the stories, even though they listened to them.

Hadjar had just received yet another confirmation that not all legends and stories were pure fiction.

“Then… How are you, wise Keeper, able to share the Technique with me?”

“Did I say that I would teach you anything?”

Hadjar thought about this, and then bowed low.

“I’m sorry, honorable Keeper. I may have gotten your words a little mixed up in my excitement.”

The old man nodded, indicating that his apology had been accepted. He’d really only promised to help Hadjar find the scroll, after all.

“Well, North Wind, are you ready to take my next trial?”

Was he ready for an unknown trial? One that only six disciples out of seventeen had been able to pass? At the end of the day, the seventh floor of the Treasure Tower was largely useless to Hadjar.

The ‘White Lightning Step’ movement Technique that he’d picked out on the fifth floor ended on the sixth. Consisting of eight volumes in total, it culminated in truly unimaginable heights of skill. However, only the first three volumes were stored in the Treasure Tower, which allowed one to progress up to the Heaven level of the Technique. The fourth and fifth volumes, which allowed one to progress up to the Imperial level of the Technique, could only be found in the library of the Imperial family and obtained through a direct decree by Emperor Morgan himself. Orune — may he end up forever stuck in a rotten swamp — had received the fourth and fifth volumes of the Technique that way.

That was why the seventh floor had nothing to offer to Hadjar. Was it even worth agreeing to such a completely absurd offer?

“I am,” he nodded.

“Are you sure, North Wind?” The old man stopped sweeping, leaned on his broom, and looked into Hadjar’s eyes. “Do you know what happened to those disciples that couldn’t handle my trial for the seventh floor?”

“I don’t.”

“All of them crippled their energy bodies to the point that they stepped back on the path of cultivation. Some had to devote many years to getting their former power back. It’s unlikely that any of them will ever be able to reach their old heights of glory. After hearing all of this, do you still want to go ahead with the trial?”

“I do,” Hadjar replied with far more determination than before.

He would meet his forefathers one way or another if he didn’t reach the Lord level in the next few years. Hera’s poison was like an inescapable death sentence. The timeframe was already an incredibly difficult test. There were almost no examples in history of a Spirit Knight reaching the Lord level in less than five years. It took centuries for those without much talent, and decades for the truly talented. And Hadjar was going to have to manage it in just a few years. To do so, he would have to combine internal and external energies, but because of his soul, which had been divided in half long ago, Hadjar couldn’t even use the latter.

He could only hope to find some sort of clue or loophole that would tell him how to overcome his restrictions in the ‘Path Through the Stars’ scroll.

“Okay.”

The old man turned his broom over and tapped the mosaics lightly. They began to move. Like dominoes, they fell into the darkness. Hadjar recoiled, but suddenly realized that he was standing right in the middle of the endless darkness, and yet, he could see clearly.

The Keeper was standing in front of him. He was still holding his broom, was still dressed in simple clothes, and he still had a slightly unkempt, thin beard, but something fundamental had changed about him. He looked like the powerful Storm Mountain — unapproachable, unwavering, and eternal.

“Play for me, North Wind,” the old man said, handing Hadjar a Ron’Jah. “Play me a song that the world has never heard before.”

Chapter 815

With trembling hands, Hadjar took the old, battered, once beautiful musical instrument. It looked like a cross between an Earth lute and a small guitar, but was more complicated. Memories flooded his mind.

“Dear Hadjar,” his mother had used to say as she taught him how to play. “Hold the instrument tightly, as if your life depended on it. Touch the strings gently and treat them like they’re your beloved’s heart. Play smoothly and calmly, as if you’re walking on the edge between life and death. But also be assertive and furious, as if there’s an enemy army in front of you and your wounded friend behind you. Play like you live, dear Hadjar. And live like you play.”

It was this very instrument that had earned him a piece of bread, and sometimes even a piece of dry meat, for many years during his darkest times. The instrument that had given him a way to survive. The same instrument that he’d left behind and forgotten about…

Only for a moment, while meeting the true form of his Spirit and realizing who he really was while advancing to the Spirit Knight level, had Hadjar remembered the Ron’Jah and what it had meant to him.

Hadjar’s heart was trembling even more than his hands. He touched the strings.

His calloused hands, which had forgotten the instrument, could only extract something ugly and indistinct from it, something like a random thunderclap spoiling a clear sky, like an impending, dark cloud moving into position over the heads of timid lovers out on their first date. Both of them would try to hide it as they raised their heads and prayed to all the gods that it would start raining later. Just a little bit later. And such was the sound created by Hadjar — ugly, but at the same time beautiful in its ability to give one hope.

He touched the strings again.

With a gust of wind, the sound burst into a silent world of total darkness.

Then came another sound. This one was like the muffled, broken cry of a man falling into the abyss. Then another and another…

Hadjar played and remembered all the time he’d spent alone with the Ron’Jah, wearing a leaky raincoat while the rain poured down on him from above. A legless freak with a slave collar around his neck, he’d caressed the strings more gently than newlyweds caressed each other. The instrument, as battered as he himself had been, had meant the world to him. It had been kinder than the sun and more vital than air. And yet he’d still left it behind, forgotten about it… And in doing so, without even realizing it, he’d left a part of himself behind as well. The part of him that had spent years in a hospital bed, looking out the window at the beautiful lights of the city at night, its wide river, the high spire above the old fortress, its cathedrals…

“Play me a song that the world has never heard before.” The Keeper had said, without realizing how simple that trial would be for Hadjar.

He didn’t even need his neural network’s help to play the song that had been the soundtrack to his powerless attempts to survive and prove to everyone that he, too, had a right to live under the sun.

His bloodied fingers that hadn’t touched the strings for a long time gave birth to the first sounds of an old ballad about bookworm children who knew nothing of true battles and were exhausted from dealing with their minor problems.

Hadjar awkwardly played and sang the old song that had given him solace as he’d read thousands of books  in his past life, on that distant, cold world called Earth.

After playing the final note, Hadjar didn’t put down the Ron’Jah. He just folded his hands over it and looked at the Keeper.

“That’s a beautiful song,” the golem said. He looked straight into Hadjar’s eyes. “And a beautiful world. It’s amazing, North Wind, that you come from a place where there is no path of cultivation and the World River is only a small stream, accessible to only a few people. But your world’s people still fought all the time... Why? What did they fight for, North Wind, if there was enough room for everyone under your sun?”

For a moment, Hadjar was ashamed of his attempt to cheat: if the Keeper was able to look into his soul, then his past on Earth would hardly be a secret.

“Don’t be afraid, North Wind. I’m not bound by simple oaths, but by the essence that my Creator imbued me with. I can’t tell anyone your secrets.”

Hadjar nodded.

“It must be difficult to know who your creator is,” he said suddenly.

The Keeper was silent at first, then finally answered:

“Not knowing would’ve been even more difficult.”

Hadjar wondered if there was a difference between humans created by the gods and golems created by cultivators. It seemed to him like there was some wisdom to be found there, but it was too complicated and destructive for the current Hadjar to try and grasp.

“I’m still waiting for a song, North Wind. One that this world hasn’t heard before.”

Hadjar raised his hand over the strings of the Ron’Jah and froze. The trial, which had seemed easy at first, turned out to be even easier. To a person who’d survived thanks to music alone, writing a new song wasn’t difficult, just like a wandering storyteller wouldn’t find it hard to come up with another story that would help feed them at night. If your next meal depended on your skills, then the inspiration never left you. Hadjar knew this from experience. During his life on Earth, he’d come up with dozens of songs, many of which had gone on to become hits.

However, his fingers didn’t come down on the strings just yet. Drops of blood landed on the instrument. The Keeper was simply standing there and looking at the frozen Hadjar.

Suddenly, he realized which of the wolves he was. No matter how much he wanted to think of himself as a gray wolf, he was actually one of the white ones.

When everything had been taken away from him, when he’d been given a trial that had stripped away everything that wasn’t part of his core self, he’d suddenly been rendered powerless. There’d been no need for him to overcome himself, or do anything heroic, or bleed as he cut through the ranks of enemy soldiers, besieged a fortress, and saved his homeland. He’d just needed to play a song. Even just the simplest kind of song that contained two words and three notes. But Hadjar hadn’t been able to do it, because during his many years of travelling, he’d forgotten who he really was.

“This song,” he cleared his throat, “is about a man who was looking for... looking for... looking for tomorrow. And every time he found it, he lost it again.”

His fingers touched the strings. He sang about a man who woke up every morning trying to find the tomorrow when he would finally see his friends again, hug his parents, stroke the hair of his beloved, see new countries, and visit new cities. But every time he found himself in tomorrow, he’d realize that it was just another today.

Hadjar played and sang, plunging deep into the story that he’d just made up. The Keeper, leaning on his broom, listened with slightly closed eyes. Even so, he saw more than Hadjar. The golem saw the frightened slave mark on Hadjar’s back tremble helplessly, the omnipresent wind flow around him in approval, and his very soul shine brightly.

Hadjar finished playing and was no longer in the hall filled with beautiful, elegant mosaics, where the fountains sparkled with precious stones. He was standing near the back entrance to the Tower. The treetops of the Forest of Knowledge were rustling. Disciples were bustling about. The Keeper was once more sweeping.

“A traveler’s diary that describes the ‘Path Through the Stars’ scroll is now in your spatial ring,” the golem said.

Hadjar clutched the battered, cracked, creaking Ron’Jah to his chest. Then, kneeling down, he set the instrument aside and touched his forehead to the ground.

“Thank you, wise Keeper.”

The old man just nodded and kept sweeping. Just before Hadjar disappeared around the bend, he whispered:

“Before you draw your sword, North Wind, remember all the things that you have given to this world. All that you have created and will leave behind is just a song about tomorrow. Always consider if it’s worth someone’s life first.”

Chapter 816

Sitting in the shade of an apple tree, one hand holding an apple he’d already bitten into, Hadjar read through a diary lying on his knee. It had probably been a very valuable travel journal once, but it looked far less presentable these days: the leather cover was cracked in places, and it was so leaky in others that it had exposed the yellowed pages to all sorts of damage and the edges of the pages were frayed and torn.

Nevertheless, the diary had withstood the passage of time. It had endured throughout the centuries, preserving the obscure writing within.

Fortunately, the language it was written in wasn’t too old, which meant that his neural network could decipher it. It still took it several minutes to translate each sentence. After a while, he finally saw a holographic projection: his neural network superimposed new text directly over the diary’s old pages, allowing him to read it.

...thirty years have passed since the demise of the Wandering Stumps…

Hadjar had no idea how a stump could wander or die. He presumed it was the name of an organization.

…I saw Tuur off on his trip to his forefathers. I sometimes dream about his funeral pyre at night… Sleep is eluding me…

The journal stopped there for a bit. The pages were too stained.

Then it started back up again.

We’ve been on another voyage for four years now. We are looking for a sea route to the Dragon Lands… Well, I’m looking for it, and my team believes that we are on the trail of untold treasure… In some ways, they aren’t even wrong…

Hadjar looked up from the yellowed pages. ‘The Holy Sky’ School was still maintaining an outward appearance of calm despite the unprecedented upheaval. The disciples were walking casually between the training grounds, lecture halls, and dormitories. A noisy crowd of people, who were preparing to go on another mission for the School, was gathering around the Hall of Fame. In the garden, there were several groups of disciples who were discussing the Tournament.

But all of it still felt like there was a taut string inside every person there. The disciples were always ready, day or night, for the Emperor to summon them to serve in his armies. The coming war filled the air with nervous energy.

...My Master is one of the last of the twelve Great Dragons…

Hadjar kept reading. He wondered how long ago this had all happened, since they hadn’t even had flying ships yet.

…Sometimes, I can still hear his voice… Hu Chun, the Blue Flame… But for some reason, he wears the face of Baron Recker... The sins of my past keep haunting me and, no matter how far I sail, they always catch up...

The next several pages were missing.

…Today is a full moon… It reminds me of the days I spent roaming the world with the Wandering Stumps. Those were probably the best years of my life… Yesterday, I heard the song, ‘Big Adventure’. The sailors were singing it... Many things in it weren’t true, but I still felt blue…

Hadjar couldn’t recall a song with such a name.

“Analysis,” he ordered.

[Processing request...

Request processed.

Estimated start date of the diary: 2300-2800 years ago]

Hmm, it really was quite old.

…I still remember Hu Chun’s stories. In a moment of carelessness, he’d told me about how, before he’d been banished to the Western Reaches, he’d once guarded the Treasury of the Emperor of the Dragon Lands. He told me all about the treasures that had been stored there: Divine level artifacts and Techniques both. However, he’d only really wanted to tell me about one particularly exciting treasure — the scroll that contained the second volume of the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique. He’d called it the ‘Path Through the Stars’…

Hadjar stopped reading once again and wearily massaged his temples. He should’ve known right away that the Imperial dragon family’s secret wouldn’t be kept in a mysterious dungeon or a lair full of demons, but in the treasury of the Dragon Lands’ capital. It would be difficult to find a more secure vault to store it in. Damn it all to every hell! Hadjar was certain that the Emperor had already reached the Immortal level, or even higher, if that was even possible.

…I think I’ll take a look at that treasury. I heard there was a pearl there that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow... It’ll fit right in with the rest of my collection. All I have to do is follow the map that Hu Chun drew for me. A map that will lead me to a copy of the key that

Hadjar closed the diary abruptly and looked around. There was no one nearby. The mere knowledge that there was a copy of the key to the Dragon Emperor’s Treasury could lead to the destruction of Darnassus!

Carefully monitoring his surroundings, he opened the next page of the diary. After glancing at it, he flipped through the remaining pages, saw that they were empty, and then, with an effort of will, turned the diary to dust.

A gust of wind picked it up and carried it away somewhere toward the horizon.

“Fucking shit! This isn’t funny… Another map? Are you serious?”

Last time Hadjar had used a map, it had almost led to his death in Greven’Dor and a horde of demons invading the Wastelands. Fortunately and unexpectedly, Helmer had intervened and killed them all.

“Hadjar!”

He shuddered and jumped up from the bench, drawing the Black Blade in the process. When he realized who’d startled him, he swore. Fortunately, Dora was already used to his occasional weirdness.

“Are you all right, my friend?” Einen raised an eyebrow.

“Yep.” It wasn’t every day that he unearthed knowledge that could destroy the Empire, but at this point, Hadjar was used to insane things like that happening to him. “Didn’t we agree to meet at the exit?”

“We did.” Dora looked at him curiously. “But that was three days ago. We searched the whole School before we found you here.”

Three days…

Einen gestured at the jade token hanging on Hadjar’s chest.

“I see you completed the trial successfully.”

“I did. Now, tell me… Why are you both in such a rush?”

“You were gone for three days!” Dora said. “Because we were searching for you, we didn’t have time to prepare for the auction.”

“The auction?”

“Weren’t you going to sell Ana’Bree’s Core there? The underground auction for the nobility starts in three hours.”

Hadjar couldn’t even swear, he was so weary.

Chapter 817

“I know you trust her completely, but-”

“You should trust her, too,” Einen interrupted. “If it wasn’t for Dora, we wouldn’t even be here.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hadjar sighed. “I don’t doubt her loyalty to you in the least, but she might be bound by oaths we don’t know anything about.”

The blade of a knife flashed as Einen pulled it out of the folds of his country’s traditional white robes. Hadjar didn’t react, as the friends trusted each other.

“Are you going to cut your nails with that knife?” Hadjar whispered.

The two of them and Dora, who was a little ahead of them, were walking… not along a dungeon or sewer, as the name ‘Underground Auction’ might’ve implied, but in the middle of a large procession of people. One of the main streets of the trade district of Dahanatan had been emptied out for this occasion. Fireworks exploded in the sky. Barefoot children scurried everywhere, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Thousands of nobles flocked to a building that looked like a pyramid. Its large sign read, ‘Main Auction House’. The name was very straightforward.

Underground auction, my ass! Hadjar thought. This is the equivalent of calling the upcoming war between Lascan and Darnassus a small, covert operation!

“This is a special artifact. If you ask a person a question they can’t answer, and if they hold this knife in their hands when you do, it will start to shine with a golden light.”

Hadjar chuckled respectfully. Such an artifact could play a significant role if used at the right time.

“It must’ve cost a lot of money.”

“No more than a life,” Einen retorted in his usual philosophical tone.

“How long do you two intend to keep whispering?” Dora slowed down and squeezed in between the two friends. “And will you tell me your plan already?”

“Is this auction always so... subtle?” Hadjar asked in response.

One of the hurrying nobles nudged him on the shoulder, apologized to him, and then disappeared into the crowd. Legionnaires and guards lined the street. Maybe he was being paranoid, but they seemed to be looking at him with a great deal of hostility.

“It’s a tribute to our tradition,” Dora explained. “Back in the old days, when Darnassus wasn’t at its best, auctions were strictly forbidden. And so, the nobles, in order to facilitate the exchange of knowledge and rare items, created an underground auction. And don’t change the subject! What’s your plan?”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. The islander tucked the knife back into the folds of his clothing.

They both trusted Dora… to a certain extent. Einen was even in love with her. But life had taught both of them that even the most reliable things could be used in the most perverse manner sometimes. Still, Einen answered her, “We’re going to sell the Core.”

Dora almost stumbled and then paused to stare at the islander walking beside her.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Nope. We’re absolutely serious,” Hadjar said.

“You do realize that this Core is of enormous strategic importance?” Dora, in her anger, had almost started shouting, but, after coming to her senses, she lowered her voice. Although, since Einen’s protective spell was covering them anyway, she needn’t have bothered. “Have you seen the ‘Fury of the Mortal Skies’? That new, huge ship?”

“Yes.”

“My father told me it wouldn’t even be able to take off without Ana’Bree’s Core to power it!”

“As I recall, it hovered quite easily over the Lake of Dreams,” Hadjar shrugged.

“And that’s all it can do right now! It hovered there to intimidate the Lascanian spies and the ambassadors of the other Empires. His Imperial Majesty spent half a year’s worth of the entire fleet’s energy crystals on that one short flight!”

Hadjar knew Dora was right. Moreover, he understood perfectly well why Morgan had really invited so many ambassadors to the Tournament of the Twelve. He hadn’t done it to show respect or create a festive atmosphere. He had wanted to show the potential vultures who might’ve been hoping to take a bite out of their country while they fought the war that such actions could prove fatal for them.

“If the Imperial Family needs this Core so badly, they can simply buy it.”

Dora opened and closed her mouth like a stranded fish.

They soon came to the entrance of the auction building. Two Nameless level guards met them at the door.

“Hand over your spatial artifacts,” one of the warriors growled out at them. Apparently, Hadjar had been right about the hostile attitude of the guards.

All three of them handed their spatial artifacts over: Hadjar handed over his ring, Einen his chain, and Dora handed over her hair clip.

“Weapons and armor are not permitted inside the Auction House. Any fighting will be seen as an attack on the crown. Is that clear?”

“It is.” They said in unison.

“Good.” A rectangular amulet made from an unusual metal appeared in the hands of one of the Nameless. He held it over the artifacts of the trio and they flashed with magic runes, just like that time they’d been scanned at the entrance to the Forbidden City. “Best of luck.”

The guards moved aside and let his friends in. However, before Hadjar could follow them inside, one of the guards caught him by the arm.

“One wrong move on your part and I swear by all the gods that I’ll personally send you to your forefathers.”

Hadjar didn’t like this man’s blatantly arrogant approach.

“Was saving the Emperor’s life what you would call a wrong move? I didn’t see you guys anywhere that night.”

An incredibly powerful aura almost descended upon him, but then the other guard grabbed his partner’s shoulder.

“He isn’t worth it,” the wiser guard whispered, and then said to Hadjar, “Go on, Hadjar Darkhan, and try not to attract our attention.”

Hadjar bowed slightly to the second guard, turned on his heel, and went inside.

He didn’t know that he was being closely watched by those who’d lost a lot of their honor when their target had been able to avoid death twice. The Dead Moon clan couldn’t afford to make another mistake…

Chapter 818

The inside of the auction house also looked like a pyramid. The only difference was that, from the outside, it looked like a pyramid with its top pointing at the sky, while from the inside, its top was pointing downwards.

The nobles sat on hundreds of rows of tiered red benches and tables. The closer you got to the stage, where an auctioneer was already standing, the fewer seats there were. It was obvious to Hadjar that the lower their seat was, the higher the status of a guest. There were exactly 999 rows of seats. Maybe there was some sort of deeper meaning in that number that Hadjar wasn’t aware of.

“Where are we going?” Hadjar asked. He didn’t care about where he would be sitting.

He noticed that, the closer the guests were to the stage, the less pretentious and colorful their clothes became, and they even wore less jewelry. And the closer to the entrance the guests were, the more colorful and expensive their clothes became. Not to mention the fact they were positively covered in precious metals and stones. This proved once again that those who knew their own value didn’t need to show off. It was just like a brothel: the most elite employees of a brothel always looked more modest than the rest. They didn’t have to advertise or show off because everyone who needed to know about them already did.

High society had always seemed like a gigantic, complicated brothel to Hadjar. They had the same mores and motives, just with different approaches.

“We’ll be sitting in the third row from the bottom,” Dora said, leading them to a set of stairs. There were four of them in total, and the one they were going down looked a little deserted compared to the other three.

“So high,” Hadjar whistled. Einen remained silent. “Or is it low? At court, you never know if you’ll get to rise or if somebody-”

“-will bring you down.” A voice boomed behind him.

Hadjar didn’t even need to turn around to recognize the speaker — Galkhad, one of the junior heirs of the Eternal Mountain clan, a giant whose physique didn’t much differ from that of the steppe orcs of Lascan.

“Greetings, Hadjar.” Galkhad held out his hand. Hadjar shook it. Not so long ago, they’d wanted to kill each other, but life was complicated. These days, they were allies united by a common goal. “I want to congratulate you on passing the trials of the Treasure Tower.”

“Greetings, Galkhad.” Hadjar said with a nod. The giant winked at him.

Anise, who was walking behind the giant, nodded stiffly. Her brother, Tom Dinos, just snorted. He was a strange fellow, this junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan. Sometimes, he seemed like a reliable and strong warrior, and other times, he appeared to be nothing more than an arrogant moron with an inflated ego.

“I wanted to warn you, Hadjar.” Anise, moving around Galkhad, caught up with him. “All the nobles already know what you’ve brought to the auction. Emperor Morgan himself gave the order that no one is to buy the Core from you under any circumstances. When the auctioneer starts the bidding, everyone will remain silent and you will leave with nothing.”

Hadjar knew she was right. The minimum possible bid for any artifact was one Imperial coin. And while some artifacts ended up fetching an astronomically high price, the participants of the auction and the employees of the auction house, who would blend into the crowd and try to add fuel to the bidding war’s fire, were the ones who ultimately determined the cost of any lot that came up.

“Thank you for your concern, Anise. If I’m not mistaken, you also seem to have an offer for me?”

Anise’s eyes darkened slightly. She clearly didn’t like any of this, especially after what had happened between them in Greven’Dor.

“My... my...” she struggled for a moment, then blurted out, “The Head of the Predatory Blades clan is willing to offer you one and a half million Imperial coins.”

If it hadn’t been for those ten years of his life he’d spent as a freak show performer, Hadjar would’ve definitely been unable to maintain a neutral expression. Everyone gasped and looked thunderstruck. One and a half million Imperial coins… The entire district belonging to the poorest of the seven great clans of Darnassus, the Sky Wind clan, would be much cheaper to buy than that. It was unlikely that the Predatory Blades clan, for all their undeniable power, could afford to spend so much. In other words, Emperor Morgan himself had made this offer with the Predatory Blades clan Head acting as his mouthpiece.

“Tempting… But I have to decline. I’m sorry, there’s more at stake here than just money.”

“Just money?” Galkhad cried out indignantly. “One and a half million… Hadjar, that isn’t just money, that’s an entire country or an army at your disposal!”

Galkhad composed himself and shook his head. The six cultivators didn’t speak another word. They sat down in the third row, where the heirs of all the great clans were gathered. Hadjar was surprised to realize that he knew some of them. In the second row sat the Heads of the great clans. By the way, some of them had multiple wives, which wasn’t forbidden by Darnassian law, but was still frowned upon in this society of strong cultivators.

The well-known fact was that the bond of a true union could only connect two cultivators, no more than that. There were cases when they connected same-sex people, but they never formed between several cultivators at once. This meant that such polygamous unions were coldly calculating.

In the front row, in addition to the Imperial family, including Morgan himself, sat the ambassadors of the other Empires and some people whom Hadjar hadn’t seen before. He recognized one of them from Orune’s description of him. He concluded that they were probably ‘great’ warriors, or, as the bards called them, the ‘great heroes of Darnassus’. Counting Orune, there were five or so of them in total in the Empire. One had been reported missing and two others were presumed dead, but no one had seen their bodies. So, it was quite possible that there were more great heroes running around, unaccounted for.

When the hall was finally full, the auctioneer, dressed in a solemn, black doublet, took the floor.

“I’m happy to welcome you all to this year’s Underground Auction!” According to tradition, the hall responded with deathly silence. “Today, we’ll present to you the greatest wonders of our homeland! I hope everyone finds something to their liking. So, without further ado, I am proud to present the first lot of this evening!”

The auctioneer waved his hand grandiosely and a gray veil fell off the pedestal standing next to him.

A murmur of delight immediately rippled through the ranks, gradually turning into desperate voices and shouts. On the stand was a classic sword with a narrow blade. Sometimes, blue flashes ran through the length of its blade.

“It is my honor to present a Divine level artifact! The Blue Wind Sword! With each swing, thanks to its masterful craftsmanship, it is able to generate a stream of cutting wind equal in power to a Heaven level sword Technique!”

Hadjar saw Emperor Morgan turn toward him and wink.

The Head of the Predatory Blades clan raised his hand and said:

“100,000 Imperial coins!”

“100,000 going once… 100,000 going twice…”

“150,000!” Shouted someone behind him.

“150,000 going once…”

“170,000!” Came from somewhere off to his side.

Hadjar closed his eyes and exhaled. He’d been certain that Morgan would play dirty. But this was simply too dirty! Fucking hell!

Chapter 819

“720,000 going twice… Sold!” The auctioneer hit the sound block with his gavel.

Several employees entered the room. Each of them was an advanced-stage Spirit Knight.

“Thank you, thank you.” Brustor gratefully nodded in response to the applause.

Several frustrated nobles who’d also been competing for the lot sat back down and crossed their arms in disapproval. Hadjar wasn’t surprised to see that all the guests who’d bid on the Blue Wind Sword were seated in the lower rows. After all, only they had the necessary funds. Nobles from all over Darnassus had come to attend the Tournament, even the most notorious Barons and Dukes from truly distant lands, but few of them could compete with the true elite.

A small wooden plaque with a strange hieroglyph on one side was deposited on the table in front of Brustor. His spatial artifact, just like everyone else’s, was sealed with magic, so he hid the plaque inside his sleeve.

“Congratulations on your victory, venerable Head of the Predatory Blades clan.” The auctioneer bowed again. “Now, for the next lot…”

Hadjar was gritting his teeth. Morgan had killed several birds with one stone and was now tempting him to accept a clearly lowball offer. Ana’Bree’s Core couldn’t possibly be worth a mere 1,500,000 Imperial coins. He was sure it was worth at least ten times that.

Give me a status report on the Black Blade, Hadjar ordered mentally.

[Request processing...

Request processed.

The Black Blade is 21.76% toward its next evolution.]

And how much would absorbing a Divine level artifact evolve it?

[Request processing...

Request processed.

The evolution percentage in such a case is 9.5%.]

So, in order for the Black Blade to turn into a Divine level artifact and get a ‘primary property’ — Hadjar had no clue what exactly these properties were, how they manifested, or what they even did — it would have to absorb about eight or nine Divine level artifacts. In addition, by merging the Black Blade with an artifact, he’d be able to use two Techniques simultaneously, which would make him as powerful as an ambidextrous swordsman.

Of course, Morgan had no idea about the Black Blade’s properties, but he understood that such a weapon would’ve been a perfect fit for Hadjar. He must’ve emptied his treasury of everything that had been left in it after the previous Tournament of the Twelve in order to bait him with these precious lots.

According to the rumor mill, even if you included all the legendary items in the number, there were only about a dozen Divine level artifacts in the entire Empire.

“May I have your attention, please!” The auctioneer declared and pulled the cover off the next pedestal that had been placed on the stage. The attendees gasped and then fell silent, holding their breath. “This is a Divine level artifact, the Lotus Blossom Armor. If you are attacked while wearing it, the lotus buds depicted on its surface will open up and absorb a quarter of the energy and mysteries contained within the attack.”

An exquisite, white robe appeared before them. It glittered in the light, depicting lotus blossoms dancing atop the snow. The petals were gliding gently, as if they were being carried by the wind. The armor almost looked alive.

Hadjar did his best to appear calm. This was the most unusual set of ‘armor’ he’d ever seen. It wasn’t made of metal, but a strange, woven material instead, like the dragon Master’s handkerchief. Glancing at the aforementioned Master, Hadjar noticed that he was showing a great deal of interest in what was happening on stage as well. Were Divine level artifacts as valuable in the Dragon Lands as Imperial level ones were in Darnassus?

He wondered if he’d eventually be able to remake his Call so that it no longer looked like a bulky pile of metal. He preferred fighting in loose clothing as it allowed for greater mobility.

“150,000 Imperial coins! Going once…”

The battle for the armor began. At first, almost half of the audience took part in it, but the higher the numbers went, the faster they all backed down. Soon, the price reached a quarter of a million Imperial coins. Some baronies weren’t worth as much. Not everyone could freely throw so much coin around.

Out of the four people that were still bidding, Hadjar recognized two of them: Galkhad’s father, the Head of the Eternal Mountain clan, and the Head of House Tarez. The other two were nobles of the seventh and sixth rank, judging by their low seats.

“You’d better back off, Tulio,” the giant growled like a bear. “840,000!”

“840,000 Imperial coins! Going once…”

“Why should I?” A nobleman wearing a black robe rose from his seat with a laugh. “One million Imperial coins!” He shouted.

“Do you still hope that your daughter will be able to win the Tournament, you worthless scum?” Salm Tarez, who looked like a Christmas tree with all his jewelry, asked. The glint of his expensive clothing and the precious stones he was practically drowning in was slightly blinding. “1,100,000!”

“None of your gods-damned business!” The nobleman’s eyes narrowed. The fourth bidder silently sat back down. Hadjar figured that he was an employee of the auction house. “1,150,000!”

“1,150,000 Imperial coins! Going once…”

“1,200,000!” Danahead barked.

“Fucking idiot!” Salm laughed. “1,300,000! Your sons would look like idiots in that armor! By the way, Brustor, why don’t you want to buy such a lovely outfit? Your son would surely appreciate it.”

“You’ve got no room to talk, Salm,” Brustor said calmly. “Aren’t you buying it for your son?”

“Why would I buy something so ugly for him? No, dear friends, I’ll dress a concubine up in it, and then make love to her!” He said casually, despite the fact that his three wives were sitting right next to him. “Two million!”

The audience gasped. No Divine level artifact was worth two million Imperial coins. If someone managed to damage it, there wouldn’t be a craftsman in all of Darnassus capable of repairing such a powerful work of art. That was why artifacts of high quality and level were expensive, but not too expensive, as they were an investment that often didn’t pay off.

“Two million Imperial coins! Going once...” The auctioneer began counting down with a gasp. The audience had already calmed down a little. “Two million going twice…”

“I won’t forget this, Salm!” Danahead shouted, slamming his fist down on the armrest of his chair.

The Tarez Head ignored the threat. Soon, a plaque with another strange hieroglyph was placed in front of him. Whispers spread throughout the many rows of guests, all united in one single thought — the damned aristocrats were going too far. The Emperor watched the auction with a half-smile.

The third lot was brought out onto the stage.

“Honorable ladies and gentlemen! Please, may I have your attention! This is one of the highlights of this evening!” Only silence greeted him once again. “The Steel Heart Pill!”

This time, Hadjar couldn’t hold back and started swearing.

Chapter 820

Alchemy in the seven Empires was at a fairly advanced level, but it definitely wasn’t as advanced as it was in the Dragon Lands. The Lords of the Heavens, who’d already made major breakthroughs back in the days when people had only just started building their first wooden settlements, had reached truly astonishing heights in alchemy. All those ‘legendary’ pills that had been ‘found in catacombs or ancient tombs’ had actually come from the dragons. Including the Steel Heart Pill. After taking one, any cultivator, even if they were still just a Heaven Soldier, would instantly ascend to the peak of the Lord level.

Of course, such great power came with a steep price: by taking the pill, the cultivator would put an end to any further cultivation. They’d never advance beyond the Lord level, and the Spirit that would accompany them through life would be the one that the alchemist had implanted in the pill. This particular alchemist had bound the Steel Dog Spirit within his creation.

“I understand your excitement, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer said with a touch of amusement. “It’s rare to see something so priceless offered up at an auction. There’s no point in bidding, of course,” the auctioneer bowed. “Only Emperor Morgan himself could afford to buy it. Therefore, as always, we offer you a trade: give us an item or service equal in value to this pill instead! The starting bid is 100,000 Imperial coins! Each of the proposed items must be presented for evaluation, and every service guaranteed by an oath!”

The audience immediately started applauding.

Peak-stage Lords were close to the very top of the Darnassian cultivation path. After advancing so far, a cultivator could count on eternal honor, respect, and prosperity for both themselves and their family. And since not even all of the clan heads could reach this level of cultivation, Lords were considered the elite of the elite. Only the Nameless, who were viewed as being on par with the gods themselves in Darnassus, could compete with them. However, in each of the seven Empires, there were about a dozen Nameless at best. This meant that the peak-stage Lords were often the true movers and shakers of the Empires, since they were more numerous and still powerful enough to make a difference. Many people were prepared to give up even their most precious treasures for a pill that, regardless of their talent, the time they spent practicing, or the effort they put into cultivating, could grant them such immense power.

“I’ll give you my niece for that pill!” Brustor shouted, jumping to his feet. “Anise Dinos, a peak-stage Spirit Knight, will marry anyone the owner of the pill wishes her to!”

Galkhad struck the table in front of him with his fist. The echo of the punch was so strong that the resulting wind ruffled the hair and clothing of those sitting near him.

“How dare you?” He roared. “Anise Dinos is my-”

“Sit down, Galkhad!” Danahead cut him off harshly. “You’re a disgrace to your family. It’s high time I put an end to this childish crush of yours. I’ve already picked a suitable wife for you.”

Galkhad’s eyes flashed with steel and flame. “I won’t forget this,” he whispered as he sank back down into his seat and withdrew his hand into the folds of his clothes.

“Don’t do it, Galkhad,” Anise said softly. “It’s not worth it.”

“Maybe,” the giant growled, “but you’re worth everything to me.”

With those words, he placed a sealed scroll on the table. Hadjar didn’t need his neural network’s help to figure out just how ancient it was. It could’ve very well been older than Darnassus itself.

“I offer a copy of the scroll I received in Decater’s treasury!” He thundered. “The blacksmith who learns from it will gain the ability to create Divine level artifacts!”

The hall fell silent. Hadjar looked at the giant in surprise, now seeing him in a whole new light. Maybe he, as was fitting for any aristocrat, had taken part in his father’s schemes, but when it counted, he’d truly made a stand.

“Son, you-”

“Listen to me, and listen carefully!” Galkhad put his hand on the coat of arms embroidered on his sleeve. “From this day onward, I, Galkhad, am no longer a member of the Eternal Mountain clan! May the great forefathers disown me and may my blood rot!”

Gripping the fabric tightly, he tore off his sleeve. Blood trickled down his arm. Dripping onto the table, it spread out into a wide, purple stain. He’d not only destroyed the embroidery, he’d also torn off the piece of his flesh that his family’s coat of arms had been tattooed on. Some applauded his bold move, while others insulted him, calling him deranged and ungrateful. Galkhad spat at his father’s feet and held his head high.

Watching all of this, Hadjar couldn’t help but respect the giant and his brave, albeit reckless, decision. Renouncing his family meant he was endangering his very afterlife, not to mention the fact he’d lose all the privileges his aristocratic blood had given him. In a century or two, he’d no longer have the same monstrous energy reserves his former relatives would still have.

The wound turned into an ugly scar. The World River had heard and accepted Galkhad’s vow, leaving behind only grief and ugliness.

For a moment, Danahead looked like someone had stabbed him right in the heart. His wife, who was sitting next to him, silently cried. Both of them looked like they’d aged decades in just a second, as if something had drained their life force.

“I’m inviting my friends to my house tomorrow night. To a funeral,” the giant said dryly and sat down, crossing his shaking hands over his chest. “My son, Galkhad, died today.”

“What a show!” Salm was beaming with happiness. He applauded Galkhad and sympathetically nodded at Danahead, then turned to the auctioneer. “Go on then, we’re all dying to see what happens next.”

The auctioneer cleared his throat. “Galkhad the Nameless has offered a copy of a blacksmithing scroll that contains a Technique that will allow a blacksmith to create Divine level artifacts. The approximate cost of such an item is 37,000,000 Imperial coins, which fully covers the cost of the Steel Heart Pill. Does anyone else wish to bid?”

While everyone else was whispering, Hadjar got up and walked over to Galkhad. As did Einen and… Tom.

“I can’t offer you my friendship right now, giant,” Hadjar said and held out his hand. “But know that as long as my heart beats, whenever you need my sword, it’s yours.”

“And my spear.” Einen held out his hand as well.

“And my sword.” Tom repeated the gesture.

Galkhad, who’d been lost in thought until then, snapped out of it and smiled faintly. He shook hands with each of them. “My axe is always with you as well.”

“Look at that!” Laris Dinos, the senior heir of the Predatory Blades clan, said and pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “You don’t get to see such heartwarming scenes even in the best of love stories. And for what? For the sake of a cheap-”

Anise unleashed her murderous aura.

“Pray to the gods, you worthless piece of shit,” she hissed, “that you don’t have to fight me in the next round.”

Laris grimaced, and then grinned to cover it up.

“Oh, no, dearest cousin, I’ll be praying to the gods for a chance to kill you,” he said. “As well as a chance to get to know your boyfriend a lot better. Oh, just looking at him makes me shiver all over!”

“By the gods, you’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are, Laris.” Hadjar said with an eye-roll.

They all sat back down.

Hadjar was fully aware that by offering his help to Galkhad, he’d added himself to Danahead’s list of mortal enemies. But considering all the other problems he had right now, that didn’t seem like a pressing matter. He would’ve done the same thing even if Galkhad had been from the Imperial family. He respected people who didn’t view honor and dignity as little more than pretty words. He would gladly fight alongside such people. He would never hesitate to support such a rare breed, even if he bled for it.

For the next forty-five minutes, the rest of the nobles tried their best to outbid Galkhad. They offered up all sorts of treasures, but no one even came close to matching the incredible sum of 37,000,000 Imperial coins.

Chapter 821

Over the next three hours, all sorts of treasures were sold and exchanged at the auction. Four in total were Divine level artifacts, and one of them was a spear that, just like the sword and armor, had had some cultivators trying very hard to get it. In the end, it had went to the Geran family. Nobody knew where one of the poorest major clans had managed to get so much money.

The last Divine level artifact ended up selling for more than all the previous three combined. It was a small house, a spatial artifact similar to Decater’s tomb, which contained space equal to a five-bedroom manor within it. According to the auctioneer, a living organism could even be placed inside it. This item, a rare gem, especially when compared to the norm of Darnassian spatial artifacts, was immediately demonstrated on an employee of the auction house. After that, it was sold to the ambassador of the Chaverie Empire for 17,000,000 Imperial coins, paid in a few Primordial monster Cores, some rare pills, and a couple of Imperial level Technique scrolls.

The attendees gradually got more riled up and excited as time passed. Everyone knew that the rarest and most valuable items were always left for last.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The auctioneer, slightly tired by now but still smiling, pulled the veil off another item. “I’m proud to present the crown jewel of this evening.”

Whispers filled the hall. The scroll lying on the brocade pillow could end up being anything, and the crowd was already speculating wildly.

“I’m happy to inform you that this is the only one of its kind. You won’t find such a scroll anywhere else in Darnassus. The owner even swore an oath to verify this claim! This is the Divine level sword Technique, ‘Instant of Death’.”

“By the demons and gods!” Anise and Tom exclaimed in unison.

A tsunami of enthusiastic shouts surged out from the rows of attendees.

“I’d bet my life on this scroll being part of the Imperial family’s Inheritance,” Galkhad whispered. He looked much calmer now. Over the past couple of hours, he’d come to terms with his decision.

All five of them, including Einen, turned to Hadjar.

“What?” He asked.

“What?” Dora replied indignantly. “Don’t you understand that this offer was made especially for you?”

“54,000,000 Imperial coins!” The auctioneer shouted, silencing the audience with the sheer ridiculousness of the sum.

The entire district of the Green Hammer clan, which was considered to be the largest and most valuable of all the major clan districts, wasn’t worth that much. Even the ‘Fury of the Mortal Skies,’ the fastest, most powerful, and most modern warship had cost maybe a fourth of that to build.

With that much money at his disposal, he could build his own fleet. It would have at least three battleships, five galleons, ten frigates, forty corvettes, and he’d even be able to maintain it for a century with the leftover money! Or he could build a castle that wouldn’t be inferior to the Forbidden City itself.

“The Emperor is offering to trade that Divine level Technique for Ana’Bree’s Core,” Dora explained the Emperor’s hint. “Just think about it, Hadjar! With it, you’ll be able to reach the same heights of power as the great Or-”

Einen covered Dora’s mouth.

“Hadjar warned me not to speak his name in vain,” the islander said calmly.

For all his wit and cunning, Einen sometimes struggled to understand humor.

“Maybe,” Hadjar replied, neither denying nor confirming her words.

The ‘White Lightning Sword’ and the ‘White Lightning Step’ Techniques that Orune had created were at the Divine level. Hadjar had seen the power that Orune — demons takes him — could extract from them with his own eyes. It hadn’t just been amazing and terrifying to witness, either, but it had also made Hadjar think about the essence of the Sword and had given him inspiration and insight. Just seeing the Techniques being wielded had granted him so much knowledge. If he had such a Technique at his disposal, comprehending the Kingdom of the Sword would only be a matter of time.

“Does anyone want to try bidding on the item?”

No one did, but they were clearly annoyed as they sat there silently. Only the dragon Master sat calmly, as if nothing particularly important was happening. Perhaps Techniques of such a level weren’t all that uncommon or valuable in the Dragon Lands, unlike artifacts of the same level. Or maybe he just didn’t want to reveal that he was rich — the handkerchief he’d left for Hadjar was worth at least half a million Imperial coins.

“Too bad.” The auctioneer put the veil back on the scroll, and the pillow it was resting on was carried away by a group of Spirit Knights and a dozen Imperial guards led by a Nameless.

While everyone else was watching the Divine Technique leave the hall, Morgan turned to Hadjar. Their eyes met. The warrior saw a hint of discontent and an ocean of curiosity in the Emperor’s gaze. The man had no doubt that he’d get the Core eventually, but he couldn’t comprehend what exactly it was that Hadjar wanted. Given how closely the young warrior had been watched, there was no way that he could’ve delivered the Core to the auction house on his own. Morgan looked at Einen, then back at Hadjar, shrugged in a barely noticeable manner, and turned away again. He was pretty sure he knew who the courier had been.

Hadjar, in turn, was willing to bet his life on Einen not having spoken a word about the Core. Other cultivators couldn’t understand the complete trust the two of them had in each other.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Einen just nodded.

“This is the last lot of the evening, honorable ladies and gentlemen! A star in our sky! An item whose appearance alone will be a wonder you tell your grandchildren about one day! And then they’ll tell their grandchildren’s grandchildren about it! Please, settle down! Settle down!” With a slightly trembling hand, the auctioneer removed the last veil. “The heart of the ancient fae, Ana’Bree!”

On the pedestal lay a blue, shimmering stone.

“A Core of such immense power is truly a bottomless well of energy! Its total energy capacity is equal to two hundred thousand storage crystals. And the full recovery time of all that energy is no longer than three days! Since a treasure like this is priceless, its owner will only trade it in exchange for a service.”

The awed silence was replaced by enthusiastic whispers. Many hadn’t believed that fae even existed in this day and age, so getting to see the heart of one of them in person was as surprising to them as seeing a god would’ve been. They didn’t regret coming here at all.

“What is the owner asking for?” The Emperor’s voice rang out.

The auctioneer turned pale, then cleared his throat and unfolded a scroll.

“To quote the owner: ‘In return for the heart of Ana’Bree, the ice fae, mistress of Greven’Dor, and Sidhe of the Winter Court, I ask that you grant full citizenship to the regions known as the Islands and the barbarian Kingdoms of Lidus, Balium, Tarkir, Alostein, Permis, and their ilk.’”

The nobles began to exchange confused glances. Many of them hadn’t even heard of these remote and insignificant provinces.

“Full citizenship?”

“That’s right, Your Imperial Majesty.” The auctioneer bowed.

Full citizenship meant that all the listed provinces would be granted equal rights within the Empire. Their level of cultivation would no longer be artificially controlled. They would be given full access to the domestic markets, as well as the opportunity to participate in the same activities as the rest of the country and develop just like all the other fully integrated provinces. Schools, smithies, laboratories, roads, and sky ports would be built on their territories and protection provided to their citizens. Instead of tribute, they’d pay taxes that would go toward the development of these regions. And all their rulers and nobles would have the same rights as Darnassian nobility. No longer would they just be insignificant vassals, but a real part of the Empire. However, given that they hadn’t been claimed by Darnassus just yet, any other Empire could…

“The Chaverie Empire offers citizenship!” A tall, thin man jumped to his feet.

“The Gazargaz Empire offers citizenship!” A fat man cried out as well.

“The-” The third ambassador started to rise, but then sat back down nervously after seeing Morgan suddenly appear in the middle of the stage. The auctioneer immediately bowed to him and retreated into the shadows.

“Darnassus hasn’t offered full citizenship to anyone in almost seventeen centuries… I have to admit that this is a reasonable price to pay for such a rare item,” he said and turned toward the hall. He made eye contact with Hadjar and grinned. “If I’m to grant anyone full citizenship, I must know who I’m going to give it to! Whoever the owner is, identify yourself, and tell us why you’re so worried about the wellbeing of these regions. Otherwise, using my right as the owner of this auction house, I’ll set the price for the Core myself: a single Imperial coin.”

His threat didn’t surprise anyone, as he was entirely within his rights to do so.

“I see the owner is still-”

“I demand it!” A voice thundered, as strong as steel and as sharp as a sword. “I, Hadjar Darkhan, born Hadjar Duran, General of the Moon army and the former Prince of the Kingdom of Lidus, demand it!”

“As do I!” Another voice sounded, as piercing as a spear. “Einen Kesalia, a pirate from the Island of the One-legged Sailor.”

The hall fell silent.

Galkhad, Anise, Tom, and Dora looked up at the two friends standing side by side in disbelief and amazement.

“A pirate and a General,” the Emperor drawled, “Or should I say… Two wanted criminals? Guards, arrest these two.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!” The two Nameless who’d been standing outside the auction house a couple of hours ago shouted in unison.

But even before they drew their weapons and took a step forward, a white lightning bolt shot down through the roof of the building, and the figure of a half-naked man appeared in front of Morgan, clutching two lightning swords.

“Anyone who takes a step toward my disciple and his friend will die where they stand!” Orune thundered.

Chapter 822

Protected by a shield of runes and the Sword’s mysteries, Hadjar watched two of the great heroes of Darnassus fight.

Orune spread his arms out, and a sword woven out of lightning appeared in each of his hands. The world around him suddenly changed. Everything became his Sword. Every breath of wind carried within it a blow so powerful that the stones turned to dust that was instantly scattered across the sky. Lightning speared across the ground in the blink of an eye, covering it in hundreds of cuts and cracks. The sudden burst of power tore through the air, shredding the clouds that floated above them. Rocks and dirt rained down from the sky.

Orune seemed to have become one with his swords and the world around him. The air, the light, the rocks, even the trees... All of it seemed to bend to his will. His understanding of his weapons seemed to be much deeper than even Hadjar’s understanding of the Black Blade. The young warrior had no doubt that if Orune so wished, he could easily kill everything in a one-mile radius right now.

What stood in front of Hadjar right now was a prime example of the true Kingdom of the Sword. This level of swordsmanship didn’t just combine all the previous levels, but actually merged the sword, its wielder, and the world around them into one single entity.

With a sharp exhale, Orune slashed the air diagonally, first with one, and then the other blade. The thundering roar of the released energy burst Hadjar’s eardrums despite the shield covering him. Two intersecting lightning bolts shot down from the dark sky. A single one of these lightning bolts contained enough power and energy to destroy half of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

The two slashes merged, and, together with the whole world around them, aimed at a single target — an old man standing in the center of a boat.

Nodding to himself, the rector let go of his cane, but instead of falling, the thin wooden stick straightened up like a saluting soldier. Whispering to himself, the rector raised his arms and then spread them apart as well. The cane vibrated, and then the whistling of the mad wind was filled with the sound of a murmuring stream falling asleep under the year’s first ice. Through the crackling of lightning, one could discern the creaking of trees swaying in the wind.

The cane soared, spun wildly, and then froze in a horizontal position between the old man’s hands. However, what now hovered between his wrinkled fingers was no longer a cane, but the branch of a maple tree covered with crimson leaves.

Cold wind started to blow from the direction of the mountains, carrying with it the scent of snow. Hadjar held his breath. With a sinking heart, he watched a miracle of nature unfold before him: the forest that stretched between the peaks of the Storm Mountain had just recently been given life and colored a beautiful green, but as soon as the mystical wind blew past, it suddenly began to fall asleep, caressed by autumn. Red and gold leaves fell, covering the ground like a warm blanket, telling nature to rest up after the hard work it had done over the course of spring and summer. The season had changed in less than a moment.

“Stop being so brazen, boy!”

The old man made several gestures with his hands, and the cane twirled again until it was pointing at the lightning rushing toward him. The autumnal blanket soared into the sky like a wave. Coalescing into a sphere, it exploded and formed two hands clutching a battleaxe. The old man gestured a few more times; the hands raised the axe and then swung down, cutting through the lightning bolts.

White and red collided, destroying nearly everything within a radius of several miles. Ancient trees with roots as thick as a grown man’s torso were pulled up into the sky like needles yanked out of a pincushion. They swirled around the sphere, turning into splinters, then disappeared in the sky.

The storm that was starting in the west exploded, unleashing its rage. Heavy rocks were lifted into the sky, where they rotated a couple of times around the clashing energies, and then turned to dust. Then the sphere shrank down into a single point, soared into the sky, and dispersed.

The clash of two powerful Techniques left behind the kind of destruction that Hadjar would’ve previously considered possible only in the aftermath of a natural disaster. Until recently, he couldn’t have even imagined that someone could actually devote their life not to the sword or magic, but to the contemplation of falling autumn leaves. Whatever mysteries the rector had comprehended, whatever philosophy and teachings he had created, his power was beyond Hadjar’s understanding. An autumn leaf that could break a sword Technique was a feat worthy of songs.

Orune spat out even more blood and pushed off from a rock. Turning into lightning, he covered an unimaginable distance in just a second and rained blow after blow down on the rector, who, after wiping the blood off his lips and chin, had begun to move his hands over the maple branch.

A curtain of red and gold leaves, all of them assuming various forms, stood in Orune’s way. Orune looked like lightning incarnate as he slammed into the leaves over and over, his enraged attacks leaving the area even more damaged than before.

The shield of leaves shook and began to crack. Try as he might, all Hadjar could see were flashes of white and gold as the two juggernauts fought at a speed that even he couldn’t follow. Sometimes, when he was lucky, he caught glimpses of two figures frozen in different poses: the mad swordsman and the ever-calm rector. A Lord and a Nameless. A giant and a titan.

Suddenly, the wounded Orune was thrown through the wall of colored leaves. After flying through the air for several miles, he slammed into a rock with a deafening crash. Terribly wounded and drenched in his own blood, he coughed as dust and stone fell on his head, burying him.

The rector descended from the sky and landed in front of Orune with the grace of a cat. He looked slightly better off than his opponent, but only because he’d changed his clothes. Here and there, pinkish stains showed through his old-fashioned but still high-quality outfit. He turned his branch back into a cane and placed it under Orune’s chin.

“If I’d wanted to be a Nameless,” the swordsman croaked, still grinning, and struggled to raise his swords, “I would’ve beaten you, you old geezer.”

“If I were five thousand years younger, boy, you wouldn’t have even gotten a chance to draw your swords. You’ve broken the laws of Darnassus, Orune. The Emperor may be willing to overlook that, but I’m not. You insulted the house I took you into, the roof over your head I gave you, and the hearth that warmed you. And you spat in my face when you did it all.”

“I did.” Orune, his left eye swollen shut, spat blood at the old man’s feet. “It’s kind of a hobby of mine…” With great difficulty, he turned to Hadjar. He was so weak that the shield that had been protecting Hadjar had disappeared. “Forgive this old fool, kid. Let’s meet in the next world and drink cold wine. And sing-”

The old man raised his cane.

Chapter 823

“Darkhan!” Hadjar shouted at the sky. He was standing on the hill near Traves’ stone and the low tree in which the Quetzal bird was sleeping. “DARKHAN!”

The wind was blowing, making the sea of tall grass that stretched out toward the horizon sway gently.

“DARKHAN!” Hadjar shouted again, even louder than before.

Because of Hera’s poison, the Enemy hadn’t been able to appear in his mind or soul until recently. But whatever had occurred in the Wastelands had changed that. Hadjar wasn’t sure, but he suspected that the Inheritance that the first Darkhan had forced him to accept had somehow altered the effects of the poison, allowing him to appear here.

“It isn’t in my power to save him, my descendant.”

Hadjar turned around. At first, he didn’t recognize the person standing behind him. When they’d first met, the Black General had assumed the form of a large, black raven, and then the form of a shadow wrapped in a cloak made of darkness, and after that, the form of a decrepit old man. The last one had been a particularly large fragment of the Enemy’s soul that had lived for hundreds, if not thousands of centuries, locked inside an ancient treasury belonging to Darkhan himself. He’d used it as a training ground. He’d used to lure naive, power-seeking cultivators there and grant them that power. But what the cultivators hadn’t known was that the price for his ‘gifts’ would be a lifetime of slavery and the doors to the afterlife remaining forever closed to them.

Even after their deaths, they’d been forced to serve as guardians in their Master’s treasury, waiting for the one who would finally free them. To pay for their release, Hadjar had had to give power to the fragment locked inside his soul.

The man standing before him now wasn’t old. While he did look like someone who’d survived an incredible number of battles, and was now slightly tired as a result, he was also full of life. Silver hair framed a face with sharp features and entirely black eyes. His body was hidden by a cloak made of simple cloth instead of darkness. He was as tall as Hadjar. Unfortunately, because of the cloak that completely covered his figure and reached all the way to the ground, it was impossible to tell anything else about him.

“I’m not asking you to save him,” Hadjar lied.

“Then why did you come here?”

Darkhan gave him a slightly mocking smile and walked over to Traves’ favorite area. He’d used to sit on it in a brazen manner, but now he just sank down onto the grass and leaned back. Hair falling over his shoulders, he turned his gaze toward the sky.

“You know, the first time I saw this world, the sky was the color of spilled blood,” said the man who’d rebelled against the whole world and almost destroyed it. “For a long time, I thought that was its only color.”

As he looked at the first Darkhan, Hadjar remembered the story of Darkhan’s birth. In the era before humans and other races came to be, a dead tree managed to grow from dying earth. The gods made Darkhan from that tree. The world was then engulfed in a war that lasted for several centuries and destroyed entire regions and nations. This seemingly never-ending war had turned him into the greatest swordsman this nameless world had ever seen.

Hadjar shrugged.

“Well, if you can’t help me, then enjoy the last moments of that azure sky. Soon, we’ll both be sent to our forefathers. Or rather, I’ll go to my forefathers, and you’ll go to oblivion to join the other pieces of your fucking soul.”

Darkhan ignored the insult. Instead, he just continued to stare at the sky.

“I said that I couldn’t save him, but I can save you.”

“How?”

“You already know how, my descendant. All the generations of your family were born for the sole purpose of helping me free myself from the clutches of the Mountain of Skulls so I can fulfill my destiny. Don’t waste time. Why would you choose suffering when I’m offering you bliss?”

“Sorry, but this isn’t a brothel, and you’re not a whore, to offer me bliss,” Hadjar responded dryly, but Darkhan just ignored him once again. “I don’t know about you, oh great and wonderful predecessor of mine, but for me, death isn’t bliss. You’re the Black General, surely you can figure that much out, at least.”

Hadjar expected a flash of anger, or even having to deal with an attempt on his life, but Darkhan just continued to stare at the sky, ignoring even the fact that he’d been called that name, which usually made him lose his temper. Not so long ago, it had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“I’m not offering you death, but a blissful dream that I’ll create just for you. In it, you’ll be anyone and... with anyone.”

“A tempting offer,” Hadjar drawled, “but I’ll have to refuse. I have goals and plans of my own. I’ve already been tempted with such nonsense by the gods, demons, faeries, Spirits… And... Just so many other beings that I’ve lost count of them by now.”

Darkhan smiled.

“Then... We’ll both die. And since today’s going to be the last day of our journey, why don’t you take a seat next to me? Let’s talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about, Enemy.”

The valley was silent for a while. Even the wind stopped blowing.

“It’s not polite to talk to your ancestor like that. When you die, a part of me will meet you in the house of your forefathers.”

“That may be so, but if children were always like their fathers, the world would’ve died before you’d even been born.”

Darkhan just shrugged.

Hadjar closed his eyes and began to gradually return to reality. In the soul world, time flowed differently. The few minutes he’d spent talking to Darkhan had been a fraction of a moment in the real world.

Back in the Black Mountains of Balium, the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman had told him that the Great Sects of the Land of the Immortals (they were something like the aristocracy of Darnassus, only they combined the functions of Schools, clans, and small conclaves all at once) had secret Techniques that allowed them to train in the soul world, which greatly sped up their cultivation, but also aged their minds. Therefore, only Immortals that were truly timeless could afford to use such Techniques.

Right before he disappeared from his soul world, Hadjar heard Darkhan’s muffled voice:

“I told you to come back when you were a Spirit Knight who’d grasped the Sword Kingdom, but... I think you already deserve to learn the second Strike. Just know that if you aren’t strong enough to use it, you’ll die instantly.”

As he said this, the complete understanding of the next stance of the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’ Technique, the ‘Drawn Sword’, flowed into Hadjar. He suddenly felt as if he’d spent half his life practicing it. The move seemed to have been created with only one goal in mind — to stab the enemy in the heart with all the speed the wielder could muster. It consisted of only a single, but very deadly lunge.

After all, in a battle to the death, a single accurate attack was enough to instantly send one’s enemy to the next world.

Chapter 824

The rector was just about to swing the Sleeping Tree’s Branch — the weapon he’d received from his Master — when a long-forgotten feeling awoke inside of him, freezing him in his tracks. In the fifty-five centuries of his life, he’d only felt something similar once before, at the beginning of his ascent on the path of cultivation. It was as if Death itself was looming behind him. No, no, that wasn’t it. It was more… Like a monster had crawled out of the darkest depths of the abyss, finally free of its prison of darkness and shadows, and was now impossibly hungry.

His hand frozen in the air, the rector turned toward the overwhelming feeling of malice that was trying to crush him and was surprised to realize that its source was the boy Orune had accepted as his disciple.

Ribbons of hazy darkness streamed from his body and rose into the sky, where they turned into roaring dragons. His blade, which had felt like a living, breathing organism before, suddenly turned into a fang that was ready to impale its target.

The boy surged forward. Any Lord below the advanced stage who didn’t have mastery of the Weapon’s Heart might’ve died if they’d attempted to use such an attack. Even for the rector, who had been cultivating for fifty-five centuries, and had reached the pinnacle of power in the Darnassus Empire, and had even had the opportunity to visit the Dragon Lands for a month, it was still an impressive attack.

Somehow, the boy was able to vanish from his sight for a split second, despite the fact that his Autumn Leaf Kingdom was still active.

Darkness flooded the space around the boy, crushing and tearing apart the rocks of the Storm Mountain, which was something that a mere Spirit Knight shouldn’t have been able to do.

The rector lightly tapped the ground with his cane. At the same time, a piercing sword lunge struck him right in the heart. Behind him, a long trail of darkness stretched out for almost six hundred feet, steeped in the Sword’s mysteries and something that even he couldn’t comprehend. Turning around, he was stunned at what he saw. Everything the darkness had touched — rocks, trees, and even a couple of unlucky monsters — was gone. Annihilated by a single attack from a Spirit Knight at the initial stage.

“Impossible...” the old man croaked.

The boy collapsed to the ground unconscious, his Core drained. His sword turned to dust and was scattered by the wind. His Call, too, suffered the same fate.

The old rector looked at the body that lay in the dirt. By using a Technique that he was clearly not ready for, the boy had inflicted such grievous wounds on his energy body that he now stood with one foot in the grave.

Well, that means less dirty work for me, the old man thought. How long has it been since the last time Morgan and I stood together against a common foe? How long has it been since I last dirtied my hands with young blood? Several thousand years? No, I really don’t want to do something like that again...

An autumn leaf landed at his feet. Crouching, the old man picked it up and placed it in his palm. His eyes widened. In the center of the crimson leaf was a hole no bigger than the head of a pin.

“Hmm...” he mused and let the leaf be carried away by the wind.

The old man made several passes over the cane with his hands, filling it with magic. The ancient weapon, which had come from the region adjacent to the Dragon Lands, the homeland of his Master, once again turned into a branch. After speaking the magic words, the old man summoned forces that were beyond the control of the majority of Darnassian cultivators. Maybe Mentor Markin, a promising but misguided young cultivator, could one day reach such heights of magical mastery.

The leaves on the Sleeping Tree’s Branch shone with autumn gold, then they turned red, and finally, purple. The wind knocked a drop of dew off them that fell directly on the boy’s mouth. This young man was too strange for the rector to allow him to visit his forefathers just yet. As soon as the drop touched the young man’s lips, all his wounds, both his physical and energy ones, were instantly healed, and his Core filled halfway with pure energy. The boy started breathing calmly again and fell into a deep sleep.

“Do… you… have… another drop… for me, geezer?” Orune croaked out from behind him. “Or at least... some wine...”

The rector turned around.

“Don’t take me for a fool, boy. I know perfectly well that you only fought me with half your strength.”

Orune’s pitiful gaze suddenly flashed with life and steel. He jumped up and landed softly on his feet, like a hunter inching toward its prey. Growling, he tensed his muscles, and his wounds began to heal. Even his most terrible injuries disappeared without a single trace, or even a scar.

“Weakling!” He spat at his sleeping disciple. “I wonder if he would’ve stayed curled up under that shield if I hadn’t removed it.”

The rector shook his head wearily. The fact that, even after his defeat, Orune had been able to maintain such a strong shield meant that he hadn’t taken their fight seriously at all.

During the last war, he had witnessed Orune’s true power. The Shessevig Empire, which was now struggling to rise from the ashes that Darnassus had turned it into, had lost all three of its Nameless and nearly three dozen of their peak-stage Lords to him. Almost fifteen hundred years had passed since then. The old man presumed that, in that time, Orune had only grown stronger. He hadn’t even used Techniques in their duel, just basic attacks.

“Did you teach him that Technique, Orune?” The rector’s gaze was now heavier than before. The gold and red suddenly turned purple.

“Don’t try to intimidate me with your true Kingdom, you old bat,” Orune replied. Walking past the rector, he squatted down next to Hadjar and began poking him in the ear with a stick. Then, with a huge grin, he fished out a piece of coal from the folds of his clothes and began to draw something on his face. “That’s why Morgan sent you, isn’t it? To check how far I’ve progressed in my research?”

After drawing several dicks on Hadjar’s forehead and cheeks, Orune straightened up and walked away.

“The war is coming, Orune.”

“You and I have lived through dozens of such wars, geezer. We’ll survive another one.”

“Dozens…” the rector drawled, “Perhaps... But they were all minor skirmishes compared to what’s coming. Lascan is our equal in strength. It even has Nameless who can match our power.”

“Great! Finally, some worthy opponents!” Orune exclaimed gleefully and cracked his neck.

“I heard rumors that they have a new hero — Derek of the Steppe.”

“Do they now?” Orune asked while cleaning his ear out with his pinky. Once he dug out a lump of earwax, he flicked it right into Hadjar’s nose. The boy coughed, but didn’t wake up. “And what did he do to deserve such a lofty title?”

“He was once a native of a border barony, a truly unremarkable youngster. But then he suddenly became a Nameless one and singlehandedly destroyed all the steppe orcs.”

Orune looked at the feathers in Hadjar’s hair. Perhaps they’d need to keep him from learning about that…

“You can tell Morgan that I’m a man of my word. My sword is still with him.”

“Very well.” The rector nodded. “It was good to see you again, Orune.”

The old man turned around and walked over to the sleeping Hadjar. He wrapped his will around the boy and lifted him into the air slightly. However, a moment later, an invisible sword cut through his will and the boy landed on the stones.

“Leave him,” Orune said firmly.

“I can see you didn’t teach him this Technique. That means that another ancient teaching, or even Inheritance, has appeared in the Empire. I have to take him with me for further study. Hopefully, I’ll be able to extract it. By passing on such vital knowledge to the Imperial family, we can increase our chances of winning a little and-”

A red leaf landed on Orune’s palm.

“Do you want to see just how strong I’ve become over the years?”

Orune squeezed his hand. The rector was thrown into the air like a ragdoll and slammed back down into his boat, which was also sent flying away from the Storm Mountain. Lying on the damp wood, the rector breathed heavily. There was a bloodstain in the shape of a maple leaf on his chest.

“Impossible... I must report this to the Emperor. Orune has the power... the power of…” He thought to himself incredulously. Only in legends and epics did the heroes of old find a way to master several Kingdoms and combine them. So how had Orune managed to achieve such a feat?

Only then did the rector finally realize why the swordsman hadn’t used any Techniques. If he’d used even a Divine level one, he would’ve obliterated him. Perhaps that was what Orune had wanted to do, but that would’ve also led to the destruction of the Storm Mountain and his disciple. Such power would’ve turned the entire mountain range into a new Sea of Sand.

Chapter 825

Jerking awake, Hadjar was surprised to see that he was waking up not on the threshold of his forefathers’ house, but near Orune’s cave. His Master, acting as if nothing had happened, was sitting opposite the entrance and grilling a big boar. Without looking at his disciple, he tore a piece of meat from its back covered in bone needles and threw it at him.

Realizing just then how hungry he was, Hadjar snatched the piece of meat out of the air and bit into it voraciously. Fat and juices dripped down his chin as he greedily devoured the sweet, tender meat.

“Wfill… wyou…. tfell…” Hadjar swallowed the food, smacked his chest and, as if copying Orune, burped loudly.

“Well done!” The swordsman slapped his knee with a touch of pride.

“Will you give me the recipe?”

“The recipe?” Orune glared at him and began waving around the stick with which he was poking the coals in the fire as if it were a sword. “As if you deserve to know it!”

Hadjar choked on his food. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the first thing within reach, which was, just as he’d thought, a thick branch, and waved it around in response. Little did he know that, for the next eleven months, this would be the only thing that, apart from the meat of various animals, he’d hold in his hands.

“I don’t deserve to know it? I saved your ass from that crazy old man!” He exclaimed and looked around. “Where is he, by the way?”

Something struck him in the stomach, knocking all the air out of his lungs, and sending him to his knees.

“To you, he’s the great hero Cassius, the rector of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.”

“I… didn’t know… his name…” Hadjar wheezed out.

Straightening up, he took another huge bite out of the meat, which elicited another approving nod from Orune.

“My savior...” the swordsman snorted. “I see you’ve completed your previous training and become a Spirit Knight.”

“Oh, thank you for noticing. Now, what’s going-”

Hadjar only saw a blur. Guided by instinct, he raised the branch, which turned out to be a wooden sword shaped exactly like the Black Blade, down to the last detail.

A sharp blow landed on his cheek.

“Too high.”

“What?”

“Your sword.” Orune unleashed another sudden attack, leaving a bloody stripe across Hadjar’s elbow. “You’re holding it too high. Put your elbow down.” Another blow landed on Hadjar’s wrist. “Even if you have your hands down your pants, you can still parry your foe’s strike and counterattack if you position your sword well.”

Before he could react or even figure out what Orune was talking about, the swordsman pulled out a similar wooden sword and smacked him in the face with its hilt. A couple of his teeth got knocked out of his mouth by the blow and he stumbled back.

“Too slow…” he heard, just before he lost consciousness.

***

“Hide,” Orune whispered.

Their faces and bodies smeared with clay and mud, not to mention covered in leaves and branches, the two of them were crawling toward some bushes. At the beginning of their little ‘adventure’, Hadjar had tried to teach Orune the sign language that the hunters used, but he’d failed. Out of all his comrades so far, only Orune hadn’t been able to learn these simple gestures.

“Where are we going?” Hadjar grunted.

Maybe Orune, whose body had already reached the Heaven level in terms of toughness, didn’t care about the terrain, but Hadjar sure did. After less than an hour of them imitating snakes, he’d managed to scrape his hands, knees, and stomach. And with their mud camouflage irritating all his wounds, his body itched and burned like crazy.

“Training,” Orune answered shortly.

Hadjar only raised an eyebrow at this. In recent months, all their training had been reduced to sparring. Orune, wielding his stick, would hit Hadjar, explain to him how he should best react to such a blow, and then, attacking him once more, he’d make sure that Hadjar had learned how to parry, block, or dodge the attack. This routine usually took only a few hours to complete, because two precise strikes were enough to knock him out. Although, nothing cleared one’s mind better than a broken rib tearing through their lung. Or a splinter of their thighbone flying out of their leg. Or one’s spine being broken in several places, turning them into a writhing worm. Or a hundred other kinds of wounds.

Learning from Orune was more like endless torture mixed with subtle hints and lessons in survival. So far, Hadjar had managed to survive and had even learned a few things. This was evident by the steady increase in his neural network’s monthly assessment of his prowess.

His progress was also due to the fact that, at night, Hadjar would immerse himself in his network’s training mode. This significantly increased the time it would take to decrypt the Sword’s seal. However, what he really needed was an instant solution to that urgent problem, not something that would only be able to help him in a few years.

“I don’t see any enthusiasm on your face, disciple!”

Pushing away a branch, he froze. Hadjar could see nothing except for Orune’s feet in front of him. But, judging by the noise, there was a waterfall nearby.

“Found it!” Orune smacked his lips with excitement.

A shiver ran down Hadjar’s spine. The last time Orune had spoken with such enthusiasm, he’d had to spend a whole day running around a cave, trying to avoid a venomous Snake-Bear at the Primeval Stage, which was the lovechild of a two-headed snake, an armored bear, and... a grasshopper.

“What did you find?”

“You’ll find out soon enough!”

Orune grabbed Hadjar’s wrist and lifted him as easily as he would his favorite stick. Spinning him over his head like a lasso, he threw the shocked Hadjar at the waterfall.

“I hope you survive!”

After he plopped into the water, Hadjar, not wanting to wait for the various aquatic monsters to attack him, instantly resurfaced. Drawing the Black Blade, he looked around and froze. Right in front of him were three naked female inner circle disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. Hadjar swallowed.

“Good afternoon, senior disciples.” He bowed.

A second later, each of the three ladies was clad in Heaven level armor and armed with a Heaven level artifact.

Hadjar swallowed again. Was it too late to go back to the Snake-Bear?

Chapter 826

“Move faster. Use not only your energy, but also the space around you.”

Orune took a smooth step forward, which looked more like a sudden jerk due to how quickly he’d appeared in front of Hadjar. He then hit him with his shoulder and sent him flying. Slamming into a rock back-first, Hadjar was then showered with pebbles, rocks, and bigger stones. Wiping blood off his head and forehead, he swore and spat at his feet.

“Come on!” Orune snapped, and once more appeared close to Hadjar.

For the fifty-third time in the past three hours, he demonstrated the same move. If the World River had given Orune any innate talents, teaching certainly wasn’t one of them.

The swordsman took another step. Hadjar, who was trying his best to see exactly what the trick was, managed to glimpse something just before the collision. The next blow sent him flying as well. The previous fifty-two attacks had been enough to make a hole several feet deep in the rock. When he pulled himself out of it, shaking off the debris and gritting his teeth in pain, he cracked his neck.

“Again.”

“Of course.” Orune smiled and began to use the move once again.

Now that he knew where to look, Hadjar was finally able to understand what the catch was: the moment he began to move, with the help of his will, Orune would create pressure made out of Sword mysteries that would slice through the air in front of him, creating a kind of vacuum that, in addition to the strength of his muscles and energy, would pull him forward much more quickly. He could basically teleport by doing that.

Before Orune slammed into him with his shoulder for the fifty-fourth time, Hadjar managed to create a stream of Sword mysteries that cut through the air behind him.

“Holy shit!” He managed to blurt out when a force several times greater than Orune’s own push pulled him by the spine toward the same stone from before. After crashing into it with far greater force than before, Hadjar lay there disoriented for a couple of seconds. When he came to his senses, he saw Orune bent over in a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Very funny,” he mumbled and climbed out of the stone, clutching at the edges of the little cave he had created.

“I’ve never... seen... anything... funnier in my life!” Orune managed to wheeze out.

Hadjar, at first, just muttered angrily to himself, but then he smiled and finally laughed as well. By the Evening Stars, it really had been funny!

After they shared a couple of minutes of merry laughter, Orune straightened up and looked at the mountain peak. Almost half a year had passed since his fight against the rector. During that time, the World River had managed to heal that which they had broken. Young, but already strong trees were growing where the white lightning had struck. The only vestige of the fight were the destroyed rocks. But even these scars were gradually being healed by the World River. Hadjar never ceased to be amazed at the ease with which this world tended to its wounds. Perhaps only the battles of the greatest and most powerful entities could leave behind scars that couldn’t be mended. Like the Sea of Sand, for example.

“Let’s practice this later. Ideally, you’ll one day be able to move like this throughout a whole fight, combining it with any movement Technique you master.”

Hadjar sighed wearily. That meant that they’d practice this for a few more days, until Orune was convinced that his disciple had reached his limit. Then they’d practice a little more, and only then would they move on to the next training session.

“Let’s go eat.”

Two white lightning bolts came down from the sky. A moment later, they were near the cave that had become Hadjar’s home this past year. Orune, as always, was sitting on a rock and stirring the coals, over which another monster was being roasted, with his stick. The log, which held a carcass that weighed almost a ton, was slowly spinning.

They ate this frightening amount of meat in a single night. Spirit Knights, and those above them, could extract all the useful elements from their food. Energy-rich meat like the one Orune tended to make was a good replacement for all sorts of alchemical pills and potions.

“Catch!” He threw Hadjar a piece of meat torn off the back of the creature — the prime cut — while he broke off a leg for himself and sank his teeth into it with a satisfied grunt.

With a light kick, he sent a bottle of some kind of foaming liquid rolling toward Hadjar, who stopped it with his foot, kicked it into the air, and, while it was still in midair, tore out the cork with his teeth, caught it in the crook of his elbow, then downed half of it.

“Well, at least you’ve learned something!” Orune laughed.

They ate and drank in silence for about an hour. The sun was gradually going down in the west, disappearing behind the stone mountains.

“Do you remember asking me what happened after I lost my girl?”

Hadjar put down the bottle and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Orune cleaned his hands with bundles of pre-prepared grass.  He looked up at the stars.

“Since it had happened, I’d been wandering Darnassus without purpose or reason. I did whatever work I was offered. I cleaned stables, cleaned the shoes of passersby and washed the streets, anything that could earn me a couple of coins so that I could buy…” He pointed at the bottle and picked it up. After emptying it, he put it back in his spatial artifact. A moment later, he took it out again. It was full to the brim.

Hadjar stared at him in bewilderment, unable to imagine someone as proud and free-spirited as Orune cleaning latrines or scrubbing pavements, but there was no reason not to believe him. Why would he lie about something like that? To gain his sympathy? Hardly.

“This continued until I had to clean the boots of what I assumed was a nobleman.” Orune spat over his shoulder. His eyes flashed with pure hatred. “He introduced himself as Gorman… Gorman! Can you believe it? The bastard didn’t even bother with a fake name.”

Hadjar put down his bottle and leaned in to listen closely. Until now, he’d thought that he would never get to find out why Orune had decided to go from a mercenary to being the hero of the Darnassian Empire.

“I really needed money at the time, Hadjar. They’d just begun to import this wonderful new wine that had a special root from the southern provinces added to it... It was like a drug… Perhaps it even was one. Whatever the case, it made me feel like I was in the arms of a woman. The arms of that one special woman. I don’t know how, but Gorman knew exactly what I needed.” He spat again. “He offered me a simple job: to sneak into a military camp with him and kill one person. But what I didn’t know at the time was that the camp we were going to sneak into wasn’t one of the Darnassian camps, but a camp of the Shessevig Empire.”

Chapter 827

Orune took several more gulps of his drink. Then he wiped his lips and continued.

“We moved out. I had no idea who he was at the time, but I could feel that he possessed great power. Even then, that damned Morgan was a Nameless-”

“Why didn’t-” Hadjar began but then stopped, realizing that interrupting the great swordsman wasn’t the best idea right now.

“You’re right!” Orune exclaimed and continued his story, “I should’ve stopped and thought it over for a while, but my hunger and addiction had driven me mad. By nightfall, we were already in the middle of the Shessevig Empire’s camp. Darnassus, my dear disciple, was weak and pathetic back in those days. Corruption, debauchery, laziness, and apathy were leading the country into a sharp decline. Our territories were getting snatched up by our neighbors left and right.”

“What about the people?”

“The people?” Orune shrugged and took another sip. “As long as the war didn’t come to their very doorstep, no one cared. Only the young, new Emperor did. I couldn’t even imagine that he and I would end up in the center of Shessevig’s troops. By the time I saw the banners, it was too late. We were as effective as trained assassins. A dozen patrolling soldiers were unlucky enough to get in our way. Believe it or not, Morgan really likes to cut throats. All his opponents always end up with either their necks cut open or their heads missing. I don’t know why, maybe the fucking bastard is just a psychopath.”

Orune shrugged, emptied his bottle, and then refilled it again.

“But I only realized how deep the shit I was in truly was when we got close to the General’s tent. Turns out that defeating a peak-stage Lord and a bunch of peak-stage Spirit Knights wasn’t such an easy task. And that’s why Morgan needed me. I was supposed to be a diversion.”

Hadjar could guess how the story went from there. By the looks of it, it had ended no better than his story about the time he’d served as a mercenary.

“For some time, the Shessevig had fought against our troops in the region. Several Baronies and even one County were destroyed. And…” Shivering, Orune emptied his whole bottle in one enormous gulp. But no matter how much he drank, the alcohol couldn’t get the job done. Sometimes, your demons could handle their booze better than you. “I don’t know how the fucking bastard knew that I’d be capable of such a thing, but he sent me to the prisoners’ tent. He ordered me to kill them all, to massacre them. And I... I couldn’t refuse his order, Hadjar.”

“Because of an oath?” Hadjar blurted out, then immediately shut up.

Orune stared at the stars again. He looked devastated; it was as if something had extinguished his very soul, leaving behind only a yawning abyss.

“Sometimes, a drug is stronger than any oath…” Orune raised his bottle to his lips again, then threw it away angrily. “I went inside that tent, Hadjar, hoping to see well-fed nobles who’d sold their honor and dignity for food, whores, and wine. But... There were soldiers in there instead... With their spouses and children... Some of them weren’t even five winters old... They were bound, with collars around their necks and gags in their mouths. Somehow, they recognized me as a fellow Darnassian and rejoiced. Even when I killed the first of them, they still kept hoping...” He took a deep breath. “They still hoped that I’d say that this was necessary for the rest of them to escape, or maybe something else...” He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “The slaughter lasted for almost fifteen minutes. These prisoners were worth more to the enemy soldiers than their own lives as they could get a hefty sum for each of them.”

Hadjar nodded in understanding. He’d also taken prisoners during his time in the military. Sending them back to their families had been how they’d earned almost a quarter of their income. The Kingdom’s military fund hadn’t actually covered even a tenth of their expenses.

“Morgan killed the General, decapitated everyone he got his hands on, and then set fire to the camp. We left quickly. Luckily, people were too busy with the dead General and the slaughtered prisoners to chase after us properly.” Orune sighed and shook his head. “Then he paid me, and I went out and got drunk. I got so drunk that I, then a Spirit Knight, managed to forget four whole days of my life. I woke up in a prison. The guards told me that my execution would be taking place at dawn.”

“Your execution? Just for doing drugs?”

Orune laughed bitterly.

“For betraying my country and killing its nobles.”

“But-” It suddenly dawned on Hadjar.

“Exactly.” Orune nodded. “Morgan came to me an hour before dawn. I swear, Hadjar, I slept like a baby that night. I was actually looking forward to being put to rest. I hoped that it could finally save me from all the pain and horror, but... But not even a single soul wound appeared. I woke up in a cold sweat. I then began to frantically search for any means of escape.”

Orune got up and stood on the edge of the cliff. The wind ruffled his thick, black hair and rattled his necklace made of bone.

“He offered me a pardon for all of my past crimes in exchange for a promise that I’d serve him and follow his orders for the good of the country. Sometimes, they were no better than the first orders he ever gave me... Don’t trust him, Hadjar. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He’ll use anything and anyone, even those closest to him, like his own wife... He-”

Orune twitched and gasped, as if remembering something. Turning around and cursing, he rushed back to the fire. Cursing some more, he fanned the flames under the coals and began turning the spit.

“Shit! I almost ruined the meat!”

Chapter 828

His Imperial Majesty Morgan and the great swordsman Orune shared a look.

“Have you heard what happens to a dog that barks at its master in public, Orune?” Morgan whispered, looking as if Orune’s sudden appearance and dramatic performance were something that he’d not only expected, but counted on.

“Have you seen what happens to someone who tries to harm a dog’s pup, Gorman?”

“That’s enough, my friend-”

“Only a demon could be your friend, you bastard,” Orune said loudly enough for those in the first few rows to hear.

Morgan’s expression changed for a moment, but then he put his friendly smile back on again.

“You’ll be going to the Lascanian border soon. You should thank me for solving yet another one of your problems. When you return, you’ll have another pup waiting for you, don’t worry.” The Emperor turned to his Nameless guards, who’d frozen in terror. “Gentlemen, didn’t you hear my order?”

The guards took a step forward, but were immediately stopped by two lightning bolts that struck the floor in front of them, etching a black line into it.

“Cross that line and die immediately!” Orune shouted.

That’s when the people realized that something was wrong. Excited whispers flew through the hundreds of rows. Hadjar saw the two ambassadors who’d offered him what he’d asked for whispering to each other. They were smiling. The dragon Master watched what was going on with only a faint note of interest.

“You’re forgetting your place, you rabid animal,” Morgan growled angrily. “Should I show everyone where a mutt truly belongs?”

Hadjar felt a chill run down his spine even though Morgan wasn’t using his aura to intimidate anyone. And he was glad for it. He didn’t want to experience the power of the Empire’s strongest cultivator if it could be avoided.

“I’m sure the geezer told you everything about his visit to the Storm Mountain.” Orune’s eyes glimmered with a strange light. “Give it a go! Draw your sword and let’s settle this right here and now!”

The three very long seconds that followed were the most dangerous seconds of Hadjar’s life. The two great cultivators stared at each other with eyes full of hatred and deep respect.

“These two are criminals, Orune,” Morgan said at last, his voice tired. “And their crimes can only be washed away with blood and-” He suddenly looked at Orune with what appeared to be genuine fear. The great swordsman was smiling broadly.

“What’s it feel like to lose on your own home field, you old schemer?” He said and grabbed Morgan’s arm. The guards rushed forward, but they were swiftly bound by a bolt of white lightning before they could interfere.

“I, the swordsman Tarisfal, better known as Orune, in accordance with the laws passed by the first Emperors of Darnassus, take upon myself all the crimes of my disciple, Hadjar Darkhan, better known as the Mad General! As his Master, I take full responsibility for him and wash away all his past sins with my own blood!”

“Master!” Hadjar shouted without thinking.

Orune, surrounded by white lightning, turned to him and winked. Ignoring Morgan’s attempts to break free, he drew the sword from the Emperor’s scabbard with his free hand and, breaking his opponent’s wrist in the process, sank the blade into his own chest.

Hadjar jumped over the tables and got to the stage just in time to catch the falling Orune.

“Master…”

A shocked Morgan, whose wrist was already healing as his bones cracked back into place, looked from his bloodied sword to his friend.

“It’s… a pity….” Blood spurted from Orune’s mouth with each word he spoke. “That you... found out... my real name.”

“I already knew it!” Hadjar said. “The rector told me your name during his second visit. Tarisfal? Seriously?”

“Mother... loved... ballads...” Orune croaked. With a bloodied hand, he held out a piece of paper. “Here… the... recipe...”

Hadjar nodded and accepted the piece of paper reverently.

“Live free… Hadjar Darkhan… North Wind…”

“Die with honor,” Hadjar whispered as he leaned over the dying man. “Tarisfal Orune, the greatest swordsman that Darnassus has ever seen.”

The lightning disappeared, freeing the guards. They were about to step forward again when five cultivators appeared in their path. The Dinos siblings, Galkhad, Dora, and Einen looked into their eyes without an ounce of fear.

“Leave them,” Morgan said dryly. Looking up at the crumbling roof, he shouted so loudly that he was heard throughout the capital: “Lower the flags! Declare three days of mourning! Prepare the best funeral ceremony you can! Two hundred thousand of the finest soldiers will give the final salute to honor the glory of the deceased! The Great Hero Orune! For thousands of years to come, minstrels and bards will sing of his immortal glory!”

Then he walked over to Orune’s body, bent down, and placed the bloody sword on his chest.

“Sleep well, my enemy,” he said, turned, and walked briskly out of the hall.

***

Orune walked through a wildflower meadow, heading toward an old, dilapidated house. He could hear songs and clinking glasses. The aroma of a feast lingered in the air. A girl was waiting for him at the door. Her eyes were covered with a scarlet ribbon, but even that didn’t spoil her heavenly beauty.

“Hello, Tarisfal.”

He smiled. Only when it was coming from her mouth could his stupid name sound beautiful.

“Hello… Um...”

“Elena,” she said.

“Hello, Elena,” he greeted her with a smile and embraced her. He then twirled her over the flowers, enjoying the sound of her laughter and voice that whispered something to him. He buried his face in her hair, which smelled of fire and the dusty road.

“Let’s go. They’re waiting for us.”

Tarisfal took a step, but then froze.

“I’m sorry, Elena, I can’t go just yet.”

“Why?”

Tarisfal smiled.

“Wait with me and you’ll see why.”

***

“...to welcome you to the fourth round of the Tournament of the Twelve,” the announcer said after the applause had died down.

The arena was packed, which meant the organizers had had to arrange for extra stands to be made. There were plenty of people who wanted to see the late Orune’s disciple fight. Over the past few days, the number of rumors related to the swordsman’s death had exceeded even the number of rumors about the assassination attempt on the Emperor’s life.

“Did you see the funeral ceremony? They say it was conducted by the Emperor himself!”

“It really was amazing! But I heard that he was the one who killed Orune.”

“No, no... Orune killed himself so that his disciple would be pardoned for his crimes.”

“Wait, he had a disciple?”

“What hole did you crawl out of? We’re here to watch him fight!”

“How do you know? The pairs are chosen randomly.”

“By the gods! You really are an idiot!”

An unremarkable young man entered the arena — an octagon that towered dozens of feet above the ground. He was dressed in simple, old clothes, and had some feathers and ornaments in his hair. His left arm was covered with a scarlet tattoo, and his long, black hair was tied into a ponytail.

“Isn’t that Orune’s hairstyle?”

“Look! He even tied it with a similar ribbon!”

“Idiots! That’s his disciple!”

Dressed all in white, divinely beautiful, with a slight touch of arrogance and a ton of self-confidence, his opponent, Laris Dinos, entered the arena.

“I grieve with you, junior disciple,” he said mockingly. “They say losing a Master is like losing your own mother or father.”

Hadjar responded with silence. For the past couple of days, he’d been like a zombie. His eyes were empty and lifeless.

“But I don’t think he’d be proud of your little trick. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the poison? You bastard! You’ll both answer to me for this insult!”

Hadjar slowly looked up at Laris. Azure eyes stared right through him.

“We didn’t have enough money to bribe the judges and make sure they paired us up,” Hadjar whispered. “So, we thought it would only be fair if you paid for it yourself. Getting poisoned is a good motivator to part with one’s money.”

Laris fluttered his long lashes, then laughed out loud.

“So you actually set this up? By the demons, you’re even dumber than I thought!”

The gong sounded. Laris instantly summoned his Imperial level armor and the Blue Wind Sword.

Hadjar just stood there, motionless.

Chapter 829

Laris flicked his hand lightly and his blade sang. The Divine level artifact cut through the air with a sharp whistle and sent out an arc of energy. Equal in power to a Heaven level Technique, the blue energy crescent rushed toward Hadjar.

A dozen Lords stood around the arena. They were using their energy to power the protective shield encasing the octagon. Without the shield, they would be risking the audience in the front rows getting hurt as the fighters exchanged blows.

“That’ll be enough to deal with you, you filthy hobo!” Laris snapped.

The sword that he’d been training with for the past couple of days had proven to be a formidable weapon even against his father. With each of its strikes being equal in power to a fully mastered, mystery-infused Heaven level Technique, even Brustor had had to put in real effort to defend himself. That was why Laris was certain that a simple initial-stage Spirit Knight would be dealt with in the blink of an eye. He was aware of what Hadjar had done in the Forbidden City, but he’d been fighting unarmed and unarmored Lords there, and right now, he was fighting him — a true prodigy of his generation and a mid-stage Lord who stood on the threshold of comprehending the Sword Kingdom. In a few years, he, Laris Dinos, would eclipse the glory of Orune himself!

Hadjar took a single, smooth step to the side.

“Mediocre.” Laris snorted.

Hadjar ignored the azure crescent coming his way, and instead focused on the faint voice that he could hear speaking to him.

“Move smoothly, my disciple, but also move quickly. Don’t ask me how those two can be combined! Just do it and stop whining like a spoiled brat!”

“Yes, Master.”

Hadjar abruptly moved to the side. The crescent cut through the air next to him and struck the defensive dome. It flickered with a lilac glow and absorbed the impact, making the hieroglyph floating above the stage shine a little brighter.

“Not bad, hobo!” Laris shouted. “Put on your armor, if you even have one, and draw your sword!”

Hadjar continued to stare at his own feet.

“As you wish.” Laris shrugged. “I won’t bother offering twice.”

A droplet of blood bloomed in the air as he took a step forward.

“Bloody Charge!” He roared, using the Dinos’ famous Technique.

He materialized right next to his opponent. Swinging his sword, he aimed the tip of his blade at Hadjar’s chest.

While all the audience could do was see a flash of purple, azure, and scarlet, and then hear the rumble of Laris’ energy spilling out, Hadjar heard his Master’s voice once again:

“You should block an attack, not get out of the way! This isn’t dodgeball, you fucking idiot!”

Hadjar made a half-step to the side and bent back under the blow, dodging the blade that passed an inch from his face. A stream of purple light struck the shield, making it ripple. One of the Lords staggered back and spat out blood. The healers immediately ran up to him and, not allowing him to lower his hands, shoved several pills into his mouth.

“When a rock encounters a wave, it doesn’t try to stop it. It only cuts through it with its sharpest part! You fucking idiot! Am I speaking in tongues here? Are you deaf or just stupid?”

“Yes, Master!”

His hand, imbued with the mysteries of the Sword, snaked behind the hilt of the Blue Wind Sword and struck Laris in the chest. The noble was sent flying back before violently slamming against the stone floor. Laris got up and wheezed. Blood trickled down his chin.

“What the-” He whispered, looking at the red stain spreading under him. It was blood. His blood. “You’ll pay for that, you bastard! Thunder God’s Armor!”

Lightning surged up from under him and imbued the gray metal of his armor with shining scarlet patterns.

Hadjar still just stood there, motionless and calm.

“Thunder God’s Sword!” Laris shouted and his blade turned into a purple lightning bolt.

With each spark that soared up toward the roof of the dome, purple wind left cuts on its surface. The healers barely managed to bring medicine to the Lords maintaining the dome in time.

“Bloody Charge!”

The lightning, disappearing and reappearing in unexpected places, left behind burns that melted the stone floor, despite it being made from the rock of the Storm Mountain. It surged toward Hadjar.

“What are you doing with that Snake-Bear? Attack it with all your might and stop letting it dictate the pace! Be assertive! You fucking idiot! Do you even know what assertive means, you twat? Do you always let others walk over you? It might bite you, but that’s nothing! It’ll heal up soon enough!”

“Yes, Master!”

A wave of black and blue energy sprang up inside the dome, forming the shape of a dragon’s open maw. When it subsided, Hadjar was clad in black armor with silver patterns. A cloak made of black fog was draped over his shoulders, and a curved blade appeared in his hands. The steel glinted, hungry for blood.

“Did you see that?”

“Shut up! Of course I saw it!”

“No one has ever dodged the ‘Bloody Charge’ before! It’s impossible to dodge...”

For centuries, no, for millennia, this Technique had been considered so powerful that it couldn’t be dodged, only blocked. Until today.

The black dragon, which had been moving away from the purple flash, suddenly froze. Dispelling the darkness that surrounded it, it unleashed a stream of power that caused the dome to crack and the Lords maintaining it to fall one by one. They were quickly replaced by others, but their lips were soon covered in blood as well.

“The First Strike: Flying Sword,” Hadjar said softly, barely audible.

By avoiding the ‘Bloody Charge’, he’d left Laris disoriented. The endless barrage of attacks had only stopped for a fraction of a moment, but even that could mean the difference between life and death.

A wave of darkness, imbued with Sword mysteries and filled with dozens of dragon-swords, rained down on Laris, whose armor burst into flames. After absorbing a part of the attack, it disappeared in a flash. The rest of Hadjar’s blow struck his Imperial armor, which couldn’t hold it back despite the fact that the Technique had lost half its power by now. Laris was thrown across the arena. He slammed into the defensive barrier and fell to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

When he got back to his feet, he found himself in the middle of a deep crater. The audience could clearly see the three deep wounds on his back.

“So much damage after just one attack...” someone gasped.

“Look,” other people whispered, “Look at the floor…”

The entire arena was covered in cuts. Together, they formed the image of a grinning dragon. In the center of its mouth stood Laris Dinos.

“It’s time to end this!”

Gripping his sword with both hands, Laris let out a bloodcurdling scream. A tornado of power erupted around him and struck the roof of the dome, causing it to crack yet again. The Lords were being replaced by others so quickly it seemed almost comical, and the protective hieroglyph shone brighter than the sun.

Laris’ Spirit appeared behind him, glowing with the crimson light of the hieroglyph for ‘Bloody Sword’, which denoted the overwhelming extent of its power. Out of all the kinds of Spirits, this was the most powerful type. As far as most people knew, at least.

“Say your prayers!” Laris disappeared from view. A barrage of invisible blows rained down upon Hadjar.

Chapter 830

Hadjar fought with all he had. Every time the Black Blade collided with the Blue Wind Sword, black and purple crescents of energy struck the dome, causing it to shake and crack. The knees of the bloodied Lords also shook. No one could’ve expected that two young warriors would be able to wield so much power.

In a matter of seconds, Hadjar’s skin and clothes were covered in cuts. Instead of Laris, he saw only purple flashes. If it hadn’t been for Orune’s lessons, he would’ve gone to his forefathers long ago.

“Orune… Master…”

Why was it only now, in a moment of mortal danger, that he suddenly realized that what Orune had been doing for two years hadn’t been torture, but a desperate attempt to teach him what he had once had to learn all on his own?

With a slight, almost invisible twitch of his wrist, Hadjar blocked the incoming blow. The Black Blade soared upwards like a falcon and struck the visor of Laris’ helmet. Drops of blood flew from the slit. Using the momentum of his opponent’s attack, the young Dinos turned his body and hit the wound on his foe’s back with his elbow.

Normally, Hadjar wouldn’t have seen the blow coming; not because it was overly elaborate or all that unexpected, but simply because he hadn’t fought against aristocrats prior to becoming a true cultivator. He’d never fought against those who had been taught the art of cultivation since early childhood, which gave them an advantage over everyone else. The myriad of little tricks they could employ had been so foreign to him until recently.

The great swordsman, Tarisfal Orune, born to a cheap whore and a careless patron, hadn’t had that advantage either. And that’s why he’d tried to teach his disciple how to fight against those who had been trained to fight since the day they could walk.

Slightly shifting his center of gravity, Hadjar made the blow that was supposed to knock him down carry him forward instead, allowing him to turn around and counterattack. The Black Blade sank into Laris’ thigh like a scorpion’s stinger. The young warrior gritted his teeth in pain, but didn’t stop attacking.

Purple lightning struck the black dragons. The roaring clash between the two cultivators crushed the floor and slammed into the walls of the dome over and over.

Orune had tried to teach Hadjar how to make up for his shortcomings… Who knew how to fight against cultivators without using any Techniques, armor, weapons, or fancy tricks? Animals. Tarisfal Orune had probably come close to creating his own fighting style that he’d wished to pass on to his only disciple, but, alas, he hadn’t had the time. Because he’d had to pay for Hadjar’s mistakes.

Remembering how yet another person had died for him made Hadjar lose his balance. The Black Blade veered away from its intended trajectory. Noticing this, Laris took advantage of the situation to launch a triple attack.

Hadjar’s stomach, hip, and shoulder were struck by scarlet lightning that pierced both his Call’s armor and his body, then went through to hit the dome. After breaking through the dome, sparks filled the air, causing the people in the first row to cry out in surprise.

Hadjar flew through the air and fell to the ground. Fights between true cultivators occurred at speeds where a single moment could decide one’s fate. And Hadjar had just missed his moment.

“I have to admit, that was a good attack.” Laris took off his helmet and wiped his forehead. Apart from the three cuts on his back, the one on his hip, the puncture wound on his thigh, and the scratch on his chin caused by his broken visor, he had no other wounds. “You fought well. I think I’ll even remember your name.”

Hadjar just lay there, motionless. Not because he couldn’t get up, but because he finally understood why Orune had stared at the stars with a blank gaze. If Hadjar had simply thought his plan through a little more carefully, if he’d realized that Morgan didn’t want to use him to manipulate Orune, if he’d just guessed that the old schemer wanted to get rid of all of his dog’s earthly attachments, he never would’ve made such a rash decision. But he hadn’t, and so Hadjar had lost.

He’d lost a battle on that field he hated so much. He hadn’t been able to see through Morgan’s schemes. Although, if he had managed to outmaneuver the Emperor of Darnassus himself, he would’ve probably been fit to take his place… His stupidity had cost Orune his life.

“When the time comes, fight with all your heart. We’re warriors, Hadjar. We don’t stay at home and wait for our wife to milk the goats and cook us dinner. No, our dinner is the enemy’s flesh and blood. We don’t die in our beds, surrounded by our children and their children. No, we die in our own shit, on the battlefield, amongst the stench and corpses of our comrades. We don’t sow, we don’t plow, we don’t write poetry, we don’t sing ballads. We fight, Hadjar. We fight so that others can caress their tired spouses, hold their grandchildren, paint great works of art, and write songs. Preferably about us. We’re warriors, Hadjar. Our hands are covered in the blood of our friends and enemies alike. But that doesn’t mean that we have to suffer for it. And that’s why I’m telling you to enjoy your life. What is your life, disciple? What is the life of a warrior?”

He gripped the Black Blade. The answer was simple: a warrior’s life was their sword. The only thing that stayed with them until their death.

Hadjar opened his eyes. He looked at the world around him as if he were seeing it for the first time. His heart was still beating, pumping blood through his veins. If his heart was still beating, his sword wasn’t broken. His sword was his heart. Every wind current that was one with him was his sword. Every rustle of the autumn leaves that was one with him was his sword. Every ray of sunshine, every unshed tear, every musical note, every speck of dust, every stone… was his sword. The world was one with him, and therefore, with his sword as well. But if the world and Hadjar were one with his sword, then who wielded the blade? The same person who controlled his life — Hadjar.

Tarisfal Orune, the greatest swordsman in the history of Darnassus, hadn’t committed suicide, but had instead taught his disciple his last and most important lesson: Hadjar ruled his life and his sword. And his sword ruled the world around him.

***

“Let’s go, Elena,” Tarisfal said, turned around, and took a step toward the house.

“Who is he?”

Tarisfal paused and looked at the horizon.

“Only time will tell, Elena. In the meantime, he’s my disciple. And by the gods, if he doesn’t kill that pompous bastard, I’ll come back from the dead and kick his ass!”

Elena laughed and pushed her lover forward. Together, they tumbled into their forefathers’ house. The door slammed shut behind them, and the meadow and the house disappeared.

***

The world around him froze.

The Emperor sprang to his feet and waved his hand, making a stone hieroglyph appear above the arena. The hieroglyph covered it completely, but even that wasn’t enough. A huge, black dragon created from Sword mysteries soared over it. Its mouth, capable of swallowing the sun itself, opened wide as it roared, releasing a sonic wave of such power that hundreds of people instantly fell unconscious.

The sky darkened and rained down black lightning. Turning into dragons, the bolts merged with the huge monster and gave birth to a Barony of the Sword. An initial-stage Spirit Knight with a Barony of the Sword? It was unbelievable, but undeniably true.

Hadjar Darkhan stood in the center of the arena, the Black Blade raised above him. Laris froze, eyes full of primal terror. A moment later, he disappeared into a cloud of blood. His Blue Wind Sword fell to the ground with a clang.

Before the judge could even announce the end of the duel, a bell rang out over the capital, drowning out even the roar of the gigantic black dragon. The Emperor looked eastward and, with a wave of his hand, destroyed Hadjar’s Barony. Hadjar swayed, but remained standing.

“I am declaring a general mobilization!” the Emperor shouted. “Lascanian troops have crossed the border!”

The war of the two Empires had begun.

Note from the author

Hello folks!

The 3rd big arc is coming to the end (10 book will finish it). There were a lot of heroes and plenty of deaths. I am glad that you follow me and like the way of my storytelling.
You are reading a good story and also giviing Hadjar an opportunity to tell his story to the readers all over the world.

Thank you very much, friends! I do appreciate your support and glad that you like my story so much! You make my horizons become wider!

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Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World

"The Legends of the Nameless World cycle" includes the stories of key characters of the "Dragon Heart" saga. "Ash" is the first of the prequels to the "Dragon Heart" series. It can be read as a stand-alone book.
Even before Myristal went out, before the battle of the Heavens and the Earth broke out, before the Black General was imprisoned on the Mountain of Skulls, a wizard had wandered the endless expanses of the Nameless World in search of his past and his future. This is the legend of Ash, the Master of a Thousand Words, the Bloody General. What’s true and what is fiction is up to you to decide. But this is how his story was told to young children, so that they wouldn’t be afraid and have nightmares, back when the legends of the old world were still remembered.

The 10th book is already opened for the PRE-ORDER

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Patreon (First free chapters of the 10th book will be here)

German version

'Dragon Heart' is being translated into German now. I do hope that's not the last hight I plan to reach). If you have German friends it’d be great if you’ll advice them reading my books in German. Thank you!

Steinerner Wille (Drachen-Herz Buch 1)

The sideway book of the DH series 'Ash' is also being translated now. It will be released after the 9 book of the series. They should be read one after another to complete the picture of the story.

What to read next

Mike Ignatov: Wasteland (1st book is out)

A raging fire devoured the world of the Ancients. Where once great cities stood, now there’s nothing but ruins submerged in the sand.
But even in this endless wasteland, there’s a place for life and hope. However, those who find new life here value nothing other than strength.
Enjoying his childhood, he looked down on everyone. Little did he know that his ignorance would be his undoing. Now, he’s an outcast and looked down upon everyone. He has to endure humiliation as he stares into the eyes of the one who took everything from him. He’s aware that the strong won't hesitate to stab the weak in the back.

But what if he becomes one of the strong? How much power would it take to avenge his father’s death? How much power would he need to bleed dry the bastard that had taken everything from him? And will others remember their lesson or will they, too, seek to get their revenge?

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Rick Scar: Player Reached the Top (5 of 8 books)

The world of 100 levels and terrible dangerous creatures waits for you.

Two Thousand Forty-Four. The world of games changed long ago.
"Ascension" has become one of the most popular VRMMO games. It is a huge world divided into a hundred Floors, with each Floor a boundless location with its own countries, tribes, and millions of players.
The object of the game is to unlock all the gates and conquer the top.
Having joined the game, Will Thomson doesn't realize that he is all by himself. Then he accepts the first quest ...
Cursed Rat: level 46 ...

#wuxia #reigncarnation #matrial_arts #litrpg

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