Land of The Enemy. Dragon Heart 8
Author: Kirill Klevanski
Date: 2020-10-22 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Martial Arts; Magic
Description: A lot had changed in ‘The Holy Sky’ School during the six weeks that Hadjar Darkhan was away. Everyone who was in the capital at the time became much stronger, thanks to the regular skirmishes along the Imperial road. By the Emperor’s decree, all the disciples of the Imperial martial arts schools were allowed to visit the infamous and highly coveted Wastelands. ‘The Holy Sky’s’ disciples were especially fortunate – they’d been given a two-week head start to find the map leading to Emperor Decater’s tomb, as well as the key that would allow them to enter his chambers. The School erupted into ch

The Saga:

Dragon Heart

Land of The Enemy

Book VIII

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2020 Kirill Klevanski

All rights reserved.

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

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 17 books.

8 books are translated into English and released.

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

Enjoy the story!

Chapter 633

M arkin, one of the Mentors at the best martial arts School in Dahanatan, stood in a dark laboratory, surrounded by cauldrons, flasks, phials, bottles, and scrolls. He considered ‘The Holy Sky’ School his second home, if not his only one, which was why he knew everything that happened both in and out of it.

“Another failure?” He asked the empty air and walked over to a small altar, upon which lay a jade seal decorated with intricate designs. He moved his hand over it and whispered something, summoning a flicker of green light. A hazy hieroglyph emerged from the light. Markin greeted it with a wide, hungry smile, paying no attention to the fact that the hieroglyph let out a low, drawn-out hum as it moved toward one of the cauldrons.

“He’s back,” a voice came from the darkness.

Controlling the symbol with his will, Markin grabbed it and placed it into the cauldron. The hieroglyph looked like it was resisting, humming louder now. It tried to pull away from Markin’s grip, but it couldn’t. It was like a fly trying to break free, but only managing to entangle itself even more in the spider’s web.

After a few moments of fruitless struggle, it fell silent inside the small cauldron, beneath which a multicolored flame burned. After covering the cauldron with a lid, Markin went over to a table littered with various scrolls. Taking one of them, he wrote something down, looked at all the complex clocks that hung on one of the walls, then scribbled down another note.

“He’s back?” Markin snorted. “You mean he’s back under Orune’s supervision? That damned bastard has been watching me.”

The lab was quiet for a while. Only the sound of a quill scraping against parchment could be heard.

“We only agreed to bring the object back to the city,” the voice said. “He’s back now. So, we-”

“Don’t play games with me!”

A crushing wave of power swept through the lab. The voice groaned and fell silent again. Markin didn’t even turn around, continuing to write down his notes and perform various spells and rituals over numerous bottles and cauldrons.

“When he reaches the Spirit Knight level, you’ll bring him to me.”

“But-”

“Shut up!” Another wave of power struck the shadow lurking in the darkness of the laboratory. “If you don’t, you can kiss our deal goodbye.”

Markin waited for any objections, but there weren’t any.

“As you wish, Mentor Markin. I’ll bring him to you, but you have to promise me-”

“Name extraction isn’t a fatal process,” Markin interrupted. “Nothing bad will happen to the subject, other than the loss of a useless ‘talent’.”

The shadow’s presence disappeared after a moment of silence. Ignoring this, Markin went back to trying to create the Hundred Voices pill. It would help him glimpse the weapon mastery domain located above the Kingdom of the Weapon — the legendary mysteries usually reserved for the Immortals. Was it worth lying to his servant and causing the death of a commoner to acquire? It was. They were nothing more than dust along his path. Markin Davlos would one day have the Emperor bow his head to him and pay for all the grief he’d brought to Markin’s homeland…

“Not yet,” Markin hissed to himself. “Soon, I’ll have my revenge. But not yet, not yet… Soon, I’ll be strong enough…”

With renewed zeal, he returned to poring over his numerous notes and working with his myriad of cauldrons and bottles.

***

Hadjar stood at the foot of a high cliff. Located right in the center of the city, hidden behind high walls decorated with golden and jade bas-reliefs, was ‘The Holy Sky’ School — one of the three best martial arts Schools of the Darnassus Empire and arguably the best School overall. Only the ‘Meltwater’ School and ‘Quick Dream’ School could compete with it for this title.

Hadjar had only been away for a month and a half, but looking at all the disciples crowding around the wide iron platform that served as the elevator to the School, he felt as if he’d been gone for at least several years.

As he stepped onto the platform, Hadjar glanced around and gave a mental command to his neural network.

Scan.

Name

Parlax

Level of cultivation

Spirit Knight, initial stage

Strength

11

Dexterity

7.5

Physique

13

Energy points

98.5

He didn’t know how the network had been able to find out the name of the guy resting an ironbound club across his shoulder. The computer module probably had access to Hadjar’s subconscious.

“Parlax, what do you-” one of the seven-foot tall giant’s friends asked, confirming that the network hadn’t been wrong.

Hadjar stopped listening. It was just as he’d suspected: the network had been rebooted, using his mind as the computing module. That was why it had been able to install ‘updates’, which were nothing more than his experiences.

Status.

Name

Hadjar

Level of cultivation

Heaven Soldier, advanced stage

Strength

15.5

Dexterity

16.5

Physique

20.7

Energy points

147

The numbers didn’t surprise him. He could give the neural network the order to switch them from the ‘dragon system’ back to the ‘human’ one, but he didn’t see a point to doing so. Back in the Sea of Sand, he’d spent some time examining the corpse of a Lord of the Heavens that had been killed by Harlim, an Immortal. That had apparently been enough for the network to reconfigure its readings to fit the new system of measurements.

Mysterious hieroglyphs and sigils flashed around the edges of the platform. Hadjar now knew that, hidden beneath the iron, there were storage crystals that powered it.

As for the impressive difference between his and Parlax’s stats, this could easily be explained by the effects of the Wolf Broth, his strengthened and elongated meridians, and his dragon’s heart. Right now, despite being a Heaven Soldier at the advanced stage, he had the power of a mid-stage Spirit Knight at the very least.

Hadjar got off the platform and lined up with the other disciples, most of whom had silver tokens. The outer circle disciples held sacks full of various herbs, stones, wood, and roots. Gathering these resources was practically the only way for them to get the Glory points they needed to study at the School.

There were several disciples with golden tokens in the crowd as well. The fully-fledged disciples also carried bags, but their bags were full of monster cores or artifacts they’d earned in battle against the disciples of other Schools.

Sometimes, the sheer fervor the disciples displayed when going after one another made Hadjar feel uneasy. The Emperor and the nobility, however, encouraged the students’ ‘fighting spirit’. Today, there were no disciples with jade or wooden tokens to be seen.

“Stop right there,” a familiar voice thundered.

Chapter 634

A fifteen-foot-tall giant of a golem-warrior loomed over Hadjar. Clad in Imperial level armor, it held a twenty-foot-long, Imperial level spear in its hands. Next to it stood a giant golem-tiger whose roar had once blown the head off a Lascanian spy. That’s what the School’s disciples claimed, anyway, he hadn’t been there to witness it himself. It had happened on the night of the attack in which hundreds of Darnassian nobles had been killed. After that, the two Empires had begun preparing for war, recruiting even their mortal residents.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” he said and held out his golden token. “Fully-fledged disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. I’m returning from a mission.”

The golem-tiger approached Hadjar. Its eyes were the size of a hand. After sniffing his token to make sure that it was the genuine article, it moved aside. The golem-warrior put away its spear, granting Hadjar entrance to the School’s grounds.

Hadjar walked down a wide, stone road, which he and Einen had often called the ‘central avenue’. Several smaller roads branched out from it, one of which led to the forest inhabited by the disciples of the outer circle. Einen and Hadjar had also lived there during their first couple of weeks at the School. They’d built a hut on one of the hills and spent several nights there. A little farther away, opposite the Hall of Fame, were the dormitories of the fully-fledged disciples. They were old but still functional buildings. Behind them stood the dormitories of the inner circle disciples, which looked like swanky hotels and taverns.

Around the Treasure Tower, a huge, seven-story building that stored all the artifacts and knowledge of the School, were the private lodgings of the personal disciples.

Passing a group of outer circle disciples carrying huge bags on their shoulders, Hadjar stopped to chat with them.

“Senior disciple.” They bowed their heads. Hadjar vaguely remembered some of them.

“Junior disciples,” he said, following the School’s etiquette. “I was away for a while. Could you tell me why the security checks are suddenly so strict?”

The disciples looked at each other.

“You must’ve been away for more than a month,” one of the girls guessed. Like most cultivators, she was incredibly beautiful. “The School was attacked a few weeks ago.”

“The School itself was attacked?” Hadjar asked, shocked.

She nodded. “Disciples of the ‘Meltwater’ School’s inner circle attacked the elevator and killed about a hundred of our friends. Then they went up to the gates, where several of our own inner circle disciples killed them.”

“It was the Dinos siblings, Dora Marnil, and an islander with a spear,” said a young man with a longbow. “Einen, I think his name was. He’s also become a disciple of the inner circle.”

Hadjar was shocked at first, and then delighted. While he’d been away, Einen had managed to acquire a jade token.

“You look surprised, senior disciple,” the girl noted.

“It isn’t every day that disciples from other Schools attack us.”

“You’ve really been away for a while… It used to be like that. Nowadays, we run into someone on the Imperial road almost every day.”

Hadjar frowned. He’d once fought against disciples from the other Schools on the Imperial road. That was where he’d met Price Geran, a man who could’ve become his friend, but had instead died as the most worthy of adversaries.

“The Emperor has announced that the war games will soon be taking place,” the girl continued. “Everyone says that they’re the prelude to our inevitable war with Lascan.”

“War games?”

The girl nodded. The young man with the bow quickly clarified.

“In six months, in the fields of Gareven, the war games between us, the ‘Quick Dream’ School, and the ‘Meltwater’ School will take place. The School that wins will receive an award from the Emperor. Everyone believes that winning these games will be the key to winning the Tournament of the Twelve.”

Hadjar whistled. He had indeed missed a lot during his travels.

“We’re sorry, senior disciple,” they all bowed, “but we need to get to the Hall of Fame as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, of course. Best of luck to you, junior disciples,” he said, waving them on.

As he watched them walk away, Hadjar took a deep breath and sat down on the nearest bench. If the Emperor had decided to arrange war games, which had only been held between armies as drills in the past, then a war was inevitable. It would probably begin shortly after the Tournament of the Twelve, which would allow the disciples to get even stronger before then. Given the fact that disciples weren’t given the same training that the military got, the games would turn into a bloodbath, which would, in turn, make the survivors even stronger in the end. In other words, the plan was to get rid of as many disciples (or ‘mouths to feed’, in military terms) as possible, with the end goal of making future officers out of those who proved themselves worthy.

“Holy shit.” Hadjar breathed out. He’d really missed a lot.

“I agree, my future disciple.”

Startled, Hadjar turned around and came face to face with Orune. The old swordsman looked the same as he had the last time they’d met: muscular, broad-shouldered, and covered in Name tattoos. He was barefoot, wearing plain canvas pants and a necklace made of fangs that was surely a spatial artifact. Surprisingly, his presence didn’t attract curious glances. Disciples walked past them as if Orune wasn’t even there.

“Mentor Orune,” Hadjar said and, without thinking, gave him the orc greeting — he brought two fingers to his heart, then to his forehead, and then directed them toward the sky. He followed that up with a bow, not out of necessity or because he wanted to suck up to the man, but out of deep respect. “Please forgive my tardiness. I ran into unforeseen trouble along the way. The delay was entirely my fault. I’m ready to-”

Orune interrupted Hadjar with… laughter. Slapping his knees with his hands, he laughed so loudly and joyously that anyone could’ve easily mistaken him for a lunatic.

“My future disciple,” he said at last, wiping away tears. “Tell me, have you returned stronger than when you left?”

“Much stronger.”

“Then you ought to have stayed for at least six more months, if they would’ve served you as well as these past six weeks have.”

Orune leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

“Now, tell me…” His gaze and expression turned serious. “Did you stay because you wanted to get to know the orcs better? What interfered with your journey?”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that Orune knew that the two feathers in his hair had been given to him by the orcs.

“Pirates attacked the ship I was on.”

“Pirates…” Orune pressed his hands together and stared straight ahead. The disciples walking past them tensed up when they noticed his gaze and hurried to leave as quickly as possible. “Hadjar, you need to be careful. Don’t trust anyone.”

“Why? Do you know something?”

“Nothing solid. But I do have my suspicions. I really hope I’m wrong, as it would be unpleasant for me and deadly for you if I’m not.”

Hadjar nodded stiffly. He was certain that someone had sent the pirates to get rid of him. There was no other reason for them to have been there.

“On to more important things.” Orune slapped his knees again, assuming his usual carefree attitude. “Give me the letter and go to the seventh training arena. I think they’re waiting for you there.”

Hadjar took the scroll out of his spatial ring. It instantly disappeared from his hand. The fangs on Orune’s necklace flashed.

“See you later, my future disciple. I’ll be back when you earn a jade token.”

Orune disappeared into thin air, and Hadjar saw that 80,000 Glory points have been transferred to his account. It was quite the amount for an outer circle disciple. To the inner circle ones, however, it was a decent allowance.

After sitting on the bench for some time, he got up and headed toward the seventh training arena.

Chapter 635

H adjar leaned against a tree, observing two disciples as they trained. One of them was Tom. Fully armored and armed with an Imperial blade, he was getting ready to use a familiar Technique. Behind him, a ghostly sword surging with lightning hung in the air.

“Bloody Charge!”

During their last fight, Tom had been able to disappear and reappear next to him in the blink of an eye. Over the past month and a half, he’d been able to reach the Spirit Knight level and acquire a Thunderbolt Spirit, which made his movements even faster.

Enveloped in red lightning, Tom dashed toward his opponent at an incredible speed.

“Thunder God’s Sword!”

His blade was also coated in red lightning. It looked both beautiful and deadly. The blade had turned into a lightning bolt that contained frightening power capable of turning any foe to dust.

However, his opponent wasn’t going to give up. Einen hadn’t changed much in the past six weeks: he wore the same clothes and had the same calm and expressionless look on his face. A ghostly spear-staff hung in the air behind him. The scales that the weapon was covered in reminded Hadjar of the fangs normally seen in the maws of huge serpents.

A shadow flickered to life around Einen and assumed the shape of an ape covered in iridescent scales. With a snarl, it stretched out its hand, summoning its own spear-staff, and parried Tom’s attack. Their collision created such a powerful wave of energy that it would’ve uprooted the earth and destroyed the walls in a radius of several hundred feet all around them had it not been for the special absorbing artifacts that stood in the corners of the arena.

The impact threw Tom a couple of feet back. To Hadjar’s surprise, he dispelled both his Spirit and Technique, then sheathed his weapon. Einen, who also dispelled his Call and Technique, saluted him.

“Thanks for being my sparring partner, Tom.”

“I owed you, islander.” Judging by his arrogant manner of speaking, Tom hadn’t matured as a person at all. “We’re even now. The next time we meet on the sand, I’ll kill you.”

Tom stepped off the platform and, glaring at the spectators, headed toward the dormitories. Anise followed him. Seeing her made Hadjar’s heart skip a beat. She was dressed the same as always, in a long, wide, black skirt and a tight top that bared her shoulders and stomach. Dangling from her belt was a long, brown scabbard that held a sword without a crossguard. Anise exuded the power of an advanced-stage Spirit Knight. Hadjar wondered what had happened to everyone over the past six weeks.

“You did it, Einen!” Dora said as she hopped down from the stands. She hadn’t changed either: she still had the same beautiful, symmetrical face, blue eyes, and unnaturally long ears. She was dressed in simple but expensive clothes, and carried a heavy warhammer on her back. Just like Anise, she exuded the power of an advanced-stage Spirit Knight.

Einen greeted her with a slight quiver of his lips. In his ‘language’, this meant that he was happy to see her.

“How long are you going to keep standing there, barbarian?” He asked while still looking at Dora.

The girl started and looked around. Unlike Einen, who was skilled in the art of shadows, she couldn’t detect Hadjar, who’d hidden his presence with his Call.

“I see you didn’t waste any time, my friend.”

Dispelling his Call, Hadjar stepped out of the shadows and went over to the platform to greet his friend, ignoring the shocked gazes of the spectators. Einen opened his eyes fully, revealing his unnatural, purple eyes. The two stared at one another for a moment, then hugged each other tightly.

“Where have you been, barbarian? We lost you at Dahanatan’s sky port. I wanted to go after ‘Rukh’s Wings’, but Mentor Orune told me to wait.”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to hear that Orune had told Einen to stay away. He’d expected it, in fact.

“Did he try to make you stronger too?”

“Well, yes and no,” Einen responded evasively. “He sent me and the Dinos siblings to one of the ancient tombs in the Wastelands. We returned a couple of days ago and-”

“-sent a bunch of the ‘Meltwater’ School’s inner circle disciples to their forefathers.”

Dora and Einen looked at each other. Hadjar noticed that Dora wasn’t very happy to see he was back. He couldn’t blame her, they’d had a very strange relationship from the very start. He was sure that she would’ve stopped talking to him long ago if it hadn’t been for Einen.

“Did the other disciples tell you that?” Einen asked a little tensely.

“They did,” Hadjar said, suspecting something, “Given your tone, something happened while I was away.”

“A lot of things happened.” Einen nodded. “Orune sent us after an artifact. I won’t go into details, but the journey made us stronger. We got the artifact, of course, but on the way back, we were intercepted by disciples from the other schools.”

“From the ‘Meltwater’ and ‘Quick Dream’ Schools?”

“No, Hadjar,” Dora said. “From all of them. We had to fight against disciples from twenty different schools.”

“I think there are only five Schools in all of Dahanatan, and two of them are part of the military.”

“You’re right.” Dora tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Hadjar caught a glimpse of a long scar on her temple. “We had to fight our way through hundreds of disciples from all over the Empire. They were waiting for us on the Imperial road. They-”

“-wanted the artifact,” Hadjar guessed.

“We got lucky,” Einen said. “Dora’s sister arrived just in time and escorted us to the capital, where a hundred of the ‘Meltwater’ School’s inner circle disciples attacked us at the gates. They also wanted the artifact.”

Hadjar finally realized how Einen had earned the necessary amount of Glory points needed to become an inner circle disciple.

“I wonder what that artifact-”

Lightning flashed in the sky above the School, followed by thunder, and then a voice filled the air:

“Attention, all students of ‘The Holy Sky’ School!” said the rector, one of the strongest cultivators in the School and the Empire as a whole. “Thanks to our disciples and their hard work, the map to Emperor Decater’s tomb and the key to his chambers were recovered! By the Emperor’s will, for the next six months, the Wastelands will be open to disciples from all the martial arts schools. Only Heaven Soldiers and Spirit Knights are eligible to participate in the search. Since it was our disciples who made this possible, we’ll be getting a two-week head start. Find the map and the key that have been hidden in the Wastelands! Find the tomb and fight for Decater’s legacy! Acquire his treasures! Become stronger and bring glory to our country! Good luck to all of you!”

Hadjar, Einen, and Dora exchanged glances. It seemed like it was time for them to once again go on an adventure.

Chapter 636

E inen and Hadjar were sitting on a bench in the courtyard and watching as the world moved around them. Students of all ranks scurried about, running from the dormitories to the Hall of Fame, then to the Treasure Tower, then back to the dormitories, over and over again. Among them were Dora and the Dinos siblings.

Some were stocking up on various alchemical supplies, others were buying artifacts and maps, and there were even those who, looking to make a quick profit, were selling the things that they’d just bought in the Treasure Tower.

Hadjar was smoking his pipe and observing the world through the puffs of smoke, while Einen toyed with his new spatial artifact — Eon Mrax’s chain.

“Thank you,” he said.

To some, this would’ve seemed like a poor show of gratitude for an item of such value, but not to Hadjar. Einen was a friend, and this gift was nothing more than a token of his appreciation for the islander.

Scan.

Name

Einen

Level of cultivation

Spirit Knight, initial stage

Strength

12.3

Dexterity

13.2

Physique

16

Energy points

189

“How did you do it?” Hadjar finally decided to ask.

Einen’s brow twitched slightly. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed it, but not Hadjar. He knew him far too well.

“You know what I mean.” He sighed. “You four weren’t this far along the path of cultivation a month and a half ago.”

Einen glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the noisy crowd.

“Everyone who was in the capital in the past few weeks has gotten stronger,” he explained. “If you go to the Treasure Tower, you’ll see that the prices have been greatly reduced, especially when it comes to various kinds of alchemy components and meditation Techniques. The Marnils and the Dinos even sent some reagents to their heirs.”

Hadjar exhaled a ring of smoke. It hung in the air for a moment, then disappeared.

“War,” he whispered. “I’m sure that most of the reagents in the Treasure Tower found their way there with the Magistrate and Emperor’s help.”

“War,” Einen repeated.

Hadjar smiled broadly. He looked at his friend and winked.

“So, did you get some reagents from-”

“I found some artifacts in the Wastelands that would’ve been useless to you or me,” Einen interrupted him rather harshly. “I sold them and used the Glory points I got from that to buy all the resources I needed for meditation. I also had enough left over to attend lectures about the nature of the Spirit. That’s how I reached the Spirit Knight level.”

Hadjar remained silent, any hint of laughter disappearing from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Einen managed to maintain a stern expression for a bit longer, but soon enough, the corners of his lips twitched slightly. Hadjar narrowed his eyes, then laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. Ever since he’d met him, Einen had always had the amazing ability to crack jokes with a deathly serious expression on his face. Then again, he did everything while maintaining that same expression. He was mocking him even now for thinking that he’d hurt his feelings.

“I hope you’ll get to tell me about your adventures one day,” Einen said, pointedly glancing at the feathers in Hadjar’s hair. Hadjar, in turn, noticed that Einen was wearing long sleeves, even though he’d said on numerous occasions that he preferred short sleeves.

They silently stared at the anxious disciples milling around them for a while longer. They would sometimes switch to observing the sky. There, among the clouds, flying boats and small brigs soared across the azure expanse.

The students, realizing the seriousness of their task, began to form groups. Raiding the tomb of one of the Emperors was a huge deal. In addition to artifacts and alchemical resources, there was a chance that they’d find something that couldn’t be bought with neither Glory points nor Imperial coin — an Inheritance. An Emperor’s only disciple was his heir. However, instead of leaving his Inheritance to his heir, as was tradition, Decater had left his in his tomb.

The entrance to the crypt was guarded by a powerful spell that forbade entry to anyone who didn’t fit the required criteria. In nine out of ten cases, this criteria was always the same: the adventurer had to be a Heaven Soldier or a Spirit Knight. The criteria for entering the tombs of the Immortals, which Hadjar had managed to do once, were far more complicated and beyond his understanding.

In order to keep grave robbers and Lascanian spies away, Emperors, nobles, and other esteemed individuals were traditionally buried in the Wastelands, which belonged to the best martial arts School in the Empire. That was also why many disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ practically lived in the Wastelands, hoping to find the tomb of some great person and become stronger with their ‘help’.

As for Decater’s tomb… This particular Emperor was famous for several reasons. According to legends, he’d been a great swordsman who had managed to comprehend several of the laws of the Sword Spirit. No one knew what that actually meant. Some were certain it was proof that the Sword Kingdom wasn’t the last level of weapon mastery, despite all of those who had reached it claiming otherwise. Others argued that Decater was referring to some deep understanding of the Sword Spirit’s essence when he mentioned these ‘laws’.

He had also possessed, but, for some reason, hadn’t passed on a meditation Technique that had helped him overcome the barrier that separated the Nameless level from the one that came after it.

The third legend that usually attracted so many treasure seekers was the fact that Decater had had a frightening number of people who’d adored him. When he’d died, all of his friends, disciples, followers, and acquaintances had left their Inheritances in his tomb as a tribute. In other words, his resting place was where any cultivator, regardless of their abilities or the path they followed, had to go in order to become the strongest cultivator of their generation.

Dora stopped beside her friends. She’d swapped her usual outfit for leather pants and a jacket that accentuated every curve of her body. Passersby, both male and female, stared at her with lusty or envious expressions on their faces. Sometimes both. “I didn’t make you wait too long, did I?”

Hadjar and Einen exchanged glances.

Hadjar emptied his pipe out onto the stone path that wound along the numerous empty benches. The School was rapidly emptying. Everyone was rushing to grab as much treasure, wealth, fame, and power they could get their hands on.

“Not at all,” Einen said, despite the fact that he and Hadjar had been sitting there for almost four hours. Both of them knew that scolding a woman for taking too long was as useless as it was dangerous.

“Let’s get going, then.” Dora smiled, leading the way.

Hadjar couldn’t help but give his neural network a mental order to scan the elf.

Name

Dora Marnil

Level of cultivation

Spirit Knight, middle stage

Strength

17

Dexterity

14.3

Physique

18.6

Energy points

229

Chapter 637

T hey were pleasantly surprised to see that, despite all the commotion, there was almost no queue at the exit. The huge warrior and tiger golems, standing off to the side, calmly watched the disciples leaving the School.

The elevator platform worked so quickly that each time it descended or ascended, it created torrents of wind that blew the weaker cultivators off their feet.

Hadjar, Dora, and Einen patiently waited their turn. They didn’t want to cut in line. The Dinos siblings, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have that problem. Tom, who was wearing white clothes made of the most exquisite materials, strolled past, cutting through the crowd with his Spirit Knight aura imbued with the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart. As he walked past the trio, he gave them a look of haughty disdain.

“I really hope, you worthless scoundrel,” he said loudly while staring at Einen, “that we’ll run into each other in the Wastelands, and that I’ll get to finish what I started.”

“We already did, once” Einen said, surprising Hadjar, “venerable junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan.”

Tom flushed, his jaw clenched, and he walked away with the arrogant poise of a pageant queen. The people waiting nearby jumped away from him like frightened antelopes scattering before a prowling lion.

“By the way,” Hadjar said loudly enough that Tom could hear him, “who won the duel between the Dinos and Tarez heirs? I missed it!”

Tom missed a step and almost tripped.

“The Tarez heir won,” Einen replied. “Isn’t that funny, my friend? A merchant defeated a swordsman!”

Tom turned on his heel, but Anise grabbed his elbow. She shook her head, then pointed to the platform and dragged him away. As she walked, she turned, glanced at Hadjar, and then abruptly turned away. Hadjar shuddered beneath her gaze; it did not bode well for him. He didn’t need his neural network to know that Anise was stronger than him.

“Did you get to see them fight?” Hadjar whispered to Einen in the islander’s native language.

Einen wasn’t surprised by Hadjar’s secrecy since he knew that his friend had made a deal with Helmer.

“I did,” he replied. “Let me tell you, I have never seen a stranger duel in my life.”

Hadjar swore mentally, wishing that he’d been there to see it. A duel between heirs had to have been a spectacular show.

“Were they both Lords?”

“Yes.” Einen nodded. “Like most personal disciples, both of them are at the initial stage of the Lord level.”

Hadjar presumed that, in just a few years, by the end of the Tournament of the Twelve, all the personal disciples would be middle-stage Lords at least. He had no doubt that the Empire would use the School to ensure it happened. Those who’d managed to prove their worth would get the maximum amount of support and resources. They’d get everything that Darnassus had accumulated over many thousands of years and was now planning on investing in them, not just for the sake of its future, but in order to preserve its very existence.

“What was so strange about it?”

Before replying, Einen looked around several times to make sure that no one, including Dora, was listening to them.

“Tarez used an Imperial level Technique.”

“Well, he is a personal disciple. Maybe those kinds of Techniques are no big deal at his level.”

“Maybe…” Einen nodded. “But the energy he used… It was something I’ve never seen before.”

Hadjar suspected the worst, so he asked Einen to describe what he’d seen.

“His energy was crimson, like blood, and… somehow wrong. It felt like it wasn’t coming from the World River. I don’t know how else to describe it... It was alien. Its only goal was destruction.”

“And it was steeped in negative emotions: fear, despair, anger, and envy.”

Einen turned to Hadjar.

“You’ve seen it before?”

Hadjar nodded. “Once, long ago… Back when I’d first started serving in the army of my native Kingdom.”

“Someone from such a small, barbarian Kingdom actually used something like that?” Einen was surprised.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you think we’re talking about the same thing. But our eyes, my friend, often show us what we want to see instead of what is real.”

Before Hadjar could reply, someone bumped into him, pushing him aside. A middle-aged man was about to yell at him when he spotted his golden token. Since he only had a silver one, he apologized profusely and disappeared back into the queue.

“Thank you for your wisdom,” Hadjar said, somewhat stunned. “But I know what I saw. Given Helmer’s involvement, I think we should avoid the Tarez in the near future.”

Einen nodded in agreement, obviously frightened by the energy he’d seen.

“With their power,” Einen shuddered, “they could conquer the world.”

“More like burn it to the ground.”

They didn’t talk about anything else. Dora didn’t mind that the two of them were talking in a language that she didn’t understand. In the world of martial arts, where the eternal struggle for power never ceased, secrets were considered an integral part of life.

As they descended, Hadjar turned toward the stables, but soon realized that he was heading there alone.

“Don’t we-”

“My father gave me a ship.” Dora smiled happily.

“A ship?” It took Hadjar a moment to remember that Dora, despite all her modesty, was the eldest heiress of one of the seven great clans. If he so chose, her father could buy her an entire fleet. “Why?”

Hadjar looked at Einen, but the islander pretended not to notice his gaze. Dora blushed.

“My birthday was two weeks ago,” she muttered. “I’m seventeen-springs-old now.”

“Wow!” Hadjar, despite not being close friends with her, still tried to maintain a civilized relationship with the elf. “Then please, accept my belated congratulations and a small gift.”

He took two storage crystals out of his spatial ring. Even after fighting the Dah’Khasses, he still had five left. Each of them was worth about three thousand Imperial coins, which was quite the sum by anyone’s standards.

“Is that what I think it is?” At that moment, Dora didn’t look like a warrior, but like a teenager who’d just received an unexpected but very welcome gift. “Thank you!” She smiled and hugged Hadjar, but then, as if remembering something, pulled away. The crystals disappeared into her spatial artifact, and the trio set off toward the port.

Chapter 638

H eading into the port, Hadjar stopped dead in his tracks as he remembered walking up the ramp of ‘Rukh’s Wings’. The memory faded after a moment, swept away by the breeze. The port was in absolute chaos: hundreds of boats and ships were soaring into the sky and flying southeastward, toward the heart of the Empire.

The capital was getting close to no longer being the Empire’s most populated area, losing out to the Wastelands. Less than ten hours after the announcement, thousands of cultivators were already on their way to one of the most dangerous territories on the entire continent, with many more to follow.

Dora’s ship, a small, one-sail vessel with the capacity to carry about ten people, was anchored in a private section of the port with several other ships. All of them, regardless of their size, cargo, and equipment, displayed the same flag — the Imperial coat of arms above the coat of arms of House Marnil.

“Will that thing really be able to take off?”

Einen tilted his head in confusion, looking at a five-decked battleship with at least five hundred guns and seven masts holding twenty-one huge sails.

“My father took me to see some fleet drills when I was a child,” Dora said, walking over to him. “The thunder of that ship’s cannons can stop a mortal’s heart.”

“Hot damn!” Einen cried out in excitement and awe. “In my homeland, even the sovereign’s fleet doesn’t have battleships… Hadjar! How many months would it take you to conquer the neighboring kingdoms with that ship?”

“Months?” Hadjar chuckled. “They’d surrender after just seeing me approach in that beast. I’d capture them all and burn their forts to the ground in a…. week… maybe two.”

“Hot damn,” Einen repeated, slightly shocked by the answer, but no less excited. “If I had one, I’d be the King of the Skies.”

It was worth remembering that the islander’s heart wasn’t that of a common sailor, but the heart of an heir to a great pirate, conqueror, and smuggler.

“Stop gawking at it, we’re wasting time,” Dora said and walked up the gangplank to her own ship.

Hadjar followed her. The boat, despite being moored, still swayed in the air. The hieroglyph that kept it afloat was no bigger than a hand. It wasn’t hidden as they usually were, either, but hovered in the air not far from the helm. The crystals that powered it were held in special slots inside the mast.

While Einen tried to tear his gaze away from the huge ship, Dora replaced the small crystals already in the slots with the ones Hadjar had given her that he’d retrieved from the wreckage of the ‘Drunken Goose’. The crystals were so large that they didn’t quite fit into the slots, peeking out of the mast like thorns on a rose.

Observing Einen as he climbed the ramp, Hadjar was surprised to see the giant smile plastered across his usually serious face. Eyes opened wide, he stared at the ship as if he were a child looking at a toy he desperately wanted for his birthday.

Even the crew of ‘Rukh’s Wings’ would’ve envied the speed with which the islander cast off the mooring lines. Having freed the boat, Einen went over to the helm. Still smiling, he pushed the lever and stepped on the pedal.

The crystals flashed a bright blue. The boat, not designed to withstand such a large amount of energy, vibrated violently. Hadjar, familiar with the dangers of sky travel, immediately grabbed the railing. Sitting down on a bench, he pulled Dora down along with him. The elf girl, despite the fact she’d bragged about sailing as a child, turned pale and froze in her seat. Both of them thought the same thing: they should’ve just followed the example of the other students and traveled on mounts.

“Will it-”

“It’ll hold!” Einen laughed. “It’ll hold!”

Yanking on the rigging, he hoisted the sail and sent the boat into a sharp ascent. Dora fell to the floor. Hadjar was about to help her up when he heard her giggling happily as she looked at the glittering domes of Dahanatan’s palaces disappear somewhere below them. The ship picked up speed so rapidly that it left a clean cut in the clouds. The barrier that covered the ship shone so brightly that it looked like a glittering ball of lightning.

The ship was leaving the capital at a breakneck speed. The vessels they encountered along the way met them with loud shouts and cheers. Among all the great clans of the Empire, the Marnils, as healers and sky travelers, were respected, and even loved. They were considered one of the mainstays of the Empire and praised for helping the wounded and those in need.

Their journey, devoid of anything save for the endless blue sky and clouds, soon became boring. Einen, standing at the wheel, was the only one who still seemed to be enjoying himself. He stared steadily at the horizon, basking in the warmth and the golden rays of the sunset.

When the stars appeared across the black velvet canvas of the night sky, Einen became even happier. Guided by them, he made his way through the clouds.

“Got a moment?”

Hadjar opened his eyes and stared at Dora, surprised to see her sitting so close to him, as she usually avoided his presence.

“Is it important?”

She nodded. Hadjar looked at Einen, but he seemed too absorbed in his thoughts, overjoyed at the fact that he’d gotten an opportunity to fly a ship. Hadjar understood him well. He often longed for the simple life of a military man, back when he’d usually known what tomorrow would bring, provided he didn’t die in battle.

“Let’s talk, then.”

Dora was quiet for a while, finding it difficult to start the conversation.

“My aunt told me everything,” she finally began. “And I… I wanted to ask… to ask how-”

“It’s all right,” Hadjar interrupted her. “I’m all right.”

Dora turned away. He could feel how difficult it was for her to be near him. It had always been like that, from the very first day they’d met. The only reason she’d ever bothered with him was Einen.

“But this is… It’s a fragment… Of the Enemy himself. The most terrible of all the monsters! There are so many horror stories about him.”

“As well as about Helmer, the Last King, the Gray Man, the Gravedigger…”

“Please stop.” Dora shuddered. “I know all those stories… Everyone does.”

“It’s just how things are.” Hadjar smiled.

“But this is different! Helmer and the others aren’t real. The Enemy is! Always has been, and always will be, and he’s inside you! You… You’ll die if you don’t-”

The look in his eyes made her shut up. She glanced at Einen, who was still too busy with the helm and his nostalgia to pay attention to what was happening right under his nose.

“Why are we talking about this?” He asked, wanting her to get to the point already.

“He’s your friend,” she whispered, now staring longingly at Einen’s back. “He’ll be hurt if you die. And he’ll be even more hurt if he has to kill you when the Enemy’s fragment takes control of you.”

Hadjar smiled. He envied Einen sometimes…

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “When the time comes… If I fail… I’ll go on a long journey where, alas, Einen won’t be able to join me.”

Dora turned to him, eyes wide as if she were seeing him for the first time.

“Thank-”

Her words were drowned out by a thunderous boom. A frigate with a black flag emerged from the nearby clouds — pirates.

“By the Heavens, you bastards are starting to get on my nerves!” Hadjar exclaimed.

Chapter 639

A cannonball struck their shield and disappeared in a shower of multicolored dust.

“Motherfuckers!”

At first, Hadjar thought he’d been the one who had cursed, but then he realized that that hadn’t been his voice. Purple eyes shining brightly, Einen sharply spun the helm. Dora, grabbing hold of everything she could get her hands on, screamed in fear. She didn’t look like a warrior, but like a frightened child.

“Hadjar!” Einen shouted. “Get ready!”

“For what?” He shouted back, trying to be heard over the whistling wind.

“We’ll board them! I’m sure you know how that’s done!”

Einen turned the helm sharply, making the ship practically whirl around. Dora, still screaming, wrapped herself around the mast like a vine. Hadjar wanted to scream as well, shout just like Derek had… Brushing aside the unwelcome memory, he summoned his inner dragon and the Black Blade.

Einen, still spinning the boat, ducked under the frigate. Emerging from the other side and not rising any higher, Einen pushed off from the ship, drawing his weapon and summoning his Call. Soaring through the sky, he pierced the frigate’s shield, crashed into the stern, and began to climb up to the deck.

“What’s gotten into you?” Hadjar wailed, breaking through the shield after him. He plunged his sword into the ship’s side and began climbing as well. “You’ve always been a quiet schemer!”

“Where’s your Sea Spirit, barbarian?”

Hadjar couldn’t see Einen’s face, but he suspected that the islander was grinning from ear to ear.

“Sea Spirit?” Hadjar groaned. “Fuck your ships, your horses, and your other unholy means of transportation!”

Einen laughed.

It took the pirates several seconds to detect the invaders. Leaning over the railing, they shot at the duo with their crossbows. The bolts, each surrounded by a veil of dense energy, whizzed past them.

“This frigate will be mine!”

Einen’s Call struck the frigate with its armored fist, breaking through the stern and sending Einen flying. His flight ended in a violent struggle on the upper deck.

“I’ll never again get on any ship with him, ever,” Hadjar muttered to himself.

Opening his hands, he repeated the same trick he’d used in the Palace of the Dah’Khasses’ King. His cloak swirled like a black ribbon around the hilt of his disappearing sword and yanked him up. Landing on the deck, he instantly drew the Black Blade and ducked under a short saber. Bouncing back, he blocked the second swing with the flat of his own blade. His foe was a short, gaudy young man dressed in colorful clothes. Radiating the aura of a mid-stage Heaven Soldier, he wielded a curved dagger and a broad saber. There were about fifty pirates on the deck. Hadjar and Einen, two foes already dead at their feet, stood back to back.

“It seems to me like this wasn’t one of your brightest ideas,” Hadjar whispered, shifting his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Deciding not to give the two friends time to think of a plan, the pirates surrounded them in a tight circle and showered the duo with crossbow bolts. Einen deflected them with his Call’s armor, which grew to cover Hadjar as well. Hidden behind the rainbow dome for the first time, he suddenly felt as if he were behind the walls of a living fortress.

“I’ll break through to the gunpowder hold!”

Einen lunged forward, his Spear-staff Spirit appearing behind him. The ape, seizing it, imitated the islander. There was so much power in their movements that it tore one of the nearby pirates to shreds. Guts and blood rained down on the deck. “You handle the officers and the captain!”

Hadjar made a sweeping strike with his sword. A long, bright crescent of energy swept through the pirate ranks. A dozen of them were instantly sent to their forefathers, and only the ones who’d been lucky enough to have found themselves on the edge of the attack or had managed to use a defensive Technique survived with light injuries.

“Holy shit! Just how many of you are there?” Hadjar shouted, looking at them.

A repulsive woman was sitting on the bridge and observing him. Looking at her, Hadjar realized that she was a relative of those two female pirates he’d encountered before. However, she seemed much more powerful than they had been, since she was at the peak stage of the Spirit Knight level. She also didn’t seem to care about the fight, tossing a gold coin from some southern kingdom into the air and catching it as it fell.

Below him, near the bridge, stood a dozen officers, all of them experienced warriors with a lot of scars, and all of them at the initial stage of the Spirit Knight level or higher.

“Why do I have to fight these guys?” He mumbled to himself.

“Do you know how to blow up a gunpowder hold?”

Hadjar pondered this and almost took a crossbow bolt right between the eyes as he did so. Last time he’d dealt with a pirate ship, he’d turned it into a pile of splinters, canvas, and melted metal.

“You win.” Hadjar raised a fist into the air. Einen bumped it with his own and ran toward the holds, cutting his way through by wielding his staff-spear with such deadly speed it almost turned into an invisible blur.

“Well, let’s get this party started!” Hadjar held his sword in a reverse grip. “I’ll make you tell me who hired you!”

Whirling like a madman, Hadjar used the ‘Strong Wind’ stance to attack the pirates that had surrounded him. The stream of wind that surged out of his blade turned into a tornado the size of the central mast. The pirates caught in its razor-sharp edges were turned into bloody chunks of meat. Where Hadjar had stood moments ago, only a hole remained. The young man, turning into a plume of black fog, had slithered out like a snake between his opponents. Each swing of his sword was followed by a veil of impenetrable darkness in which the pirates found their death. Rage coursed through Hadjar, materializing as power in his hands and sword.

Dodging a slash, Hadjar ducked under his opponent’s arm. He swung his sword upward, cutting the man’s stomach open and letting the Black Blade feast on the pirate’s Spirit. Looking like a mummy, the pirate’s corpse landed at the feet of his brothers in arms who, tripping over one another, died as they fled. Hadjar, crouching, thrust his blade toward them again and again, piercing the neck of each of the fallen pirates and consuming their Spirits as well.

“Not so fast!”

Three officers, clad in artifact armor at the Imperial level, stood in front of him. Two of them held short axes and one wielded a heavy sword that looked like it weighed at least a ton.

Hadjar found himself in the middle of yet another encirclement. The pirates brandished their weapons and cheered their officers on.

“Ralph, Herman,” the captain said, still playing with the coin, “make sure that our other guest doesn’t get lost in the hold.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Chapter 640

T wo other officers, also wearing Imperial level armor, pushed past the pirates and headed for the stairs leading to the lower decks. Two more, both of them at the advanced stage of the Spirit Knight level, remained at their captain’s side. Catching the coin in midair, she looked into Hadjar’s eyes.

“You probably know that we were hired to find you and bring you to our employer.”

“I do.” Hadjar nodded. “If you tell me who they are-”

“What? Will you let me go?” She laughed.

Hadjar shook his head. “No. There’s already someone who wants me dead. I don’t need another person after me.”

“Then I’m afraid you have nothing to offer me.”

Hadjar shrugged. He had no intention of offering anything to her. He only hoped to buy enough time for Einen to deal with the barrels of gunpowder and the pirates. But the captain didn’t need to know that.

“What I can give you is a prettier death than theirs,” Hadjar said, pointing behind him at the mummified pirates.

“Tempting,” she drawled, pretending to think about it as she tossed her thick, gray hair over her shoulder. In the blink of an eye, she drew her dagger and pointed it at Hadjar. “I’ve been given an order, boy, and I value my reputation.”

“So, you won’t tell me who your employer is?”

“Of course not, you fool. Not that it would matter even if I did, as you’ll die today.”

Hadjar studied her eyes.

“You killed my daughters,” she said, gripping the dagger so tightly that the hilt creaked a little. “My daughters! Your death won’t be quick or painless… No. I’ll chop your dick off and feed it to you. Then I’ll rip all of your teeth and nails out. And then I’ll slowly peel your skin off while you’re still alive, cover you with honey, and tie you to the mast so that the birds and bugs can feast on your miserable carcass!”

Realizing that the captain didn’t feel like negotiating, Hadjar decided to act. He swung his sword lazily, which made the pirates directly in front of him recoil. A dragon emerged from a thundercloud that formed above the ship and descended upon the deck.

“I’ll take care of it!” shouted an officer armed with a heavy sword as he charged forward. “Deal with the bastard!” he ordered as he slashed toward the dragon. A huge Thunderbird appeared behind him as he fought against his opponent. Ribbons of white energy enveloped the pirate and sank into his sword, covering the blade with feathers and forming a pair of huge wings.

The pirate snarled, muscles bulging with the strain as he struggled to deflect the attack. What was going on here? It should’ve been impossible for a Heaven Soldier to overpower a Spirit Knight!

“You’re dead, you landlubber!”

Two officers walked calmly toward Hadjar, certain that he wouldn’t dare interrupt his Technique to fight them off. The disadvantage of such a powerful skill was that it remained connected to its owner until they decided to cancel it. And if this connection was broken, the cultivator would be completely cut off from their energy body for a couple of seconds. This usually wasn’t a problem, but in fights against very powerful opponents, it could mean the difference between life and death.

“I can’t wait to see the captain’s show!” one of the pirates shouted at Hadjar. “They’ll compose epics about your suffering!”

Hadjar’s face twisted into a predatory grin. He’d been waiting for them to come closer.

“Or about yours!” He growled.

Both the dragon and the wings disappeared, leaving the pirates dumbfounded. Convinced that no one could instantly recover from breaking their connection to such a powerful Technique, they didn’t expect to see Hadjar move as if nothing had happened. His enhanced energy body coupled with his expanded and enlarged meridians could transmit far more energy than the pirates, who’d never fought against an elite practitioner of martial arts, could ever imagine. Hadjar did lose his connection to his Core, but only for a brief moment. Only a Lord who’d mastered the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart could’ve done something like that under normal circumstances.

Turning into a plume of black fog, Hadjar slid toward the officer on his right. The pirate reacted quickly, but not quickly enough to dodge an attack from someone at Hadjar’s level. His death was imminent.

Without bothering to block the pirate’s attempt to defend himself, Hadjar moved slightly to the side. The axe missed his nose by an inch. The officer’s Spirit was already forming behind him, but it was too late. Turning his sword, Hadjar struck diagonally, cutting his opponent in half. Without a Technique he could strengthen his body with, his Imperial armor could only reduce the force of the blow by a third, and no more. Instead of guts and blood spilling out onto the deck, the pieces of a mummified corpse hit the wood with a dull thud. The armor, once it was no longer bound to its master, instantly disappeared into Hadjar’s spatial ring. Even though it was damaged, it would still be worth some Glory points in the Hall of Fame. Hadjar wasn’t above selling loot.

The other officer was already swinging his axe. He’d had a little more time to prepare compared to his less fortunate comrade. Behind him, the Thunderbird Spirit formed, and his axe was suddenly enveloped in fierce energy.

“Flight of-”

He didn’t get to say the full name of his Technique. Before the fragments of the mummified officer even landed, Hadjar turned back into a plume of black fog. Wasting no time, he instantly lunged at his opponent.

“Spring Wind!”

A stream of black energy assumed the shape of a dragon’s fang and pierced the pirate’s helmet, ramming into his skull as well. The axe slipped from his weakened fingers, and he collapsed to his knees. Hadjar didn’t have time to finish him off or pick up his armor. He knew when he could afford to collect trophies and when it was more prudent to fight for his life.

Without stopping, he reached the third officer, the one wielding a heavy blade. The wings on the enormous sword spread out and covered the deck with feathers. No matter how quickly they spun, Hadjar was still faster. He maneuvered between them as easily and smoothly as a dust particle dancing through the air.

“Autumn Leaf!” he shouted, imagining four leaves falling from the branch of an autumn tree. He slashed his blade through the air four times, forming a square, and struck the pirate. His arms, legs, and head, accompanied by a veritable geyser of blood, scattered to the various corners of the deck. The man’s heavy sword sank into the wood. The circle that the pirates had recently formed around Hadjar began to widen as they moved away from the frightening beast. The predator. The monster. The dragon. The True Lord of the Heavens.

“You’re next!” Hadjar growled, looking at the captain. There wasn’t a trace of humanity left in his voice.

Chapter 641

I mperial level armor gradually covered the captain’s body. Two broad, leaf-shaped sabers of the same level appeared in her hands.

“Get him!” She ordered.

The pirates flinched, but gathered their courage and rushed in for a suicidal attack. Hadjar, realizing that he was being delayed, didn’t try to conserve his energy. Thanks to Einen, there were plenty of energy pills in his spatial ring.

“Black Wind!” he shouted and swung his sword. Never before had he concentrated so many mysteries or so much energy into a single attack.

Following the Black Blade as it sliced through the air was its 55ft replica. The silhouettes of hundreds of miniature dragons danced around its dark figure, and each of them was an attack in its own right that merged with the echo of the impact. The pirates, most of them Heaven Soldiers without any armor, could do nothing against such fury and power. Hadjar sent at least fifty of them to their forefathers with that single attack and scattered just as many around the deck. Covered in grievous wounds, they were either dying or taking healing potions and pills.

“You’re a fucking monster!” Roared a pirate at the advanced stage of the Spirit Knight level.

Drawing a long, narrow blade, he charged at Hadjar, a Thunderbird Spirit spreading its massive wings behind him.

“You’re my first somewhat challenging opponent today,” Hadjar chuckled. He had no time to ponder why all the pirates had the same Spirit, but he would look into it the first chance he got.

Covered in white energy, the pirate’s sword collided with the flat of the Black Blade. A stream of bright light filled with mysteries at the Wielder level swept across the deck. The people unlucky enough to end up in its path were far more fortunate than the victims of the ‘Black Wind’ had been. They were all bowled over, wounded, but none of them were killed or maimed. Despite being considered a decent opponent, not even this pirate could perform a Technique powerful enough to make Hadjar break a sweat.

A powerful blow to his side threw Hadjar several feet back. He flew through the air and struck the mast with his back. Despite swaying and cracking, it somehow managed to remain standing. Seeing that this wasn’t the time to let his guard down, Hadjar turned into a plume of black fog, using the ‘Wind’ stance to dodge to the side. Had he taken a second longer, he would’ve suffered a fate much worse than merely being crushed by a falling mast. A fist made of air struck the spot where he’d stood a moment ago, breaking through to the lower deck. Through the rain of splinters and sparks, Hadjar spotted a pirate whose hands were encased in steel gauntlets shaped like the clenched talons of a Thunderbird. Multiple Thunderbird Spirits hovered behind the second officer and the captain. Some were even circling Hadjar.

“Well, maybe this will be a little int-”

“Heavenly Fire!” The captain’s eyes flashed with raw power.

Her sabers erupted in amber flames, then she crossed their blades over her head and brought them down in a powerful swing. Behind her, the Thunderbird spread its wings and cried out. Her attack flared up and changed color several times. The heat of the blue fire emanated the power of a peak-stage Spirit Knight who was close to mastering the Weapon’s Heart.

Where did these pirates learn all of this? Hadjar wondered, astounded.

“Calm Wind!”

A downdraft covered an area of fifty yards all around him and slammed into the frigate, making it sway. The planks and the masts cracked, and the sails fluttered with such force that they threatened to rip themselves free of the ropes. The rivets, unable to withstand the pressure, popped out.

The captain’s attack instantly lost a lot of its power. Dwindling down to embers, the flames assumed their normal amber and ruby colors.

However, the fight was still far from over.

The gauntlet-wielding pirate suddenly appeared to his right. Every one of his punches was powerful enough to easily bust through a fort wall or kill a normal cultivator not wearing at least Heaven level armor. When the fists were just inches away from their target, they were stopped by a dragon-sword that appeared in the air. The ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ stance was perfect for these kinds of situations, but Hadjar hadn’t expected to have to use it today.

And although he blocked the fists, a white sword came from Hadjar’s left. Growing as it attacked, it almost hit him in the stomach. Since he couldn’t block or dodge it, Hadjar held out his arm in front of him. His Call’s cloak had already reached the Heaven level, and his body had already surpassed the Spirit level in terms of toughness. There was no chance that they’d get him that easily.

The sword sliced through the gauntlets of the Call’s armor, cut through his skin, and then… stopped. The pirates were surprised to see their opponent stop the attack with his ‘bare hands’.

But even Hadjar, strong as he was, couldn’t stop inertia. After taking the blow, he soared into the air, flew back almost twenty yards, and crashed into a stack of barrels. Smashing them to pieces as he flew through them, he grabbed on to the same mast that he’d crashed into before. This time, however, unable to withstand the pressure, it cracked.

Without wasting a second, he tightened his grip and, now taking advantage of the inertia, used the mast to swing around. Sending energy into his legs, he kicked it with all his strength, turning the three-foot-wide and twenty times as long mast into a huge spear, the tip of which was aimed at his opponent.

Hadjar, standing on this giant, makeshift projectile, looked like a beast preparing to pounce on its prey.

“Scarlet Dawn!” The pirate shouted. He wasn’t going to go down that easily.

His energy turned red, ran down his shoulders, and then surged into his clenched fists. Shouting, he began to rapidly punch the air. Each of his attacks turned into a scarlet ball of energy that crashed into the mast. Splinters showered the pirates below them, but no matter how hard the pirate tried, the wood was stronger. Much stronger.

Coming down with a deafening roar, the mast punched through the pirate’s chest and then kept going, blasting through the decks as well. Before it crashed, Hadjar jumped off it, pushing it with his energy and making the collision even more devastating.

As soon as the ‘spear’ impaled the pirate, the frigate shuddered and began to lose altitude. The tremors increased until the entire deck began to shake. The sound of screaming pirates and the crackling of the ever-hungry fire that devoured everything in its path filled the air. Einen cursed loudly. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to reach the holds.

Chapter 642

L anding on the deck, Hadjar immediately leapt to the side. A column of raging fire shot up into the sky, coming from underneath him and cutting through the planks. At first, he thought that the captain had used one of her Techniques, but then he realized that one of the barrels in the powder hold had exploded.

How many barrels are there?

Two more roaring pillars of fire shot up toward the sky, burning a couple of unlucky pirates alive. The flames grazed the masts and sails, gradually wrapping the plummeting frigate in a shroud of roaring crimson. Creating a wild symphony of roars and creaks, the remaining masts crashed down into the ship and shattered, killing many as they did so.

“If I am to die here, you bastard,” the captain hissed, spreading her arms out, “I’m taking you down with me.”

Two firestorms tore out of the holds, dancing around her leaf-shaped sabers eagerly. The flames, a byproduct of the gunpowder explosions, didn’t melt the steel, but ran down it like drops of blood. They slid down the crossguard and touched the captain’s skin, making her scream out in pain. Her hair fell over her shoulders, and the flames engulfed her. Or so it seemed at first glance.

After a few moments, it became clear that the fire wasn’t burning the captain, but covering her like a veil. After seeing a flaming Thunderbird emerge from behind her, Hadjar was now certain that she had some sort of Call. The entire bird was a bright crimson, save for its talons and beak, which were made of blue flame.

“Captain, you-” one of her officers began, but was rudely interrupted.

“Shut up!” She screamed, obviously in horrible pain. “He killed my daughters! I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do! Thunderbird’s Flight!”

Swinging her sabers, she formed a fireball from which another bird emerged, and sent it toward her opponent. Letting out a high-pitched cry, it flew toward Hadjar with incredible speed, scorching the deck and the corpses strewn about it, covering it in soot and causing the stench of burnt flesh to fill the air. The power of this Technique could match that of the School’s elite disciples. Anise wouldn’t have been able to stop it, even with her armor and Techniques for Strengthening the Body.

Had he been facing only a single opponent, Hadjar would’ve used the ‘Black Wind’. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case, so he had to think of a different plan. He assumed a defensive stance and watched as the officer’s sword was wrapped in white light once again. Holding it out in front of him like a spear, the pirate made several quick, precise thrusts, each of which turned into a small bird filled with mysteries at the Wielder level.

“Damn it,” Hadjar swore, noticing that the birds could change their trajectory. “Calm Wind!”

The second downdraft caused the damaged frigate to shake even more violently than before. However, unlike last time, this Technique didn’t achieve the desired effect.

The birds merged into a single, larger one and fluttered around their crimson copy. Hadjar, turning into a plume of black fog, charged at the group of pirates that had surrounded him, blocking his path. They trembled at the sight of such a powerful opponent. They’d never encountered someone who seemed as invincible as Hadjar did. They might’ve heard of the capital’s elite disciples, but they’d surely never seen them in action. Hadjar only needed a single strike to deal with each of them. Their mummified corpses, drained by the Black Blade, disappeared into the Thunderbird’s beak. This didn’t slow the giant bird down, only made it stronger and its flames hotter.

Realizing that there was no way he could avoid the attack, Hadjar stopped and turned around to assume a defensive stance. However, realizing that he didn’t really know a lot of defensive Techniques and that he wouldn’t have time to use the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’, he cursed.

“By the High Heavens!” If he destroyed the crimson bird, the white one would probably use the opportunity to wound him. It wouldn’t kill him, that much he was certain of, but he wanted to avoid getting maimed if at all possible.

He gathered the necessary energy and imbued it with the mysteries of the Sword.

“Black-” he began, but didn’t manage to use his best and most deadly Technique in time.

The part of the deck he was standing on exploded in a shower of splinters and blood. Einen’s Call emerged from the hold, wielding a gigantic spear covered in scales.

“River Serpent!”

Einen’s lunge was so swift that it looked like a flash of lightning even to Hadjar. Wielding its own weapon, the ape imitated its owner’s movements. A green ray of condensed energy whizzed through the air. Transforming into a fin, it cut through the crimson Thunderbird first, and then, making a quick zigzag, struck the white one as well. Hadjar had seen Einen use his fastest attack several times before, but he’d never seen him hit two targets at once with it.

“Deal with the captain!”

Pushing off from the deck, the ape soared into the air. A ‘Boulder Storm’ bombarded their foes with a torrent of water and rocks. The speed with which the ape wielded its spear-staff formed a tsunami that struck the officer with enough force to bring down a battleship.

All Hadjar could do was gasp in awe.

It was clear that Einen hadn’t spent the last six weeks courting Dora, but training. He’d gotten much stronger, and deepened his understanding of the Spear-Staff as well.

Tearing his gaze away from the ape, Hadjar looked over at the captain. The Technique she was using was obviously costing her more than she was willing to admit. The fire was burning through her armor, eating away at her skin and muscles, and she was breathing quite heavily. However, clenching her teeth and growling, she endured the terrible pain. Hadjar recoiled. If there was ever a sight worthy of the label ‘burning vengeance’, this was it.

“Who’s your employer? Answer me and you won’t end up like that,” he said, pointing at one of the mummified corpses.

The frigate shook violently as it plummeted through the clouds. The deck was still being devoured by columns of flame. The pirates, hastily untying the lifeboats, were trying to leave the ship. None of them knew that they wouldn’t be able to make it out of this alive. Dora, who had regained consciousness, stood proudly on the frigate’s railing. Every time someone tried to escape, she’d stop them with a swift blow from her hammer. Behind her shone the hieroglyph of the Forest — the rarest and most powerful of the three types of Spirits, which gave its owner truly monstrous power. Dora’s attacks caused miniature earthquakes that smashed the lifeboats to kindling and obliterated the pirates.

“The captain always goes down with the ship, you whoreson!” the captain shouted. “Thunderbird’s Death!”

Hadjar’s eyes widened. He’d heard about them, but he’d never actually seen a suicide Technique before.

“Holy shit!” He cursed loudly.

Chapter 643

T he flaming shroud that had enveloped the captain flared up again. Now a bright blue, it expanded to a height of fifteen feet, turning the planks beneath the captain’s feet into ashes. Behind her, the Thunderbird Spirit cried out as if it was in real pain. Its crimson feathers slowly turned azure. The heat and the pressure of the captain’s aura were so intense that even pirates who were sixty feet away from her began to scream in pain. Their skin blistered and their hair smoldered. Unable to stand it, many threw themselves overboard. Dying from the fall seemed like a better alternative to being burned alive.

Narrowing his eyes, Hadjar estimated that the captain was currently stronger than a Spirit Knight. Power was practically oozing from her, morphing her very surroundings.

“Die!” she cried.

Enveloped in azure flames, she shot toward him at the speed of sound. The Thunderbird behind her spread its wings, their feathers so hot and so incredibly sharp that they cut through everything in their path: from pirates, who screamed in agony as they were torn apart by the blue flames, to the lifeboats, which were thrown into the air with a crash and roar. Wood was reduced to cinders with her every step. Through the haze of the shimmering air, Hadjar could no longer see the captain, only a phoenix. He had no doubt that if he tried to block her attack, he’d be burned to ashes along with her.

“Barbarian!” Einen shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar saw his friend holding on to the rigging. Next to him lay the body of a pirate who’d been impaled dozens of times and a mound of mauled corpses. He’d dispelled his Call and was gesturing for Hadjar to follow him.

“Wait a second!”

He could just run away. Since he was close to the railing, he’d have enough time to jump over to their ship. The captain would most likely die from her Technique or from a fall by the time they were gone. However, when he thought about the ferocity and dedication she was fighting with, Hadjar felt like it was his duty as a warrior to see this fight through to the end.

Turning back to the captain, he swung his sword. The Thunderbird and the black dragon rushed toward each other. Just before they collided, Hadjar ducked and slammed his palm against the deck. Soaring into the air, he leapt over the Thunderbird and prepared to use his best Technique.

“Black Wind!”

His blade turned into a ribbon of darkness that pierced the captain like a fang. Her fire turned black for a moment, and then everything was gone. Nothing remained of the brave pirate who’d sailed the skies above the two Empires for centuries.

Hadjar, after dispelling his Call, rushed over to Einen. Behind him, the frigate was being devoured by flames. Whatever the islander had done, he’d pulled it off spectacularly. Not only had he set fire to the gunpowder hold, he’d also created a kind of chain reaction that had accelerated the ship’s destruction.

“Come on!” Einen held out his hand.

Sharing a glance, the two jumped overboard seconds before the deafening explosion. Hand in hand, they flew toward the clouds that had turned red from the fire and smoke. Before they could plunge into their cold embrace, they both crashed into the deck of their ship.

As the vessel wasn’t designed to handle such maneuvers, it swayed sharply and lost a bit of altitude. Hadjar was afraid that the sail might’ve broken or that the hieroglyph had been damaged, but both had managed to survive. With a grunt, Einen reached for the pedal and pressed it all the way down. Energy immediately surged into the symbol, which lit up, powering the ship. They moved away just in time to avoid a torrent of fire.

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar swore.

Rolling over onto his back, he peered through the holes in the railing and watched as the fire and smoke dissipated. Like comets, debris rained from the sky. Sometimes, there were screams to accompany the debris. At first, they grew louder, but soon subsided, disappearing somewhere under them.

“You said that the frigate would be yours, didn’t you?” Hadjar asked as he got up from the deck. Grunting, he walked over to a bench and collapsed atop it with a sigh. “Is this how you capture ships, Einen?”

“I realized that the three of us wouldn’t be able to fly it,” he replied with a shrug.

Hadjar looked at his friend. The islander, who was covered in shallow cuts, stood at the helm and stared into the distance.

“Damn it, man! I still can’t tell when you’re joking and when you’re being serious!”

They flew in silence for a while, the cold air grazing their cheeks like the nails of some small rodent. Luckily, the cold couldn’t really bother cultivators and they were also protected from the wind and rain by the dome that still shone around the ship.

“I’m sorry,” Dora whispered, sitting on the floor, her back against the mast. “I’m so embarrassed… I got flustered like… Like an inexperienced practitioner!”

“It’s all right,” Einen said. His tone was anything but comforting, as cold and detached as ever. “It’s normal to lose your nerve during your first sky battle.”

“Did it happen to you, too?”

Hadjar smiled broadly, but hid it from Dora. Einen had told him all about his first sky battle.

“I’m an exception,” the islander responded, clearly wishing to drop the subject. Dora, however, was still curious.

“How so?”

Einen turned to Hadjar, who just shrugged as if to say: ‘You’re on your own.’

Einen sighed.

“My mother was a pirate captain. She gave birth to me while her crew was fighting against the Imperial fleet.”

They sailed in silence for several hours. Dora was probably struggling to come to terms with the fact that her friend (or whatever Einen was to her) was actually a pirate.

Rewinding the fight against the pirate captain in his head, Hadjar tried to figure out why he’d been so tense. He suddenly got up and went over to Einen, who was looking at the stars with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Tell me, my friend,” he whispered, “how did you know that I had experience with sky battles?”

“Because you didn’t lose your cool,” Einen answered. “And because ‘Rukh’s Wings’ was lost. Trust me, I know what a lost ship means.”

They didn’t talk anymore that night.

Chapter 644

T he ship reached the edge of the Wastelands the following morning. Dora and Einen stared into the distance, lost in thought as they reminisced about the lands they’d visited before. Hadjar realized that they were approaching something unnatural.

During their trip, they’d often come across other ships. Some of them had even been accompanied by birds or other flying creatures, some of which had been so huge that they’d looked like clouds even though they’d been far away. Fortunately, the beasts had been docile and had paid no attention to them. The Empire’s sky, filled with its own secrets and dangers, was no safer than its vast forests, valleys, plains, and mountains.

As the dawn neared, they saw fewer and fewer vessels and their flying companions. The sky soon became empty, save for the golden rays of the dawn and the passing clouds.

Hadjar was about to ask his companions a question when a huge hieroglyph emerged from the clouds in front of them. It was so large that it could’ve easily cast a shadow over an entire city. It emanated no energy they could detect, which meant that its power was beyond the Nameless level. Asking the network to scan it didn’t yield any results either, as it couldn’t analyze what even Hadjar’s subconscious didn’t know anything about.

“By the High Heavens, what is that?” Hadjar gasped.

“The remains of an ancient Kingdom,” Dora answered, bowing to the hieroglyph.

“What Kingdom?”

“You’ll see.”

Einen turned the helm, slowing the ship down. Piercing through the clouds, they began their descent. The rapid change in atmospheric pressure didn’t bother him as much as it would have a mere mortal.

A desert landscape appeared before them: huge expanses of red sand covered with low vegetation, sparse trees that looked as if they’d recently been burning, and hills dotted with ancient ruins. Some of the structures were taller than the mountain atop which ‘The Holy Sky’ School stood. The remnants of once wide and beautiful stone roads could be seen meandering through the red sand and dry, yellowish grass. Every now and then, Hadjar would spot the movements of something very big and dangerous.

“These are the remains of this ancient Kingdom,” Dora said.

“I’ve never heard of anyone living in the Wastelands.”

“I haven’t either.” Dora adjusted the hammer on her back. Hadjar couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t simply keep it in her spatial artifact. Anise also carried her weapon with her at all times. It was strange. “No one has lived in the Wastelands for thousands of years.”

Hadjar took another look at the sea of red sand. It looked as if it had been abandoned just recently — two, maybe three centuries ago at the most, but definitely not thousands of years ago. If the structures were so well preserved, then whoever had built them had really known what they were doing.

“That hieroglyph-”

“It guards the sky routes from intruders.” Einen twisted the helm again and the ship changed course slightly, heading toward a castle that stood on one of the highest hills. “You can find such symbols all around the perimeter of the Wastelands. They don’t let anything or anyone through.”

“The entire perimeter? But the Wastelands-”

“-are enormous,” Einen finished for him. “I was surprised when I first saw them as well. We’ll get to see them again. Sometimes, they go down and-”

“-fall,” Dora finished for the islander. “The Masters say that they’ll all fall in a hundred years, finally freeing up the sky routes over the Wastelands.”

“And as soon as that happens, the territory will be ransacked,” Hadjar guessed. “As long as the sky remains closed, no one will want to waste their time searching for treasures that may not even be there.”

They joined a long line of boats and ships. Hadjar saw several familiar banners, among which was one that had two swords crossed inside a strange hieroglyph — the coat of arms of the Predatory Blades clan, and one with a horse and bag — the symbol of House Tarez, who were the best traders in the whole Kingdom, the biggest supporters of the crown, and the richest people in the country. They were so rich that the family’s Head could afford regular check-ups at Hera’s house.

The castle that all the ships were moving toward looked a little… strange. Hadjar had seen various types of architecture in his life, from simple rustic fences to the monumental walls of Dahanatan, but what stood at the edge of the Wastelands, high above a shallow gorge, was strange… and frightening.

Along the edges of the chasm were numerous traps, along with watchtowers and ditches, inside which gunners sat, keeping watch. The castle itself looked like a military fortress: three rows of wide walls, each with cannons stationed on them, behind which stood rows of mortars meant to break through the enemy lines that would attempt to scale the walls during a siege. Seeing something like this on the western border of Darnassus would’ve been strange, but understandable. But to have such a fortress in the middle of the Wastelands, the heart of the capital, seemed unusual.

“What were they trying to defend from in their own country?”

Einen and Dora smiled simultaneously, as if they’d been waiting to be asked just such a question. They must’ve asked it themselves once, and were now eager to pass on their knowledge.

“What do you think destroyed the ancient Kingdom?”

Hadjar turned to his friend. He could almost hear demonic laughter and the cries of a raven. Something told him that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“What?”

“Well, rumors say,” Dora whispered, trying to sound mysterious, “that an ancient gate stands in the Wastelands. They say demonic hordes sometimes break into our world through that gate.”

“But don’t be afraid, my friend,” Einen continued, “They haven’t dared come here ever since the fortress was built.”

“Then why are we even going there?”

“You can’t enter the Wastelands without a pass.”

“Is that the law, or...?”

Instead of answering, Einen pointed at the sky. Ignoring him, Hadjar stared at the ground.

Damn it! A portal? Was Helmer messing with him again? By the Evening Stars, he hated intrigue!

Chapter 645

T he castle’s skyport looked ordinary — a huge tower with many long and wide wooden bridges to which various vessels were moored. By the time the trio arrived, the port was full, and they had difficulties docking even though Dora’s ship was small. It was only thanks to Einen’s maneuvering skills that they managed to throw their anchor down between a brig and a frigate.

“Is that a military coat of arms?” Dora asked, looking curiously at the image of a dragon wrapped around the ‘Sky’ hieroglyph.

“So, they’re also here,” Einen whispered with a hint of disdain in his voice. As a descendant of pirates and a true adventurer, he had a very complicated relationship with lawmen.

“I thought that they avoided sticking their noses into Imperial business.” Dora pressed one of her rings to the mast, and a gray sphere appeared around the ship. It exuded such power that even a Lord would have a hard time dealing with it. The ship must’ve had some sort of protective artifact on it.

“Normally, yes.” Hadjar nodded, “But the upcoming war seems to have changed that.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we encounter them at the Tournament of the Twelve,” Einen said.

They stared at the military frigate for a while longer. It had more sails, masts, and weapons than the pirate ship they’d just fought.

“Let’s go,” Einen said and headed toward the tower. He seemed to know where they needed to go and what to do.

Hadjar stepped on the wooden bridge carefully, afraid that it’d break under his weight. Given the number of people that were walking from the vessels to the port and back, the bridges had been made with the help of some incredible technology that allowed them to support a lot of weight without breaking.

They descended a spiral staircase and found themselves in a large square. It was so crowded that they kept bumping into people and then apologizing and assuring them that they had no hostile intentions. The vast majority of passersby had one thing in common — the tokens they wore. When he realized that, Hadjar took his own out of his spatial ring and put it around his neck. The moment he did so, he felt something stir beneath his shirt. Peeking under his tattered and mended tunic, he spotted the yawning Azrea.

“By the High Heavens,” he breathed out. “I haven’t seen you since the ‘Drunken Goose’ crashed.”

The cub tilted her head to one side and wrinkled her face cutely, trying to look innocent and unaware of what he was talking about. Hadjar took a strip of dried meat from his spatial ring, gave it to the cub, then looked back at the road.

“One day, you’ll tell me your secrets, you little demon,” he whispered.

“Here we go.” Einen, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter, led them to a crowded tavern.

There were so many visitors inside that the owner had decided to remove the door, and it was now leaning against the wall. The venue had clearly not been designed to handle such a huge number of customers, and it was so full that the waitresses had to squeeze past people, walking sideways like crabs as they made their way through the crowd, holding trays high above their heads.

“Why are we here?” Hadjar asked. “Don’t we have to get some sort of pass in order to get into the Wastelands?”

“They’ll be here soon,” Einen said.

Hadjar narrowed his eyes at his friend, but the islander maintained his usual blank expression. A grinning Dora took pity on Hadjar.

“We made a deal with two very skilled swordsmen. They’ll be joining us.”

They were able to make their way through the crowd, heading for the southeastern corner of the tavern. Walking up to a small table, Dora released her aura, scaring away the two disciples that had been sitting there. Despite wearing wooden tokens and being at the initial stage of the Spirit Knight level, they were quick to gather their belongings and scurry away.

“It’s the Dinos siblings, isn’t it?” Hadjar asked as they sat down at the table. He didn’t like it, but figured it would be wise to keep his mouth shut.

Dora nodded. “It’s them, yes.”

She raised her hand, beckoning a waitress over. She was a pretty practitioner at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage. Once she noticed the jade tokens of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, she turned pale and bowed deeply.

“What can I get the venerable disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School?”

Hadjar finally understood why commoners had such deep respect for the disciples of the three great Schools of Dahanatan. For example, a pirate ship filled with Heaven Soldiers and Spirit Knights hadn’t been able to do anything when faced with just three elite disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School. The amount of energy they’d wielded might’ve qualified them to be Spirit Knights and Heaven Soldiers, but in reality, they were no match for most of the disciples of the capital’s elite Schools. Living among the best of the best, it was easy to forget that one’s stages and levels didn’t decide everything. Still, there was normally a huge gap between a three-hundred-year-old Spirit Knight and a seventeen-year-old one, even one that had the best Masters, Mentors, Techniques, and resources at their disposal.

“Wine,” Dora said. “The best you have.”

The waitress bowed and disappeared.

Dora and Einen put their weapons on the table. This was something of an unspoken tradition amongst traveling cultivators. Everyone needed to place their weapons on the table so that everyone could see them. Because of this, the tavern looked like a weapons shop at the moment.

“Am I the only one who finds this deal very strange?” Hadjar asked, feeling as if he’d missed something important while he’d been away. “As I recall, all of us, including you, Dora, have a very strained relationship with Tom.”

“I agree with you, barbarian,” Tom suddenly interjected. Pushing aside a huge man, he and his sister walked over to their table. “However, one’s chances of survival in the Wastelands are better if they join a group. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.”

Hadjar stared at Tom. He didn’t like it, but he had to admit that the young heir had grown and gotten stronger in the past six weeks.

“And what about your fight back at the School?” Hadjar sighed. “Are you and Einen going to try and kill each other during our venture?”

“Only if the plebeian gives me a reason to do it.” Tom snorted. Grabbing a chair, he sat down. Anise, as befitting a bodyguard, continued standing, her hand never straying from the hilt of her sword. “And by the gods and demons, I really hope he does-”

“Tom!” Dora shouted. “We talked about this! Show some basic manners or go and find new allies.”

Hadjar sincerely doubted that her warning would work, so imagine his surprise when Tom, although begrudgingly, forced a smile and nodded.

“By the High Heavens,” Hadjar sighed in frustration, “will someone please tell me what’s going on here!”

“It’s simple, really...” Einen shrugged and gratefully accepted the wine from the waitress. “Someone has been trying to kill us since you left.”

Chapter 646

...s omeone has been trying to do what now?

Refusing the offered wine, Hadjar took out his pipe. Filling it with tobacco, he leaned back in his chair and lit it. The vice that had a detrimental effect on a mortal’s health and cultivation did nothing to strong practitioners and cultivators. However, despite that, it was still frowned upon. One of the other patrons sitting nearby turned to make a comment, but turned back to his friends the moment he saw all the jade tokens.

“Kill us. Weren’t you listening?” Tom said. Refusing the wine, he intertwined his fingers and rested his chin on them. “When Mentor Orune ordered us to go to the Wastelands, someone tried to kill all four of us.”

Hadjar turned to Einen, who was too busy enjoying his wine to comment. Since he was the only one drinking, Hadjar assumed that Dora had ordered the alcohol simply because she’d known that Einen would like it.

You’re just friends, riiiiiight...

“You didn’t tell me that,” he said to Einen.

“I couldn’t tell you while we were at the School. And, to be honest, I forgot.”

Yeah, sounds like you all right...

“Could you tell me about it now, at least?”

“We must hurry to the Wastelands.” Anise placed a couple of strange, metallic plaques with pink crystals embedded in them on the table. “We’re lagging behind everyone else. If we continue to waste time, we’ll end up dead last.”

“There are no losers here,” Hadjar objected harshly. “We need to find the key and the map. It all depends on luck more than anything else. I’m sure that the Masters have hidden them well.”

“Are we going to ignore the obvious pitting of different Schools against each other?” Dora asked. “We’ll also have to fight other disciples.”

“Thank you, Miss Obvious,” Tom said sarcastically. “I’d wondered why I needed you.”

To his annoyance, everyone ignored him.

“We don’t have to go looking for the items at all.” Hadjar shrugged. “We can wait for someone to find the map and the key and then steal them. I’m sure that the Masters implemented something like that to make things harder.”

“What makes you say that?” Anise inquired.

“I would’ve done it if I were them, but that doesn’t matter right now.” Hadjar waved his hand dismissively. “Tell me about the assassination attempts.”

They were silent for a while.

“It all started the moment we left the School,” Dora began. “We took a ship and flew to the Wastelands-”

“We were attacked by pirates along the way,” Tom interrupted her. “We sent them to their forefathers and thought that it was just a coincidence.”

Hadjar didn’t say anything, but he knew that it hadn’t been a coincidence.

“We were attacked several times in the Wastelands after that,” Dora continued, sounding annoyed. “We were even attacked by an assassin at the Nameless level once.”

Hadjar choked on smoke.

“What? Cough-cough… By the High Stars and the Evening Heavens, who attacked you?”

“It’s the other way around, my friend,” Einen corrected him calmly. “By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars.”

Noticing his grin, Hadjar swore obscenely. Several cultivators that were sitting next to him were about to reach for their weapons, but backed down when they saw the jade tokens. Perhaps only the military tokens could’ve worked more effectively than those did. However, soldiers kept to themselves and were a rare sight anywhere outside their own School, which, isolated from the world, was shrouded in secrets and mysteries. The elite civilian disciples usually became commanders in the military, so their relationship was strained and much more intense than the rivalry between the civilian Schools.

“Holy shit!” Hadjar swore angrily. “Someone sent a Nameless to eliminate elite disciples? That’s like using a frigate to conquer a border Kingdom!”

Tom snorted. The place was noisy, so it was highly unlikely that anyone could hear them, but Anise kept watch just in case. Hadjar would’ve preferred a quiet and secluded place far from other people. A place where no one could’ve found or eavesdropped on them.

“Yes, and water is wet. Again, thank you, Mister Obvious.”

Hadjar barely held back from spitting out a snarky remark.

“We were able to get away from him,” Dora continued. “It was difficult. Einen and Anise have scars from that fight. Tom barely-”

She stopped once she noticed Tom’s glare. None of them seemed very willing to remember that battle. Hadjar understood them. He’d encountered a similar monster himself while fighting against the Dah’Khasses. But even though their King had been ancient, he’d still lacked all the advantages of a true human cultivator.

“I won’t tell you how,” Dora held out her hand, and Einen handed her a glass of wine. She took a sip and grimaced, “but we were able to trace their chain of command.”

“And it brought you to ‘The Holy Sky’ School,” Hadjar guessed.

“So, we made a deal,” Tom added. “Every time we leave the School, we’ll stick together.”

“And that little performance back at the platform was…”

“…Meant to confuse our pursuer,” Anise explained.

Hadjar looked into her green eyes. He had no clue what kind of secrets the Dinos were hiding. He’d heard a lot of rumors about their family, but no one really knew what was true and what was an exaggeration or outright lie.

“Since I wasn’t there at the time-”

“We don’t trust anyone,” Dora interrupted him. “Einen tried to convince us you were innocent. However, the majority of us agreed to tell you about this only after we voted on it.”

Hadjar turned to Einen. The islander raised his glass, and Hadjar responded with a nod. He wouldn’t hesitate to put his life in Einen’s hands, which, in the world of martial arts, was considered to be the greatest sign of trust. He’d never doubted Einen’s loyalty.

“I apologize, Hadjar Darkhan,” Anise said and put her hand to her chest. “I was the one who suggested that you were involved.”

Hadjar felt a pang in his chest for a moment.

“Did you consider the possibility that this might have something to do with what’s going on between the clans?”

“We did.” Tom was toying with the pass that would soon grant them access to the Wastelands with a bored look on his face. “But there’s no chance that anyone could’ve just stumbled upon the School by accident.”

Hadjar swore again.

“So you decided to stick together.”

The four of them nodded in unison. Einen seemed even calmer than usual for some reason.

“You know what the key is, don’t you?” Hadjar asked in the islander’s native language, surprising the rest of the squad.

“My mother was the best thief to ever sail on a ship, my barbarian friend.”

Hadjar smiled widely when he noticed the purple glimmer in Einen’s eyes, which were just barely visible under his eyelashes.

“Did you see the map?” He asked.

“Maybe,” Hadjar said evasively.

He had actually seen it. Just for a moment. Even a Spirit Knight wouldn’t have managed to memorize it in such a brief amount of time. However, thanks to his neural network, Hadjar now knew every bit of ink on it.

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked.

Hadjar shrugged. “Private stuff.”

The silence that descended on their table was suddenly broken by Dora grabbing one of the passes and heading for the exit.

“If that’s everything, then we should get going. Let’s start with the stables. The Desert horses are best suited for traversing the Wastelands. However, given the hype surrounding them, I’m not sure that we’ll be able to get five-”

“Four,” Hadjar corrected her.

“I understand your dislike of mounts, but-”

“This has nothing to do with my dislike of mounts,” Hadjar said. “It’s just that I already have my own mount. Ouch!” He cried out in surprise more than pain.

Azrea had bitten him as punishment for daring to call her a mount.

Chapter 647

D amn it!” Tom shouted as he staggered, startling his six-legged horse. Six-feet-tall and more muscular than even the most well-developed humans, the mounts still showed fear when faced with Azrea’s true form. They neighed, stomped on the ground, and snorted noisily. If not for their riders, these King stage beasts would’ve scattered at the sight of the Ancient Beast. Azrea, enjoying the reaction her presence had elicited, yawned loudly, showing off rows of long, razor-sharp fangs.

“Is that… A kitten?” Tom asked.

Azrea growled in a low, threatening manner and wagged her tail, hitting her sides with it.

“Hush,” Hadjar whispered in her ear, “he doesn’t taste good.”

Einen wasn’t surprised to see the tigress. He’d heard Hadjar’s stories about the monster invasion in Balium, so he knew that Azrea could change size as she pleased. The lack of shock on Anise and Dora’s faces led Hadjar to assume that they’d already seen animals like Azrea in the kennels of their clans.

The queue thinned out after Azrea’s transformation. To the ordinary cultivators, the Ancient Beast was a formidable creature that should be avoided.

“Can I pet it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dora held out her hand, but quickly withdrew it when Azrea roared threateningly and backed away, as if trying to hide behind her friend.

So far, she’d only let three other people pet her: Elaine, Hadjar’s sister, Serra, his friend, and Irma, a disciple of the ‘Red Mule’ school whose death seemed to have affected Azrea greatly. Hadjar scratched the tigress behind the ear and she calmed down a little.

Dora, Anise, and Tom joined the queue. Hadjar and Einen walked behind them.

“Will you be able to copy the key?” Hadjar asked his friend.

The islander was silent for a moment.

“I don’t think the map and the key are ordinary items,” he said. “I doubt that copies of them will prove useful to us.”

Hadjar nodded in agreement. If they could simply make copies and go straight to the Emperor’s tomb, this would be a joke, not a challenge.

“Make one just in case,” Hadjar insisted.

“I’ve already been thinking about doing that. It’ll take some time, though.”

“How long?”

Einen paused again.

“A week... Maybe two. What about the map?”

It was Hadjar’s turn to ponder the issue. If he had enough time and materials, he could do it in a few days. But…

“A week and a half,” he answered.

“A week and a half it is, then.”

They reached the entrance. The guards, two men at the peak stage of the Spirit Knight level, lowered their heavy, Heaven level blades in front of them, forcing them to stop. It seemed like the Empire took the fortress’ defenses very seriously.

Is this the fabled Demon Gate? Hadjar chuckled to himself.

“Passes,” one of the guards demanded rather rudely.

Tom was about to start an argument, but was stopped by Anise. She held out her pass and displayed her token.

“We’re from ‘The Holy Sky’ School,” she said calmly.

The guard bowed low, which made his Imperial level armor creak slightly.

“My apologies, honored disciples, but the General has given us strict orders to search everyone who goes into the Wastelands. May I check your tokens?”

“What the-”

Anise interrupted her brother again.

“Of course,” she said.

The guard, holding a crystal tablet covered in runes and hieroglyphs, held out his hand toward her.

“If you touch my sister, you bastard,” Tom hissed, “I’ll send you to your forefathers.”

The outstretched hand trembled. The guard realized that he wasn’t just being threatened by an elite disciple, but by a member of the Predatory Blades clan as well. Not wishing to annoy them any more than was necessary, he finished examining them in less than fifteen minutes, which still seemed too long, judging by the grumblings that were coming from the queue behind them. Hadjar didn’t understand what the guards were doing. They simply moved everyone’s tokens and passes over the tablet and then let people through the gates. Hadjar was checked the fastest and most carelessly.

As he was passing through the archway, he heard a sharp cry behind him. Turning, he saw a flash of light come from the tablet held by the guard. He’d been inspecting a cultivator who wore the token of ‘The Holy Sky’ School on his chest. Instantly shrouded in fetters made of turquoise light, the imposter fell, and was quickly surrounded by guards.

“Take him to the commander,” the guard ordered. “Damn it! He’s the twentieth one today.”

Due to the Emperor’s recent orders, only disciples from ‘The Holy Sky’ School could enter the Wastelands in the near future. Looking to make a quick coin at the expense of naïve adventures, scammers had flooded the black market with fake tokens of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

Shaking his head, Hadjar kept walking. What lay beyond the gates justified the name the area had been given. The ground was bone dry and riddled with cracks and withered vegetation. They were on a dilapidated stone road, staring at the ruins in the distance.

“We’re going northeast,” Tom said, mounting his horse and steering it forward.

Einen glanced at Hadjar. While climbing up on Azrea’s back, he responded with a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

“Why there?” Dora asked.

“That’s where most of the tombs are,” Tom explained. “They were looted a long time ago, of course, but we might find some clues there... It’s not the map and the key, that’s for sure, but it’s better than nothing...”

Hadjar closed his eyes and recalled the map. It hadn’t indicated the exact location of the entrance, but it had noted some landmarks. The first of them, a structure that looked like a falcon’s head, was located to the northeast.

They set out without any further delay and in silence. When the first stars appeared, they decided to make a quick stop to check if anyone was following them.

Leaning against the sleeping Azrea, Hadjar sank into deep meditation. Before he even realized what was happening, he found himself in the vast valley inside his soul.

A moment later, he was in a dark room. Dim torchlight illuminated something made from stone. Looking closer, Hadjar saw a sarcophagus wrapped in chains inscribed with luminous runes and magic sigils.

“What is this?”

“That’s my disciple’s crypt,” a familiar voice said from behind him. Hadjar turned around and saw the raven. It seemed to be standing in the air. “Hello again, my descendant.”

Surprisingly, the Enemy’s voice didn’t sound hostile, but… sad.

Chapter 648

T he darkness gradually turned into a hazy twilight full of shadows, which, like prisoners trying to get out of their cells, rioted on the distant granite walls and ceiling, reaching for the sarcophagus but never quite managing to touch it. It was as if something was keeping them at bay. The raven watched him from the gloom — a black blur against the gray of the granite.

“Your disciple?” Hadjar asked, struggling to imagine the creature who had tried so hard to kill him training a disciple.

“His name was Erhard.” The raven flapped its wings.

The blur began to transform. It stretched out and thickened until it took on the hazy outline of a human. The inky shadow approached the sarcophagus. Extending its hand, it brushed it over the coffin.

“That’s so sweet.” Hadjar looked around. He didn’t understand if his surroundings were an illusion or not. Not knowing where he was made him nervous. “Can we go back now?”

The Enemy turned to him.

“Don’t be afraid, descendant.” He chuckled. “I propose a truce: I won’t destroy your soul today, and you’ll listen to a story of mine.”

Hadjar crossed his arms over his chest. According to Hera, the Black General would have no power over his mind and soul for the next seven years. What she hadn’t warned him about, however, was that he’d be thrown into a strange whirlpool of darkness the moment he set foot in his soul.

“And why would I do that?”

“Why not?” The shadow waved its hand and a long crack appeared in the opposite wall. Through it, Hadjar saw a vast valley covered with green grass. “You may go if you so please, my descendant.”

Hadjar had always sensed a certain hostility from the Enemy, but now he felt nothing. It was as if the Black General didn’t care about him anymore.

“All right, tell me your story, Darkhan,” Hadjar agreed after a moment’s hesitation.

“It isn’t my story, descendant.” The shadow began to dissolve and it gradually filled the entire space around them. Hadjar felt a wave of suffocating fear overwhelm him, but it left as quickly as it had appeared. Perhaps they really had made a truce today.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the darkness to engulf him. When he could see again, he was standing on a wide, stone road that looked vaguely familiar. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that he was standing on a road in the middle of the Wastelands. However, unlike the one they’d ridden down, which was ruined and hidden beneath a layer of dry earth and red sand, this one was brand new and beautiful. Even the Imperial road, which spanned almost the entire Empire, looked like a dirt path in some forsaken village by comparison. Wide enough to let ten carts pass each other with ease, it was paved with red and white stone. Forty rows of twenty warriors each marched toward the setting sun and the golden sky.

“The fires of war,” Hadjar guessed at once.

Even in these ancient times, when magical gunpowder hadn’t been invented yet, people had still found other ways to set fire to fortresses and settlements from a safe distance. So, even back then, one could see columns of thick smoke obscuring the sky, rising from the blood-soaked battlefields. The sky itself seemed to be burning.

“Where are we?”

The Enemy, having assumed his raven form once again, perched on Hadjar’s shoulder. They suddenly moved up a hill, where they had a better view of the battlefield. In the modern world, an army of about a hundred thousand would be considered pitifully small. But back then, such an army was huge and able to strike terror into the hearts of many kingdoms.

“This is the age of the Hundred Kingdoms,” the bird croaked. “Or rather, its end — the War of the Hundred Kingdoms.”

Hadjar tried to remember everything he knew about this era, and even asked his neural network for additional information. But even with their combined efforts, they couldn’t find anything about it in his memory.

“Don’t waste your time.” The raven’s chuckle was hollow, like the noise of a pipe being struck by a piece of iron. “This all happened so long ago that even those who rule the Seven Empires don’t remember anything about it.”

“The Seven Empires?”

“Did you think Lascan and Darnassus are the only Empires in your region? They aren’t. There are seven of them. Your two Empires are just a pair of bickering neighbors whose quarrel goes back to the time of the Hundred Kingdoms.”

Hadjar looked at the soldiers marching along the road. They were dressed in simple armor, the kind that only mortals wore. Even the most powerful of them weren’t above the initial stage of the Heaven Soldier level. The most powerful of all, of course, was their General, easily standing out thanks to his Mortal level plate armor and Spirit level sword.

“Back in those days, the path of cultivation wasn’t as widespread among humans as it is now,” the raven continued. “But make no mistake, this army, the army of king Eranos, was one of the strongest in the Hundred Kingdoms.”

This was what the strongest army at that time looked like? Hadjar wondered, baffled. Luckily for the cultivators of modern times, progress hadn’t stood still. It was amazing to see just how far they’d come in comparison to their ancestors.

“And the Immortals?” Hadjar asked, suddenly remembering them.

“The Land of the Immortals will come to be long after this,” the raven croaked. “I’m showing you the days when I myself walked amongst the mortals.”

Hadjar turned around abruptly. Beside him, atop the hill, stood an old man wrapped in a black cloak. His white hair, peeking out from under his hood, was caked in dirt. He was leaning on a dry branch that served as his walking stick.

“I was old by then, so old that I didn’t remember when or how I was born.”

Hadjar turned to the raven.

“Didn’t the gods imprison you on the Mountain of Skulls?”

“They did,” the bird answered. “But they only locked away a large part of my soul. Many fragments got into the bodies of ordinary mortals and became my bloodline. There were also those bits that were scattered among the humans. Incapable of cultivation, they lived a simple life and then dissolved into the energies once they died. The one you see before you now was the last fragment that wasn’t trapped in the prison of someone else’s blood.”

Hadjar stared at the trembling old man. It seemed like he’d be blown away by the next breeze that came along.

“My Lord!” one of the riders shouted as he rushed down from a high hill. “My Lord! We found them…”

Judging by his pale and mournful expression, they hadn’t found anything good. Eranos spurred his snow-white horse and rode toward the quarry.

The raven suddenly grew bigger and lifted Hadjar into the air. Before they left, Hadjar saw the old man turn his head toward them. Their gazes met for a brief moment, but that was all it took for a shiver to run down Hadjar’s spine. The deranged look in the man’s eyes was frightening.

Chapter 649

T hey landed in front of a burning village. During his time in the Moon army, Hadjar had seen something like this many times: flames greedily consuming the wooden huts, corpses burned to ash and bone, blood sizzling on the heated stones, barns burning like huge torches, and fields turned into bonfires. The rancid smell of burnt meat that would get under your skin couldn’t be washed away or masked by incense, lingering forever to remind you of the horror that you’d witnessed. Scattered all over the blood-soaked ground were corpses, so badly burned that they were no longer recognizable. Empty eye sockets stared into nothingness, their crooked mouths forever frozen in a scream. The whiteness of their teeth seemed almost unnatural when contrasted with their charred skin. The fire had been so hot that it had burned away all the plaque, but hadn’t been able to destroy the bone. No matter how many times one saw such a sight, it always penetrated to the very depths of their consciousness, leaving a deep mark and manifesting in one’s nightmares.

“Sister!” Eranos took off his helmet. Golden hair spilled out over his broad shoulder pads, hiding the firelight beneath it. “By the ancient Spirits, what did they do to you? My dear sister…”

Tears ran down his cheeks. Capturing the orange glow of the fire, they looked like liquid gold streaming down his rough skin.

Hadjar had seen many horrors in his life, but still couldn’t stand the sight. Turning away, he cursed both the gods and the Heavens. Eyes and ears cut off, cheeks and teeth torn out, a young girl hung from the branches of a dead tree. Her scarred and scorched body was proof that she’d been subjected to tortures that only a sick and twisted mind was capable of enacting. Her swollen belly had been cut open and its contents left to spill out. Nestled among her internal organs was a small, bloody lump. The girl had been pregnant.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna be sick!” Hadjar swore, feeling the bile rise in his throat. Even though he knew that this was someone else’s memory, he couldn’t help but feel disgusted.

“Those were hard times,” the raven said, turning into a cloud of darkness.

Hadjar stood on the edge of the hill and watched the old man move toward the burned out village, hiding behind the roadside trees and bushes.

“We need to leave, my Lord.” The pale officer reached out to touch Eranos’ shoulder. “The soldiers will worry… You’re their leader. You’re the only one keeping our Kingdom safe from the flames of war.”

Holding the dead girl’s hand, Eranos, lost in his grief, stroked and kissed her mutilated fingers.

“My sister… My nephew… Those monsters… Who could have done this…?”

He continued whispering to himself, his voice so thin that no one could hear him speak, and Hadjar saw his energy grow weaker and weaker.

“I couldn’t cultivate,” the cloud of darkness said. “I was just a fragment of the true soul, one that could do nothing but maintain its physical appearance as it slowly withered away.”

Hadjar didn’t understand why the Enemy was telling him this. What he saw made him thank the Heavens for sparing him from such horrors during the wars in Lidus.

The old man, who was still hiding behind the trees and bushes, suddenly reached into his pocket. He took out a bundle and unfolded it, revealing a single pill. It shimmered slightly in the firelight and looked more like a gem than medicine. Thin, wrinkled fingers closed around it, turning it into powder. The man held out his hand and blew on it. The powder, carried by the wind, formed a narrow ribbon and entered the woman’s torn abdomen.

What followed made Hadjar step back in shock. By the High Heavens, had this been real, he would’ve vomited. A thin, high-pitched scream came from the gore and soon turned into a wail. The soldiers recoiled and drew their weapons. Horror gradually turned to disgust. Hadjar couldn’t help but agree with them.

Eranos, clearly not himself anymore, stuck his hand into the mass of internal organs and pulled out a fetus. It was covered in blood and had thick, black hair.

“Demon…” The officers whispered. “Cursed…”

Having a dead mother give birth to a living child wasn’t a good sign. Superstition wasn’t just strong amongst mortals, but practitioners and cultivators as well.

“She wanted to call you Erhard — Lost Heart,” Eranos whispered. He cut the umbilical cord and wrapped the baby in his snow-white cloak embroidered in gold. “Your father was the greatest warrior in the Kingdom.”

The child was silent.

“We’re going back to the capital!” He ordered.

“But, my Lord… Our ally is being besieged!” One of the officers protested. “We promised them our support. Without us, they won’t be able to withstand the onslaught! Dayckared will destroy them!”

“We’re going back to the capital.” Eranos’ eyes flashed with renewed vigor. “That’s an order!”

Cradling the child in his arms, he leapt into the saddle and then swung his sword. Flames shot out from his blade, completing the work begun by their enemies. His sister, who would never be able to hear her child call her mom, burst into azure flames. The riders disappeared around the bend, leaving the ashes behind to be scattered by the wind.

Hadjar was surprised to see that Eranos’ sword swing contained mysteries that were deeper than the Weapon’s Heart level. He also realized that the strike would’ve easily sent both him and Master Orune to their forefathers.

“What the-”

The surroundings changed abruptly.

“-hell?” Hadjar asked, staring at the sarcophagus once more. Next to it stood the same humanoid blob of darkness from before. The runes and hieroglyphs that covered the ancient chains shone brightly. When he’d first seen them, he’d presumed that they’d been put there to fend off tomb raiders, but now he suspected that the chains served a very different purpose — to keep whatever was inside the sarcophagus from ever getting out.

“Back in those days, people didn’t know much about the path of cultivation,” the Enemy went around the sarcophagus and leaned over it, “but endless wars gave them the opportunity to learn more about the essence of battle and weapons. Why do you think the Weapon Kingdom level is called that?”

“I have no idea,” Hadjar replied honestly.

“Because only the one who’d mastered it could be a King.”

Hadjar nodded. That made sense. After all, in the entire Empire, where there were more cultivators and practitioners than there were grains of sand in the desert, only a few dozen of them had reached the Weapon Kingdom level.

“Erhard was the greatest King the world had ever known.”

“And what brought this great King down?”

Hadjar lowered his gaze. The figure carved into the lid of the sarcophagus looked like the visage of a young man of about twenty-two or so.

“The same thing that’ll one day kill us all.” The Enemy’s voice was filled with sadness again. “Remember, my glorious descendant, that the greatest of us don’t die by the sword, or by the hands of mortals and immortals, but by the hand of something that was never born.”

Hadjar shuddered, feeling a chill run down his spine. He remembered the Tree of Life and its prophecy. He could now remember being told that he’d die at ‘the hand of one who was never born’.

Chapter 650

“A nd what or who is that, exactly?” Hadjar asked warily.

The darkness looked at him. Having the void stare at you was eerie to say the least.

“That which we love, Hadjar,” the Enemy replied. “We all die because of what we love.”

Hadjar remained silent. He had no intention of arguing with the Enemy, but he suspected that the Tree of Life had had something else in mind when it had issued its prophecy. He highly doubted that the matter at hand was so complex and philosophical, and that a being like the Enemy was capable of understanding love, let alone feeling it. It didn’t matter what Steppe Fang had told him about the Black General, or the fact that he’d taught humanity so much. From the very moment he’d appeared, the world hadn’t seen a single day without war. Some would say that this was a small price to pay for such a vast amount of knowledge, but such people had clearly never been in a war.

“Erhard was talented,” the darkness said with a note of tenderness to its voice. “He was truly great.”

Hadjar looked at the sarcophagus again.

“I never became a scholar like my parents wanted me to be,” Hadjar said with a touch of regret, “but even I know that great people aren’t chained up after their deaths and that their eternal resting place should be a crypt, not a dungeon.”

The darkness transformed into a raven that hovered in the air.

“There are many ways to become great. Before we get to Erhard’s death, let me tell you about his life.”

Hadjar sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t get me wrong, Darkhan, I don’t mind hearing you out, but I honestly don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this.”

“Do you remember the place where you meditated?”

Hadjar frowned.

“Is Erhard buried there?”

The raven laughed, its unpleasant croaking sounding like a knife sliding across glass.

“I don’t know where my disciple is buried,” it said. “What you see is only a memory, nothing more. By the time he died, the fragment of my soul that was his Master had disappeared into the energy flows.”

Hadjar didn’t ask how his own fragment of the Enemy knew about Erhard. Even if the first Darkhan had tried to explain it to him, he probably wouldn’t have understood much of it.

“The place where you decided to meditate… That’s where Erhard was killed and then resurrected by me.”

Hadjar barely resisted the urge to vomit, recalling the terrible sight of a tortured girl hanging from a tree.

“Why… Why did you help him?”

The raven didn’t respond at first. It stared silently into the infinity of its own thoughts.

“I don’t know, my descendant… Maybe because I wanted to see if I could pass my knowledge on to someone. Maybe because I was bored. Or maybe because I saw something in his birth that reminded me of my own. Like Erhard, I was born to a dead mother, on dead ground, and revived by those I hated.”

So, the Enemy tried to pass on knowledge... However, according to Steppe Fang, Darkhan had once taught the entire human race...

“Did Erhard hate you?”

“Hate me?” The raven laughed. “Sometimes, maybe… Then again, all disciples are like that. He didn’t particularly like his Master during training. You know how that is, Hadjar…”

The young man didn’t deny it. The relationship between disciples and their Masters, although built on mutual respect, was a complex thing.

“No,” the raven continued. “He hated Eranos and his Kingdom.”

“Was his uncle strict?”

“Not really. No more than a King should be with a crown Prince. No, Erhard hated his country for its treachery and weakness. The Kingdom that Eranos didn’t reinforce that night was conquered. Its inhabitants were turned into slaves. Many of them escaped… or tried to, at least.”

Hadjar knew exactly what the raven meant. He had experienced the same thing himself. Back when he’d worn the General’s medallion of the Moon Army, he had often had to make difficult decisions. Inevitable as they’d been, they’d still made him wake up in a cold sweat at night for years afterward.

“And so, the story of King Erhard’s greatness and doom began. He was a strong and intelligent young man and a good disciple. At the age of ten, he mastered the Weapon’s Heart, and at sixteen — the Sword Kingdom. Who knows, maybe he would’ve even understood its true essence given enough time…”

Hadjar quietly listened to the story, utterly bewildered. Mastering the Sword Kingdom at the age of sixteen, especially considering the generally low level of cultivation that existed in those ancient times was... incredible. If Erhard had been born nowadays, by the Evening Stars, he could’ve conquered all of the seven Empires on his own before he’d turned thirty.

“Then he fell in love.” The raven chuckled again. “He fell in love with a runaway slave who, in her stupidity and to his misfortune, told him about the history of her homeland.”

Hadjar imagined a young Erhard and a dirt-covered girl in tattered clothes. She wasn’t very beautiful, but he loved her in that way that could only be seen in fairy tales told by mothers to their daughters. Such stories occupied a special place in the hearts of women even when they reached adulthood. South Wind used to say that if mothers didn’t tell their daughters these stories, the world would’ve been lost to wars long ago.

“Erhard decided to find out the truth about his past. He considered himself the King’s son, but after finding out the truth… He wanted to bring peace to the Hundred Kingdoms. He wanted to end their many wars, so that no more people would have to suffer, so that the strong no longer tortured the weak, so that children didn’t lose their parents, nor lovers their beloved.”

Hadjar now understood what the raven had meant when he’d said that the story would hit close to home. He’d heard a similar story about Sunshine Sankesh, who had wanted to become a god in order to destroy the weak and create a world full of those who were equally strong.

“Erhard wanted to unite the Hundred Kingdoms, but he quickly realized that he couldn’t do it with words alone. And so, at the next war council, he said that they should begin a military campaign. Eranos was against it. According to the customs of the era, Erhard challenged him to a duel. Eranos lost and Erhard, shedding bitter tears, killed the man who’d been the only father he’d ever known. He thought that one life was a small price to pay to save millions. The war began. It destroyed Erhard’s Kingdom and brought about the end of an era. But believe me, Hadjar, he fought like a true warrior. He fought not for himself, but for a cause. A noble goal that no one else supported.”

“When you’re mortal, you can’t wage war forever.”

“The gods are also mortal, and one day…” The raven’s voice sounded ominous. “But that isn’t the point right now. Erhard managed to achieve his goal, but his victory was short-lived. He united the Hundred Kingdoms and created the first human Empire. He was a strict ruler and was even given a nickname — the Last King.”

Hadjar shuddered. He was convinced that he’d heard that nickname before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Some said that he got that nickname because the title of King was to be changed to that of Emperor, others claimed that it was because he killed his uncle, and there were even some that said that it was because of his tyranny and the rivers of blood that he’d spilled so that the majority of his people could live in peace.”

“There can be no peace from blood.”

“Maybe,” the raven said. “Erhard gained power that people didn’t even know existed in those days... He was both great... and very blind. His wife was captured and then murdered by his enemies. His Empire fell. Legends say that he fought against such a vast horde of enemies that the ground couldn’t be seen, obscured by their helmets. He alone stood against an army of many millions, but even then, they couldn’t defeat him, only seal his power and lock him in a sarcophagus in the hope that he would die.”

The raven fell silent. It had told its tale.

“Why did you tell me all of this?”

“Do you honestly think that some pathetic Darnassian Emperor could’ve built a tomb full of amazing secrets? No. He merely found Erhard’s sarcophagus. However, since he didn’t know what to do with it, he decided to arrange a funeral for himself in a stranger’s tomb… The bastard!”

Wait, Hadjar thought, does this mean that Decater’s tomb is actually Erhard’s?

“Again, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because, my descendant, there’s a scroll in there with a Technique I created specifically for Erhard. The Technique that made him the most powerful swordsman of his generation. Find it and it’s yours. You can try to learn it or destroy it. You can even burn the tomb down if you want. I don’t care. Just don’t forget Erhard’s story.”

They were both silent for a while.

“What’s the point of all this, Darkhan?” Hadjar asked. “I know you want me dead.”

“I do,” the raven replied. “But I swear on my mother, the dead earth, on my father, the North Wind, and by all I have, my Name included, that I told you this without any hidden agenda.”

“Then… why?”

The raven turned back to the sarcophagus. Hadjar tried to inspect the King’s death mask, but it was broken, as if the sculptor hadn’t wanted anyone to see his face.

“Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic. Now leave me alone.”

Hadjar opened his eyes.

He was sitting near the fire, Azrea’s tail wrapped around his waist. The tigress growled softly at the horses, making them whinny. The rest of the squad was immersed in deep meditation.

“Damn it all to fucking hell,” Hadjar swore.

Chapter 651

H adjar pondered the Enemy’s words till the early hours of the morning. Under normal circumstances, despite everything that Steppe Fang had told him, he wouldn’t have believed the Enemy. He’d seen many fairy tales come to life, but there were still many of them that had remained mere tales. He couldn’t guess the Enemy’s motives, as he’d always wanted to destroy his soul and take over his body.

Learning a new Technique does sound tempting... Then again, it could be a trap...

Traves’ Technique was outdated. He’d begun using it more as an added bit of support than as his main attack. More often than not, he relied on sword slashes created by the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart and the ‘Black Wind’ stance, which he’d created by examining the scroll he’d procured in ‘The Black Gates’ sect. Their Patriarch had probably gotten it from the other members of the ‘Raven’ sect. Hadjar was pretty sure that it would remain one of his strongest attacks for many years to come, as he still couldn’t fully comprehend the depths of the attack’s mysteries.

His own Technique had been created not by observing the illustration itself, but by studying his memory of it. Even now, he was unable to look at the image for longer than a couple of seconds. The level of Sword mysteries it contained was so high that looking at it for too long could end in one’s death, even for strong swordsmen like Hadjar. Outside of Dahanatan’s elite Schools, the Weapon’s Heart level was considered to be something mythical. Even in ‘The Holy Sky’ School, not everyone could boast about mastering it. Even so, Hadjar couldn’t stare too long at it. All he could do was study his memory of the scroll. Because of this, learning any Sword Technique higher than the Heaven level was tempting. The Enemy could be trying to use that, as he seemed to know everything about his descendant, and-

“What are you thinking about?”

Hadjar shuddered. They were on their way to the first landmark, though no one but him knew about it. Einen trusted his friend so much that he didn’t ask him anything about it. The others simply followed Tom, who was leading them confidently in a direction that only he knew about.

“Nothing interesting,” Hadjar answered evasively.

Azrea growled when Anise approached them. During the six months that Hadjar had spent in the capital, he’d spoken to the girl only once. A few months ago, Hadjar, Einen, and Dora had gone to hunt a Primeval Giant and he’d exchanged a few words with Anise then. He wondered how the former heiress had ended up being her brother’s bodyguard. The Predatory Blades clan had its secrets, but he didn’t really care enough to ask about it. He hated politics.

“All right.” The girl tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Looking at her, he felt strong emotions, the same kind he’d had for Eina, the first girl who hadn’t recoiled at the sight of his crippled and freakish body. For years, Hadjar had been afraid to admit it to himself, but, now that he’d grown older and more mature, he was ready to face the truth: he had loved Eina. As more than just a friend. And that was what he felt for Anise now. Because of this, he couldn’t find the right words to talk to her. It had been different with Nehen. Their paths had crossed when they’d both been suffering from loneliness. Soon after, they’d went their separate ways. Probably forever.

“You-”

“I want-”

Interrupting each other, they fell silent. Hadjar wanted to facepalm. He was about thirty, and he couldn’t even talk to a girl of seventeen. Although, in the world of cultivators, age was almost irrelevant.

“I want you to tell me about your adventures in Lascan,” she suddenly said.

Feeling Hadjar tense up, Azrea growled, making Anise’s horse snort nervously. Both of the riders leaned down at the same time to pat their mounts’ necks. Their heads collided. Startled, they recoiled and looked at each other.

“Sorry!” They said in unison.

They fell silent again. Azrea rolled her eyes.

“How did you find out about Lascan?” Hadjar asked.

“Our clan has people in Darigon,” she replied. “Einen asked me to send them your description.”

Hadjar glanced at the islander, knowing that she was lying. Einen would’ve never entrusted his friend’s safety to an outsider. The girl had most likely done so on her own. Given her current status as a servant, it couldn’t have been easy.

“Also, the feathers in your hair were a dead giveaway,” she said, glanced at him, and then went back to observing the landscape. “I remember from my history lessons that they serve as rank designations in the orc tribes. And they live on the borderlands of the Lascan Empire.”

Hadjar touched the feathers in his hair. It hadn’t occurred to him that they might give him away so easily.

“They healed me after the pirates destroyed ‘Rukh’s Wings’, the military brig on which I traveled to Darigon.”

He didn’t want to lie to her, but he couldn’t see another way out. The fight against the Dah’Khasses wasn’t his secret to tell. He’d always considered it a dishonest act to reveal other people’s secrets.

“Even Dahanatan has heard the rumors that the orc tribes have started to roam the steppes once again,” Anise whispered. “And that something strange occurred in the remote mountains near the Stone Warriors.”

Hadjar turned to her. She was staring at him with her piercing green eyes.

“Danger!” Tom shouted.

For the first time ever, Hadjar was thankful to hear Tom’s voice.

Chapter 652

T he landscape of the Wastelands was very different from that of the Sea of Sand. Both were deserts, but instead of forming huge, golden dunes the size of a frigate or a battleship, the sand here was spread out like a red blanket over the dry land. There had been almost no clouds visible in the Sea of Sand’s sky, but plenty of them floated over the Wastelands. This place also had some vegetation, albeit not much, and most of it dry, as well as ancient ruins. The only feature the two places shared was lifelessness. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Because of this, it wasn’t surprising that Tom cried out in alarm the moment he noticed a strange silhouette emerge from between the collapsed walls of an ancient building.

“Holy shit!” Hadjar exclaimed in surprise.

“By the Great Turtle!” Einen gasped in agreement.

“What is it?”

“Hush!” The two whispered in unison.

Dismounting, they took everyone’s horses by the reins and led them in the opposite direction, trying to stay out of sight of the shadow meandering between the walls.

“We’ve seen this before,” Hadjar whispered, trying to suppress his energy as much as possible.

“Seen what?” Anise asked, walking beside him.

The squad, despite their attempts to hide their auras, still looked tense and ready for battle.

“It’s a Spirit,” Einen explained.

“A Spirit?” Dora inquired. “I know more about Spirits than any of you, and I assure you that this isn’t a Spirit.”

After his adventure in Lascan, Hadjar could’ve argued that he was now the premier expert, but he didn’t want to waste precious time on silly bickering.

Dora knew a lot about Spirits, yes, but what she was referring to were specters of nature, born from the World River. The creature that was roaming the ruins had very little to do with those. Maybe in the distant past, it had used to be one, but humans had apparently made it their servant, guardian, and weapon. Hadjar and Einen had encountered these spectral beings before, during their search for Mage City. They’d been lucky enough to survive the encounter, even if they’d been wounded. By the Evening Stars, they didn’t want to go through that ever again.

“Don’t try to touch it with your will or ener-”

The shadow came to a sudden halt, interrupting him. Like a broken puppet, it turned slowly toward the squad.

“What are you even afraid of?” Tom snorted. “It’s only at the middle stage of the Spirit Knight level.”

“Well-” Einen began, then gave up.

Both his Spear-staff Spirit and his Call manifested behind him. With a loud snarl, the armored ape grabbed the Spear-staff Spirit and assumed the same defensive stance Einen had taken. Following his example, Hadjar summoned his inner dragon and the Black Blade. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they watched the Spirit walk toward them.

“I’d get ready if I were you,” Hadjar advised the others.

“Hadjar, Einen, if Tom disturbed it, let him-”

The Spirit shuddered. In an instant, it appeared right next to Einen. In the trail of blue flame it left in its wake, one could see the twisted faces of the damned. The Spirit itself looked like a tall, gray-skinned humanoid, except that it had no mouth. Its hair was living flame, and its long arms, protected by some kind of strange armor, reached all the way down to its knees. In its fingers, it clutched a sword covered in blue flame. Its muscular torso was bare, and everything below the waist was hidden by an iron chain skirt. With a single swing of its sword, it sent Einen flying several yards back. The ground between them turned to glass at first, then to fine dust that glimmered like diamonds in the sun.

The Spirit’s blow was easily as powerful as the ‘Black Wind’. Whatever the creature was, it was clearly stronger than the monsters Einen and Hadjar had encountered in the Sea of Sand.

“‘-deal with it,” Dora finished.

“There’s-”

“Don’t talk!” Hadjar hissed through clenched teeth.

Black fog swirling around him, he ducked under the Spirit’s sword and blocked it. Blue flames crashed against the dark blade with a loud boom. Hadjar drew a quarter of the power contained within his Core and distributed it throughout his body, making his expanded meridians flash brightly and flood his body with the power of the World River. If not for the Wolf Broth, the crushing power of the Spirit’s strike would’ve shattered his bones.

Letting out a battle cry, he managed to keep the specter’s sword back with the Black Blade. The ground beneath him cracked and then sank, forming a deep crater.

“-only one,” Anise finished.

“Damn it!” Hadjar hissed.

Turning his wrist slightly, he let the specter’s sword slide down his blade. It struck the ground, igniting the air and leaving an arc of blue fire in its wake. A long furrow appeared in the sand.

“Strong Wind!”

Hadjar, pushing off from the bottom of the crater, swung his sword in a wide arc. The black dragon struck the Spirit in the chest with such force that it sent it flying through the ruins. The Spirit crashed into the old masonry and brought it down atop its own head.

“Damn it!” Hadjar breathed out.

Einen, having regained consciousness, was now standing alongside his friend once more, looking a little dazed.

“They never travel alone.” Einen’s tone was calm. “There are always at least a few of them… But why are they here?”

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked.

Hadjar was about to shush him, but was interrupted by Dora’s whisper. Now clad in her Imperial level armor, she pointed her warhammer at the ruins.

“Look.”

Blue lights flashed among the crumbled walls and fallen statues. They grew in size until copies of the Spirit emerged from them as if coming through a doorway. Tall and lightly armored, they dragged plumes of blue fire behind them, in which the twisted faces of the dead burned. They held broad longswords.

“What are they?”

Anise, holding her sword out in front of her, activated her armor. It wasn’t quite as ornate and pompous as Dora’s, but it looked sturdy and reliable.

“The legacy of the Last War,” Hadjar spat.

All four of them turned to look at him.

“The legacy of what?” Einen asked.

“How do you know about the Last War? Commoners shouldn’t know about ancient times!”

Hadjar looked at the Dinos siblings and Dora. They seemed more concerned about what he knew than the current situation.

Instead of answering, he ducked, avoiding the fiery attacks of dozens of Spirits.

Chapter 653

“S tay back,” Tom ordered. Clad in white, Imperial level armor covered with gold patterns, he shoved Hadjar behind him. “This battle isn’t for Heaven Soldiers.”

Stunned by his impudence, Hadjar froze. His companions charged — four people against almost fifty Spirits. Their Spirit Knight auras indicated that they’d be able to maintain a brutal pace for a long time.

Einen started the fight. The length and lightness of his weapon allowed for great range and speed, which gave him a clear advantage in fights like this one, and his Call served as both a shield and a weapon. Pushing off the ground, he soared into the air. The ape, following its master’s example, swung its spectral staff, inspiring a kind of primal awe in its enemies, one similar to the awe felt by ancient humans when they’d fought against monsters clearly more powerful than them.

“Boulder Storm!” Einen shouted.

His purple eyes flashed with wild, unbridled energy. It passed through his heart and hands, and then surged into his Spirit, merging their attacks. The illusion that formed was that of waves crashing against the rocks. The mighty stones split the water in the course of their endless struggle that had been going on since the moment the first drops of water had fallen from the sky and filled the world’s oceans and seas.

The thirty-foot-long coastline, with all its raging waves and sharp rocks, slammed into the Spirits.

“Bloody Charge!” Anise cried out, joining Einen.

Disappearing, she reappeared some ten yards from where she’d just stood, leaving behind a trail of silhouettes which moved from one opponent to another. The last time Hadjar had seen her use this Technique had been during their battle against the Primeval Giant. Despite the fact that she’d struck multiple different targets, each of her movements looked like the continuation of the previous one. Along with this Technique, she used the full range of the Sword Spirit’s mysteries available to her. With each swing, scarlet crescents of energy surged out of her blade, much denser and brighter than Hadjar’s own.

The ‘Forest’ hieroglyph flashed behind Dora as she whirled her huge warhammer and soared into the air. Hovering in the sky for a moment, she struck. As the only one without mastery over the Weapon’s Heart level, she made up for it by having the strongest Spirit.

The hieroglyph imbued her blows with the force of nature itself. One of her attacks created a shockwave so powerful that it knocked down the first row of Spirits like bowling pins. Hadjar had to jump to the side or his right leg would’ve fallen into one of the cracks Dora had just created.

Tom’s Sword Spirit flashed with scarlet energy. He was getting ready to use his favorite combo.

“Thunder God’s Sword!” He roared, turning his blade into a streak of scarlet lightning, within which raged the mysteries of the Sword Spirit. “Bloody Charge!”

Compared to his reckless charge, Anise’s attacks looked smooth and graceful, almost like she was dancing. Tom was more like a bloodthirsty beast. He didn’t use the Sword’s mysteries to attack, but to fuel his Technique. Every blow he delivered to the Spirits exuded rage and a deep thirst for battle. Flashes of lightning, generated by the swings of his Imperial level sword, shot out into the sky.

Looking at all of this, Hadjar smiled broadly. During his first battle in the Moon army, where he’d fought side by side with Nero, he’d realized just how good it felt to fight with strong allies against strong enemies. Those moments allowed you to reach a deeper understanding of cultivation and of things much more complex and fundamental. Things close to what Hadjar had been trying to find during his travels.

Azrea yawned. Stretching out across the warm sand, she rested her head on her paws.

“What? Is this too easy for you?”

Azrea snorted. Like any true predator, she didn’t want to deal with the small fry. Moreover, she didn’t want to deny Hadjar the opportunity to grow stronger, so she was content to remain an observer.

“As you wish,” Hadjar chuckled, “more for me.”

The tigress snorted again, then closed her eyes and wrapped her tail around herself.

“Anise!” Dora cried. “Don’t summon your Spirit!”

Taking his eyes off Azrea, Hadjar only then noticed that Anise was the only one who hadn’t summoned her Spirit.

“We can’t win without it!” The girl answered, disappearing and reappearing a few feet away.

By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars, he could watch her movements forever — smooth but sharp, they were filled with both beauty and destruction, like true harbingers of death. Never before had he seen a swordsman with such a style. It was mesmerizing and very different from his own. He hadn’t had a real sword Master to teach him, so he’d ended up teaching himself everything that he now knew. He’d never bothered with mastering any of the fancy moves, only focusing on learning the simplest and most effective ones. His only goal had always been sending his enemies to their forefathers as quickly as possible. Compared to Anise, he looked like a barbarian who’d just picked up the sword for the first time.

Hadjar would’ve just stood there and enjoyed the spectacle had his companions been winning. However, their best and most powerful attacks had managed to destroy only four out of the fifty Spirits. Seeing that they were still outnumbered, they began to retreat.

“Seems to me like it’s time for the Heaven Soldier to join the fight, huh?”

Spinning the Black Blade in his hands, he drew out half of his Core’s power. His crystallized meridians also contributed to the energy exchange. His body, strengthened by the Wolf Broth, easily accepted and processed the enormous amount of power that suddenly rushed through it.

“What the-”

“Another Spirit-”

“You’re-”

“Barbarian!”

Sensing something that felt like a wild, predatory beast awakening behind them, the rest of the squad turned to Hadjar, who’d been engulfed in a column of dense energy. In its darkness, one could glimpse the outline of a dragon’s open maw.

“Black Wind!”

Obsidian energy followed the swing of his sword, robbing the world of color. Everything seemed to turn gray, and everyone felt something heavy and deadly push down on their shoulders. A sixty-foot-long copy of the Black Blade struck the Spirits.

Concentrating all of his physical and mystical power in one spot, he added his sharp and strong will and the Sword’s mysteries to the attack. With that, the ‘Black Wind’ was able to break through the barrier that separated a Heaven level Technique from an Imperial one, turning several Spirits to dust.

“Holy shit!” Everyone else swore at once.

Hadjar, turning into a plume of black fog, cut through the enemy’s lines. There was no elegance in his movements, only pure rage. There was no beauty in his swings, only a desire to kill as quickly and efficiently as possible. He didn’t look like a swordsman, but like an enraged predator hungering for its prey’s essence.

There was nothing human in his mad grin and eyes anymore.

Chapter 654

H adjar slammed into the chest of one of the two Spirits nearest to him. Grabbing the other one by its head, he tore it to pieces, spilling blood and gore everywhere. An Energy Stone — the best food for the Black Blade — hung in the air for a moment. Summoning his sword, Hadjar sliced through the Stone. Since artifactors used them to create items of very high quality, they cost at least a thousand Imperial coins. But Hadjar didn’t care about being frugal right now, only about making his weapon stronger.

The Black Blade instantly absorbed the Spirit’s essence.

Calculate progress, Hadjar ordered.

The neural network, despite the fact that most of its computing power was currently focused on finding a way to remove the Sword Spirit’s mark, still completed this simple task with ease.

[11,904 Spirit Knight level Energy Stones are required to advance the sword to the next level.]

The figure didn’t daunt Hadjar. On the contrary, it only made him grin wider. The more difficult a task was, the sweeter it felt to complete it.

“Hadjar!” Someone cried.

Busy fighting three Spirits at once, he’d missed a fourth. It had crept in from behind and swung its flaming sword at him. The flames traced a sharp arc through the air and hit Hadjar in the back. His cloak managed to slow down the blow and weaken it, but not block it entirely. Even Imperial level armor wouldn’t have been able to do that.

“Damn it all!” Hadjar snarled in pain and swung his sword in retaliation. “Strong Wind!”

A gust of wind, within which dragons writhed madly, struck the Spirits. The creatures, holding their swords in front of them, lined up, resembling a wall of fire. The wind couldn’t destroy them, but it did manage to send them flying.

Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Hadjar turned on his heel, his damaged cloak fluttering in the wind. The Spirit that had wounded him was already raising its blade to strike again. Blue flames melted the sand around them.

“RAAARGH!” Hadjar snarled, losing his grip on his humanity.

His teeth and pupils appeared slightly elongated. His left hand shot out and grasped the wrist of the Spirit as he growled even louder. Blue flames licked the black armor that protected his body, but did no damage to it. Without realizing it, he drove the Black Blade deep into the specter’s chest. Its Energy Stone shattered, and the blade instantly devoured it. The specter twitched in agony. It tried to open its non-existent mouth, but all it managed to do was tear the skin on its ‘face’. Hadjar swung his sword and threw the mummified corpse at the feet of the other specters.

Feeling the Sword’s mysteries clearly, Hadjar turned and slashed the air with a shout. A powerful wave erupted as a result of the collision between his and his enemies’ energies and pushed the Spirits away, leaving craters and cracks in its wake.

Hadjar was about to grab his latest foe by the neck, then halted. Instead of black, dead eyes, green ones stared at him with surprise.

“Anise,” he breathed out and took a step back.

“Watch out!” She shouted.

Disappearing and then reappearing behind him, she swung her Imperial level sword at one of the Spirits. A crescent of scarlet energy split its gray skin, exposing an Energy Stone. Hitting the specter, she popped the artifact out of its chest. Before the creature’s body could crumble to dust, the Stone disappeared into Anise’s spatial artifact.

Hadjar, now standing back to back with her, looked around. They were surrounded by a dozen Spirits. Their huge swords burned with a blue flame.

“Fuck me,” Hadjar cursed as he swung his blade, drawing energy from his Core. “Azure Cloud!”

A black cloud formed over the specters. From its darkness emerged a dragon-sword and descended upon its prey with incredible speed. It was about to strike when a dozen of the Spirits simultaneously raised their swords toward the sky. The multiple streams of blue fire merged into one, and the dragon was swallowed by a huge mouth.

“Bloody Hunt!” Anise shouted, activating a Technique that, to this day, remained a mystery to Hadjar. He’d never seen anything like it before.

Swinging her blade, Anise created a scarlet ring of energy around her that then expanded and struck the specters. Unfortunately, just like the ‘Azure Cloud’, it had no effect. The flaming mouth that had swallowed the sword-dragon collapsed to the ground and stretched out into a wall. The ring of energy crashed into it and disappeared in the fire, which the Spirits passed through as if it weren’t even there.

“How many are left?” Tom and Dora landed nearby.

Tom held his injured left arm close to his side. Purple drops dripped down it and fell to the ground. Judging by the flickering of his Spirit, it was more than his arm that had been injured. Dora favored her right leg. There was no blood, but one look through the World River revealed an energy wound. If not for his enhanced meridians, Hadjar would’ve suffered a similar fate. The blue flames seemed capable of inflicting wounds on one’s energy body. Einen, who’d also landed next to them, was the only one among the three of them who wasn’t seriously injured. Except for the fact that his ape and Spear-staff Spirit were gone.

“Thirty,” Hadjar grunted.

He and Anise launched attack after attack at the group of enemies in front of them. They used pure slashes since those didn’t require any energy at all, relying only on the cultivator’s skill and not how much power one could take from the World River.

“I’ll use my Spirit,” Anise whispered.

“Don’t you dare!” Tom, Dora, and Einen shouted in unison.

“Do you remember how that went last time?” Dora hissed and struck the ground with her warhammer. The impact was relatively weak, but it was still enough to create a tremor that stopped the ring of monsters around them from closing in.

“You almost died,” Tom reminded his sister. “And if the Head of the clan finds out about your Spirit… We’ll all die.”

“Maybe. But if I don’t use it, we’ll all die here anyway.”

“By the Evening Stars!” Hadjar cried out in frustration. “What is going on here?”

“How do you think we got away from the Nameless assassin, my friend?” Einen whispered to him.

“When I summon it, you’ll have a couple of seconds,” Anise warned them as blood-red energy swirled around her. “If I don’t manage to kill them all, leave me behind and run away.”

“What the hell-”

Hadjar’s cry was drowned out by the roar of energy bursting forth into the physical world.

Anise had summoned her Spirit.

Chapter 655

T he wave of power that swept over them was so overwhelming that they almost ended up falling to their knees. The ground shook and caved in, forming a hole several yards deep. The nearby buildings instantly crumbled to dust. Thousands of sword slashes shot out in all directions, some of which even managed to hit their targets. If not for the barrier that had appeared around them, Hadjar was certain that he wouldn’t have survived the onslaught even if he’d depleted his Core to defend himself.

Oozing power and reeking of blood, the slashes struck the shimmering barrier formed by the protective hieroglyphs, making them ripple like water.

“By the High Heavens,” Hadjar breathed out.

“Sister...” Tom whispered.

In his hand, he held a die that looked like a miniature replica of the shields floating around them. The Imperial level artifact radiated power equal to a peak-stage Lord’s Technique.

Anise Dinos, moving faster than the speed of sound, had transformed into an angel of death, a shield-maiden of Derger, the God of War. She was now a terrifying demoness who brought death and ruin with every swing of her sword. Each of her attacks would first divide into ten smaller ones, and then merge back into a single whole, releasing a barrage of terrible sword slashes in the process.

A shimmering hieroglyph could sometimes be glimpsed floating behind her. Hadjar recognized it. He’d seen it hundreds of times before. The first time he’d encountered it had been inside the World River, a long, long time ago. Hidden behind a layer of dangerous energy, its reflection had promised to grant power to anyone who could understand its essence. The next time he’d seen it had been when he’d sunk into the water. The third time, he’d been washing the blood of his friends off his clothes. But more often than not, he’d seen it inside his soul. Shaped like a beetle, it was a terrible scar comprised of 999 sword slashes. Anise’s Spirit was the embodiment of the Sword itself. Its power had turned the young girl into a weapon of mass destruction.

“How is this even possible?”

They were looking at a legend come to life. No one in the Empire believed in the existence of the fourth kind of Spirit. No one believed in them, but everyone still desperately wanted to see one manifest.

The first Emperor, the founder of Darnassus, had had this kind of Spirit, the kind that came from the World River itself. It was a sign, one that marked the greatest of heroes and the strongest of swordsmen.

The Spirit that Dora possessed was a part of nature, but Anise’s own... She owned the entirety of it: every blade of grass, every grain of sand, every newborn fawn, every piece of iron, every swing of the blade forged from that iron, every ray of sun reflected across its surface… Every Technique. Every essence. Every mystery. All of this was contained within the legendary Sword of the World River. The power it granted her was all-encompassing and as boundless as the wind.

A tsunami of power swept over their enemies, crushing them and the nearby buildings to pieces. It cut through the ground with more ease than the sharpened scissors of a tailor had when cutting through a piece of cloth.

Each wave of her hand was followed by a crescent of bright, scarlet energy that devoured the Spirits standing in its path. The monsters didn’t dare attack her, only trying to defend themselves. Their blue flames tried to wall her off, but she was too fast. So fast, in fact, that even Hadjar couldn’t keep track of her. For the first time, he understood what it was like to be a mortal spectator watching a fight between powerful cultivators. He only saw red flashes and flickering afterimages.

Suddenly, it was all over.

The Sword disappeared, and the girl fell like a wounded bird thrown out of its nest. Her enemies hadn’t even touched her, so the blood she was covered in could be none other than her own. Try as she might, she couldn’t tame and control the Sword’s power. Summoning it really was a double-edged sword.

“Run… away,” she whispered.

Her fingers unclenched, releasing her sword’s hilt. Blood trickled down the corners of her mouth with every word she uttered. Coughing violently, she stained the sand crimson.

“Sister...” Tom’s voice broke.

“We have to run,” Dora said, pale as a ghost. “They’re closing in.”

“Leave?” Hadjar roared furiously. “There are only ten of them left! She managed to get rid of twenty of them in two seconds!”

“Look! Over there!” Dora argued, pointing at the ruins that were still standing.

Barely visible through the debris, more blue lights started appearing. One by one, they gradually grew brighter, transforming into pillars of azure flame from which new Spirits emerged. Dragging their longswords and damned souls behind them, they made their way toward Anise. Lying motionless on the sand, all she could do was beg her friends to run away.

A low roar sounded from behind her.

Adjusting his grip on the Black Blade’s hilt, Hadjar took a handful of pills from his spatial ring and popped them into his mouth, flooding his Core and meridians with pulsating energy. It crashed into the walls of his energy body, leaving tiny injuries behind. Alchemy wasn’t a panacea. Power always came with a price.

“That won’t help!” Dora tugged at the hem of his cloak. “We can’t fight them forever.”

“We won’t have to. I refuse to leave one of our own behind.”

Einen resolutely walked over to stand next to his friend.

“How much time do you need?” He asked.

“Half a second,” Hadjar replied. “Buy me half a second, and I’ll carve us a way through.”

“You’re insane!” Tom shouted. “My sister just gave her life for us, and you-”

“All right,” Einen said, interrupting him. “I’m with you, barbarian.”

“I never doubted it, islander.”

The two of them didn’t need any more reassurance. They trusted each other more than they trusted themselves. Theirs was the prime example of a true friendship between cultivators who lived, fought, and died side by side. A cultivator’s life was long, and if they lived it alone, what was the point of living at all?

Einen, following Hadjar’s example, popped some pills into his mouth as well. Energy swirled around him. The armored ape picked up the Spear-staff Spirit.

“Lower the barrier, Tom!” Einen roared, his voice as loud as waves crashing against a rocky shore.

“You stupid-” Tom began berating them, but didn’t get to finish.

With a wave of his hand, he pushed the two friends out of the safety of the barrier and placed his hand over Dora’s mouth. The shields were still there, but it didn’t matter.

Einen and Hadjar stood in front of Anise, a sea of hungry specters spread out before them.

“Half a second, my friend,” Einen said, and soared into the sky.

Chapter 656

T he ape mimicked Einen and spun its Spear-staff. What followed was an explosion, one akin to a barrel full of gunpowder going off. A ray of emerald light flooded everything. Shrinking to a single point, it landed on the tip of the islander’s spear-staff.

“River Serpent’s Dance!” Einen shouted.

A huge serpent emerged from behind him and struck the ground. Made out of green light, it was as wide as an adult man’s torso, and ten yards long. Each of its fangs was a spear, and each scale a blade. It smashed through their enemies like a battering ram and swallowed the ones unfortunate enough to get in its way. It was obvious how much using this Technique cost Einen — the glow of the ape’s iridescent armor gradually faded, and its silhouette blurred. Even so, the impact was still enough to slow down the hundreds of Spirits that had closed in around his friends.

“What are you-” Anise started to ask, but Hadjar interrupted her.

“I didn’t think I’d have to use this so soon.”

He sat down in a lotus position, placing the Black Blade across his lap, then retreated into the depths of his soul. Passing through the darkness where the dragon and the Black Blade rested, he stopped in the middle of the vast valley covered with a carpet of green grass. Time passed slower here than in the real world. Even his appearance was different. His tattered clothes were gone, replaced by a simple but tidy gray robe, held in place by a scarlet rope around his waist that had a waterskin attached to it. His long, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail with a narrow leather strap. Instead of boots, he wore sandals. This was how he imagined himself.

“Master,” he whispered and touched his forehead to the ground.

In front of him, at the top of the hill, stood the empty boulder on which the dragon Traves, the last of the Dark Storm tribe, had once sat.

Having paid his respects to his Master, Hadjar turned in the other direction, where a weak tree grew. It was no higher than his knee, but still strong enough to support the weight of the baby bird hidden in its canopy. The Quetzal bird, a symbol of freedom in orc culture.

Hadjar leaned forward and held out his hand. The bird stopped grooming the underside of its wing and yawned. With a flutter of its wings, it jumped up onto his finger.

“Will you help me, my Spirit?”

The bird stared into Hadjar’s blue eyes, as if saying: Have I ever said no to you?

“I’m not trying to force you,” he said. “There’s no worse fate than being forced to do something against your will. There’s nothing worse than being a slave to someone. I don’t want to be the master of Freedom.”

The bird let out a shrill cry and flapped its wings, as if saying: A man born free can never become a slave.

Hadjar laughed. The bird, although smaller than his finger, was every bit as tough and unyielding as he was.

“I’ll lend you my power and you’ll lend me yours, okay?”

The bird nodded.

With a deep sigh, Hadjar reached for his Core. Lifting his hand toward the sky, he suddenly lowered it and pointed at the bird. The clouds parted and a stream of black energy streaked with blue entered the Spirit, making it grow. The Quetzal needed wings larger than the sails of the biggest ships to soar freely to the highest heavens, to face any storm with its head held high, and fight off even the strongest of winds. Its talons grew sharper than any blade, ready to tear apart those who dared to try and take away its freedom.

A six-foot-tall bird spread its huge wings in front of Hadjar. With a high-pitched cry, it announced its arrival. It wrapped its tail around its friend’s waist and they soared into the sky together.

***

Having spent almost all of his power, Einen slumped to the ground. Someone’s will caught him and dragged him back under the barrier.

“What is that damned barbarian doing?” Tom shouted.

“Only he knows,” Einen replied, far too calm for someone in his state.

The golems, once they saw that the huge serpent was gone, continued toward their goal. Hadjar, who was still sitting in the lotus position, suddenly extended his hand. There was nothing unusual about this simple gesture, but a second later, the protective barrier around his friends began to quiver.

“What the-”

A column of energy shot out of Hadjar’s chest and pierced the clouds. Instantly expanding, it engulfed the cultivator completely. The sand began to ripple and swirl into the air.

And then everything stopped. It was as if someone had called upon the wind only to dismiss it upon their arrival.

A sudden, high-pitched cry filled the air. The pillar disappeared, leaving behind a giant bird hovering in the air. It had a wingspan of six feet, and its sharp talons looked as deadly as any weapon.

“What is that? Some sort of artifact?” Dora whispered, dumbfounded.

“It’s his Spirit,” Einen answered.

“But that’s impossible! He’s just a Heaven Soldier!”

“No.” Einen’s purple eyes flashed. “He isn’t a Heaven Soldier, he’s a fucking madman.”

Still sitting in the lotus position, Hadjar raised his open palm toward the sky. The Black Blade immediately materialized in his grip, the blue hieroglyph adorning it shining brighter than the North Star.

The bird let out another shrill cry. Flapping its wings, it suddenly dove into Hadjar’s back.

“Holy shit!” Tom and Dora shouted in unison.

They didn’t understand how Einen could arm his Call’s ape with his Spirit, but what Hadjar was doing… It went against everything they knew about the path of cultivation.

Because they were shouting, they failed to hear the words that fell from Einen’s smiling lips.

“Your ancestors are calling you, my friend. It’s a pity that you can’t hear their furious roars.”

They also failed to notice Einen’s arms being covered in iridescent scales for a moment, which then disappeared in a flash of light.

Hadjar rose to his feet and held out the Black Blade. The blue hieroglyph that adorned the obsidian blade now shone with a new light,  depicting a bird soaring through the air majestically.

“Black Wind,” Hadjar whispered softly, and made a single swing with his sword, detonating an invisible bomb in the air.

The barrier quivered even more violently as a roar that could split the Heavens and tear the earth asunder reached it. Deep cracks spread out in all directions from the spot where Hadjar stood, greedily devouring the crumbling ruins and the Spirits that hadn’t managed to jump away in time. Gusts of wind as sharp as a sword whizzed through the air, conjured by the lingering energy of the attack. Although much weaker than Anise’s had been, it was far more violent.

The Black Blade came to life. There was nothing that could stop it. It was as if it had freed itself from its mortal shackles and had reached the Seventh Heavens and the Jasper Palace already.

The gigantic replica of the blade assumed the form of a dragon, the scales of which were decorated with the same patterns as the blade itself. Opening its mouth, it slammed into the Spirits with a thunderous roar, tearing apart and cutting through everything in its way. The Spirits disappeared one by one, until the Technique ran out of energy and the dragon disappeared.

Covered in blood and terrible cuts, Hadjar managed to destroy almost thirty Spirits with a single attack before he fell to the ground. A bolt of white lightning rushed along the path that he had carved in their opponents’ ranks. Leaving a trail of fire in its wake, it took the form of a roaring tigress as it left their enemies far behind.

Azrea threw her burden to the ground once she was far enough from the ruins. Only Einen and Hadjar remained on her back. The latter’s heartbeat had stilled.

“By the Great Turtle!” Einen exclaimed. “You stupid barbarian!”

Chapter 657

T he simple task of opening his eyes seemed like a herculean effort. Hadjar felt like he was walking down a narrow corridor that had a sticky floor and constantly shrinking walls. It wanted him to stay there forever, but he rushed toward the light he could see ahead. Once he’d reached it, he immediately tried to move his legs and felt great relief when he found out that they would obey him. The experience was so similar to waking up from an anesthetic that, for a moment, he’d thought that he was back in the hospital room. High Heavens be praised, he wasn’t lying on white sheets, but on the hot sand of the Wastelands. There were no neon white lights above him, only the silvery glimmer of the stars. The air wasn’t filled with the sterile scent of antiseptic, but the warmth of the wind.

The sound of crackling fire made him close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he found that he could barely breathe. It wasn’t that something was squeezing his chest, he just didn’t have much strength left in his body.

“Don’t try to get up,” someone told him.

Through the haze, Hadjar recognized Einen’s silhouette. Having placed numerous flasks all around him, he was now smearing their contents on his wounds.

Hadjar looked at himself through the World River. He’d received minimal energy damage. The various training sessions he’d gone through over the past month and a half had certainly helped. If not for the Wolf Broth, the powder of the three-thousand-year-old fern, and the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ meditation Technique, he would’ve ended up a cripple at best. The way of interacting with one’s Spirit that the orcs had taught him was so powerful that it would’ve burned out his energy body. Hell, he would’ve probably died outright.

On the other hand, he had suffered a lot of physical damage. No cultivator, no matter how strong they were, could survive a lot of blood loss or a wound to the heart. That was why there were Techniques for Strengthening the Body to go along with Meditation and Energy Body Techniques.

“How’s-?”

“She’s all right,” Einen interrupted him and applied more of the foul smelling ointment. “She has pills for these kinds of emergencies, unlike you, you mad barbarian.”

With great difficulty, Hadjar turned his head toward the fire. Dora and Tom, looking much better than before, were drinking something from wooden bowls. They blew on the contents to cool them down and took small sips. The brew emanated concentrated healing energy. If a mortal or a mere practitioner were to drink something so potent, their death would be inevitable.

Next to them sat Anise, shivering despite being wrapped up in a thick blanket. With trembling hands, she brought her bowl to her lips and sipped a richer concoction with an even more potent smell. Her energy body had suffered a lot more damage than his. Her main meridians had managed to recover, but the smaller ones resembled a spider web torn to shreds by the rain. They were even leaking little bits of the World River’s power. The broth was slowly but surely restoring her energy and strength. Whatever herbs had been put in it were working wonders for her.

“I can’t… give any… to you,” she said to Hadjar, noticing him staring at her bowl.

“My aunt made the broth,” Dora explained. “She gave some to all four of us but refused to make any for you because…”

Dora stopped short. The Dinos siblings didn’t know about the fragment of the Enemy’s soul that resided within Hadjar. Fortunately for him, everyone was too tired to press the elf for more details.

“What were those things?” Tom asked.

Hadjar let out a sigh of relief, glad to see that they’d changed the topic. The conversation could’ve taken a far more awkward turn.

“Remnants of the past,” Einen explained. “Spirits that humans coaxed into serving them.”

“Are you aware of how strong one has to be to force a Spirit into submission?” Dora almost dropped her bowl in shock.

“They also need very advanced and complex Techniques,” Tom added, “I’ve never heard of Lascanian or Darnassian armies using such creatures.”

“There were hundreds of them,” Dora continued. “Or more…”

“Many more.” Einen nodded.

“That’s interesting…” Tom nodded, trying his best not to move his left arm as he drank. “No one’s ever heard of these creatures roaming the Wastelands.”

Hadjar nodded in agreement. If the golems had been wandering the ancient ruins all this time, someone would’ve come across them before today. Over the thousands of years ‘The Holy Sky’ School had existed, the Wastelands had been ravaged by countless cultivators. While searching for old tombs, they’d explored most of it, but no one had brought any information about the Spirits back to the School.

“Something woke them up.” Hadjar groaned.

“Did it?” Tom drained his bowl in one gulp and tossed it into the fire. Any normal person would’ve smacked him for such an unnecessary display of wasteful arrogance. “It’s probably because the Masters recently brought the key and the map here. Demons and gods! What other creatures will we encounter? Don’t answer that! It was a rhetorical question!”

“Is the mighty junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan scared?”

Tom, surprisingly enough, didn’t react to Dora’s mockery. He’d somehow managed to reign in his volatile temper.

For a while, they just sat in silence. Each of them thought about what other obstacles they might encounter.

Lying on the sand, Hadjar stared at the stars, tormented by very bleak thoughts: if the key and the map had affected the Wastelands so much, what had happened to the Demon Gate?

“Damn it all to hell,” he whispered.

Only Einen, who was sitting close to him, heard his cursing.

“Thank… you…” Anise suddenly said, still trembling. “I… owe… you…”

Chapter 658

“S ister!” Tom leapt to his feet. “You don’t owe this commoner anything!”

“That commoner,” Dora said, “saved our lives!”

“And he almost met his forefathers in the process! Hell, we owe our lives to the tiger, not him!”

The now small Azrea was lying in the firelight. Basking in the warmth, she twitched comically in her sleep and yawned widely. She didn’t look like a ferocious Ancient Beast, but a pet kitten taking a nap.

“The tigress is his,” Dora said.

Azrea meowed.

Hadjar smiled. He’d always suspected that the cub only pretended to be asleep, but was actually on high alert at all times.

“All right, all right.” Dora waved her hands placatingly. “No need to get angry, you fearsome beast. You’re a free spirit.”

Azrea meowed again and stared at the humans haughtily.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Tom murmured. He sat back down and looked at Hadjar through the flames. “I have two questions for you, barbarian.”

Hadjar sighed heavily. He knew exactly what questions Tom would ask him. Unfortunately, since he’d been unconscious until recently, he hadn’t had the time to prepare.

“What makes you think I’ll answer them?” He retorted. He wasn’t looking to start a fight, just buy himself some time to think.

“Because you have no choice, barbarian!”

“Tom!” Dora exclaimed. “You aren’t talking to a servant! He’s our ally!”

However, judging by her tone, she was also interested in hearing what Hadjar had to say.

“That’s exactly why I want to know what I can expect from him!”

Dora fell silent. She was looking at Hadjar intently, as if it wasn’t Tom, but she herself who would be asking the questions.

“I don’t see your Imperial investigator’s medallion anywhere, Tom.”

“Don’t get cute with me, commoner,” the young man growled. “Your life isn’t worth shit to me. One more word-”

“-and the entire Wastelands will echo with the clash of our blades,” Hadjar interrupted him. “Don’t forget that I’m wearing our School’s token too, just like you. Until we graduate, we’re equals.”

Tom gritted his teeth and fell silent, not because he had nothing to say, but because of Anise’s insistent glare. Out of respect for his sister, he decided to leave Hadjar alone.

Hadjar thought about the graduation ceremony. Anyone who reached the middle stage of the Lord level graduated with the token of distinction. Anyone who studied there for twenty years graduated without any honors or letters of recommendation. If they’d been inner circle disciples, they could get a recommendation from a Mentor or a Master. Most just received a letter that confirmed their rank on the Solid Earth or Jade Cloud list.

“Let’s just do the same thing we did with Einen,” Dora suggested.

Hadjar looked at them in confusion. Einen, on the other hand, ignored them, too busy treating his friend’s wounds.

“He will swear an oath to us!” Tom shouted.

“What oath?” Hadjar inquired.

He had more than enough scars on his palm, left there by the World River as evidence of his many oaths.

“That you’ll never tell anyone about my sister’s Spirit.”

Hadjar let out a sigh of relief. He was well aware that such a thing could be a death sentence for Anise. Many people would either kill or force her to work for them if they found out about it.

Anise had once been the eldest heiress of one of the seven great clans of the Empire. With her power, nobody knew what could happen when she reached the Nameless level. To regain her former position in the clan, all she’d have to do would be to swing her sword. Her power was so potent that even the Imperial throne would shake in awe of it. Would it even be possible to control or command a Nameless level, talented swordswoman who can summon a Primordial Spirit? And what if she achieved mastery over the Sword Kingdom? Then she could even dethrone the Emperor if she so chose.

“Einen,” Hadjar stated simply. He didn’t have the strength to raise his hand, let alone cut his palm.

His friend nodded in understanding. Drawing his dagger, he ran it across Hadjar’s palm while the latter swore the oath. His blood flared with a golden flame and the wound healed, leaving another scar behind.

“Thank… you…” Anise croaked.

Coughing, she turned away, wiped her bruised lips with a handkerchief, and took another sip of the broth.

Hadjar now knew how the four of them had managed to survive an ambush from a Nameless level assassin.

“We can swear the same oaths.” Dora took out the dagger she used for cutting out monster cores. Everyone who’d once been a simple practitioner had one. However, for cultivators, these simple blades served a ritual, rather than practical purpose, as they could get cores without having to cut them out.

“You want me to swear an oath to a commoner?” Tom roared.

“Calm down, Dinos!” Dora shouted. “Hadjar is already more powerful than most mid-stage Spirit Knights. It’s only a matter of time before he earns a jade token. Master Orune will then take him as his personal disciple. After graduation, you’ll be equals!”

“A commoner is no match for an aristocrat.”

“Idiot!”

Dora threw her bowl into the fire. She didn’t realize that she came off as no better than Tom at that moment.

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other.

“Tom… please...”

Anise’s voice seemed to calm the angry young man. After a moment’s hesitation, Tom swore so loudly that Nero would’ve been delighted. Snatching the dagger from Dora, he cut his palm and vowed not to reveal the secrets he’d learn from Hadjar. Dora and Anise followed suit.

“Now tell us, barbarian,” Tom said, “Where did a Heaven Soldier get such a Spirit?”

Hadjar smiled.

“It’s not as complicated as it seems.” He summoned the Quetzal bird into the physical world. “It’s-”

“What a lovely chicken!”

Everyone turned to Einen. He cleared his throat and went back to bandaging Hadjar’s wounds.

“A Chicken Spirit… It suits you. The bards will sing songs about you two.”

“Oh, go to-”

All of them laughed loudly, sitting around a fire in the middle of the Wastelands, surrounded by ancient ruins bathed in the light of the stars and the moon. Sometimes, even cultivators needed to relieve tension with some laughter.

“I met a tribe of nomadic orcs in Lascan,” Hadjar began. He wasn’t going to reveal all his secrets, but since they’d sworn the oath, he owed them at least a couple.

Chapter 659

“T he way of the ancestors,” Dora repeated. “It sounds amazing.”

“It sounds crazy.” Tom snorted. “Everything he just told us contradicts the Imperial doctrine about the path of cultivation.”

“Don’t you think that what Hadjar did is beyond the scope of our knowledge?” Anise asked, finishing her third bowl of herbal tea. By now, the mess that was her broken channels had mostly recovered.

Tom nodded and shut up. He’d never heard of anyone who didn’t just borrow power from their Spirit, but exchanged it with them instead, merging together and doubling their power in the process. The way Hadjar had fought with his Bird Spirit made him as powerful as Anise. He envied him.

“I wonder if the orcs remember the way of the ancestors…”

“I know what you must be wondering: why didn’t they try to conquer the Empire?” Hadjar said. “They don’t need it. They roam, hunt, and live in peace with nature. They don’t need human cities and countries. To them, those places are hunting grounds.”

“In other words, they already consider this land their own, and its people their cattle.”

Hadjar hadn’t looked at the situation from that angle. He hated to admit it, but Anise had a point. Just as mortals let the animals breed in their forests, so too did the orcs let the humans fornicate on their hunting grounds. After all, humans wouldn’t go to war with rabbits.

“What did you do for them to honor you so much?” Anise asked. “Those feathers in your hair… Orc hunters have only one white feather in their hair.”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn she knew so much about a race he hadn’t even known existed until recently. The nobility, unlike most people, received a good education. Even if those people had once lived in a Royal Palace. Hadjar used to be a Prince, sure, but he’d been born in a small border Kingdom. In Lidus, a Heaven Soldier was a mythical creature that could control the elements and fly. And the people there unfortunately didn’t know anything about orcs and elves.

“I took part in their celebration,” Hadjar said. It was a half-lie. “That’s where I got these.”

His companions weren’t stupid. They knew that Hadjar wasn’t going to share everything with them even though they’d been sworn to secrecy. In the world of martial arts, people respected each other’s secrets, so no one tried to force him to say anything else.

“Interesting.” Tom nodded. “The oath we took will save you a lot of trouble, barbarian.”

A man who knew the way of the ancestors wouldn’t be welcome in the Empire. Without the Wolf Broth, this path was closed to cultivators. To think that those who could walk it would be able to double or even triple their power... The Empire didn’t want anyone like that nearby, fearing that they’d cause more trouble than they were worth.

Hadjar looked at Einen. Unlike the islander, the other three often forgot their manners and sometimes interrupted Hadjar to ask him questions. Einen, who’d just finished tending to his friend’s wounds, looked as calm as ever. Hadjar looked at him silently. Using the sign language of the hunters that Hadjar had taught him, Einen gestured to him that it was too dangerous to talk now and that they’d catch up later. In private.

Hadjar didn’t know what Einen was hiding, but he trusted him. After all, no one but the islander knew all of his secrets.

“And now for the most important thing,” Tom whispered, looking over his shoulder as if he were afraid that someone might emerge from the darkness and hear them. “How do you know about the Last War?”

“The Last-?”

All three aristocrats hissed at him.

“Not so loud!” Anise also looked around. “It isn’t something one should be shouting about.”

Hadjar and Einen glanced at each other. Who, or what, could be so horrible as to intimidate a group of nobles?

“Guess I should be the one asking questions this time,” Hadjar drawled. “What’s so dangerous about it?”

“The mere mention of those times can end badly, even for a noble,” Dora whispered, turning slightly pale. “Information about that period was erased from all libraries, historical books, and scrolls.”

“Why?”

“Because that was the war that created the seven Empires,” Anise said harshly. “And summoned their masters.”

“The masters of the Empires?”

“Ssshhh!”

“Shut up, barbarian!” Tom hissed through gritted teeth. “If you breathe a word of this in Dahanatan, you’ll be taken to the interrogation room of the Imperial Chancellery. If you don’t want to live, just tell me. I’ll be happy to send you to your forefathers.”

Hadjar decided to let it go.

“That’s why we were so surprised that you knew about it,” Anise said. “Commoners shouldn’t know anything about that period.”

“Even most nobles don’t know about it.”

“Most?”

The three nodded in unison.

“Only the ruling families of the seven great clans have the right to learn and pass on this knowledge,” Tom said, puffing his chest out with pride.

“What are you talking about?” Hadjar asked, furrowing his brows.

The trio exchanged glances. They debated in silence for a while, until Anise said:

“All seven Empires are subjects of the Dragon Lands. We serve monsters, the Lords of the Heavens.”

Kill the Dragon Emperor! Sounded in Hadjar’s head.

“Fucking damn it! I hate intrigue!” He swore.

Chapter 660

T he squad moved slowly toward the northeast. Hadjar hadn’t told them about the landmark that he’d privately dubbed ‘Falcon’s Head’ — and even if he’d wanted to tell them, it would’ve been very difficult to explain at this point.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, he looked around. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the sun was almost as hot as in the Sea of Sand. The landscape remained unchanged: ruins and sand covered with sparse, low vegetation.

“We’ve got trouble!” Tom raised his fist.

They were on a high hill overlooking an old, wide road. Dismounting, they fell to the ground and began crawling. Hiding behind the dry, reddish bushes, they took turns looking through Hadjar’s telescope. No matter how strong Spirit Knights were, they still couldn’t see three miles ahead of them.

“By the Great Turtle!” Einen breathed out and handed the telescope back to Hadjar.

Pressing it to his eye, he peered at the road. Through the cracked and slightly cloudy glass, he saw a group of cultivators fighting a pink-skinned, giant monster that looked like a mix of lion, bat, scorpion, and a child’s nightmare. Its black mane shot out yellow sparks that turned into lightning bolts and struck the cultivators scurrying at its feet. Those who weren’t killed by the bolts were immediately torn to pieces by the monster’s huge paws adorned with razor-sharp claws. Wide as a ship’s mast, they easily felled two or three warriors at once. Those that it didn’t kill, it swallowed without chewing. Instead of a lion’s tail, it had a chitinous scorpion sting that immediately turned those it hit to dust. The sand sizzled and evaporated in places where the acidic, green poison landed on it. The creature also had two gigantic wings, which it used to create deadly sandstorms. The wind would strip the skin off those unlucky enough to get in its way, leaving behind only a skeleton clad in armor.

“It’s a manticore,” Anise said, handing the telescope back to Hadjar.

“I’ve heard of those...”

He’d never fought against such a creature himself, only heard the stories from travelers and read about them in the bestiary that all students of the School had free access to.

“I didn’t know that Spirit Stage monsters dwelled in the Wastelands.”

“Thank the gods that this one is only at the first level of the Stage,” Tom said.

Everyone instantly felt as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. A creature at the initial level of the Spirit Stage was equal in power to the peak stage of the Nameless level. If the manticore had reached the middle level, it would’ve surpassed the Nameless level of human cultivation, and the fortress that served as the barrier between the Wastelands and the Empire would’ve crumbled to dust long ago.

The winged serpents that had now settled in the lands of the Dah’Khasses were that powerful. By the Evening Stars, getting hit by one of them was as terrible as being struck by a cannonball in the face. No matter how much human civilization developed, its primary threat were still bloodthirsty monsters.

“Let’s go,” Dora said and began to slowly crawl back to the side of the slope, where the horses were grazing and Azrea was stretched out, yawning. “We can’t help them.”

No one disagreed. These hundred or so cultivators and disciples from their School were doomed to die at the beast’s hands. No one could help them. Had access to the Wastelands been granted to all the students, including the personal disciples at the Lord level, several of them working together would’ve probably been able to deal with the manticore and save these unfortunate souls.

With their gazes still fixed on the distant scene of carnage, they descended the slope, got on their mounts, and rode away without hesitation. They raced in the opposite direction with mad urgency for about three hours. During that time, clouds appeared in the sky, threatening to merge into the dark, stormy kind. The landscape finally began to change: hills made up of dry, cracked earth gave way to small rocks, and then to red mountain peaks. Looming above the Wastelands, they reached for the azure sky, hoping to touch it one day.

“We’ve gone far enough,” Tom said and halted. Patting the sweaty neck of his tired steed, he jumped off it. “Let’s set up camp.”

No one bothered to argue. They’d let him be the leader simply because no one wanted to constantly argue with him.

Hadjar retrieved a waterskin and a bowl from his spatial ring. He filled the latter with fresh water and placed it in front of Azrea. The rest followed his example and set out food and water for their mounts. Perhaps the animals hadn’t taken over the world because, unlike cultivators, they needed nourishment. Even at the highest Stages, their instincts always prevailed. Try as they might, they could never reach the same level of sentience as humans.

Hadjar approached Einen.

“How far off course are we?” He asked in the islander’s native language.

Einen looked up at the sky. Picking up a small stick from the ground, he held it out in front of his eyes, made a couple of gestures with his fingers, and thought about it for a while.

“We’re about 125 miles east.”

“125 miles.” Hadjar repeated, looking in the direction where the Falcon’s Head should be.

“We need to explore these mountains,” Tom said once he was finished with starting the fire. Sitting down, he held his hands out over the flames. A cold night in the Wastelands could easily kill a mortal or a practitioner, but not a cultivator. For them, it was only a minor inconvenience. “Something tells me that we might find a couple of clues here.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Dora said.

Anise, as usual, supported her brother’s decision. Their relationship seemed strange to Hadjar, but he didn’t want to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Instead, he looked to the north and the three snowcapped peaks lost amongst the numerous red spears.

“Shall we vote on it?” Tom suggested.

Hadjar felt like they needed to head toward the Falcon’s Head, but he was outnumbered three to one. He hated intrigue.

Chapter 661

“A re you meditating?”

Hadjar was sitting by the fire, smoking his pipe and looking up at the snowcapped peaks.

“No. I decided to keep watch.”

Anise sat down on the sand beside him. Her thick hair smelled of jasmine and barley — it was a pleasant, sweet smell. He didn’t know the names of the jade stones framed in gold and white that adorned her luscious locks, but they also looked beautiful.

“You’re on guard duty?” Anise laughed. “Do we really need that?”

Unlike the other squad members, who used it in their Techniques and in their everyday life, Hadjar couldn’t use external energy at all. Spirit Knights didn’t need someone to keep watch as they could sense danger even if they were in deep meditation. Of course, there were exceptions, but for such cases, they had protective spells.

Their camp was currently surrounded by several magic barriers and a signal network that stretched out for about 1500 yards around its perimeter. Sometimes, if one was paying close attention, they could see the hieroglyphs and runes twinkling beneath a thin layer of golden sand, entwined in intricate patterns the meaning of which Hadjar didn’t know. Due to his handicap, he didn’t have the ability to learn the magic arts of alchemy and artifactoring. The latter was especially troublesome, as he could’ve made significant progress in it by now thanks to his neural network, which would’ve put him one step closer to his goal.

“It’s a habit...” Hadjar shrugged, then gritted his teeth in frustration.

According to the life story he’d invented for himself, he was the Prince of a distant Kingdom. Being a prodigy by his Kingdom’s standards, he’d decided to go and test himself in the Imperial capital. Traveling through the Sea of Sand, he’d met Einen, whom he’d then befriended and went on many adventures with. The only real lie there, he figured, was that he was seventeen, and not twenty-eight.

Wrapping her blanket tighter around herself, Anise turned to the mountains.

“While you were gone, I collected some stories,” her voice sounded different somehow, “about the Mad General.”

Hadjar had had no doubt that she would continue her inquiries into his past in his absence. Maybe out of pure academic interest, or maybe because she had a goal only she knew about. He didn’t know what her motives were, and even if he did, he doubted that he’d be able to do anything about it. She would keep digging.

South Wind had once told him that there were three things in this world that couldn’t be trusted: snakes sleeping on your chest, beautiful women, and aristocrats. Hadjar didn’t know about the first two, but he knew the last bit was true. One couldn’t compare the nobility and their odd ways to that of the commoners’ far simpler outlook.

“In taverns and around campfires, legends are told about an invincible General named Hadjar-”

“We’ve already been over this,” Hadjar interrupted her. “My name is one of the most common ones in the region.”

“They say,” Anise continued calmly, “that he was so clever and skillful that he could sneak in anywhere undetected. That he, along with his loyal brother and the witch from the Sea of Sand, defeated a horde of nomads. That he fought a Spirit Knight and survived. That he met demons. That he slept with a wolf woman from the Islands. That he could command the very wind. That he fought the ice giants and defeated the mad Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect. That he had a white cub, which sometimes turned into a huge tigress-”

“Do you really believe all of that?”

“That he was actually a Prince. Some say that his father was the rightful ruler, others claim that he was a traitor. That the Prince, a simple practitioner, killed his uncle to regain the throne. That his brother and sister-in-law paid the price for his foolish actions. That only he and the Princess were left standing in the end. It’s said that she defeated the Prince in battle and that he was never seen nor heard from again.”

Hadjar felt his heart ache. Memories of a distant past flashed through his mind. He saw the faces of every person that was no longer with him. The people he’d fought side by side with against the nomads in the Mountains of Eternal Wind, the ones he’d gone to Balium with, had shed sweat, blood, and tears with. Somewhere far away, in the endless Wastelands, war drums began to beat. The sound of weapons striking heavy shields echoed along with them.

“Mad General! General Hadjar!” Thousands of throats shouted.

“Some say that the Prince didn’t disappear, but went to the Empire instead, to kill the Emperor and avenge the death of his parents and friends. Others claim that he wanted to grow stronger in order to kill the gods, as they were to blame for all his suffering-”

“Kill the gods?” Hadjar laughed quietly. “That sounds so silly, doesn’t it?”

“It does. They also say that he liked to smoke… A pipe. One that looked just like the one you’re smoking now.”

They sat in silence for a while, looking at the snowcapped mountains. The wind blew quietly, brushing away the red sand and exposing the roads of the ancient city in whose ruins they’d made camp. Long ago, they’d been magnificent buildings. The people back then must’ve thought that they’d remain glorious for centuries to come.

“My father was killed by his brother,” Anise suddenly said. “For the sake of the clan. He didn’t want a woman to be the next Head... It goes against tradition.”

Hadjar turned to her. Her green eyes reflected the moonlight like the blade of a sharp knife.

“He gathered his followers and snuck into my father’s Palace at night. He killed both him and my mom. And then he slaughtered all our relatives. Only Tom and I were spared.”

“Anise, I-”

She shook her head.

“I wasn’t killed or imprisoned so that I could serve as a warning to future generations — the Predatory Blades clan was never nor will ever be ruled by a woman. I was made a servant. My uncle’s eldest son became the next heir.”

Anise brushed her hand over her cheek. A drop fell to the sand and instantly disappeared. Be they young or old, man, or woman, warriors didn’t cry. They fought, killed, and died. But they didn’t cry.

“Tom and I are a disgrace,” she continued. “If we hadn’t entered the School, we would’ve been killed. You know, the worst thing is that my uncle was supported by the elders, my great-grandparents. They supported his fratricide”

Hadjar understood her anger, but he also understood the elders. For the sake of the clan, they’d sacrificed their grandchild.

South Wind had taught him to never trust aristocrats when he’d been just a boy. He was told to think of them as beings that he’d never understand and who’d never understand him. He now knew these words to be true.

“You want revenge,” he realized. “That’s why you entered the School. To get stronger and get your revenge.”

Anise turned to him. Eyes glowing with rage, she moved her hand to the hilt of her sword.

“Are you judging me? How dare you?”

Chapter 662

D espite the fact that Anise was ready to draw her blade, Hadjar remained calm.

“You’re right,” he said.

“I know I’m right, and-”

Hadjar covered her hand with his. She shuddered. The rage disappeared from her eyes, replaced by confusion and embarrassment.

“Long ago, I knew the Mad General,” he said. “He was my shield against the storms that plagued my Kingdom, and the shadow I hid in.”

Anise’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t have to be a math prodigy to figure out how old Hadjar actually was if what he was saying was true. But how could that be? No one could fool the School’s age test.

“But how-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hadjar moved his hand away and inhaled again. He puffed out a ring of smoke. It still wasn’t as smooth and well-formed as the ones Nero had used to make, but it was decent. “Have you heard the story about how the Mad General met his white cub?”

Just as he asked that, Azrea popped out from under his shirt. With a big yawn, she climbed up onto his shoulder, curled her tail around herself, and lay down.

“The Mad General was just a young soldier when he met an old, wise tigress,” Hadjar continued. “She asked him to forgo revenge, and seek justice instead. However, the General didn’t listen to her and was almost consumed by the flames that had previously supported him.”

They were both silent for a while after that. Hadjar recalled the ravine and the tigress’ voice. He was much wiser now than he’d been back then.

“And what’s the difference between revenge and justice?” Anise asked, abruptly moving away from him.

Hadjar could almost feel the storm raging in her heart. Sometimes, during moments of meditation, he could still hear his mother’s final words. Each syllable was a blade that had left a deep scar on his soul. He would endure those wounds for the rest of his life. Some said that those who didn’t know pain were quicker to step foot on the path of cultivation than those who did. However, it was the latter who usually reached their goal first.

They sat there for a while, and then Anise stood up.

“I had hoped to talk to the Mad General,” she said as she walked away.

Azrea poked Hadjar’s cheek with her nose and then slipped back into his shirt.

What Anise needed right now were his assurance and his support. He should’ve said that she’d get her revenge and that her uncle deserved the worst kind of death, one that even the gods would shudder to witness. But Hadjar couldn’t tell her that. Not so long ago, he had told Derek what he’d wanted to hear. With his own actions, Hadjar had lit the flame of revenge and sowed the seed of hatred in the young man’s chest. One day, the two of them would face each other in battle. When that time came, Hadjar wouldn’t hold back. The same hands that had given the boy life would take it away. Derek’s life would become another burden that he would carry for the rest of his life. Just as he carried Nero and Sera’s. Hadjar remembered his Uncle Primus’ death. Lying on the grave of his brother, the traitor had shed tears of anguish.

Hadjar didn’t know what exactly had made Anise’s uncle do what he’d done. However, he did know one thing for certain: revenge wasn’t something that would help a warrior survive. It would help one grow stronger, but not find themselves. It was like a fire that burned brightly, but only as long as more wood was added to it. And revenge always ran out of wood eventually. As the wise Traves, who’d been imprisoned for many thousands of centuries, had once told him: “When you confuse justice with revenge, you confuse the moonlight with the sunlight.” Hadjar wanted to help Anise. He wanted to give her answers, but he had none. Even after all these years, he still hadn’t found them.

“What are you doing here?” Hadjar asked the darkness.

“Sightseeing.”

The darkness deepened and then turned purple. All of a sudden, Helmer was sitting at his side, that same, sly grin on his gray face.

Hadjar wasn’t afraid of him even though Helmer was strong enough to kill him in a heartbeat. Since he hadn’t killed him yet, that meant he still needed him for something.

“So, what are you doing here?”

Helmer sneered at him. His eyes shone faintly in the light of the full moon. The incarnations of fear swirling around his feet started fighting each other.

“Don’t brood!” He tapped Hadjar on the shoulder. His touch was as cold as the air around them. “So I played a little trick on you with the whole Dah’Khasses thing. You aren’t still mad, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“That’s great! So-”

“Enough.” Hadjar interrupted him. “Just because I can’t guess your plans, that doesn’t mean I think you don’t have any.”

“Clever little bugger, aren’t you?” The demon smiled wide. By the Evening Stars, his ugly mug would’ve scared even the manticore away. “I have a little favor to ask of you, Hadjar.”

“Have we gone from deals to favors now?”

“A contract takes forever to write up.” The demon shrugged. “And favors… Well, don’t friends normally do favors for one another? Or is that what lovers do? Don’t get offended, you’re a handsome guy, but I don’t… We’re good friends, after all, so let’s not mix business with ple-”

“Get to the point.”

Helmer laughed and then suddenly turned serious. “Whatever else you do out here, Hadjar, try to survive.”

“What?” he asked in confusion and turned to Helmer, but he was no longer there.

With Helmer suddenly appearing in the Wastelands, the Empire’s intrigues and tasks took a back seat. Hadjar was now focused on trying to understand what the hell was going on here.

Chapter 663

T he following morning, everyone warmed up as best they could. Although they’d done their best to ward off the cold last night, they were still feeling a bit chilly. Being seasoned adventurers, they had learned long ago that one had to be ready for everything, which is why everyone had taken warm clothes with them despite the fact that they’d been going to a desert region. Dora and Anise, who’d been treating Hadjar like her other older brother since last night, put on long fur coats. Any common girl from Dahanatan would’ve sold her soul for one.

Hadjar, being a poor commoner who preferred practicality over luxury, wore a woolen coat fastened with a simple belt. The wool used to make his coat had come from a three-humped leopard, a terrible mountain creature that was a crossbreed between a camel and a leopard.

As they were getting ready, he pondered the purpose of Helmer’s visit. The demon never came to see him for no reason, and his visits never boded well for Hadjar. However, last night, the demon had seemed genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. In the language of ancient monstrosities, the demon’s request for him to stay alive could’ve meant just about anything. After all, Helmer and his kin perceived time, life, and death rather differently from humans. Maybe his request had been a hint of some sort, or maybe it had started a chain of events that only he knew about. Perhaps it had all just been some stupid joke of his.

Fucking hell!

“Now you really look like a barbarian,” Einen winked at him.

Given his permanently closed eyes, Einen wrinkled his cheek instead of winking normally.

“You too.” Hadjar snorted, looking at his friend’s coat. It was made from the white skin of some sea animal.

“Are you two done?” Tom, who was wearing a very expensive and luxurious winter coat embroidered with fur and golden thread, handed them each an amulet. “Take this.”

“What is it?” Hadjar asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

Despite the fact that Dora and Anise had been given similar amulets, he was in no hurry to put his on.

“They’re signal amulets,” Tom explained. “In case you get lost.”

Hadjar gave him an appraising look. With a nod, he hung the amulet around his neck. Einen followed his example. After receiving instructions on how to use the artifact, Hadjar went over to Azrea. The tigress was sprawled out on the grass and looking sadly at her two-legged friend.

“Wait for me here.” He scratched her behind the ear. “We’ll be back soon enough... In the meantime, keep an eye on those herbivores.”

The tigress snarled, bumped Hadjar’s shoulder with her head, then turned to the grazing horses. It would be unwise to take them up the mountains as they weren’t suited for travel on such uneven terrain. But they couldn’t leave them unattended, either. So, Azrea had to play the role of a watchdog.

Leaving the tigress behind, Hadjar returned to the squad. After they put their hoods on, they began their journey up the sheer cliffs. With one jump, provided they had a good base to push off from, they could cover about ten yards. Climbing the mountain, which would take a mortal more than a day, was no different than a walk to them. However, that was only true until the rocks began to disappear beneath the snow.

The moment Hadjar stepped foot on the white ‘carpet’, his body was instantly gripped by an alien power. It tried to get under his skin, but bumped into his coat and stumbled. Even though they’d all used a Technique for Strengthening the Body, their hands and faces instantly turned red. Clouds of steam escaped from their mouths. Their very Cores shivered from the cold.

To make sure that their journey would be as safe as possible, they’d tied themselves to each other’s belts with a special rope. It was only as thick as a finger, but could handle a lot of weight.

Einen was at the front as his spear-staff Techniques were the best suited for cutting a path through the snow. Fortunately, the weather was on their side, so they had no problems navigating.

The vast expanses of white, dotted with black rocks and blue blocks of ice, evoked distant memories. Hadjar could almost hear a wolf howling and a white ape roaring in the distance.

“Go right!” Tom, who was bringing up the rear, suddenly shouted.

Einen, instead of following his instructions, froze in place. Hadjar stopped behind him. The two exchanged a glance, drew their weapons, and turned toward their ‘allies’. The siblings did the same. Dora, biting her lip, looked at Einen in confusion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tom snapped.

“That’s what we’d like to know! Explain why we’re heading in a direction only you know about!”

“We-”

“Don’t lie,” Einen warned, the figure of an armored ape appearing behind him.

The tension grew between the former allies.

“Fuck!” Dora hissed. “I warned you that we should just tell them!”

“And what if they’re traitors?” Tom asked, his blade still held at the ready. “We don’t really know anything about them. Except that they have way too many secrets.”

“And who doesn’t?” Dora argued and then turned back to the two friends. “We’re going to Greven’Dor.”

“Greven... What?” Hadjar asked.

“The ancient abode-”

“Dora,” Anise warned, but the elf ignored her.

“It’s remained closed for the last couple of eons.”

“Then why is it open now?”

Dora glared at the siblings, but their expressions gave away nothing, except for anger.

“It’s a long story. Essentially, it popped into our minds when we first saw the key to Decater’s tomb.”

Hadjar felt a shift in Einen’s mood.

“We?” He asked dryly. “You knew?”

Dora’s lips twitched.

“I’m sorry, Einen, I couldn’t tell you and...” She looked down. She was struggling to talk, like she was fighting against some kind of spell. “It doesn’t matter. Greven’Dor is where the Last King was trained.”

Hadjar heard a raven croak in the distance and felt a shiver run down his spine.

“What do you think we’ll find there?”

“Nothing.” Tom slid his sword back into its scabbard. Retrieving a stick from his spatial ring, he began to dig a second tunnel, circling around the squad. “But there aren’t enough cultivators in the Wastelands to find both the key and the map. We have a two-week head start, so we can spare some time to explore. It won’t cost us anything.”

Einen, the expression on his face as cold as the snow around them, continued digging his tunnel.

Hadjar looked at the mountain peaks.

“Tell us what you know,” he demanded, each word as sharp as a blade.

Never trust an aristocrat…

They continued north.

Chapter 664

“M entions of this place are very rare,” Dora began. Of the three nobles, she was the only one willing to share her knowledge with the two friends. “Of all the great clans of the Empire, only mine and theirs have scrolls that talk about Greven’Dor,” she said, nodding at the Dinos siblings.

Hadjar sighed heavily. The eastern wind started blowing, bringing snow with it. Not knowing what to expect from Dora, Anise, and Tom, Hadjar surreptitiously made some gestures to Einen. The islander responded with a few of his own.

“My father and the Head of the Predatory Blades clan knew about this campaign before anyone else did,” Dora continued.

“I’m not surprised,” Hadjar replied, looking westward. After the winter he had spent in Balium, he knew that, in the mountains, the east wind was always followed by a storm coming from the west.

“The Imperial Chancellery probably knows about the existence of Decater’s tomb and how to find it,” Tom said. He went back to his position at the rear and kept a watchful eye on Einen and Hadjar. But no matter how vigilant he was, he lacked experience. “Its task is to safeguard it in case-”

“Of war.” Einen finished for him.

With another swing of his spear-staff, he cleared a few more yards of snow. A mortal would’ve felt like they were hitting a slab of granite.

“That’s right,” Tom said, voice clearly strained.

No matter how strong the nobles were, they were like houseplants. Well-groomed and healthy, but without any real life experience. Unlike outdoor plants, and those that lived in the wild, their world was limited to whatever they could see through the window. If even that much.

“So, you knew about the key and the map?” Hadjar asked.

“No!” Dora exclaimed. “As soon as the rector made the announcement, both Tom and I were summoned back home.”

So that’s why you were so late back then... Campaign preparations, my ass...

“If you think that visiting the Predatory Blades clan is a pleasant experience, barbarian, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Catching a snowflake brought by the north wind, Hadjar ignored Tom. The storm was no more than half an hour away. Those who’ve never been trapped in a blizzard couldn’t possibly understand what he was feeling right now. It was a strange mixture of excitement and primal terror. The rocks around them no longer looked like spear tips, but their only salvation instead.

To his great surprise, the first storm cloud didn’t elicit any concern from the aristocrats. Low and gray, it appeared in the until-recently clear sky as if by chance.

“I understand why Dora was called back. She’s the eldest heiress of the elves. But why Tom?”

“He’s the only one who met the requirements,” Anise growled. “He didn’t want to go!”

Hadjar remembered that, when they’d been leaving the School, Tom had had a slight limp. He hadn’t given it much thought, so he hadn’t taken a look at Tom’s energy body. He would’ve had some suspicions had he done so.

“Are you quite finished? If so, can I continue?” Dora shivered slightly. It was getting colder, but the inexperienced youths didn’t pay any attention to it. “My father,” she continued, taking their silence as confirmation, “and the Head of the Predatory Blades clan prepared us for the journey.”

“Prepared you?”

“We got special artifacts,” Dora clarified. “Various potions. Talismans and amulets. Even a map. It’s very old and barely legible, but Greven’Dor is clearly visible on it. However, there are no-”

“Dora!” The Dinos siblings exclaimed in unison, outraged.

“-entrances to the monastery.”

Wonderful. They have a map that they’ve been following this entire time.

The trio of nobles had been playing Einen and him like a fiddle for the last few days. They were nothing but pawns in their game. Or servants. Or cannon fodder. He couldn’t blame them, though. When he’d been a General, he had often been forced to use hundreds of thousands of weak practitioners the same way.

“And if one doesn’t have these potions and artifacts?”

“It’s impossible to complete the journey,” Dora said.

Einen kept quiet and focused on his task. He didn’t need to get involved. He was as experienced as Hadjar, and he knew what was happening.

“What’s waiting for us inside?”

“You’ve gone too far, barbarian!” Tom snapped before Dora could say anything. Hadjar didn’t see him, but judging by the metallic rasp that sounded behind him, he’d begun to unsheathe his blade.

“He has a right to know, Tom,” Anise said. “They aren’t our servants, and we had no right to use or deceive them. Einen of the Islands, Hadjar Darkhan, on behalf of the Predatory Blades clan, I apologize.”

In the world of nobility, this must’ve been more than a mere apology if Dora and Tom’s reactions were anything to go by. The latter swore, and the elf gasped in surprise.

Hadjar was angry, but one of the many traits that distinguished a man from a boy was the ability to restrain himself. He turned and nodded at Anise.

“I, Hadjar Darkhan, hold no grudge against the Predatory Blades clan.”

Einen followed suit. Dora was about to say something, but then the mountains seemed to come to life. A low, drawn-out hum reached their ears. As if the heavens had opened up fully, the entire universe seemed to come down on the five cultivators. Their faces and hands were instantly streaked with blood — ice needles, sent flying at an incredible speed by the wind, pierced their skin, gouging long, stinging scratches in their flesh. The storm blinded them. The world, which had been bright and sunny moments ago, was suddenly plunged into darkness. A hungry, roaring abyss fell on them.

“Now!” Hadjar shouted, using the communication amulet, not caring if the rest heard his command or not.

The nobles were too stunned by what had just happened and didn’t have time to react. Hadjar and Einen, who’d planned for this, immediately got their bearings. It took them only a few seconds to drag the gawping trio to one of the protruding rocks. Sheltering behind it, they put their weapons to their necks.

The world was going crazy. The wind was kicking up waves of snow and bringing them down on the rocks. The rocks trembled and groaned beneath the weight of the snow. Gigantic chunks of ice rumbled and screeched down the slopes, turning the stone into a fine, black dust that added to the growing gloom.

They were all shielded by one of the highest and sturdiest rocks, and it was bright enough for Tom to see the shift of power that had taken place in their squad. The rope that had bound them together had been cut. Hadjar was holding his blade against Dora’s jugular, and Einen held the point of his spear-staff against Anise’s neck.

“What the-”

“Give me the map,” Hadjar demanded. “Or our alliance is over.”

Chapter 665

“W hat are you doing?”

Tom drew his blade. The lightning bolt that arced off it and melted the snow seemed to fit right in with the world that was going crazy around them. Its roar turned into a furious thundering, almost drowning out his words.

“We just want to ensure that we’re on equal footing with you!” Hadjar said, trying to shout over the raging storm.

The weather was getting worse. An avalanche had already begun to descend the slopes, seeking to change the landscape. It was the most dangerous and intense part of any mountain expedition. For many months, if not years, the ice cap had thawed, and it was now rushing forth, seeking to destroy everything in its path. After that, the storm usually turned into a regular blizzard. Hadjar and Einen didn’t have much time left. They couldn’t afford to waste a second more.

“We’ve already apologized and told you everything we know!” Anise shouted in a hoarse voice.

“Not everything.” Hadjar shook his head. “We’re still going in blind. Either we see the map immediately, or you continue forward on your own and without half of your artifacts.”

“You’re insane!” The Sword Spirit flashed behind Tom.

The world was falling apart. Darkness, bringing with it snow and death, surrounded them from all sides. The rock they were hiding behind shook, showering them with debris. But none of that seemed to bother them. Right now, they posed more danger to each other than the storm did.

“Consider it just compensation for our troubles.” Einen’s eyes flashed, and his lips curled into a wide grin.

Hadjar shivered. He always felt uncomfortable when Einen showed his more... adventurous side.

“I’ll-”

“Show them the map, Tom,” Dora said. She sounded surprisingly calm.

“But-”

“Do it!”

A large chunk of ice detached itself from the slope. It plunged down, creating the illusion that the entire mountain had begun to crumble.

“Bloody hell!” Tom cursed.

Putting his sword away, he held out his hand. In it, popping out of his spatial artifact, appeared… not a scroll or a piece of parchment, but a jade tablet decorated with various patterns. “Are you happy now? You pathetic bastards! You don’t even know how to use it!”

Hadjar’s eyes widened and he jerked his blade away from Dora’s throat, turning his back to a startled Tom.

“Get ready!” He shouted.

The cloak of black fog fell across his shoulders. A matching belt, shoulder pads, and gauntlets appeared on him as well.

Einen instantly summoned his Spear-staff Spirit and sent it toward his armored ape.

Using their most powerful Techniques, the two of them, standing side by side, struck the oncoming avalanche simultaneously. The combination of slashes and thrusts broke through the violent tsunami. Two plumes of white, blue, and black surged out, cutting a wide trench around them. The remnants of the avalanche — a mix of ice, rocks, and snow — flowed around and into it.

“That wasn’t ice,” Hadjar whispered, adjusting his grip on his sword’s hilt.

Directly in front of them, shrouded by the blizzard, stood a monster. It was as big as the Primeval Giant had been. However, unlike that monster, this creature didn’t emit any aura at all.

“Did they tell you anything about ice golems?” Hadjar shouted over the wind.

Instantly forgetting about their recent argument, the five of them got into formation together. Clad in armor, their weapons at the ready, they watched the giant come down from the mountain peak. Created from ice crystals, it had almost humanoid features and bright eyes. A blue heart was beating in the center of its chest — a round stone that radiated incredible energy.

Anise, the strongest among them, launched a scarlet crescent of energy at it. By now, she’d learned how to form it without using the ‘Bloody Charge’ Technique.

The crescent didn’t lose any power, even after it covered a distance of two hundred yards. Even now, it could easily bring an ordinary, initial-stage Spirit Knight to the threshold of their forefathers’ abode. That’s why it was surprising to see the ice giant not bothering to shield itself from the attack. Scarlet struck azure, scattering a myriad of rubies everywhere that immediately turned to dust.

“We can’t beat it,” Einen said calmly. “We ought to retreat.”

“Retreat?” Dora, the ‘Forest’ hieroglyph shining behind her, swung her warhammer over her head and then brought it down in a powerful swing. “Where would we even go?”

Her blow caused the ground to shake no less violently than the recent avalanche had. Cracks split the rocks and rushed toward the giant. Bursts of green energy shot out of them, forming hundreds of copies of the warhammer that struck the giant’s left foot. With this powerful Technique alone, she’d demonstrated that she was truly worthy of being the eldest heiress of one of the seven great clans. She’d chosen the right moment to strike, waiting for the giant to take a step toward its prey and lift its right leg off the ground. The monster lost its balance and staggered, roaring no less loudly than the storm. But it didn’t fall. Grasping the mountain peak that towered above the group, it regained its balance.

“Tom, lead the way!” Hadjar commanded.

The young man didn’t argue. Seeing that there was no point in trying to injure the giant, he turned and raced toward a range of mountain peaks. Everyone followed him.

Hadjar and Anise brought up the rear. They often had to turn around and use their best Techniques to cut apart the ice spears the giant kept throwing at them.

“Look out!” Tom shouted and halted in front of a seemingly bottomless ravine.

“What now?” Dora asked.

Before anyone could answer, Hadjar’s cloak came to life. It divided itself into five black plumes and wrapped itself around the belts of the startled cultivators.

“Jump!” Hadjar shouted and leapt into the chasm, deflecting another ice spear as he went. The others followed.

Chapter 666

A nise was the first to recover. She abruptly propped herself up on her elbows and grimaced at the flash of pain, but it was normal for a Spirit Knight to suffer pain. Cultivation was difficult even for the children of the aristocracy. Sometimes, they had to go through trials that would make mortals pale in fear.

Anise looked around. The darkness danced around them. It kept trying to strangle a small, orange petal. A fire burnt, started with rare, special wood that could last for weeks.

“The others are still asleep,” Hadjar said, and remembered Steppe Fang. Their current situation was somewhat similar. He looked at Anise. By the High Heavens, she might not be the greatest beauty in Darnassus, but he would burn the whole Empire down just to see her smile.

After making sure that the rest of the squad were indeed lying around the fire, Anise turned back to Hadjar.

“Where are we?” She asked, fumbling with her hand along the wet stones. Grinning, Hadjar picked up the sheathed, narrow sword that stood beside him and tossed it over to the girl. She caught her weapon and set it down close by so she could grab it instantly if need be.

“A good question.”

Hadjar took one of the sticks out of the fire and tossed it away. It flew a hundred yards, then fell and rolled, echoing, into the darkness.

“At the bottom of the gorge,” Hadjar said.

“I can see that.”

“Then I don’t understand your question.”

Anise looked up. Hadjar followed her gaze. The sky looked like a small, blue scar above them in the distant, dark gloom.

“How did we survive?”

Their perilous fall flashed through Hadjar’s mind… They’d slammed against the rocks, rolling down a rough wall that was many miles long. At some point, all of them had lost consciousness. Only Hadjar, whose body had been strengthened by the Wolf Broth, as well as the dragon’s meditation Technique and heart, had stayed conscious. He’d used his fog cloak and the Black Blade, performing the same trick he’d pulled off back at the Dah’Khasses’ castle, and had managed to save them all from certain death. Such a fall would’ve killed even a Lord.

“We got lucky,” Hadjar replied.

He had absolutely no desire to go into detail about it. The main thing was that they were all alive and relatively intact. Tom had gotten the worst of it — he seemed to have broken his right leg. Which, of course, had nothing to do with how things stood between them. By the way, Tom lay closest to the fire, writhing in pain. Hadjar had taped several planks to his leg, creating a kind of splint.

“Don’t you want to help him?” Hadjar decided to change the subject.

“An heir of the Predatory Blades clan can endure a little pain,” Anise snapped.

With some difficulty, she got to her feet and took a few clumsy steps, almost falling. Hadjar sat motionless. It never occurred to him to offer Anise any help.

After all, she wasn’t a simple mortal, but a warrior, a powerful cultivator who had grasped the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart. Hadjar’s offer to help could seem like an insult to her, and he didn’t want to sour their already difficult relationship any further. He watched carefully, but in silence, as Anise tried to figure out whether it was possible to climb the cliff. Alas, even cultivators had their limits. This gorge, which probably hadn’t appeared naturally, served as a kind of barrier.

Anise looked at Hadjar.

“You’ve already tried,” she stated.

“I have,” Hadjar agreed. “Maybe if we spent six months using Techniques and weapons, we’d be able to carve a ladder to the top.”

“We don’t even have ten days!”

“I know,” Hadjar said. “That’s why we don’t have much of a choice.”

Anise was a smart girl and quickly realized what Hadjar meant. Using her sword as a walking stick, leaning heavily on its hilt as she did so, she trudged behind him. A black fog enveloped Hadjar’s palms. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake the nobles had recently made. In the world of martial arts, trust was a great luxury that one only extended to their closest people. And these people were usually connected not just by friendship, but by mutual oaths as well.

“Where do you think it leads?”

Anise took a small paper talisman out of her spatial artifact. Placing it between her middle and ring finger, she whispered something. To Hadjar, who was cut off from the flow of external energy, it all looked and sounded like utter nonsense.

The talisman flashed with silvery energy, which instantly incinerated the paper and turned into a ball of flaming mercury. Then, transforming into a dozen small birds, the spell flew off into the darkness.

“I have no idea,” Hadjar said as he stared at the birds.

The use of magic and the Techniques associated with it always amazed him. His temporary allies and Einen used the external energy so freely. With its help, they’d made their Techniques more powerful.

“Are you suggesting we go this way?”

“Do we have any other choice?” Hadjar took out his pipe and lit it. He’d been doing that more and more often lately. “We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. So, whichever way we go, it’ll change our situation.”

“It might change it for the worse.”

“Then grab your sword and make us a ladder in the rock.”

Anise glared at him, unamused.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Darkhan,” she said seriously. “But it’s your and Einen’s fault that we’re even down here.”

“You deceived us for several days.”

Anise calmed down a little.

“We had a right to do so, Hadjar,” she said heavily. “You and the islander have your own secrets, too.”

“But our secrets don’t endanger your lives!” Hadjar shouted, then paused. Well, he did have some dangerous secrets he’d kept even from Einen, so the Dinos siblings and Dora had really been in the right.

“Why are you yelling? Shit! My leg!”

Tom woke up and the conversation between Hadjar and the boy’s sister instantly subsided.

Chapter 667

T he others woke up as well. Einen was the last to do so, which made Hadjar nervous. The islander grabbed his spear-staff and was about to summon his Spirit and Call, but stopped himself just in time. The peaceful atmosphere around the fire assured him that there was no danger at the moment.

Unlike the others, Einen didn’t ask what had happened. Instead, he looked up, then poked the wall with his weapon, and finally, he just nodded.

“What’s the plan?” He inquired.

“The barbarian has suggested that we go down there.” Tom, the only one who was still lying down, pointed with his scabbard in the direction where the firebrand was still burning. And, if nothing unusual happened, it would continue to burn for several days.

“We’re not exactly spoiled for choice,” Einen said in his usual, unemotional way. “This way, or that way… There’s no difference.”

“Then why shouldn’t we go this way?” Tom pointed behind him.

“Explain your reasoning.” Einen said.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you, you bastard-”

“Tom!” Dora protested. “We agreed that as long as we worked together, you would leave your bad manners behind.”

Tom’s eyes flashed unkindly, but he stayed quiet. Whatever ideas of honor he might’ve had, he always kept his word.

“Since there’s no reason why we shouldn’t, we’ll go that way.” Einen struggled to his feet.

With a wave of his hand, he sent the mat he’d been lying on back into his spatial artifact.

“The fact that you supported the barbarian so easily gives us-”

“Tom!” The elf girl followed Einen’s example and got to her feet as well. “If you don’t have any logical arguments for why we should go down your route, we’ll go that way.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Anise held out her hand and a silver bird landed on her palm. It flared up like the brightest star and then crumbled to dust, leaving a piece of ice behind, “There is an exit there.”

This forced Tom to shut up. It was a strange sight as there was absolutely no ice or snow in the gorge. The blizzard was raging overhead and tons of snow flew from one rock to another, but the gorge was only slightly damp and wet, no more.

“Holy shit! The barbarian actually guessed right.” Tom said, losing his noble composure for a moment.

Pushing aside Anise’s outstretched hand, he rose awkwardly. The atmosphere of the mountains didn’t allow him to quickly heal the injury he’d received in the fall. He’d drunk Dora’s concoction at least, which had partially restored the energy structure of his leg. Crouching on one leg, he bent down and took a branch from the fire. Armed with it and cursing up a storm, Tom hobbled off in the direction Anise’s bird had come from. The rest of the squad, after taking a burning stick from the fire, followed him. They moved as quickly as Tom – the weakest member of the group – could manage. Even nobles knew to try and avoid getting separated. After all, their parents had paid fabulous sums of money to numerous Masters and Scholars to ensure it.

Einen and Hadjar were right behind Tom. Dora and Anise followed them. After what the two friends had done during the storm, the atmosphere in the squad was tense, even hostile. Everyone understood perfectly well that the duo simply couldn’t have acted otherwise — their survival had depended on it. Even then, they were still wary of them.

“Can we talk?” Hadjar asked in the islander’s native language.

“Do you hear that? They’re discussing something in their own language again, and we’re supposed to pretend that nothing is happening!”

“We can.” Einen replied, ignoring Tom’s indignation.

“Calm down, Tom,” Dora said. “Everyone has their secrets.”

Tom swore a few more times, then fell silent. Hadjar turned back, met the stern gaze of Anise’s green eyes, and shivered slightly. Despite his considerable experience as both a soldier and a wanderer, he was as clumsy with women as when he’d first entered a brothel. Not in terms of actual sex, of course, but when it came to ‘forging a relationship’. He had no clue about what to say or how to act to avoid such gazes.

“She’s your problem,” the islander smiled. “You came up with that idea, so you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

“It’s not about her.” Hadjar and Einen didn’t use names. Whatever language they spoke, names all sounded the same.

“Then what is it?”

Hadjar trusted his friend, so he asked the next question mostly out of curiosity.

“When I told all of you about the ancestral path, I noticed-” Hadjar tried to find the right words, “I noticed that you already knew about it.”

“I did,” Einen nodded. “But just like with the true path of cultivation, I couldn’t tell you anything about it or teach you. My understanding of the ancestral path is worse than your own now. I could’ve hurt myself and you.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. One of the immutable truths of the world of martial arts was that only someone with a talent for teaching and a deep understanding of the subject’s essence could teach others. Otherwise, a pseudo-Teacher, instead of imparting knowledge, only harmed both parties involved.

“But how did you know about it? The orcs told me that they were the only ones who remembered the way of the ancestors.”

Einen didn’t stumble, didn’t sigh, but Hadjar nonetheless felt that the question had made him tense up.

“The same way you learned your sword Technique.” Einen briefly opened his bright, purple eyes.

Hadjar realized that his friend had learned about it from the Rainbow Trout.

“Alright.”

Hadjar held out his hand. Einen immediately responded to the gesture. They clasped each other’s forearms, nodded, and continued on their way in silence. All the important things had already been said.

For almost a full day, the squad walked through the acrid darkness, one dispelled only by the light of their improvised torches. They didn’t speak, remaining very alert the entire time. They were ready for any obstacles and foes that came their way. But none did.

Twenty hours later, Tom disappeared around another bend and suddenly shouted:

“The exit! Come take a look! It’s incredible!”

Chapter 668

H adjar and Einen, holding their weapons, slid around the bend. As they did so, a cold wind blew across their faces, bringing with it sharp needles of ice. A low hum hit their ears, created by a sinkhole at the end of the gorge. A small stairway wound along the sheer rock wall, having been cut into it. It didn’t lead up, but to the side, toward a hill, where, despite all the snow, stood a flowering tree. Its green leaves were covered in white flakes, and whitish clouds curled above it. At the foot of the hill was a river. It wasn’t frozen over, either. Upon closer inspection, Hadjar saw that it wasn’t water flowing in that river, but some kind of metal which emanated a pressure that took his breath away for a couple of seconds.

“That’s impossible.” Sounded behind him.

Dora and Anise had also climbed out of the gorge. Now the five of them were standing on a small stone parapet, and the icy void stretched out beneath them. There was nothing on the other side of the river, apart from more snow.

“Well, it is rather unusual,” Hadjar agreed, but after seeing the expressions on the nobles’ faces, he ventured a guess: “This is an unusual tree, isn’t it?”

“It’s Arva’Lon!” Tom was overjoyed. “We’re here! We’ve reached Greven’Dor!”

Einen and Hadjar glanced at each other. They didn’t like this. They still didn’t know everything that the aristocrats knew.

“Isn’t Greven’Dor a huge abode and training ground that the warriors of the Last War era used?”

“It is.” Tom said. He was the first to climb the stairway, despite his injury. Sticking to the rock wall, he crawled toward the hill. “But it’s hidden by a spell. Otherwise, it would’ve been found and looted long ago, barbarian.”

Hadjar didn’t argue with him. He suspected that if the key and map hadn’t been found in the Wastelands, awakening all sorts of creatures that had fallen asleep here during the Last War, this entrance would’ve never appeared. It was unlikely that this gorge, which had previously been hidden by an impenetrable wall of ice, had simply popped up by itself. Most likely, its presence was connected to the awakening of the Ice Giant.

Hadjar followed Tom up the wall. In order to grab the irregular handholds, he had to dispel the Black Blade and use both hands. Pressing his body against the rock, he carefully moved his feet up step by step. Even though they’d been carved several eons ago, the steps were still intact. Some of them were covered with a layer of ice, but that was brushed away by Tom with a wave of his hand.

Something hummed below them.

“Wind!” Hadjar shouted.

An updraft burst out of the gorge. Everyone managed to stop and cling as tightly as possible to the rock. If they hadn’t done so, they would’ve fallen off.

It took them only about an hour to climb up the stairway, and everyone was soon standing next to the tree. It didn’t radiate an aura or any energy at all, as if it were an ordinary, simple tree.

However, magic runes and ancient hieroglyphs had been carved into it. Moreover, the tree had its own name, had been mentioned in legends, and had stood here before the Darnassus Empire had even formed.

“Can you take a look at it, Dora?” Anise didn’t draw her sword. She’d sheathed it at the beginning of their ascent, and she left it in its scabbard for now.

“Of course,” the elf girl smiled. It was one of the rare few smiles that the squad members had recently had reason to show.

The elf, drawing her fur coat more closely around her, went over to the tree. She squatted down in front of it and brushed away the flakes of snow, then ran her fingers over the runes:

Among beautiful peaks,

Where Arva’Lon gleams,

Poor Greven’Dor sleeps,

Watching Ana’Bre’s dreams.

“That sounds beautiful,” Einen said thoughtfully.

“Is that all it says?” Tom’s voice trembled.

“That’s all I can read,” Dora got up and brushed herself off. “I don’t know the other symbols.”

Tom swore bitterly.

“Your father assured our clan that you spoke the language of the Hundred Kingdoms!”

“Silence, junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan!” Dora suddenly wielded the full authority of who she was — the future Head of the elven clan. “My father never lies.”

Tom and Dora stared at each other angrily, then suddenly backed down:

“The Predatory Blades clan apologizes to House Marnil. We didn’t mean to offend you or question the veracity of your Head’s words.”

“Apology accepted.” Dora crossed her arms over her chest and moved away. “As for the symbols, they might be a cipher or a dialect I’m not familiar with.”

“An unknown dialect? A cipher?” Tom walked up to the tree, touched it, and tried to use his energy on it, but failed. “How long will it take to decipher it?”

“I have no idea,” she shrugged. “Anything from a week to a year.”

“We don’t have a year.”

While the nobles were arguing, Einen cleared the snow off one of the stones and sat down to meditate. The islander hated wasting time.

“We can camp here for a week,” Anise suggested. “If Dora doesn’t crack the code by then, we’ll go back out into the Wastelands and hopefully get there before cultivators from all over the country come to search for the map and key.”

“What if there’s another snowstorm?”

“Then we can camp in the gorge and-”

The nobles continued arguing. Einen plunged into deep meditation, but Hadjar, guided by some kind of instinct, came closer to the tree. He had no idea what the runes and symbols carved into the tree meant, but the Black General whispered their meaning to him:

If you’re brave and bold,

If you’re fearless and strong,

Grab the flower and hold,

The magic will lead you along.

Too busy arguing, the others didn’t hear Hadjar’s words. Only Einen, emerging from his meditation, opened his right eye. He grabbed his spear-staff.

“Crazy barbarian,” he whispered, and prepared for the worst.

After repeating the little poem several times in his head, Hadjar suddenly noticed a white flower blooming on the tree. Without thinking things through, he plucked it, placed it in his palm, and then blew on it. The white petals rose from his palm and mingled with the snow. The world shuddered.

Chapter 669

A small stream of snow suddenly turned into an avalanche that covered the rumbling mountains with a wide shroud. The earth shook. Gradually, the outlines of a huge complex of stone buildings emerged from the snowstorm below them. There was a distinct sense of mystical beauty to all of it. It had numerous stained-glass windows and flat roofs connected by many staircases and stone bridges. Those same bridges led up into the hills, where they joined to become a wide road that led into a kind of temple. The domes of the temple were unlike any Hadjar had ever seen: all of them were elongated, shaped like a spindle or an awl, and the temple was covered in them. Behind the many buildings and the temple they led up to, atop the highest of the hills, stood an inconspicuous, hemispherical building. Perhaps it was a laboratory or an observatory.

“What did you do, barbarian?”

Hadjar felt cold steel against his skin.

He turned around, raising his hands. Tom was holding his weapon against Hadjar’s collarbone. Anise and Dora had captured Einen. Dora was holding his spear-staff, and Anise was pressing her blade against the islander’s neck.

“We were sent somewhere else, weren’t we?” Hadjar asked Einen, ignoring the aristocrats.

The islander shrugged casually.

“I’m talking to you!” Tom pressed down on the hilt of his sword and scarlet rivulets ran along its edge.

“What exactly do you want to hear, Tom?”

“We all want an explanation.” Anise’s tone made it clear she was angry.

“How could you read those lines?” Dora looked worried.

“And what’s wrong with me doing that?”

“Don’t you get it? That language was erased from all the records and libraries of all the Empires. Even my father only has a part of the alphabet and just a few scraps of old chronicles.”

“A part? A few scraps?” Tom turned away from Hadjar and stared at Dora, furious. “The Head of your House assured me and Anise that you knew the language of the Hundred Kingdoms perfectly!”

Dora’s eyes flashed. The tips of her ears quivered with outrage.

“This is the second time that you have accused my father of lying, junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan. I-”

“Stop it!”

Anise’s shout was filled with so much raw power and potent mysteries of the Sword that the stones around her were suddenly cut, as if invisible blades had slashed them.

There was a moment of silence.

“But, sister-”

“Our uncle deceived us!” Anise interrupted her brother, shouting at him. “He doesn’t care if we die or win here. The former is most likely the option that bastard would prefer.”

“Anise! You’re talking about the Head of our clan! Watch your tone!”

“I can speak-”

“Ahem.” Hadjar cleared his throat loudly. “We don’t want to watch your family drama.”

Hadjar’s words calmed the siblings down. Tom turned to him again. Of the five of them, it was the islander who looked the most calm.

“Barbarian!” Tom hissed. “Answer me! How did you learn this language?”

"Cut my hand."

“What?”

“I said… Cut my hand. I’ll take an oath. If we’re going to Greven’Dor together, we have to trust each other for a while. Otherwise, we should turn back.”

“Why?”

“I think a lot of dangerous creatures have awoken in there. Moreover, if the line about Ana’Bre’s dreams tells you nothing… Then your clan has wasted so much money-”

Hadjar couldn’t finish his taunt. Tom had pressed his sword down so hard that one more tiny bit of effort would’ve sliced Hadjar’s carotid artery open.

“Hadjar is right, Tom.” Anise kept an eye on Einen. “Let him take an oath.”

Tom thought about it for a moment. He was clearly tempted to take Hadjar’s life. However, the voice of reason prevailed over his momentary desires. Reluctantly, he took out a carving dagger and ran it across Hadjar’s palm.

He did so with deliberate cruelty, almost cutting a tendon, which would’ve incapacitated Hadjar for a little while.

“I swear that I don’t know this language, and this is the first time I’ve seen these kinds of runes. I simply heard the poem during my travels. If I’m lying, then may the World River be my judge.”

His blood flashed with a golden glow and the wound instantly healed up without any scarring. Judging by Tom’s grimace, he’d been hoping that Hadjar would disappear in a flash of golden fire. However, it hadn’t happened.

“So, you claim it was pure luck?”

“It was a coincidence. I can offer another oath, if it makes you feel better.”

There was silence once again. The wind had died down and the rumbling and shaking had stopped.

“Lower your weapon, Tom,” Anise finally sighed.

She put her own sword away and even offered her hand to Einen. The latter replied with a silent refusal. Moving away, he stretched out his hand toward his spear-staff. Dora smiled apologetically at him and whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

Einen remained silent.

Anise walked over to the edge of the cliff and examined the magnificent structure.

“We’ve found Greven’Dor, but how do we get there?”

“Does your map offer any clues?”

“It doesn’t say anything about this.”

Tom stood next to his sister and looked down.

“We could go down and cross the river,” he suggested.

“That’s a bad idea,” Dora said at once. “Even a Nameless couldn’t cross that river.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not water, but molten metal. Celestial Metal.”

Upon hearing Dora’s words, Hadjar flinched. In order to use the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique, he needed only an ounce of this rare substance...

“It has properties that still haven’t been studied in the Empire. But one of them is a known fact — its fumes are deadly even for a Nameless, and their bodies are as tough as an Imperial level artifact.”

Is that even possible?

“Then we’ll have to think of something else.”

The nobles began to discuss various ways to get to Greven’Dor. Hadjar was still shocked at the sheer amount of Celestial Metal. Only Einen had remained calm. He approached Arva’Lon. Picking up some snow off its roots, he hurled it into the chasm. Part of it landed in the river, but another part scattered through the air and froze.

“There’s a bridge here.” The islander said softly.

The nobles looked at Einen. Checking the path in front of him with his spear-staff, he was actually walking along the bridge, slowly finding the invisible path that stretched out over the endless abyss.

“What the fuck!” The rest cried in unison.

Chapter 670

H adjar, the first of the four to recover, carefully followed Einen. Summoning the Black Blade, he used it to check how wide the invisible bridge was, which turned out to be about three feet — wide enough for two people to walk along it side by side at most. His first cautious step was followed by a second, and then a third...

“That’s incredible,” Came the whispers from behind him.

“What is it even made of?”

“Look at it through the World River!”

Hadjar facepalmed. Why hadn’t he thought of such a simple solution? Closing his eyes, he looked through the World River. Everything physical that mortals were so used to relying on disappeared. Instead, streams of energy swirled around him. Sometimes, they assumed some vague shapes. In the midst of this ocean of energy, the bridge leading to Greven’Dor looked like a clear, distinct line. It was surprisingly solid and looked like a constant in a world full of uncertainty and ephemerality.

“It’s made of energy,” Tom breathed out. "Demons and Gods! This is a bridge of pure energy!”

“How much of it is there, if it’s so strong in the physical world?” Dora, unable to restrain herself, tapped her warhammer against the bridge. She didn’t use much of her power or the mysteries she’d mastered, but even so, the bridge of energy should’ve reacted in some way — by absorbing the impact, or suffering a little from it, or even becoming stronger for it. However... Nothing happened.

“Don’t do that again, please,” Anise asked her friend.

Shocked, Dora realized she’d briefly forgotten about everything else around her. She shook her head and returned her heavy warhammer to its sheath on her back.

“Do you remember Mentor Dearius saying that the modern world of martial arts has left the ancient times far behind?”

Hadjar chuckled to himself. He recalled the Land of Immortals, where children were born as true cultivators, and Mage City. The world was truly vast, and many wonders and mysteries were hidden beneath the Heavens.

“Right now, I doubt that.” Tom said. Still limping, he held on to Anise’s shoulder, who was walking in front of him to offer him her support. “Perhaps Mentor Dearius should see this bridge before making such a statement.”

“You should talk less.”

Everyone fell silent. Einen rarely spoke, so it was quite startling to them. The islander stopped so abruptly that Hadjar almost collided with his back.

“What’s the matter?” He asked his friend.

Instead of answering him, Einen poked the bridge ahead with his spear-staff. Instead of hitting an energy barrier, the weapon simply plunged into the void.

“Hmm,” Hadjar considered this.

He looked at the bridge through the World River, but in the world of energy, it still looked quite solid.

“What’s going on over there?” Anise asked.

She couldn’t see what was going on up ahead because of the two friends. Tom and Dora also stopped. Five warriors stood in the middle of the void, above an icy chasm bisected by a river of molten metal. If someone had told Hadjar he’d find himself in this situation six months ago, he wouldn’t have believed them.

“The bridge ends here.”

“What?”

“That’s impossible. It looks solid in the World River.”

Hadjar and Einen didn’t waste time explaining anything to the nobles. Instead, the islander took a rope with a hook on the end from his spatial artifact. It was both a tool for climbing and a formidable weapon. Einen used it with great skill. He threw the hook one hundred and fifty feet ahead of them, but it fell into the abyss. With a sharp jerk of his hand, Einen reeled it back in.

“See for yourselves.” Hadjar said without turning around.

“Gods damn it!” Tom swore.

“Did you really expect Greven’Dor to open its arms wide for you? Just like those girls in the “Garden of Dreams” you usually go to?” Dora mocked Tom.

Hadjar had wanted to visit a few brothels as well, but hadn’t had the chance to yet...

“I didn't expect anything!”

Einen spun the hook again, putting some energy into the movement of his hand. The hook, after covering twice the distance from before, caught on the edge of the bridge.

“Do you think it was made that way on purpose?” Hadjar whispered in his friend’s ear in the language of the Islands. “Or did it simply deteriorate over time?”

Einen, after tying the rope around the edge of the broken bridge, straightened up.

“I don’t know much about this energy, my barbarian friend, but I do know that time has no power over it.”

“So it was on purpose,” Hadjar nodded. “Let me go first.”

Einen raised an eyebrow, but moved aside without asking any questions.

“As you wish.”

“I’ll go on ahead!” Hadjar shouted without turning around. He secured himself with the rope and threw the opposite end to his friend. He only trusted him. “If I fall, come up with another plan.”

No one tried to stop him.

Hadjar took a deep breath and used his Call. Wrapped in its cloak, he stepped carefully onto the rope. It was no thicker than a clothesline, but it was enough for a true cultivator to walk on. Legends said that Lords who’d combined both types of energy could stand on water. Hadjar had never seen such a thing, but he believed it. He covered the first thirty feet quite calmly. But as soon as he took another step, he instantly understood — time hadn’t destroyed or weakened the bridge to Greven’Dor. Whoever had created this mystical structure had also hidden some traps inside it.

Chapter 671

H adjar suddenly felt cold, invisible threads wrap around him. They penetrated through the fur of his coat and caressed his skin lightly, making the warrior shiver.

“What’s wrong, Hadjar?” Einen shouted from behind him.

“There’s an obstacle here. I’ll try to keep going! Be ready to catch me!”

Enduring the cold, he was able to walk another thirty feet. Once he covered that distance again, the cold threads turned into thick ropes. Wrapping around Hadjar, they penetrated through his skin, touching his internal organs. They slowed his blood flow and made Hadjar feel as if he were fragile. He was careful, but even then, every step he took along the rope caused it to vibrate. He spent two minutes moving each foot, but he eventually managed to cover the next fifteen feet.

What happened next made Hadjar think about retreating. The cold easily pierced his physical body and then touched his energy body. If not for the Wolf Broth and the dragon’s heart, it would’ve frozen him from the inside out. Hadjar would’ve turned into a dead icicle and fallen straight into the hot metal whose vapors were rising higher and higher.

But all these physical problems paled in comparison to how the cold affected his energy body. It prevented his power from flowing through his meridians and nodes, depriving his muscles of any support from his energy.

[Warning!

Mortal peril detected. The host cannot survive in this environment for more than an hour and a half.]

“Great!” Hadjar whispered, teeth chattering in the cold.

Despite the fact that the cold had slowed down the flow of his energy, it couldn’t change the fact that his meridians could store energy independently. The amount they absorbed was nothing compared to his Core’s capacity, but this still gave Hadjar an hour and a half to work with.

“What’s going on?” Anise shouted.

“It’s cold. Very cold. The cold affects your physical and energy body! If you aren’t confident in your abilities, use a potion.”

Hadjar continued on his way. He walked very slowly and it took him three or four minutes to take each step. Once he was at the 120ft mark, Hadjar froze in place. Before crossing this ‘line’, he gathered his thoughts and strengthened his body with his willpower.

And he was right to do so. The ropes of cold became a single canvas. Covering Hadjar, it began to gradually shrink around its victim, as if an ice giant had embraced him from all sides. His skin was turning white, and his teeth were chattering feverishly. Hadjar realized that he couldn’t even take the next step. He’d almost lost control of his own body.

All he could do was lift his sword slightly and, with great difficulty, shout:

“Begone!”

Hadjar’s cold-bound energy passed through the Black Blade slowly. It spread out in the air like a black blur of mysteries. It sought to form a cutting edge, but remained an indistinct blob. The cold was so strong that it could restrain even the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart. It was a miracle that Hadjar had managed to hold on to the swaying rope.

Once the patches of black energy imbued with Sword energy enveloped Hadjar, he was able to breathe more freely. The cold no longer encircled him, but pressed down against a kind of energy shield instead. And so, little by little, hiding behind his energy and mysteries, Hadjar was able to reach the 200ft mark.

[Warning!

Imminent demise detected! The host’s vital organs will continue to function for: 15 minutes...

14 minutes 59...58... 57… seconds]

Hadjar had another 130 feet to go. And he had no doubt that the trials would only get more difficult.

“Do you think he can handle it?” Dora asked.

Hadjar didn’t hear the discussion going on behind him.

“Look over there,” Anise pointed at the cold haze. “Whatever that is, it has a power that defies explanation.”

“I feel nothing.” Tom held out his hand over the rope and immediately withdrew it. “That anomaly has the power to hold back the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart.”

“None of us can feel it,” Einen said, flustered. He held his friend’s safety line so tightly in his hands that his veins bulged and his knuckles turned white.

“Look!” Dora exclaimed.

As Hadjar passed the 200ft mark, the fumes from the molten Celestial Metal suddenly rose up.

“Pull him back!” Tom shouted urgently.

“No.” Einen didn’t even flinch.

“The fumes from that metal can kill any cultivator!” Anise said, panicked.

“If Hadjar had sensed danger, he would’ve jumped off the rope himself.”

Instead of going back, Hadjar suddenly stopped and stood there, unmoving, for about five minutes. Then, to the astonishment of the nobles, he sat down in a lotus position and held out his left hand in front of him.

“What is that madman doing?” Dora took a step back, startled.

“He’s training.” Einen opened his inhuman, purple eyes a little.

The islander wasn’t mistaken. When Hadjar had felt the fumes of the molten Celestial Metal around him, he’d been struck by an unexpected, insane idea. Anise had been right, and the fumes were indeed capable of destroying any cultivator, but only when they were greatly concentrated around said cultivator.

The amount reaching Hadjar right now was no more than ‘the tip of a huge iceberg’ and he was going to break it off. Sitting down in the lotus position, still buffeted by the cold, he forced the fumes to twist into a spiral using his willpower, which made his neural network bombard him with warnings.

But he didn’t back down, even when he was coughing and spitting out blood. The number of messages exceeded all possible limits, but Hadjar simply waved them away. No computer module was capable of calculating a warrior’s will. And it was precisely because of his steely, sharp willpower that Hadjar was still among the living. He hadn’t allowed himself to move on to the house of his forefathers. He’d said ‘NO’ to Death, and it had stumbled.

Suddenly, Hadjar’s heart stopped. His internal organs came within an inch of failing completely, and his skin turned from white to scarlet. Despite all of that, he was able to condense an ounce of metal in his hand. As soon as a drop of liquid Celestial Metal formed on his palm, he instantly absorbed it into his physical body using the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique. It felt as if he’d harnessed a sunbeam and pierced his flesh with it. Without stopping, Hadjar sent the drop even further, into his energy body. The pain was now better than any warm drink. His energy, which had been held back by the cold until recently, exploded with savage power and fury. The Sword’s mysteries scattered all around him. But Hadjar didn’t stop there. He sent the drop of metal even further — into the world of his soul.

“AARRGH!” An inhuman roar rang out.

“I can’t believe this…”

“Who is this commoner?”

“Hadjar Darkhan, the Mad General who rebels against the Heavens themselves.” Anise whispered.

Chapter 672

S urrounded by forests and valleys, hills and rivers, stood a mountain. For centuries, various animals had lived on it. They’d hunted, fought, multiplied and died. They’d grown stronger in order to eke out a place for themselves under the sun hidden by the dense canopies. Trees, coniferous and deciduous both, broad and short alike, grew on this mountain. Like all living things, they longed for the distant sun. They provided shade for the forest life flourishing under them and allowed countless birds to build their nests on them.

A horseman was racing through a golden wheat field. His expensive clothes, woven from a shimmering, magical fabric, fluttered in the wind. His long hair was pulled back in a tight bun, decorated with a pin of exquisite grace and beauty. Everything he had was incredible and proclaimed his uniqueness and his high position to the world. The horse that carried the rider could’ve easily been the subject of legends and songs sung by the bards for thousands of years. Perhaps even the Emperors would’ve bowed to this man.

When he reached the mountain, the rider stopped his horse abruptly and dismounted. Dropping to his knees, he bowed low and touched his forehead to his cupped hands. Only then did tiny horns poke out from underneath his long hair.

“I’m very sorry, Minister Ju,” the rider said, “but I must trouble you.”

He held out his hand. A mighty wave of willpower swept over the mountain. It washed away every creature that wasn’t strong enough to withstand its pressure. Hundreds of animals fell with their hearts instantly stopped. Brittle stones were cut to pieces, and young, thin trees were crushed. The mountain shuddered. If such a wave of willpower and energy had struck a city of mortals, it would’ve destroyed it utterly… Along with all its residents. The wave reached the other side of the mountain and disappeared into the air. The rider, who had such incredible power, lowered his head into his hands once again.

“Minister Ju!” He shouted, his voice sounding like spring thunder. “Minister Ju! Minister Ju! Mini-”

“WHO DARES?”

The rider shuddered, and the entire world around him followed suit. The mountain moved. From the mountaintop, huge boulders began to roll down, turning into a calamity. They crushed lesser stones to dust and destroyed ancient trees. Birds soared into the sky with frantic speed. Animals flowed down the slopes like a multicolored blanket. Some survived, fleeing through the hills and valleys, but most of them disappeared beneath the onslaught of the boulders.

“WHO?” The voice repeated fiercely, “Who dares interrupt my four centuries of meditation?”

Two huge shadows covered the valley. What had just recently been a mountain turned into a dragon with enormous wings. The mountain range turned into the ridges running down its back and long tail. The mountain’s peak turned into its upturned, fanged muzzle. Two amber eyes lit up.

“Minister Ju!” The rider said, “It is I, your servant, Chargoo!”

“Chargoo?” The dragon’s voice lowered as it calmed. “I hope you have a pretty good explanation for why you interrupted me. I was close to mastering the next stage of the ‘Stargates’ Technique.”

Beads of sweat rolled down the rider’s forehead. The ‘Stargates’ Technique was one of the best hand-to-hand combat Techniques in the Dragon Lands. Only a few dragons close to the court of the Dragon Emperor had the right to receive a truncated copy of it. After all, Divine level Techniques were one of the pillars that kept the Seven Empires in check and allowed the Lords of the Heavens to rule over them.

“I do, Minister Ju,” the rider, his hands shaking, took a crystal out of his gigantic bag. He held up a huge, very high-capacity spatial artifact, fifty feet long and twice as wide. Completely black, the crystal looked like a piece of sky granite that had been chipped away from the dome of the night sky.

The dragon stared at it for a moment, then roared angrily:

“Is this why you interrupted me, servant? Your stupidity will be the end of your entire family that raised such an idiot!”

The rider pressed his body against the ground. He looked utterly terrified. What might happen to him and his family at the mere request of Minister Ju would’ve made anyone tremble in fear.

“Please don’t be angry, great Minister Ju!” The rider’s voice was shaky and he was almost squeaking. “I beg you, take a closer look at the monument of the Black Storm-”

“I can see whose monument it is, you wretched bastard!” The dragon roared again. “Or do you actually think that I, Minister Ju, don’t recognize it? I’ve seen it hundreds of times before and-”

Suddenly, the dragon fell silent. His elongated, snakelike pupils narrowed, and then… the dragon disappeared. Instead, a middle-aged man with horns stood next to the monument. Handsome and stately, he was dressed in turquoise robes that looked even richer and more magical than the rider’s. Holding his right hand behind his back, he smoothed his long, well-groomed beard with his left.

He had the same hairstyle as the rider, except his hairpin was far more exquisite.

“If this is some kind of stupid joke, servant, I swear by the High Heavens that I’ll personally skin your wife and child.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Minister Ju,” Chargoo crawled up to the Minister’s expensive shoes and pressed his forehead against them. “I would never do that to you.”

For a long moment, the Minister simply stared at the monument.

“Stand up,” he said thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Minister Ju. Thank you. Thank you.” The rider repeated three times, still on his knees. Only then did he get to his feet and step aside.

Ju came closer to the crystal and placed his hands on it. He spread his fingers, which were topped with thick, yellow claws, and watched as a small light flickered faintly between them.

“How is this possible, Minister Ju?” The servant standing behind the Minister dared to ask. “Didn’t that tribe die out in a cataclysm many eras ago?”

The Minister looked at his servant and suddenly smiled broadly.

“What a pity, Chargoo!” He said, still smiling. “What a pity that, on your way to me, you ran into a pack of red wolves and I didn’t manage to save you.”

“Wh-”

A mask of terror froze on the servant’s face and the glimmer of realization quickly faded from his eyes — he would never get to embrace his son and beloved wife again.

Flickering blood filled the air and a corpse fell to the ground, torn to bloody pieces. A wedding band fell from Chargoo’s wrist and landed at the Minister’s feet. The dragon-man shoved it aside with a grimace of disgust. He licked the blood off his claws and turned back to the monument as if nothing had happened.

“This means that the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique wasn’t lost,” the Minister’s smile turned from joyous to frighteningly bloodthirsty. “Well, I’m sure everything will be fine if the Emperor receives these wonderful news later... In a couple of years… Meanwhile, I’ll have plenty of time to find this prodigal dragon and take the Technique from them.”

Laughing, the Minister waved his hand and hid the huge crystal in his spatial artifact, disappearing soon after.

The valley grew quiet. Instead of a once large, vibrant mountain, several muddy hills were now spread out in its center.

Chapter 673

H adjar was in the depths of his soul, in the illusory world where the Black Blade, the dragon of his Call, and the Sword Spirit’s mark resided. Usually, he came here to fight the mark, so as soon as Hadjar appeared in the dark, it flashed with a bright light, ready to defend itself.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t come for you today,” Hadjar grinned.

According to his neural network, it would take at least two and a half years to destroy the Sword’s mark. It would all depend on what difficulties the computer module faced in the process. Even so, it was fifty times faster than what Hadjar would’ve been able to manage on his own. He felt-

“No time for that!” Hadjar snarled.

This was the wrong time to be wondering if he was exchanging one yoke for another — the yoke of the Sword Spirit for the yoke of the computing module. He could ponder that later.

Today, he had come here for a different purpose — to become stronger. The ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique, which allowed a cultivator to fly when they reached the Spirit Knight level, was truly amazing.

At first, thanks to the special methods and ingredients involved, it allowed a cultivator to expand their channels and nodes, which made them significantly stronger. The root of a thousand-year-old fern made their energy body and Core stronger and allowed them to absorb energy directly from the World River. Hadjar had never heard of such a method being practiced, or even discussed, in Lascan or Darnassus.

An ounce of Celestial Metal, the third of the six most important ingredients, was needed to strengthen his soul. It was supposed to be used along with the pollen collected from a three-hundred-year-old four-leaf clover. The scroll had said that the metal was intended to strengthen one’s soul so that it ‘could withstand even the most terrible of thunderstorms and the fiercest of celestial storms’. And the pollen ‘would lighten the soul weighed down by mortal sins until it was as ephemeral as a wandering dream’. Apparently, the dragon who’d created the Technique had been a bit of a poet.

Hadjar immediately started training with the ounce of molten Celestial Metal he’d collected. According to the scroll, Hadjar had to meditate, adjusting himself until there was only harmony, and then put his channels and nodes in order. He had to circulate the current of energy in a special, complicated way. Only after he’d done all of that, collecting the droplets that had gone through several cycles of circulation, and with the help of his willpower, could he gradually mold them into the desired shape. It was difficult to estimate how long that would take, but time was definitely the most critical factor right now.

The molten Celestial Metal had poisonous properties. Hadjar now understood why Dora and the siblings had been so intimidated by its presence at the foot of Greven’Dor. After cycling the metal through his physical and energy bodies, then pouring it into his soul, Hadjar had felt the full brunt of its decomposing properties. Unlike other poisons or corrosive acids, for example, it didn’t seek to destroy one’s flesh, blood, or energy structures, but the soul itself. And it was that very soul that remained the most unexplored part of the path of cultivation. Along with the concept of a Name, it had kept many secrets, even from the wisest Masters and Mentors of the great Schools of Lascan and Darnassus. Everyone was well aware of the existence of these two entities, but, since they knew so little about them, they simply ignored them. That practice had once seemed normal to Hadjar, but now he realized how stupid it was to ignore the existence of the soul. Of course, millions of mortals lived like that, but Hadjar wasn’t a mortal, or even just a practitioner. He was a cultivator of martial arts, part of a world that was beyond the comprehension of the average layman.

Restraining the destructive influence of the metal with his willpower, Hadjar formed a hammer in his right hand. Not a warhammer like Dora’s, but a simple blacksmithing one. Created from the energy filtered out according to the instructions of the ‘Path through the Clouds’ Technique, it hovered in the dark. Soon enough, an anvil appeared beneath it. The threads of molten metal, having passed through his body, gathered together on it. They gradually formed a tiny drop that nonetheless contained a truly savage lethality.

“Let’s get started,” Hadjar whispered.

In the physical world, he was sweating profusely, and inside the illusory world of his soul, his Self was shaking and flickering. The tension was so high that Hadjar was afraid he might get kicked out of this mysterious place. That would signal only one thing — his imminent demise. If he left an ounce of the metal inside his soul without containing it within a dome of his willpower, he would be exposed to its corrupting properties. It would then take less than a second for Hadjar’s soul to burn up in the fumes of the Celestial Metal. Perhaps this was the reason why this reagent wasn’t even used by assassins. It would kill an assassin long before their victim.

According to the Technique described in the scroll, he had to forge a needle from the drop of metal, which would then be inserted into his soul. This thin needle would later develop into something resembling a chainmail network that would protect the host’s soul. It was like using a drop of poison to gain an immunity to it.

Raising the hammer over the drop, Hadjar was about to strike it, when suddenly, his hand froze. He first looked at the drop, which was trying to destroy the dome of willpower, and then at the dragon of his Call. Or rather, at the tattoo that shone on his chest. The dragon itself, at that moment, having already left his soul, was in the physical world, assuming the form of the black cloak and armor.

“Why not?” He asked himself.

A smile spread across his face, the one that had earned him the nickname of ‘Mad General’ so long ago. He called the dragon back from the physical world and into his soul once more. He felt as if a ton of ice had suddenly fallen on him.

Only then did Hadjar land the first blow on the drop. In the physical world, without the protection of his Call, he was surrounded only by the Sword’s mysteries. He was sitting in the lotus position, dripping with sweat and blood, balancing on a thin rope that hung over a chasm many miles deep, absolutely motionless.

Inside his soul, he forged the drop. He didn’t make a needle out of it, deviating from the method described in the scroll. Once, back when he’d been a General, he had seen blacksmiths working on armor, and had tried to master the basics of the profession. Now, years later, having reached the level of a true cultivator, he could finally apply those skills. He didn’t forge a needle, but something different. Sparks flew through the darkness. The ringing echoed. The dragon, frozen in the darkness, watched it all happen.

Hadjar stopped. He looked at the drop, then at the dragon, which had grown to be almost six feet long.

“Not enough,” Hadjar decided, flashing a mad grin.

Back in the physical world, his companions started whispering.

Chapter 674

”H adjar Dakhan, the Mad General who rebels against the Heavens themselves.” Anise whispered.

As she’d collected information about this strange swordsman who wore orc feathers and Bedouin ornaments in his hair, spoke several rare languages, and was decorated with strange tattoos, Anise had come across something that hadn’t drawn her attention at first. What could a disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School possibly have in common with some traitor General from a provincial Kingdom of the Empire? But the further she’d delved into the story of the Mad General, the more similarities she’d found.

She didn’t recall a song about a traitor who’d killed his own uncle and almost killed his sister, but an epic about a hero who’d decided to sacrifice everything to bring peace to his homeland, who’d left his home, driven by revenge, who’d tried to understand how justice differed from it, who’d wanted to make the gods answer for all the sins they had committed. The epic of the Mad General whose courage knew no bounds, who fought against monsters others were afraid of, not because he was just another power-hungry brat, but because there was no one else but him who could do it, which meant he had to step up. The Mad General who’d decided that there was no one else but him who could rebel against the Heavens… It was a stupid, naïve, but oh so beautiful epic.

It had a strange, long title: “The epic of the Mad General who rebelled against the Heavens, the madman who went searching for his own death. Anise only liked the first half of that title.

“Is he insane?” Dora asked, recovering from her shock. “Okay, so, he condensed one ounce of Celestial Metal for some reason, but… why did he condense one more?”

“Islander, your friend seems to be trying to commit suicide,” Tom was rather annoyed.

Einen understood his anger — it was much safer to search for the tomb and travel to Greven’Dor in a group of five. Their chances of survival were greater.

“What the-”

“Idiot!”

Right before their very eyes, something incredible that went against everything they knew about the path of cultivation and meditation Techniques was happening. Somehow surviving amidst the fumes of the molten Celestial Metal, Hadjar was continuing to condense more and more drops of the metal, which would then instantly disappear into his body. They slithered like silver snakes through his veins, then disappeared into his solar plexus, where the Core and the main node were located, forming the so-called gateway to the energy body.

Hadjar didn’t hear them. He was under tremendous strain, holding on only thanks to his immense willpower. Perhaps there were other ways for him to become stronger that were much simpler and safer. However, he’d already chosen such a simple path once before. He’d made a mistake back then, and he was still suffering the consequences of that choice.

The Spirit Sword’s mark was still with him. It served as a living reminder that a warrior didn’t often get to do what they wanted, and more often than not had to do what was necessary. It was the only way to really become stronger.

And so, Hadjar did what he had to do. He had to become stronger. That was why his hammer struck the ever-growing drop of Celestial Metal tirelessly, over and over. It changed, gradually assuming the form Hadjar needed from it —turning into clear, smooth, wavy lines that formed a pattern that looked similar to horse armor. Hadjar sometimes fed bits of the metal to the dragon of his Call. He put all the power, will, and the mysteries of the Sword he could muster into each blow.

In addition to all of that, he tried to add his understanding of his own path to the process as well, his grasp of why he was fighting.

Holding the hammer, Hadjar didn’t notice when the scarlet tattoo began to glow brighter. It had been created by the Bedouin shaman and had grown thanks to the orc shaman. The tattoo now came to life. Its radiance, fading from his arm, poured into the hammer. Scarlet sparks now illuminated the darkness, joining the silver ones. Ten drops, twenty drops, thirty, forty, fifty… Hadjar didn’t stop. He overcame all conceivable limits. No one would’ve believed that a mere Heaven Soldier could survive so long with the Celestial Metal inside their very soul.

His hammer finally stopped when 99 drops formed a frame on the anvil.

“Please, try it on.” Hadjar was breathing heavily. Everything around him was dim. He was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally. But even so, he was still conscious, not allowing himself to embrace the longed-for oblivion. Not yet...

The dragon, responding to his offer, darted past Hadjar. It ducked inside the frame. As soon as its black scales touched the metal, it spread across them, disappearing into the dragon’s flesh and then reappearing as a silvery pattern all along its skin, which was as sharp as a sword and as smooth as the flight of a bird.

Back in the physical world, a roar filled the chasm. No human could’ve made such a noise. The others, standing on the edge of the invisible bridge of energy, saw two eyes with vertical pupils and massive claws appear above Hadjar. The vision, flickering there for just a moment, was immediately dispelled by the wind. Hadjar, rising to his feet, was once again wrapped in his Call, which had changed. It bore a complicated silver pattern now. But the most significant changes had affected the cloak. It now had wide, silver edges and a circle in the center, within which a coat of arms could easily be discerned — a simple hieroglyph that spelled out the word ‘Staircase’ made out of scarlet clouds. It was a kind of rebus that depicted a staircase of clouds leading up to the sky.

“That’s… That’s-”

“The peak stage of the Heaven Soldier level,” Einen nodded, his purple eyes radiating genuine joy.

Hadjar, now enveloped in his altered Call, calmly crossed the remaining distance and stopped on the other side of the bridge. He turned, smiled broadly, and asked:

“How long do you plan to just stand there?”

Chapter 675

E inen was the first to recover. He watched his friend with wide eyes, smiling broadly.

“You really are a mad barbarian,” he laughed.

Before the aristocrats could say anything, he tied the end of the safety rope around his waist. Sheathing his spear-staff across his back, he moved toward Hadjar. Just like it had done to his friend, the cold began trying to shackle him, but he still kept moving toward his goal. It took him two hours to reach the other side, including a half-hour delay above the fumes of the molten Celestial Metal.

Tom went next. He also tied the rope around his waist, but didn’t throw it to Einen or Hadjar, which would’ve been the logical thing to do, but to his sister instead. Even with oaths to rely on, it was difficult for cultivators to trust each other. Tom got across a little faster than Einen had.

“I would suggest cutting the rope.” Einen whispered.

Hadjar smiled.

“Alas, he has the map,” he replied, as if he were really considering the possibility. And he had considered it. But it had only been a moment of weakness, common to all humans, regardless of whether they were cultivators or mortals.

Tom spent an hour and fifty minutes crossing the invisible bridge.

Dora came next, and she also left the other end of her rope with Anise. The elf girl crossed even faster than Tom — it took her only an hour and a half.

Anise went last. To her, the ordeal was like a simple walk and took her less than an hour.

As a result, by the time everyone gathered on the opposite side of the bridge, the sun was already setting behind the western mountain ranges.

“What did you take?” Hadjar asked Dora.

As the three nobles had been crossing the gap, Einen and Hadjar had meditated, but before that, Hadjar had seen Dora give some sort of potion to everyone, including Einen.

“The Water of the Flaming Soul,” the elf replied. “One of the few potions that can strengthen the soul.”

Hadjar vaguely recalled that potion. He’d heard about it near the Hall of Fame. The Imperial alchemists used the Water of the Flaming Soul to work with Celestial Metal.

“Shall we get going?” Tom took his scabbard out of his spatial artifact and tied it to his belt. “Or do you want to continue your little chat?”

Without waiting for an answer, he led them the rest of the way across the invisible energy bridge. It looked like a solid ribbon of energy when viewed through the World River. Anise and Dora, after glancing at the two friends, followed him. Hadjar and Einen brought up the rear.

Apparently, the nobles thought that if the commoner duo had wanted to do them any harm, they would’ve cut the rope. Moreover, right now, as they approached the main entrance to the castle — which looked like it was guarded by two stone warriors with crossed swords — it would be stupid to take any unnecessary risks.

“What do you think they were actually sent here for?” Hadjar asked in the language of the Islands.

They walked across the bridge. The wind brought snow with it. The bald islander looked a little strange among the snowcapped mountains.

“I don’t know.”

Einen shivered despite being wrapped up snugly in his white fur coat. They weren’t wasting any energy on fighting the cold as no one knew when they might be in danger, and so, they needed to conserve every sliver of power they had.

“Fucking hell,” Hadjar whispered. He adjusted his collar and positioned it a little higher so that the cold snow didn’t fall on the back of his neck. It was just as cold as he remembered it being in the Black Mountains of Balium. “I think we’re the only ones who don’t know where we’re going and why.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“Do we have a plan?” Hadjar touched his spatial ring.

Einen glanced at Dora. Given the way her long ears were twitching as they peeked out from under her fur cap, she was eavesdropping on their conversation. And so were the Dinos siblings. They didn’t really trust each other.

“It’s tricky. We need to be patient.”

Hadjar agreed. They’d rashly joined the nobles on their quest and had gotten into a lot of trouble as a result. It would now be difficult to improve their situation. Their options were severely limited, not just by the narrow bridge, but also by the station of the other disciples as well. While ‘The Holy Sky’ School claimed that only power mattered, not one’s birth, that was not the case in reality. Perhaps it was true among the petty nobility, but not among the true aristocracy. No matter how poorly the current Head of the Predatory Blades clan treated his nephew and niece, if something happened to them, he would be obliged to take decisive action. And the ruler of the elves doted on his daughter. Their own feelings were an issue as well… Hadjar looked at Anise. The girl, even though she was trying to hide it, was clearly listening in on their conversation. Maybe she’d already learned the language of the Islands. Spirit Knights had a perfect memory, without which they wouldn’t have been able to learn Imperial level Techniques. More importantly… Could he deliver a lethal blow if it came down to it?

“Any ideas?” Tom put his hands on his hips and stared at the huge doors.

They’d crossed the invisible bridge and entered a snow-covered stone terrace. The gates loomed before them. Admittedly, the two statues that seemed to be forever locked in a swordfight didn’t exactly look the part.

They seemed to flow smoothly into each other without any connecting seams. There were no bulky hinges or gap that might lift up. There seemed to be no way these gates could open.

“Let me try.”

Dora waved her hand. A wave of willpower surged forth from the tips of her frozen fingers and struck the gates. Nothing happened. Only a ringing echo rolled through the mountains as a result.

“Amazing,” Dora sighed. She put her glove back on, went to the gates, and ran her hand over them. “There are no cracks or grooves. It looks like a solid panel embedded in the stone.”

“If that were the case,” Anise walked over to the spot where the steel of the gates met the granite of the wall, “it would’ve had some gaps.”

While the nobles were trying to solve the puzzle, Hadjar decided it was time to cheat a little.

“Analysis,” he ordered.

His neural network had only a fraction of its processing power available to work with, but he hoped it would be enough. Fortunately, the computing module didn’t let him down.

Chapter 676

A greenish web of shimmering threads appeared before Hadjar’s eyes. No one else saw it, of course.

It covered the iron gates, filling every nook, cranny, and dent of the bas-relief, then wrapped itself around the statues, like the arms of a gentle lover. After tracing the entire shape of the gates, the network detached itself from them and moved to the side. The analysis had already begun.

The projected image began to change, taking on different forms. Many different numbers and formulas passed across it, and Hadjar had no idea what they meant. He was certain that he wouldn’t be able to guess their meaning no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps they’d once been added to the neuronet in order to grant him the ability to walk. Maybe his rebirth in this nameless world had rendered them obsolete.

Fifteen minutes later, his neural network provided a rather surprising answer. Had he spent a couple of weeks meditating at the foot of the gates, he might’ve come to a similar conclusion, but he never would’ve guessed it right away.

Closing his eyes, he tried to shake off the oppressive feeling of shame. The fact that he’d cheated bothered him greatly. He was already a slave to the Sword and didn’t want to become dependent on his neural network as well.

Yes, it was obviously great that, thanks to this technology, he had managed to come up with an answer that would’ve probably taken him weeks to grasp on his own, if he ever managed it at all, but that was no excuse for cheating.

Pushing Tom aside, he approached the gate. The young man yelped in annoyance as his discussion with Dora was rudely interrupted without an apology, but Hadjar ignored him. Stopping a couple of feet away from his goal, he summoned the Black Blade, which instantly appeared in his hand, glowing with a pale blue light.

“What are you doing?” Tom exclaimed in surprise.

“Solving the riddle. Just watch.”

Holding his blade in front of him, he assumed the same pose as the right figure on the depiction in front of him. For a moment, there was nothing but silence...

...till Tom opened his big mouth.

“Do you really think that playing charades will help?” He asked in a mocking tone.

“I need a partner,” was all Hadjar said in response.

To a degree, he was thankful that Tom was in their squad. Had he gone on this journey with real mercenaries, the jokes would’ve been much, much worse, and equally unfunny. Hell, a fight would’ve probably broken out, forcing him to postpone everything until he’d managed to calm them down. No one would’ve been killed, probably, but it would’ve still been an inconvenience.

So yes, he was actually lucky to be in a squad with stuck-up aristocrats who knew how to behave, despite them being untrustworthy. Tom could poke fun all he wanted, but even he knew that Hadjar wasn’t the kind of person that fooled around.

Anise stood next to Hadjar, blade at the ready. With the two of them standing next to each other, it was clear that her sword was about a hand and a half longer than the Black Blade.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked without so much as a hint of mockery in her voice. Unlike her brother, she was taking this rather seriously.

“Can you mimic the other figure on the bas-relief?”

“How accurate does it need to be?”

“To a T,” Hadjar replied after a short pause.

Anise nodded and sheathed her sword. Turning toward the gates, she spent the next fifteen minutes examining them. From time to time, she’d trace their surface with her finger.

After an additional five minutes of meditation, she assumed the pose of the figure on the left.

“Ready,” she said.

Hadjar raised an eyebrow and nodded. Even though the pose and the movements of her figure were much less complex than his were, the speed with which she’d memorized it all was amazing. What would’ve taken him weeks to accomplish had taken her under half an hour. Sure, one could argue that her perception was better because she was a Spirit Knight, but still... Credit where credit was due. It’d be dumb of him to claim that he wasn’t accustomed to seeing miracles being performed by those who followed the Way of the Sword. All he could really do was make peace with the fact that there were people who were much more powerful and capable than him.

Taking a deep breath, he made the first move.

Sword firmly clutched in his hand, he rotated his wrist, drawing a complex pattern in the air with the tip of his blade. Once he was done, he pointed it at Anise’s right ankle. She, with a smoothness of movement that seemed rather unnecessary in Hadjar’s opinion, took a wide step to the side. She then made a sort of U-turn.

Had it been an enemy standing across from him and not Anise, he would’ve instantly stabbed them in the foot and kicked snow into their eyes. After that, he would’ve swung his sword at them, attacking with so much power that his blow would’ve been impossible to block.

After Anise dodged, he repeated the same actions that she’d made. Moving back and to the side, he looked like he was swimming through the snow.

Anise, twirling around in a wide and beautiful spin, let Hadjar pass by her. Her dress rose and fluttered around her as she kicked snow dust into the air. By the High Heavens, she looked like a dancer, not a warrior. But this illusion lasted only as long as snowflakes last in the sun.

Finishing her spin, Anise plunged her sword into the ground, drawing a white arc in the air.

Hadjar barely managed to ignore his instincts and keep from blocking the attack that would’ve probably cut him in half. Instead, he stepped to the side and performed a somersault. Landing on his left hand, he swept his leg through the air, just barely missing Anise’s temple. She, instead of cutting off his foot, leaned back and bent down, kicking him in the knee with her left foot.

Having gathered the necessary momentum, he landed on his feet and extended his blade in front of him. If Anise decided to get up instead of dodge, she’d end up impaling herself on it. But the girl spun once more and, almost falling over, pointed her blade at Hadjar’s abdomen.

The style depicted on the gates was definitely beautiful and elegant, but it went against everything Hadjar knew about fighting. What was the point of all these wide sweeps and exaggerated movements reminiscent of elaborate dances? The point of sword fighting wasn’t to show off, but to finish your opponent off as quickly as possible! Your opponent wasn’t going to just stand there and watch you perform your fancy moves. They’d use the first chance they got to kill you!

Unsurprisingly, once it was all over, Hadjar was out of breath and sweaty. Anise, on the other hand, looked like she hadn’t moved a muscle. Despite the fact that she was smaller and standing on a platform below his own, it seemed like she was the one looking down on him.

“It appears you weren’t simply fooling around,” Tom said, snapping Hadjar out of his thoughts.

Dismissing the Black Blade, he hurried toward the gates. Instead of the iron doors, there was now a very dark and long hallway ahead of them.

“They just...”

“...disappeared,” Einen nodded. “They simply vanished, my barbarian friend. Without so much as causing a ripple in the World River.”

“That’s impossible,” Dora said.

“The bridge we crossed also seemed impossible.” Tom snorted. “From what we’ve seen so far, the ancients knew a lot about manipulating energy. Perhaps their way of cultivation was weaker than our own, but, in some ways, they were stronger than we are.”

Hadjar was about to take a step forward, but then he realized that Anise was still holding the tip of her blade pointed at his abdomen.

Chapter 677

“A nise, what are you doing?”

Dora walked over to her friend, but the girl didn’t budge. Her blade remained pointed at Hadjar.

“I’d like to fight you,” she suddenly said.

Dora shook her head sadly and took a step back. All cultivators would eventually do something like this. One could meditate until the world ended, learn the most powerful Techniques, consume the rarest of plants and potions, but all of it was worthless without firsthand experience. Because of this, many, if not all, cultivators were constantly searching for adventure and worthy foes. All of them wished to better themselves and become stronger. And what better way was there to achieve that than to fight others?

Hadjar tilted his head, looking into the girl’s emerald eyes.

“We’ll fight,” he said, “but not right now.”

Tense silence filled the air. Emerald stared at azure. They stood still for almost a minute, until Anise finally sheathed her sword.

“I’ll hold you to that, Hadjar Darkhan,” she said and led the way into the hallway.

Tom hurried after her. As he passed Hadjar, he gave him a sly smile that said: ‘You’re a dead man.’

“Come on, guys,” Dora urged and went after the siblings, leaving the two friends alone on the terrace.

“Why did you agree to fight her?”

Einen took something from his spatial artifact and slipped it into the pocket of Hadjar’s coat. The latter didn’t even bother to ask his friend what he’d just given him. Knowing Einen, it was something that would come in handy later.

The two friends followed the trio of nobles. At the gates, Hadjar paused and turned to Einen.

“Would you have declined?” he asked. Einen knew that he was referring to Dora challenging him, and he also knew that Hadjar suspected that his friend had feelings for her. Ones much stronger than just friendship.

“I wouldn’t have, no,” Einen admitted immediately.

Hadjar nodded and continued down the hallway. The moment they crossed the threshold, warm air enveloped them in a gentle embrace. After he walked forward a few more steps and made sure he wasn’t imagining all of this, Hadjar chuckled and took off his coat. Tossing it over his shoulder, he trailed after Dora.

Tom, who was at the front of the group, was treading more carefully than when they’d been crossing the bridge.

“Something’s off...”

“Is it now?” Dora asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. It was odd hearing her be so rude. “We’re walking through an ancient monastery that was hidden by a powerful spell for thousands of years. A bridge made of pure energy leads to it and it has gates that disappear after you’ve performed some sort of complex ritual... And you just now realized things are weird?”

Just as she finished her rant, they came to a halt. Their first steps forward had been made in complete darkness, but as soon as they covered some distance, torches began to light up. The light they gave off wasn’t the illumination of the ordinary orange flame, but a blue like ice. Hadjar had been halfway convinced that he’d seen it all by now, but the world just kept on surprising him.

Pillars lining the hallway began to light up one after another, blue streaks coiling around them like thick snakes. If not for the snowflakes they let out instead of sparks, one would’ve thought that they were dealing with blue flame and not ice.

The light they gave off wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold, either. It was, however, bright enough to drive away the gloom and reveal numerous bas-reliefs on the walls and pillars.

“If the Imperial Chancellery could see this...”

“They’d kill us,” Tom said. “These are remnants of the past, are they not? From the Age of the Hundred Kingdoms?”

Hadjar approached one of the pillars. The hallway was filled with them. Who knew how many more were hidden by the darkness beyond?

The bas-reliefs showed scenes familiar to any soldier. Departures, marches, battles, funeral pyres, death... Some figures were giving orders to others. “Obey or die,” they’d shout. Little did the soldiers know that the former usually led to the latter.

Removing a torch from a nearby sconce, he turned around and rejoined the others.

“Come on, let’s not waste time,” he said, leading the way. “Where to, Tom?”

“Turn right up ahead,” he replied, clutching the jade tablet in his hand. Hadjar had no idea how that map worked. “After that, keep going straight until you reach the training hall.”

Despite the fact that Hadjar was walking very quickly, his companions still managed to find the time to admire the scenes depicted on the pillars.

“Have you ever heard the legend of Erhard, the Last King?”

“Anise!” Tom exclaimed. “That’s not something you can share with commoners!”

“Give it a rest, Tom,” Dora said, having had enough of him and his arrogance. “We’re inside Greven’Dor! Even mentioning this place can lead to a death sentence! Do you honestly think it matters at this point?”

Tom muttered something in response, but no one heard what he’d said. You couldn’t really refute such an argument.

“The legends say that the King never died...” Anise approached one of the pillars and raised her torch to examine it. The lifeless blue light revealed a couple of scenes. “That when the invaders came, he fought for the first Empire. But-”

“But he was ultimately betrayed,” Hadjar said for some reason. “They used his beloved against him. He died after that.”

“Did you hear about that during your travels, too?”

Hadjar didn’t answer. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about all of this seemed off.

“It doesn’t matter,” Anise said. “Some believed that he was really dead, but others claimed that he was forced into an eternal slumber and imprisoned.”

Hadjar stumbled. The memory of a shadowy figure pacing around a sarcophagus wrapped in chains appeared in his mind.

“And that if someone finds and opens his tomb, they will release a terrible misfortune upon the whole world. If the King rises again, he’ll start another war. But this time, it’ll be-”

“Look out!”

Silver sparks flashed in the air. The Black Blade collided with a sword made of ice. Blue cracks began to appear along its obsidian length, forcing Hadjar to jerk his hand back and hit the wall with his sword.

“Intruders,” growled a humanoid figure made of ice. Clad in heavy armor, it radiated an aura comparable to that of a Lord.

“Black Wind!”

A giant replica of the Black Blade whizzed through the air, unleashing a gust of wind so strong it knocked the creature down and made the pillars around it shake. Those unfortunate enough to have received the full brunt of his attack were usually destroyed by it, or at least severely injured.

A thin veil suddenly encased the creature.

“Intruders...”

The veil shone bright blue just as it collided with the ‘Black Wind’. To Hadjar’s surprise, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on the creature.

“Attack!”

Chapter 678

T he icy veil instantly covered the Black Blade’s replica, binding it in place. The creature squeezed its hand into a fist and turned Hadjar’s most powerful Technique into a shower of glittering crystal dust, releasing a wave of energy that struck him in the chest.

He was flung through the air and slammed into a wall. After clinging to it for a couple of seconds, he finally fell, followed by massive fragments of granite, each of which weighed a couple of tons. Shaking his head to clear his vision, Hadjar immediately got up and kicked away one of the fragments, changing its trajectory.

The slab landed with a booming crash, kicking up dust and snow. By the time it settled, Hadjar had joined the others on the opposite side of the room. Blood trickled down his back and he could feel a huge bruise spreading across his chest. At least he was still alive. Had the fragment fallen on him, he would’ve become a pancake.

“Another Spirit-golem?” Tom shouted. Behind him, his blade was now shrouded in crimson lightning. “Thunder God’s Sword!”

He slashed the air with such speed that it was impossible to discern where the bolt ended and the blade began. The sword whipped through the air, forming a shining crescent that cut through the pillars and melted the ice.

The Spirit stared at the incoming attack and raised its hand again. The world seemed to come to a halt. The crescent slowed down and eventually stopped completely. The sparks froze, hovering in the air like stars. Just like Hadjar’s recent attack, this one, too, was now stuck in the icy veil.

“How is this possible?” Tom exclaimed in disbelief.

When the Spirit struck the frozen ‘Thunder God’s Sword’, Tom collapsed to his knees, coughing up blood. Wiping his lips clean, he took an old throwing dagger out of his spatial ring.

“Don’t be hasty, brother.” Anise put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. “We don’t have so many artifacts that we can afford to waste them.”

Einen and Dora joined her, and they all stepped forward.

“It’s time for us to put our differences aside and join forces,” Einen said and struck the floor with his staff. This simple act released an energy wave that knocked the creature back a couple dozen feet. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy them some time to counterattack.

Dora and Anise, now fully armored, approached the Spirit from opposite sides. The ‘Forest’ hieroglyph was floating behind the elf, following her every move. Raising her warhammer, she unleashed a Technique that Hadjar hadn’t seen before.

“Forest’s Awakening!” She shouted, bringing the warhammer down. Even though she hadn’t yet mastered the Weapon’s Heart, the power of her blows was still outstanding.

The ancient floor shuddered. A web of cracks spread across the ice-covered granite, giving it the look of a shattered mirror. Saplings sprang from the cracks. Stretching into the air, they turned into sturdy oaks. Filled with the mysteries of the Hammer Spirit, they blew through the masonry, knocking over pillars and statues.

Had she used this attack in a war, she could’ve easily brought down an entire mortal fort on her own. However, the Spirit seemed unbothered by her efforts. Unlike with the previous two attacks, it didn’t raise its hand this time. Instead, it spread its legs (or rather, the mist that served as its legs) out and swung its sword in a wide arc, conjuring a gigantic wave of snow. The avalanche crashed into the forest and turned it into a bunch of ice statues. With a low, ringing hum, they cracked and shattered into a myriad of emerald crystals.

The Spirit swung a second time, but was interrupted by Anise who jumped out from behind the curtain of ice and snow. Not wishing to risk her life once again by summoning her Spirit, she opted to use her clan’s Techniques instead.

“Bloody Charge!”

Streaks of crimson shot out of the walls and falling debris. Using them like stairs, Anise ran up and swung at the creature. The Spirit raised up a block of ice from the ground, blocking her attack. Anise’s blade had almost touched the icy surface when she disappeared. A moment later, she was back on the ground.

Hadjar had seen her use both the ‘Bloody Charge’ and ‘Bloody Hunt’ Techniques several times before, and they’d always left him speechless. Both were very versatile and could be used against a wide variety of opponents. More often than not, however, she’d used them when’d she fought against several foes at once, so she’d never really gotten a chance to show off the Techniques’ full potential.

Until now.

Focusing the streaks into a single whole, she could make them appear at any point of the Spirit’s trajectory and then move them both ways. Lying on the ground with a grin on her bloodied lips, she watched as the unified crimson streak sunk into the creature’s back.

By the time her attack landed, Einen had already used a number of his own Techniques. Enclosed within the iridescent armor of his Call, both he and his Call’s ape swung their weapons.

“Boulder Storm!” He shouted, unleashing an onslaught of sharp rocks and powerful waves.

Hadjar had expected Anise’s attack to at least injure their foe, but the Spirit-golem seemed unbothered by the fact that it had just been struck head on by a powerful Technique and that there was now a crimson needle sticking out of its back. Talented as Anise was, even she seemed like a beginner compared to this thing.

However, they weren’t out of the fight just yet. Her attack had managed to leave a dent in its armor. A metallic clang echoed throughout the room. Sparks filled the air, leaving frost behind on the walls and ground.

Its armor was still mostly intact, but the Spirit was nonetheless sent flying through the air because Einen’s attack had managed to hit its vulnerable spot. Hadjar doubted that any armor, even an Imperial level one, could’ve saved the life of a person struck by such a powerful Technique.

But the Spirit had survived. Even after crashing through four pillars and bringing one of the walls down on itself, the only real damage it had suffered was a broken horn on its helmet.

Anise, Dora, and Einen returned to Hadjar and Tom’s side. Standing next to one another, they watched as the Spirit slowly rose to its feet.

If the combined attack of three elite disciples at the Spirit Knight level had only managed to leave a dent in its armor and break one of its helmet’s horns, then what hope did they have of getting out of here alive?

“Maybe-”

“No!” Anise said sharply. “We can do this. We just need to work together... I could-”

“No,” Tom interrupted her. “Dora won’t be able to bring you back this time. You’re not using your Spirit. End of discussion.”

“He’s right,” Dora said, shifting her grip on her warhammer’s hilt. “You need to recover first or you’ll die if you try to use it again.”

“Then we have no choice but to try and take it down together,” Anise said. She was the strongest one among them, so no one dared argue with her whenever she decided to take the lead. “Hadjar, you and Tom need to keep it busy. The three of us will try to combine our attacks again.”

Tom and Hadjar exchanged glances. They weren’t particularly happy about the fact that they’d have to work together, but they didn’t really have much of a choice.

“Try to keep up, commoner,” Tom sneered. “Bloody Charge!”

Chapter 679

T om disappeared in a flash of red lightning and reappeared to the left of the creature. His attack was as fast as Anise’s, but not as powerful.

The scarlet streak hit the Spirit’s side, but the creature didn’t so much as look at Tom. Instead, it raised its forearm and assumed a stance similar to something a person would use to defend themselves in hand-to-hand combat. But this was a sword fight… What the hell is it doing? Hadjar wondered.

The Spirit either didn’t know or didn’t care about the rules of the mortal world. After assuming the stance, it froze the scarlet streak in place before it could even touch its armor, encasing it in ice. Swinging its arm, it grabbed the Technique to try and crush it.

“Now!” Tom shouted.

Breaking his connection to his Technique, he received an energy backlash and fell to the floor. Blood flowed from his ears and eyes. Wheezing and coughing, his hand trembling, he popped several greenish pills into his mouth.

The Spirit’s fingers closed around a swirl of melting snowflakes. For a moment, they completely enveloped the monster, hiding it from view.

Hadjar, who’d been waiting for this moment, channeled half the energy contained within his Core. His own coat of arms shone on his cloak: the symbol for ‘Stairway’ written in clouds. Energy seeped into his body, damaging it despite the fact it had been enhanced by the Wolf Broth.

The sheer power he unleashed made the ground beneath his feet cave in. Black energy emerged from his solar plexus and enveloped him. Using the sixth stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ sword Technique, he launched his attack.

Normally, when he used this Technique, he would take the form of a plume of darkness within which the silhouette of a dragon could occasionally be seen, but this time, he went with a different approach. After all, he was at the peak stage of the Heaven Soldier level and had even forged dragon armor made from Celestial Metal, thus transforming his Call and strengthening both his physical and energy bodies.

He could now absorb and control a fair bit more energy than before. This allowed him to imitate his friend’s Technique, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Einen and his ape stared at their friend as he whizzed around the room, leaving traces of black smoke behind. It would be hard to call the trail anything other than the tail of a dragon. Hadjar, zigzagging as he charged, stood in the center of this shifting fog, acting as the dragon’s head.

“Seventh stance: Azure Cloud!”

Remembering to lunge instead of slash, Hadjar turned toward his opponent. The dragon’s mouth opened wide, revealing sharp fangs. Its breath turned into a glowing thundercloud, and a more solid dragon surrounded by sparks and lightning emerged from it.

Twisting its bladelike body, it performed the basic attack of this stance and lunged at the Spirit with incredible speed. It lost some power along the way, but gained much-needed momentum.

The Spirit, unable to shield itself with its free hand, was forced to raise its blade to block the attack. Hadjar had no idea where it had learned to fight using swords, but its block seemed easy enough to break through.

That is, it would’ve been, had it planned to block in the first place.

Instead, it twisted its wrist, parrying the blow. Or rather, it slightly changed its trajectory. It went without saying that one had to be a master swordsman to be able to deflect such a powerful and fast strike. Whoever had created this thing had had to be as skilled as Anise, at least.

“Damn!” Hadjar swore and jumped back.

He was moving as quickly as his body would allow. The obsidian dragon twisted and rushed toward the wall, but it wasn’t quick enough. The moment it broke through the wall, bringing down both it and a couple of pillars, and exiting the monastery, the Spirit launched its first attack. Raising its blade above its head, it dropped it in one quick slash, lowering the temperature as it did so. The walls were suddenly covered with large patches of frost that grew bigger and thicker the lower the sword sank. At some point, the frost transformed into ice and formed long needles that looked like replicas of the Spirit’s sword.

All of this happened within the span of a couple of seconds. Had Hadjar been moving any slower, he would’ve joined his forefathers way before his time.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he lost his momentum and fell to the ground. He skidded across the ice a good few feet before slamming into the wall and stopping. A blade sprung from the wall, slicing through his left calf. The ice immediately turned scarlet. The frozen droplets of blood were reminiscent of rubies adorning the pale neck of a young noblewoman.

He was in a lot of pain and wounded, but he’d achieved his goal.

Both of the creature’s arms were lowered, leaving it completely exposed.

“Forest’s Awakening!” Dora shouted, followed by her Sprit. The hieroglyph imbued her with immense power, which she instantly channeled into her Technique.

With another swing of her warhammer, she cracked both the granite and the ice. Translucent shards flew through the air, slicing through the rock even though they were nothing more than needles made of frozen water.

Mighty oaks grew around the Spirit, which hadn’t yet managed to raise its arms and assume a defensive stance. Creaking and groaning, the trunks twisted themselves around the creature, trapping it. Filled with the mysteries of the Hammer, they attacked the beast with their branches, dealing heavy damage. Breaking through its armor, they hit its crystalline body directly.

“Bloody Charge!” Anise, proving once again that she was full of surprises, suddenly moved even faster than before.

Disappearing in a red flash, a spot of brilliant color in the gloom, she appeared behind the creature. Raising her blade, she held it in a reverse grip and slashed diagonally.

“Boulder storm!”

Waves and rocks landed on the tops of the mighty oaks and the prison of trees. Each drop of the azure water was filled with the mysteries of the Spear-Staff Spirit and strong enough to reduce the granite to sand and bring down the mighty oaks. The forest was turned into mere splinters and lumber. The ice that the creature had conjured was simply washed away.

Simultaneously with Anise’s strike, Einen hit the creature in the chest. Caught between two powerful attacks, it had no chance of survival. Not even a cultivator at the Lord level would’ve survived such an onslaught.

“Invaders...”

It was only then that Hadjar realized that the creature had been communicating with them without moving its lips or mouth. With a crack, it opened its mouth wide and let out a ray of blue light.

Chapter 680

T he ray froze even the air itself. Chunks of ice, falling to the floor, shattered into a myriad of tiny, razor-sharp pieces.

Anise, who’d been standing behind the Spirit, was more fortunate than the others. Moving away from the creature, she drew complex shapes around herself with her blade. Scarlet crescents of energy shot out in all directions, turning the ice into harmless dust. The entirety of the wall behind her, save for the spot where she was standing, was riddled with ice needles. Lowering her blade, she wiped the blood off her cheek with her wrist. The ice had managed to cut through not just her Imperial level armor, but also her hardened skin.

Still, she was far better off than the others. Dora, who’d been closest to the ray, was standing still, her warhammer held out in front of her. The light struck it, hurling the elf back through the air as if she weighed no more than a feather. The attack kept going even after she fell to the ground, crushing the wall several feet behind her. Blood spurted from Dora’s mouth and the frost-covered hilt of her weapon slipped from her hands. The ice, like a tumor, continued to spread across the warhammer until it covered it completely. Dora, too hurt to even move, was also gradually disappearing under a blanket of frost.

Einen rushed toward her just in time to dodge the second ray.

As it passed through the trees, it turned them into icicles. The pillars disappeared beneath an avalanche of snow. The once beautiful hall turned into a quarry during winter. The wind was ruffling his hair and scratching his cheeks. Steam rolled off his lips. Hadjar’s hands trembled.

“River Serpent’s Scales!”

Einen stood in front of the freezing Dora. She was gradually turning blue and stiff. The light was beginning to fade from her eyes. Like a fish on land, she twitched and writhed about ineffectually.

The islander spun his spear-staff above his head and drove it into the ground. Ribbons of iridescent light swirled around him. The ape followed his example. The iridescent light soon coalesced into scales that spread out in the air like a broad sail.

The blue ray struck its target. Einen screamed and leaned his entire weight against his weapon. His feet were sliding across the ice, but he had no intention of quitting. Despite being covered in frost, the barrier continued standing. The same couldn’t be said for Dora, however. With each passing moment, she came closer to meeting her forefathers.

“Die, you wretched beast!” Tom shouted and flung the throwing dagger at the Spirit. The blade was so old that it was covered with rust, but the energy behind the throw launched it like a cannonball. It even let out an explosion so loud that Hadjar had to cover his ears.

Tearing through the air, the blade grew so hot that it melted the ice all around it, vaporizing it. Where the elite Spirit Knights had failed, a rusty blade triumphed. Flying a couple of feet above the ground, it sliced through the granite, leaving behind a deep furrow and a trail of fire.

Only then did Hadjar realize that what Tom had thrown wasn’t a dagger at all, but an arrowhead. Enveloped in bright flames, it sunk into the Spirit’s chest, causing it to fly through the air and multiple pillars before collapsing to the floor. The explosion that followed left a circle about thirty feet in diameter on the wall behind the monster. The snow and ice that had until recently filled the room turned into clouds of dense, choking steam.

Dora was now breathing more evenly. Both she and her warhammer lay in a pool of hot, clear water.

“What the fuck was that?” Hadjar asked as he struggled to his feet. He had to hold on to the wall so that his wounded leg wouldn’t give out on him. The skin around the cut was turning black. Hadjar knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d end up using crutches and limping again...

“Stay... Alert... Barbarian,” Anise coughed, holding her sword out in front of her and assuming a defensive stance.

Hadjar turned slowly to look at the raging flames. There was no chance that the Spirit had survived that. There simply wasn’t. But as the fire died down, his heart began beating faster.

“What...?”

Had the explosion not broken the wall, letting in the cold air and snow, the Spirit would’ve definitely died. It was by pure luck that it was now getting back to its feet. Covered in cracks and pieces of broken armor, it stared at them with mad fury. Spreading its arms out wide, it sucked in the snow brought by the mountain wind, forming another blue beam.

Hadjar glanced to where it was likely going to strike. As any predator would, it, too, was aiming to get rid of the weakest member of the pack — Dora. She was free of the ice, but she was still too wounded to defend herself.

Curse whoever made this vile thing!

“Hey, asshole, over here!” Hadjar shouted.

Taking a phial out of his spatial ring, he uncapped it with his teeth and poured its contents down his throat. The bitter concoction, one of Steppe Fang’s parting gifts, made him experience an incredible surge of energy. The wound on his leg didn’t heal, but he didn’t care about that right now. He felt no pain, only power. It was as if all the safety locks on his body had been removed, unleashing a torrent of unbridled power that flooded every cell of his being.

The black dragon, writhing and pushing away from the ruins, covered a distance of hundreds of feet in a matter of seconds. It was now much faster than either of the Dinos siblings. Before it could figure out what was going on, the Spirit was forced to defend itself.

The dragon coiled around it, shooting darkness out of its fanged maw. Hundreds of crescents merged together at great speed, sending forth a continuous stream of attacks that reduced the Spirit to a pile of dust. However, the moment it fell, it began to recover.

At one point, the dragon stopped. Instead of attacking, it simply stared at the regenerating Spirit, and then disappeared. Hadjar emerged from the hole in the wall and rammed his shoulder into the Spirit’s chest, sending it over the edge and into the snowy abyss that lay below, but he also fell with it in the process.

“Find me!” Echoed throughout the empty hall. “Find me!”

Chapter 681

“W ake up, North Wind...”

The voice sounded both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, like when someone who you didn’t recognize but were certain you knew came up to you in the street to say hello.

“Did they not teach you to avoid sleeping in the snow, little warrior? You’ll freeze to death if you do that, you know?”

His head felt heavy. He spent a few moments struggling to open his eyes and look at his savior. However, there was no one there.

“By the High Heavens,” he breathed.

He remembered plummeting alongside the Spirit. His stunt had probably seemed suicidal to the others, but he’d had a plan. He wasn’t foolish enough to just jump to his death like that. When Tom’s arrow had brought down the wall, Hadjar had noticed a small ledge protruding from the wall just below it.

And he’d landed on that very ledge. The Spirit, if he remembered correctly, had continued falling into the gorge. All he could do now was hope that the thing was finally dead and that the rest of the squad had heard him before he’d fallen.

Had he said anything? He was sure that he’d told them to find him... He couldn’t remember, though. His head was a mess.

As he turned to get a better look at his surroundings, he realized that he hadn’t landed on the ledge at all, but on a smooth, cold floor. He saw his tired eyes stare back at him in the bluish light. After his fight with Sunshine Sankesh, he’d acquired yet more scars. There was one on his cheekbone, one on his brow, and two on his forehead. His bright, blue eyes were a sharp contrast to his wild, black hair adorned with ornaments and orc feathers.

Blinking, he realized that what he’d mistaken for polished marble was actually ice. Feeling his palms starting to hurt from the cold, he sat up and jumped to his feet. That is, he tried to.

Sharp pain shot through his entire body. Gritting his teeth, he crawled over to the nearest pillar and pulled himself up. After a couple of seconds, he staggered backward — the pillar was just as cold as the floor. As was everything around him, actually. He was standing in the middle of a large hall. Looking around, he realized that he’d been wrong to presume that he was in a building covered in ice.

“By the High Heavens...”

As it turned out, the entire place was made from ice. Every bas-relief, every tile and its pattern, every window frame, every stained-glass window, the staircase and the balcony it led to, all of it was made from ice.

Moreover, in front of the balustrade on the first floor, was a fountain. To someone less attentive than him, it would’ve seemed like a beautiful ice sculpture, except that it wasn’t. Instead of water, streams of molten Celestial Metal were being jetted into the air. Upon closer examination, he realized that a couple of streams were indeed made of ice, as if someone wanted to disguise the true purpose of the fountain.

Hadjar didn’t know how this was possible. On top of that, he felt absolutely no energy anywhere near him. Looking through the World River also gave him no new information. All he knew was that he was in a hall made from ice, and the only exit seemed to be a staircase leading to the second floor.

“Do you like it?”

Hadjar turned around.

In front of him stood a tall, slender woman with an exquisite figure many women would’ve sold their souls to possess. Men would’ve gone to war in hopes of winning her favor. He’d probably be on the front lines.

The slender elegance of her legs was only made more prominent by the high-heeled shoes she wore. Completely bare, they beckoned him to run his hands over them and feel the smoothness of her pale skin.

Looking up, his gaze traced over the black cloth that covered her nether regions, over her flat stomach, her waist so thin that he could grip it fully with just one hand, and stopped at the black cloth that hugged her firm breasts. Around her pale neck was a high collar to which a translucent veil that trailed behind her was attached.

Adorning her midnight-black hair was a crown made from metal in a style that could only be seen on the ancient bas-reliefs and tapestries. A couple of stray locks of hair framed a face so divine that calling it beautiful would be an insult rather than praise.

All of her clothes and accessories, if not her body as well, were made out of ice. How she was doing that, he didn’t know. He didn’t dare look at her through the World River. Some things, after all, were better left unknown. If one wasn’t careful, they could end up traumatized or, even worse, with a damaged energy body.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

Somewhere in the distance, war drums began to beat.

Opening his eyes once more, he stared at the woman. Like everything else around him, she, too, was both beautiful and cold at the same time. He figured that even getting a hug from her wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

“Ana’Bree,” he stated confidently.

“Do you not like me?”

Swaying her hips, she walked over to him and brushed her finger over his cheek. A shiver ran down his spine. Coming to his senses, he touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers.

It hurt. It was as if his skin had been frostbitten. Without hesitation, he sent healing energy from his Core to his head. A simple case of frostbite wasn’t a difficult thing to deal with, so he was surprised to see it taking so long to heal. Forget hugging, bedding this thing would instantly send one to their forefathers.

“I do.”

Ana’Bree smiled wide. Her face shone as brightly as the winter sun above the snow-covered mountain peaks.

She waved her hand. Yet again, he felt no ripples in the World River as he watched a throne emerge from the ground. Tall and graceful, as if carved by the most gifted sculptor the world had ever seen, it stood a good couple of feet above the ground.

Ana’Bree walked up the stairs at its base and sat down. Tossing back her veil, she crossed her legs.

The drums continued to beat steadily, calming his heart.

“What are you doing here, little warrior?” She asked, resting her cheek on her hand. Black eyes looked down at him.

“I’m looking for the Last King’s Inheritance,” Hadjar replied against his will. Realizing that she was controlling him, he wanted to struggle and swear, but couldn’t. By the Heavens, he couldn’t so much as sense her presence!

Ana’Bree laughed.

“You won’t find it here, little warrior. Like all his other treasures, Erhard kept that in a labyrinth. So... Tell me. Why are you here?”

Her gaze, which had been interested and slightly aloof until now, turned cold and distant. Hadjar felt as if he were hanging off a tall ledge, holding on to it with two fingers and slipping.

Dropping to his knees, he hugged himself tightly, trying to retain some of the elusive warmth.

Chapter 682

“A nswer me, mortal!” Silky whispers suddenly turned into a raging storm. “And don’t you dare lie to me this time!”

Her rage made the sculptures and windows rattle like glass cups during an earthquake. Snow rose into the air and began to swirl, threatening to turn into a real blizzard.

“I don’t know!” Hadjar replied against his will once more.

The storm instantly subsided. Ana’Bree’s collar and veil turned from needles and blades into an endless stream of water. Hadjar had no idea how something could look so beautiful and deadly at the same time.

“You’re telling the truth,” she said, slightly surprised. “Tell me, North Wind, do you think of yourself as a fool?”

Once again, Hadjar found his lips moving against his will, as if forced open by an invisible hand.

“I don’t,” he said. He wanted to add more to that reply, but he couldn’t open his mouth. It was as if his lips had been glued shut.

“Of course you don’t,” she said. “Then again, an actual fool would never consider themselves one!”

Her laughter sounded like the burbling of a mountain stream and a roaring avalanche at the same time. The feeling it evoked was impossible to describe. It wasn’t fear, but it did leave one feeling deeply unsettled.

“The biggest fools,” she continued, “usually consider themselves to be the smartest people. Tell me, North Wind, do you think you’re the smartest man alive?”

“I don’t.”

Hadjar was no longer trying to regain control of his body. Instead, he’d commanded his neural network to track all changes that occurred within his physical and energy bodies.

[The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000001%]

If he could speak, he’d say that he was speechless. How in the High Heavens had she managed to do this to him? Was it even possible to influence someone to this degree without them even noticing? And while using almost no power, too!

Fucking mysterious entities! There’s always at least one lurking around!

Whatever Ana’Bree was, she was leagues above any person he’d ever met.

“Then you’re not a fool. So, how did you end up in Greven’Dor, little warrior?”

His lips and tongue moved. A sudden wave of primal rage swept over him. Ana’Bree’s eyes flashed for a moment as she tensed up.

Hadjar Darkhan, the Mad General, disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, the man who’d defeated the Dah’Khasses, would never be anyone’s slave ever again!

Controlling him, was she? By the High Heavens, there was no god, no demon, or law that could stand in his way! No matter how much stronger, older, or wiser they were, no one would stop him from reaching his goal! No one would ever again put bindings on his wrists and ankles!

But no matter how much willpower he mustered up, his body was no longer his own.

“I crossed the bridge.”

Gritting his teeth, he shaped his willpower into claws and fangs. With them, he beat against the walls of the prison this wretched witch had thrown him into.

He was on his knees, unable to so much as move his eyelids, and forced to answer questions he’d rather leave unanswered. But he wasn’t giving up. By the Evening Stars, he’d fight until he passed out.

“You want a fight?” Ana’Bree flashed him a predatory smile. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Getting to his feet, Hadjar felt the pressure of an alien will push him back down. In an instant, he found himself sprawled out on the cold ground. The sensation, which was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, took him by surprise. He’d fought against many opponents capable of mind control before and had walked away from many tempting gifts life had thrown at him, but he’d never experienced something like this. Never before had someone hit him so hard with their willpower.

Looking at the smiling Ana’Bree, he remembered what the Shadow of the Immortal swordsman had once told him. What had once seemed like just a piece of advice any Mentor gave to their disciples, now had a far deeper meaning. The Shadow had told him that everything he knew about the path of cultivation was nothing more than mere suggestions for those who lived and breathed the martial arts.

Back then, as a mere practitioner, he’d had no intention of arguing with the Shadow. But, as the years had gone by, he’d realized that he probably should’ve done so. In comparison to Ana’Bree, the Shadow had been nothing more than a child. The ice maiden was clearly not human, and she had to be something truly extraordinary as her power could easily be compared to the might of the Immortal Harlim, the old man whom Hadjar had met in the Sea of Sand.

[The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000002%]

The message only confirmed his suspicions. Despite using a minimum amount of her power, she was controlling him like a puppet. Fueling himself with willpower and sheer spite, he managed to move his fingers, then his hands, and then his arms. He felt like he was trying to move a mountain with his bare hands.

“Don’t you want to give up already?” The creature chuckled. Hadjar, growling, gradually rose back up. “Maybe a little more?”

[The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000003%]

No, not a mountain. He felt like Atlas carrying the weight of the sky on his shoulders.

Pushing himself off the ground with his shaking hands, he made the ice and stone in a radius of several feet all around him cave in. He could move, but he was now struggling to breathe. Still, he was making progress all on his own. Without any Techniques or energy. We often forget just how powerful our sheer will could be. Ana’Bree also seemed aware of this fact.

Streams of scarlet were trickling down his strained face. It wasn’t until he gasped for air that the pressure disappeared entirely.

Like a beached whale, he lay there, motionless, opening and closing his mouth in silence as he desperately inhaled oxygen.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Who...are you?” He gasped and struggled to his feet. “No... What... What are you?”

Uncrossing her legs, Ana’Bree rose from her throne. Her heels clicked on the ice stairs as she descended, her veil fluttering behind her like a pair of translucent wings. By the High Heavens, just looking at her graceful movements could heal any wound.

Until now, he’d had no clue what being on par with the Immortals looked like. Every time he’d met them (all one and a half of them) he hadn’t been able to tell where their power began or ended.

“I, Ana’Bree,” her voice thundered, “am a sidhe of the Eternal Ice of Greven’Dor. I am a fae of the Winter Court, a subject of the Queen of Night and Darkness. I, North Wind, descendant of the Nameless, am your undoing.”

She made a sharp gesture with her hand. Ice spikes erupted from the ground and surrounded Hadjar. Reaching toward the sky, they formed bars, trapping him in a prison of ice. He carefully touched one of them with his finger. Withdrawing it, he saw black spots on his skin.

Oh, fuck everything sideways! He cursed mentally. One of these could easily send Orune or Markin to their forefathers, let alone him, a mere Heaven Soldier and... Descendant of the Nameless One?

Ana’Bree narrowed her eyes at him.

“You seem surprised. Do you not know who your distant ancestor was? Ah, I forgot... You sacks of flesh and bone call him the Black General.”

Hadjar cursed up a storm. He really wasn’t surprised to hear that his ancestor had somehow found a way to annoy the fae as well.

Chapter 683

D uring his imprisonment, he never saw Ana’Bree again. The sidhe of the Eternal Ice of Greven’Dor... Whatever that meant.

He only knew about the fae from stories he’d heard back on Earth. Every time, they had been depicted in different ways, as the arrival of Christianity had strongly influenced, if not outright eradicated, the legends of ages past.

As a result, ‘fae’ was an ambiguous term that applied to anything from forest spirits to the mythical inhabitants of Tír na nÓg, or even the fairies and the Tuatha Dé Danann. He didn’t know which of these myths to rely on, but all of them had one bit of advice in common: never trust a fae. Their deals were traps and their gifts bribes at best. Their price? Your soul and life. They couldn’t lie, but they could still deceive you better than any schemer.

“Gods, do I ever hate intrigue and politics...”

He’d been talking to himself a lot lately, more out of a need to keep himself occupied and warm than because of loneliness. The temperature in the room was constantly dropping. Neither his sheepskin coat nor meditation could help him stay warm.

The reason Ana’Bree had spared him was obvious: she was using him as bait. After all, why would she bother to go around looking for the intruders when she could just lure them to her?

The cage that she’d trapped him in, aside from being made from deathly cold ice, had other strange properties as well. For example, it prevented Hadjar from influencing his surroundings with energy. It also prevented him from summoning his Call and the Black Blade, both of which seemed to be hibernating in the depths of his soul. Their slumber was so deep that he presumed it would be impossible to wake them.

In addition, none of his artifacts worked, not even his spatial ring. Even the communication amulet that Tom had given him was useless. The energy it radiated couldn’t get past the bars.

“I hate these damned fae,” he muttered under his breath. “I hate them...”

The only thing he could do until things took a turn for the worse was stare through the stained-glass windows. Thanks to them, he could keep track of the time. The sun was currently setting, marking the end of his third day of imprisonment. Until now, he hadn’t been aware of just how much he’d missed watching the sunsets and sunrises from the mountains. Lidus, like Balium, was a mountainous country, and the sunsets there... Ah, perhaps only a poet could really describe to a steppe dweller how beautiful they were. He’d never been much of a poet. Or a talker in general.

“Amazing… I’ve always loved the mountains.”

“Why?”

“They’re quiet. And, strange as this might sound, close to the stars. They give me this incredible feeling of freedom...”

“Is the emissary of the Demon Prince not free?”

“No one in this world is truly free, Hadjar, not even the gods. And if there are other worlds out there, then there’s no freedom there, either. There wouldn’t be so much bloodshed otherwise... Funny, isn’t it? The mountains always turn me into a philosopher. Or was it more a case of them making me eat hermits and philosophers?”

Hadjar turned his head toward the voice.

An old friend of his was sitting on Ana’Bree’s throne, swinging his leg back and forth as he sipped from a bottle of fine wine. Helmer had decided to pay him another visit. As always, his attire seemed inappropriate, if not downright silly: a gray cloak and wide-brimmed hat that hid his face. A sphere of blood floated near him, and his little army of nightmares fought amongst each other at his feet.

“Why are you here, Helmer?”

The demon lifted the brim of his hat with a forefinger and grinned.

“Oho, are we on a first name basis now? Seems like our relationship has reached a new level! Can I call you Hadj? Or Hadji? Which do you prefer?”

“Silence. I prefer silence.”

“How rude. Didn’t mommy and daddy teach you manners? Oh don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t be able to so much as lift a finger at me even if you weren’t in a cage.”

“I could still try,” Hadjar growled.

Helmer got up, dusted off his coat, and pointed at the insolent man.

“See, it’s because of your attitude that I respect you so much, Hadj. Hmm, no, that doesn’t work. Doesn’t have the same ring to it Hadjar does, y’know? Anyway, that’s why I respect you.”

Hadjar snorted and turned his gaze back to the window. Helmer’s visits had never ended well for him. He didn’t think that this time would be any different.

“I’d drink to that, but you’re the only one with a glass here.”

The demon walked over to the cage and offered him the bottle, but then immediately pulled back his hand.

“Nice try, Hadji... Nope, that doesn’t work either. Seriously, why’s your name so dumb? When you’re with a woman, does she have to moan your full name and title? Oh, Hadjar Darkhan, Mad General, descendant of the first of the Darkhans, heir to the Dark Storm clan of Prince Traves!” He laughed.

Hadjar didn’t.

“Traves wasn’t a prince,” he said, disregarding everything else.

Helmer fell back and hovered in the air. He spun the bottle atop his finger and took occasional sips from it.

“Don’t make me lose respect for you! I just praised you! Are you really as dumb as you look? Then again, you did say that you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed... I should’ve thought of that. Following a bunch of pampered kids to Greven’Dor! Ah, it sure would be nice if there was something valuable here... In fact, I think there is! A lesson on-”

“Enough!” Hadjar snapped. By now, it had become a habit for him to shut Helmer up the moment he spoke more than two sentences. Otherwise, he could blather on until the cows came home. “What did you mean when you called him a prince?”

Helmer shrugged. “Exactly what I said. That he was a prince.”

“He was a shepherd. I saw it in his memories.”

“Oh sure, sure... The Dragon Emperor suddenly needed to destroy a tribe of shepherds. And one of the shepherds just so happened to become one of the strongest dragon warriors. And he just so happened to have Heaven level armor. He was also, quite conveniently, one of the Immortals. And the tribe just so happened to know the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique. All purely coincidental, I’m sure.”

“It’s a low-level meditation Technique that-”

“Hadji, Hadji, my man, my friend... Have you ever seen a multi-volume Technique in your life? You know, the kind where each volume is more complex than the one before it?”

Hadjar remained silent for a while.

Fucking intrigue! No, this is outright plotting and scheming at this point!

“How do you know all of this?”

“Did you honestly think I hired you without poking into your past first, hmm? I’m not as stupid as some people, Hadjar.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re in there, and I’m out here, drinking a bottle of fine wine,” he said with a grin and raised said bottle.

Hadjar rolled his eyes. “What makes you think that I’ll work for you?”

“Because I still don’t know what the Tarez are up to. That means that the terms of our deal have yet to be fulfilled. Until then, you work for me. Simple logic, my friend. Though, if you can’t even figure that much out on your own, I shouldn’t be surprised that you ended up in there-”

“It’s gonna be hard to find anything out from a cage.”

“Ding-ding-ding! And that’s why I’m here! What kind of boss would I be if I spent my day bathing in the blood of virgins while my employee is dying, trapped in an ice cage?”

Hadjar blinked a couple of times.

“You’re going to help me?”

Helmer suddenly turned serious. The glimmer in his crimson eyes didn’t bode well for the mortal.

“I don’t help, Hadjar. Not for free, at least. You’ll be in my debt. And rest assured, I’ll come to collect it, be you dead or alive.”

Damn plots and schemes…

Chapter 684

“A nd what if I don’t want your help?”

“Please, like you have a choice,” Helmer sneered, spreading his arms out.

Hadjar looked around once again. A cage and a hall made from ice, and a door that was probably being guarded by Spirit-golems, if not something stronger. And if only one of them had almost killed them all... He didn’t even want to think about what two of them could do.

There was still a way out through the windows. Then again, he doubted that he could break through the stained glass, even if it did seem brittle. Those who could shatter magical glass were few and far between.

“So, whaddya say, Hadj?” Helmer asked, swinging the bottle around by its neck, a half-smile on his face.

This really didn’t bode well for him.

“What will I owe you?” Hadjar asked with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, come now,” the demon replied, leaning back and falling onto a storm cloud he used as his couch. “Friends do each other favors all the time and-”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Ah, but you’ll want to be once you get to know me better! As they say, opposites attract!”

“Sure, sure,” Hadjar replied, rolling his eyes.

“You know what they say, your reflection isn’t really who you are. It’s perfect, while the one standing in front of the mirror is flawed. Damned mountains, here I go blabbing again! I gotta find a philosopher, I’m getting snackish from all this talking... You know, they actually taste different from other humans, and I don’t know why. And they crunch when you bite into them because they’re so dry and thin... Oh, and if you roast them... Mmm-mmm!”

“What will I owe you?” Hadjar interrupted the demon flatly.

“Ahem, right, right...” Helmer cleared his throat. “Like I said, nothing special. I’ll just expect you to do me a favor one day. By my Name,” a golden glow suddenly flashed around him despite the fact that he hadn’t bled, which was essential for an oath, “you will want to do it, too.”

For a split-second, the demon’s gaze clouded over, as if he were looking at something deep inside his soul. Provided, of course, that demons even had one.

Hadjar sighed. “I accept.”

This situation was way too similar to that time when the Sword had left its mark on his back. The only difference was that he knew what he was dealing with this time. Granted, only a madman would make a deal with a demon, but he’d never considered himself particularly sane.

“Splendid! Here you are!”

Helmer snapped his fingers and sent a splinter flying. No bigger than a sewing needle, it flew through the bars and fell to the floor. Hadjar stared at it in bewilderment. A simple splinter with no power or energy at all had passed through the ice barrier that could’ve stopped even Orune dead in his tracks.

“What’s that?” Hadjar asked, watching as the splinter melted a hole in the floor.

“A splinter from a staff,” Helmer answered casually, as if Hadjar had just asked him what time it was.

“A staff?”

“Yes,” the demon said, still looking bored. “Before you ask, it’s wood from a tree that was struck by the first lightning bolt that ever appeared in this world.”

Hadjar looked at the splinter again. It was already buried a couple of inches in the ice. He couldn’t believe that a simple piece of wood could contain enough mysteries of the Fire Spirit to overcome this ice barrier.

“And who did this staff belong to?”

Helmer jumped to his feet and stretched.

“It still belongs to an Immortal monk of the Ten Great Ones. According to some, he’s both the greatest mage of this era and the most mediocre monk in all of history.”

“What’s his name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? The chances of you two meeting are zero.”

“I still want to know whose path I should definitely not cross.” Hadjar was afraid to even think about what a mage of this monk’s caliber was capable of if a splinter of his staff was this powerful.

“His name is Ash.”

Hadjar first pored over his memories and then used his neural network, but still couldn’t find any mention of the name anywhere.

“Don’t strain yourself, Hadj.” The demon chuckled. “You’ll only find tales of his deeds in the Dragon Lands. He was, and still is, the only disciple of Hu-Chun, the Blue Flame. Although, given his peculiar nature, he could’ve also appeared in the Seven Empires.”

“A mage of his caliber? I would’ve heard about it.”

“Might have…” Helmer said to himself. “He likes to travel. So, you might’ve seen him somewhere. But don’t try to remember him... He changes his face as often as I change my wine. Now, take the splinter. Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite.”

“Why should I?”

Hadjar waited for a while, but there was no response. When he looked up, Helmer was gone.

“Fucking demon,” he growled in frustration.

Ready to jump back at any moment, he carefully picked the splinter out of the pool of lukewarm water. To his surprise, it didn’t burn his hand. It lay in his palm, looking like an ordinary piece of wood.

“Ash... Ash...”

For some reason, the name seemed vaguely familiar, although he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. Maybe they really had met? He shook his head. No, that was stupid. Thanks to the Shadow and his stories, he knew who the Ten Great Ones were. In the Land of the Immortals, as in any other country probably, there was a record of its strongest denizens. They also had their own lists, the names of which he couldn’t remember. But, at the top of all the lists, above the various Masters, Mentors, and Disciples, and even above the Clans, Sects, and Orders, above the Ruling Family itself, there were only ten beings — the ten strongest Immortals. To become one of them, you had to defeat one of them.

The Shadow had spoken about them as if they were something unreachable. Something mystical and legendary. Many, if not most people, didn’t believe in their existence, even in the Land of the Immortals.

Stories about them were meant to inspire future disciples and assure them that if they studied and trained hard, they could one day rise to the top and become one of the Ten Great Ones. Hadjar had always presumed it was just a highly embellished legend.

The doors to the balcony on the upper floor, the one you had to climb the wing-shaped stairs to get to, suddenly opened with a noisy creak. Ana’Bree appeared in the doorway. Leaving behind shards of ice that hovered in the air, she headed toward Hadjar.

During their time together, Hadjar had picked up many of Einen’s tricks. He hid the splinter between his clenched pointer and middle finger. All he could do was hope that Ana’Bree wouldn’t notice it.

“Mad General,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Where-?”

Chapter 685

“W here what?” She walked over to the cage, waved her hand, and sat back down on her throne. “I had to come and see how my prisoner was doing.”

“Couldn’t you have asked someone? Are we alone here?”

“Apart from your friends, we are. If I liked company, I wouldn’t have made this abandoned ruin my own.”

Hadjar remembered the quatrain that claimed Ana’Bree had plunged Greven’Dor into an eternal slumber. These types of grandiose events were typical for legends and songs that slightly distorted the truth.

When she’d first come here, the monastery that had served as the training grounds for the warriors of the Hundred Kingdoms era had long since been abandoned. This made Hadjar consider whether he was being used. Again. But not by the nobles this time, but by those who controlled even them: the leader of the elves and the Head of the Predatory Blades clan were playing their own game.

“I see that you’re beginning to understand, Mad General,” Ana’Bree said with a bloodthirsty smile. It could easily compete with Helmer’s own.

“What do they want from you?”

The fae laughed that same avalanche/bubbling brook-like laugh from before. Hadjar was now certain that the Dinos and the Marnils hadn’t come here for Techniques and treasures alone. They must’ve known that the Last King hadn’t hidden his most valuable possessions here. What they needed from Greven’Dor was...

“They want me.” Ana’Bree crossed her legs. Hadjar swallowed. Even though he knew that simply touching her would lead to his doom, he was still a healthy man with needs. “Not in the way you’re thinking of, little warrior.”

“You-”

“I can’t read minds,” she interrupted. “But I know when a man lusts after me like a dog in heat. You’ve been alone for a long time, little warrior.”

Suddenly, he was out of the cage and in front of Ana’Bree. Behind them was a bed made from ice, covered in the thick skins of animals he’d never even seen or heard about before. Ana’Bree removed the few thin strips of fabric she wore and covered herself with just her hands and hair. Hadjar felt lust boiling up inside of him.

Clenching his fists, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts, as if they were drops of dirty water clinging to his hair.

“I’ll die,” he whispered, although he was still tempted to throw her on the bed and take her right then and there. She wasn’t using any tricks on him, either, her beauty alone was enough to drive anyone wild.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll take pity on you and make you my servant. Either way, you can’t know until you try.”

Ana’Bree ran her fingers through the air. A ring of ice formed nearby and hovered three feet above the ground. It was three feet in diameter and wasn’t attached to any strings or resting on any sort of stand. It simply levitated there, existing for some unknown reason. There was no noticeable energy involved in what she did, only a mysterious power the fae seemed to wield.

“Ice is merely water, Mad General.” Ana’Bree approached him. “Water washes away all things. Water is what gives and nourishes life. Without it, nothing would’ve ever been nor will be born. Water was, is, and will be. There is no life without water.”

Hadjar stared at the ring of ice as if mesmerized. He’d expected to see his tired face in it, but it showed no reflection.

“But water reflects only what it sees right now. It has no memory. Memory is in the ice. It remembers.”

Ana’Bree reached out and touched the disk made of ice with the tip of her index finger. It rippled like a disturbed lake. Circles spread out from her finger, encircling the edges and disappearing somewhere beneath the ice.

“Look, little warrior, look at your past,” she whispered into his ear.

On the surface of the disk, he saw the reflection of days long past. It had all happened so long ago that he no longer remembered how many years had passed since then.

Four men were sitting by a stream that ran near a cliff. In the tall, broad-shouldered man, he recognized his father. Laughing merrily, King Haver cradled a bundle of blankets and diapers in his arms.

“Elaine,” Hadjar whispered as his heart sank and a lump formed in his throat.

Nearby sat a woman of unmatched beauty. Her simple linen dress only added to her youthful look. Locks of black hair framed a kind face with a slightly upturned nose and eyes full of love and the promise that no harm in the world would ever touch him.

She stroked the hair of the sniffling boy who lay in her lap and whispered comforting words to him.

“Don’t worry, I’m here. All your troubles and woes will go away. Don’t worry... Mama’s here...”

“Mom...”

“You could be with them again,” Ana’Bree whispered. “I know who you are, descendant of the Nameless One. I saw your fate in the ice. I know what awaits you.”

She touched the rippling surface again, changing the image. This time, his reflection stared back at him. Blue eyes gazed up at the sky. Black hair lay scattered across the snow-covered stones. The amulet of ‘The Holy Sky’ School rested on his chest. He held a broken blade in his clenched hand. Around him, a pool of blood was slowly spreading, and a crossbow bolt could also be seen nearby.

“This is your fate, little warrior,” Ana’Bree continued to whisper. “That’s what the ice sees.”

“It might be wrong.”

The fae laughed. This time, it sounded like the distant wailing of the wind.

“Water is never wrong, little one. It brings us into this world, and with us, it leaves.”

Hadjar looked at the ice disk again.

“Not today.”

“Not today.” She nodded. “I don’t see my hand taking your life, but I see it ending soon. Two, maybe three years from now... A cold, lonely death...”

Hadjar resolutely moved away from the floating ring of ice.

“Think about it, little one...” Ana’Bree stepped out from behind him. He saw his reflection in her eyes. “A life of war and suffering... Must it end in a lonely death?”

She waved her hand, covering the entire hall with rippling water. When the ripples subsided, he found himself standing near the stream he’d seen in the first vision. He saw his father cradling little Elaine and his mother combing his hair.

“Don’t worry... I’m here... Everything will be fine...”

“They’re waiting for you, Hadjar,” the fae whispered. “Take my hand and you’ll be with them. Forever. As long as the water flows…

Hadjar took a step forward.

They were waiting for him...

Another step.

He’d missed them so much...

Something warm slid down his cheek. Instantly turning into a snowflake, it fell and landed on the surface of the stream.

Before he took the final step, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a reflection in the water’s surface. What he saw were the locks of someone’s hair. At first, he thought they might belong to Anise, but the shade didn’t quite match hers. For some reason, he felt like whoever those raven locks belonged to was waiting for him... And it was up to him if he returned to them or not. The reflection vanished as soon as it had appeared. But even this split-second of hesitation was enough for Hadjar to come to his senses.

“No!” He roared.

The meadow and the stream disappeared, and he found himself back in the middle of the hall with an angry Ana’Bree towering above him.

“My time hasn’t come yet, sidhe. I refuse to be a slave or a servant! Not as long as there are people in this world who need me.”

“You fool!” The fae screamed, making the walls crack. “Then I’ll force your fate to come sooner!”

She waved her hand again. Hadjar felt the ground shake. Looking down, he saw the snow-covered stones from the vision in the reflection of the ice.

Chapter 686

H adjar tried to summon his Call and the Black Blade, but he couldn’t even move. All he could do was stare at the crossbow in Ana’Bree’s hands.

“I would’ve taken good care of you, you absolute fool!” She screamed, loading her weapon. “But it’s too late for that now... Die!” She shouted.

The mechanism clicked and the bolt was sent flying in his direction, tearing through the air with a loud whistle. The light of the setting sun reflected off its tip. For a moment, it blinded Hadjar. Some might’ve said that this was for the best, but a true warrior always stared death in the face, without any fear or regret for the years wasted on pointless bloodshed. So, he stared into the eyes of his approaching doom just as calmly as he would soon stare into the eyes of his forefathers.

“Brother!”

Nero?

A massive explosion rang out behind him, taking his momentary blindness away with it. Hadjar saw the wall the balcony was attached to explode. Shrouded in shadows, Einen emerged through the hole. Encased in his ape’s iridescent light, he leapt off the second floor and landed directly in front of his friend.

“I’ve found you at last.” He whispered and waved his spear-staff. “River Serpent!”

The ape roared. Its armor flashed with a brilliant light. Holding Einen’s Spear-staff Spirit in its paws, it imitated Einen’s movements.

An emerald green ray of energy shot out of the tip of the spear-staff, forming the outline of a fin slicing through a stream. The ‘River Serpent’ struck the head of Ana’Bree’s crossbow bolt. There was another explosion. Einen, thrown aside by it, held out his hand.

The ape imitated his actions once more and wrapped its massive arms around Hadjar’s waist, pulling him to the side and toward the spot where the islander had been thrown by the explosion. Einen had pulled off his stunt just in time. The momentum generated by the clash of attacks was enough to pull Hadjar away from danger.

Einen’s power, as expected, hadn’t been enough to so much as put a scratch on the bolt, but it did manage to change its trajectory, making it whistle a hair’s breadth past Hadjar’s ear, break through the wall, and disappear somewhere in the depths of the monastery.

The two friends rolled across the floor. They halted once they slammed into one of the pillars.

“What took you so long?” Hadjar croaked.

“I was admiring the architecture,” Einen responded in the same hoarse voice.

“Are you two done?”

Three more heads peeked out of the hole. Activating their defensive Techniques, the Dinos siblings and Dora walked over to the duo.

Raising her warhammer, the elf conjured a silvery glow that took the form of a giant maple leaf around her. Tom reinforced her Technique by using his ‘Thunder God’s Armor’. The silver leaf was so tiny compared to the gigantic breastplate forged from lightning. When the two merged, the leaf became the armor’s emblem.

Anise followed her brother’s example and activated the same Technique. But instead of forming another piece of armor, she poured her energy into Tom’s creation, making it glow with such a bright light that it left zigzag-shaped scorch marks on the floor. The lightning couldn’t melt the ice, but it could burn through its surface layer.

“It’s not enough.” Hadjar tried to get up but then stumbled back down almost immediately.

“There you are!” Ana’Bree held out her hand. An ice spear instantly formed in her palm. “Good, that means I won’t have to go looking for you!”

“Ha, it doesn’t even have any energy!” Tom said, sounding haughty.

“Damn it!” Hadjar croaked. “If she hits us, we’re dead.”

From what he’d seen of Ana’Bree’s power, he had no doubt that she’d be able to skewer them all with the spear.

Anise seemed like she agreed with him. She grabbed Tom’s wrist just above the bracelet. Hadjar suddenly realized that that was their spatial artifact.

“What are you-?”

“We’ve completed our objective,” was all she said.

She was suddenly holding what Hadjar had once thought was a spear, but had turned out to be a six-foot-long arrow, the tip of which had almost killed the Spirit-golem. The arrow’s shaft resembled burnt wood.

“A Fire Archer’s Arrow?” Ana’Bree staggered back and then hurled her spear with a mad cry.

It flew from her hand with such speed that the wind pressure the spear created left deep gouges in the walls and the ground as it whizzed toward its target. The furrows in the ground were so deep that they could’ve easily served as a riverbed.

Without hesitation, Anise released the arrow. The artifact burst into a bright flame. Just like the spear, it left deep marks in its wake, burning rather than slashing the surface.

Their collision resulted in a massive explosion and a whirlwind of such power and overwhelming energy that it both burned and froze the air as it tore apart the floor and the walls. It spiraled toward the sky and broke through the roof, letting in snow and wind. A rain of fire and ice showered the heads of the dumbfounded cultivators.

Drops of boiling water and freezing rain struck the armor and its emblem. The combined defensive Technique barely managed to hold back the aftershock of the powerful collision. The vortex raged for a good five seconds and then subsided, leaving ruins in its wake.

The armor was almost completely destroyed, and the emblem was gone entirely. Only a few lightning bolts remained suspended in the air above them, forming a net.

Anise fell to her knees, unable to believe her eyes — Ana’Bree stood amongst the ruins without so much as a speck of dirt on her.

“Impossible...” she whispered, her hands trembling. All color had drained from her face. Dora and Tom were equally as pale. “But father said that... He said... He said that the Fire Archer’s Arrow is powerful enough to destroy half of the Imperial Palace! How is this possible?!”

Dora’s eyes darted around the hall in alarm.

“Who... What is she?” Tom asked. He bit his lip so hard that it began to bleed.

Only now did they truly comprehend the power of the thing that the Heads of their families had sent them to find. Hadjar couldn’t believe that someone had been stupid enough to send children after a being that could defeat an Immortal with a wave of her hand.

Ana’Bree was walking toward them, her appearance changing with every step. Ice covered her skin, forming armor. Dogs made of snow emerged from the ground all around her and howled.

“You dare,” she said, a six-tailed whip appearing in her hand, “to bring fire into MY house?!” Snow and ice swirled in the air, turning into spears that hovered behind her. “You dare defile these halls with flames?”

Hadjar turned to Einen.

“Give me your slingshot,” he said.

The islander opened his eyes in surprise, but complied with his friend’s request.

“I’ll freeze your very souls!”

Ana’Bree swung her whip. Hadjar quickly loaded the slingshot with the splinter, pulled back the leather strap, and let go.

Unlike the arrow, it didn’t burst into flames or become a stream of roaring fire. It didn’t turn into a ray of the dawn sun, nor did it transform into the inferno of the fire dragons.

A small piece of wood simply whizzed through the air and pierced Ana’Bree’s torso. Blue liquid spilled out of the wound and onto the floor. The fae dropped her whip in disbelief and collapsed to her knees. With trembling fingers, she touched the wound on her chest.

“Ash?” She asked the void.

The wind began to blow and she disappeared along with a snowstorm. All that remained of her was a small, blue crystal, which Hadjar immediately recognized was a Core.

That was what they’d come here for.

“You,” whispered the howling wind, “You... Nameless... Descendant... Don’t trust... Anyone...”

The hall was silent once more.

Hadjar sighed. I hate schemes and plots! And intrigue too! All of it!

Chapter 687

H adjar waved his hand and the Core, which lay some hundred yards away, disappeared into his spatial ring. Silence reigned until Tom suddenly drew his blade and held it to Hadjar’s throat.

“What is the meaning of this, you filthy commoner?”

Lying on the floor, Hadjar looked up with indifference at the blade almost touching his carotid artery.

Without hesitation, Einen kicked up his spear-staff and, pressing a hidden button on the shaft, sent the spear point flying at the young man’s chest. He stopped it a hair’s breadth away from its target. Anise, in turn, drew her sword and leveled it at Einen’s side. Only Dora still kept her weapon behind her back.

“Put the sword away, Tom,” Hadjar said calmly. “It won’t do you or any of us any good.”

“Only if you give me that Core!”

Tom pressed down on his blade, drawing blood. That was the domino that toppled the rest. Einen sank the tip of his spear into Tom’s chest. Hadjar stared at the crimson droplets falling to the floor. Contrary to popular belief, aristocratic blood wasn’t blue and the blood of the islanders wasn’t as azure as the waters, but also red. Anise had plunged the tip of her sword into Einen’s side with a hiss.

“Why should I?” Hadjar asked in that same, flat tone. His question and hollow delivery unsettled Tom. For a while, he stared at him as if he were seeing a ghost.

“It’s ours!” He roared.

“Tom,” Anise began soothingly, but her brother wasn’t listening, his mind too clouded by rage to comprehend reason.

“Who do you think you are, you lowborn bastard, to claim the Core of a sidhe? One equal to an Immortal?”

“What?” Dora asked.

Immortals, even in Dahanatan, were considered to be the figments of drunken bards’ imaginations. A fairy tale that had come from the depths of the ancient world, a tale too horrible to even think about.

Hadjar looked at Tom. In one sentence, he’d told him more than he had during their entire journey so far. He was now aware of the fact that everyone except himself and Einen had known where their group was going and why. He also realized that the rector, in accordance with the Emperor’s orders, had purposely designated that level limit. Which meant...

“Decater’s tomb was just a smokescreen, wasn’t it?” He asked a little sadly.

Anise, shocking both Hadjar and Einen, sheathed her blade.

“Enough of this. Darkhan, that Core is vital to the Empire’s efforts. There’s a war coming and-”

“So, that’s why you need it,” Hadjar interrupted her. “The Emperor, using the magistrates and the Clan Council, sent three disciples to fetch him a bauble. That’s why they needed the key and the map, wasn’t it? Not to help the students grow stronger, not at all... But to enter Greven’Dor.”

“Darkhan-”

“Anise!” Tom seemed to have no intention of putting away his own sword. “We mustn’t explain anything to him!”

Einen, confused by how calm Hadjar was, put his spear-staff away as well.

“What’s the point anymore?” Anise asked. “He already knows everything.”

Hadjar, Tom’s blade still held at his throat, rose to his feet and dusted off his old, tattered clothes. A gift from the villagers from the Valley of Streams. Once again, he was grateful for this subtle reminder of who he actually was — an outsider. “Getting the key and the map set a chain of events in motion that awoke Ana’Bree from her slumber. As for the rector and the magistrates... They aren’t playing fair.”

“It’s quite devious,” Einen said, peering at them through half-lidded eyes. “The level restriction has made it so you three are probably the strongest people currently running around the Wastelands.”

“The two of them,” Hadjar corrected him. “I’m not on their side. Don’t forget that we’re their rivals, my friend.”

“I won’t.” Einen said and looked at Dora, who averted her eyes by looking at the floor. Only a fool wouldn’t have realized that she’d been in on this all along.

And Einen was no fool.

He looked away from the elf and walked over to Hadjar. Standing by his side, he pointed his spear-staff at Tom.

“When were we supposed to die?” He asked.

The only response he received was silence broken by the howling wind coming in from the hole in the floor.

“When!”

For the first time in years, Hadjar heard his friend shout. Einen, who’d always been as calm as a rock, looked broken. He was clutching the shaft of his weapon so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes were wide open and inhuman, devoid of everything but the flames of rage.

“You wouldn’t have died,” Dora finally said, voice strained, “You’d just have been badly injured and-”

“Tell me!”

“-our clans would’ve made sure that you lived out the rest of your days in honor and prosperity befitting a true warrior.”

Hadjar chuckled. She obviously knew what would’ve actually happened to them if they’d lost their abilities. After all, in about seven years, he would succumb to the poison that her aunt had given him.

The second thing that Tom had inadvertently revealed in his rant was that the Empire not only knew that the Immortals were real, but also about the fae and the rules by which they existed. The Immortals and those like them couldn’t mess with the lives of mortals.

But, as with any rule, there were exceptions. For example, the Immortal he’d met in the desert had erased a part of his memory. And Ana’Bree had used her willpower to control him like a puppet. This could’ve been the end of his journey had his allies not intervened. Then again, perhaps that was exactly what Ana’Bree had wanted. After all, if the Laws of the Heavens and the Earth had truly separated the Immortals from the mortals in every way, then the former would’ve disappeared. Even ants, if there were enough of them, could paralyze and devour a lion. If the Immortals had been denied the right to defend themselves, then the mortals could’ve easily marched over to their homes and taken them down.

“Tell me, Dora, how does this differ from a warrior’s death?”

The elf said nothing.

Einen closed his eyes.

“Such a fate is worse than death,” he whispered.

“Einen, I swear, we didn’t mean you any harm!” It might’ve been Hadjar’s imagination, but a drop of melted snow seemed to roll down Dora’s cheek. “But they... They ordered us to do it. We can’t disobey them. That’d be treason!”

For a moment, the hall was silent once again.

“I thought we were friends, Dora.” Einen’s voice was calm once again, which was more frightening than if he were yelling.

“We still are, Einen!”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. I even accept that you couldn’t have done anything differently. I’m still your friend.” The elf breathed a sigh of relief. “But you aren’t mine.”

“What... What do you mean?”

“I already have a friend. One that went against the entirety of Underworld City to help me. A friend who sacrificed his life and went to fight a monster on his own just to help me. Just like he’s helped me, stood by me, I shall do the same for him. I’ll always be there for you, too, but I’ll never expect you to be there for me. I’m your friend, Dora, but you’re a stranger to me.”

Einen had given longer speeches before, but this one was certainly the ‘most touching and personal’ one he’d ever made.

“This is all very dramatic and everything,” Tom said, “But let’s focus on what we came here for. The Core!”

Hadjar looked at him. As far as he was concerned, the nobles had no right to claim the Core. And although he hated politics and schemes, he hated being played even more. By the High Heavens, he hadn’t earned the nickname Mad General because of his insanity, but because of his plans that had worked even when the most imaginative of his supporters had doubted them.

Chapter 688

“T here’s nothing to talk about, Tom,” Hadjar said. “The Core is ours. End of discussion.”

“Are you blind or just plain stupid? You’re outnumbered!”

Hadjar raised an eyebrow. True, there were more of them, but he was certain that Tom, an aristocrat, had a better ace up his sleeve and that he was just hiding it behind the most banal of arguments. Hadjar may have been a commoner, but South Wind had taught him how to negotiate and barter. Much as he hated to use that knowledge, they were useful skills. Even so, everything that South Wind had managed to teach him during the time they’d spent together was but a drop in a vast ocean of politics and plots.

By the High Heavens, how he hated schemes...

Of course, one could negotiate in many different ways. Hadjar had learned the more ‘upfront’ approaches in practice. Anyone who thought that being a General was a job unrelated to politics had never been more wrong about anything in their life.

“Kill me and the contents of my spatial ring will self-destruct,” he said.

“Such a thing isn’t possible!” Dora argued.

Without a shred of hesitation, Hadjar cut his palm open.

“I swear that what I just said is true.”

His blood burned orange and the wound instantly healed. Hadjar remained still, eyes focused on Dora. The World River had accepted his vow. The first thing he’d done after he’d received the ring from the elf was to take it to the black market to have it checked inside and out. The artifact had turned out to be the most mundane type of spatial item. Even so, adding a self-destruct rune to it had drained almost all of his hard-earned funds.

“There are other ways of persuading people besides simply threatening to kill them,” Tom said. He sheathed his sword and tapped its hilt with his finger. “Trust me, commoner, you don’t want to get acquainted with the dungeons of Dahanatan.”

“I don’t plan to.” Hadjar shrugged. “In all honesty, you three are stronger than the two of us. Strong enough to kill us, in fact. But not strong enough to capture us. Besides, you can’t do anything to us regardless.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The oath,” Anise interjected. “We all swore an oath that as long as we’re in the Wastelands, we wouldn’t harm each other.”

Tom cursed. He’d hoped to scare them off with threats, but he seemed to be completely out of options now.

Once again, Hadjar had his clothes to thank for reminding him of what truly mattered. As South Wind had once told him: “If you can count to ten, stop at three. And remember, at a royal ball, the most dangerous person is the one who’s dressed the poorest.” After all, how had a poor person managed to get an invitation to such an important event? Not by legal means, that was for sure. In addition, only those who had true power could afford to not care about their attire and appearance.

The ideal warrior, in Hadjar’s opinion, had always been General Atikus, the strongest man in the Kingdom of Lidus and one of King Haver’s retainers. He’d always used to wear whatever he’d felt most comfortable in. And when it came to the uptight nobles, he’d always said that they needed fancy clothes to show who they were. “I,” he’d once told Hadjar, “have a sword for that.”

Hadjar remembered taking Atikus’ life with his sword. These weren’t his happiest memories, but right now, they were his most useful ones.

“We saved your life, Hadjar,” Tom continued, calming down. “We used two very rare artifacts to aid you.”

“Speaking of which... How did you three blow up that wall?” He had no clue what they’d used in order to break through Ana’Bree’s insanely powerful barrier. “With the arrow?”

“The Fire Visage Seal,” Tom said with such pride that one might’ve thought he’d done it all on his own. “You would’ve been dead had it not been for us.”

“I beg to differ.” Hadjar shrugged. If it were up to him, he would get up and walk away right now, but something told him that he wouldn’t get to see the start of next week if he did that. “All your precious artifacts are mere toys.”

“How dare you, you filthy beggar? Their combined value is more than you’ve ever seen in your miserable life!”

“I’m sure it is. But if I remember correctly, it was my artifact that killed Ana’Bree, not yours. And as it turns out, it’s worth more than all of yours combined. Therefore, the Core belongs to me,” he said and passed Einen the slingshot.

The islander responded with a ferocious grin and stretched out his hand. The slingshot immediately disappeared into his spatial artifact.

Lost in thought, Tom chewed his lower lip. After a couple of minutes of pondering, he realized that there was no point in trying to browbeat them anymore.

“By the way, how did you find me?” Hadjar asked Einen in his native language before Tom got the chance to say anything.

Einen snapped his fingers. The object that he’d given to his friend at the gates of Greven’Dor flew out of Hadjar’s pocket. It wasn’t an amulet, but a fossilized scale.

“The path of the ancestors,” Hadjar guessed. “That’s why the cage couldn’t block it.”

Einen nodded.

“I’m trying to help you, you mongrel,” Tom said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He’d almost ended up a cripple because of them and they had the audacity to talk about saving his life?

“Once again, since you seem to be hard of hearing, this was an order. We had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Hadjar argued. “I know that we aren’t on the best of terms, Tom, but if someone had told me that I had to cripple you, and not in a fair fight, might I add, you would’ve been the first to know.”

By now, Hadjar didn’t have many virtues left, but he’d always been a man of his word and an honorable foe. He didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon.

Tom, shocked by his honesty, fell silent.

Anise leaned forward. Ah, the former senior heiress. Since childhood, she’d been trained to become the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. And, as the High Heavens knew well, her training had been nothing compared to what Hadjar had managed to achieve in the few years he’d spent as the Prince of Lidus.

“The Core is of great importance to the Empire, Hadjar.”

“You’ve already said that. I’m also sure that you’ve already informed them that their toy is on its way.”

“No, we-” Dora began, but was interrupted.

“Whatever you were doing, I didn’t see it,” Hadjar reassured her. “Just applying a little bit of logic and experience, that’s all.”

“Then you must understand how important this is,” Anise said, coming a little closer to him. “You must understand that, even if you manage to escape, you’ll be killed the moment you step foot out of the Wastelands.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

“You’ll never be allowed to keep the Core.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then what do you plan to do with it if you know that you can’t have it?”

He did have a plan. One couldn’t be called the Mad General if they hadn’t done something worthy of a heroic ballad. However, he’d rather not have that same ballad be used as his eulogy.

“There are rumors going around the capital about an upcoming auction, one held by the Imperial family and the upper nobility. I’ll sell it there. Whoever offers me the most can have it.”

“You’re either naïve or stupid if you think that’s going to work.”

“Perhaps I’m both. Perhaps I’m just crazy.”

Silence descended upon the hall once again. It was clear to everyone that Hadjar wasn’t going to back down. Not because of the damned Core, or even the fact that it was going to be used by the Empire, but because these were the rules of their world. The strong ruled, the weak followed. It had always been like that, and no one saw the need to change it. If you didn’t like it, you had the option of growing stronger. Taking offense at this fact or holding a grudge was just plain stupid.

“You promised,” Anise said suddenly and very slowly. “You promised me a duel.”

“I did.” Hadjar nodded. “But you do realize that I can just turn around and leave? You made a vow, Anise. You can’t touch me.”

“I won’t have to if you fight me fairly.”

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?”

Anise looked into his eyes. The intensity in her jade green eyes spoke more than words ever could.

“I’ve heard that the Mad General always keeps his word.”

Einen stepped aside.

“Mad General?” Dora and Tom asked almost in unison.

Hadjar held out his hand. The Black Blade materialized in his grip.

“We’ll fight like we did at the gates of Greven’Dor,” Anise said and assumed a fighting stance. “Using only our swordsmanship. Without any energy or mysteries of the Sword Spirit.”

“I agree.”

“Whoever wins gets to keep the Core.”

“I agree.”

They dashed forward at the same time.

Chapter 689

A nise moved with the same elegance and ferocity she’d displayed during their battle against the Spirit-golems. Her steps were neither short nor long, as if to avoid any unnecessary movements, but also smooth and light at the same time. Her fighting style looked almost otherworldly.

She was like a dancing mirage. As ephemeral as a dream, she embodied the deadly qualities of a snake with beautiful scales and long fangs full of venom.

Hadjar was able to see the trajectory of her sword even before Anise began to swing her blade. In this, he was aided by his combat experience, gained through hundreds of battles that he’d fought not for the approval of a teacher or tutor, but for a chance to see the dawn of the next day.

Despite the fact that he’d gotten ready to block her attack, Anise still managed to wound him. Her sword skirted the Black Blade like the branch of a weeping willow tree. He gripped his shoulder and struck back, but Anise, angling her sword behind her back, performed an elegant spin. She bent down so low that her forehead almost touched her foot. At the same time, she raised her right leg and kicked Hadjar in the back of the head with her heel, making him lose his balance. He staggered forward and rolled to the side, but not even that helped him. Anise had managed to inflict another wound. He now had a long gash running down his back.

If this were a real battle and if they weren’t holding back, Hadjar would’ve died twice already. Anise was aware of that, as were their three spectators.

“No matter how talented Hadjar is, Anise has simply had more training. She was, after all, the senior heiress. They wouldn’t have gone easy on her. Her style of sword fighting has long been considered the best in our generation.” Dora said.

“What’s your style called?” Hadjar asked.

He assumed a neutral stance and stared at Anise. With her sword angled behind her back so that the tip protruded just slightly above her head, she looked as relaxed as one could be during a duel.

“The Leopard’s Claw,”

“The Leopard’s Claw...” Hadjar nodded, then bowed slightly. “It’s the best style I’ve ever had the honor of fighting against.”

“Thank you.”

What he failed to mention was that this was his first time encountering a style purposefully made to look beautiful when used. It wasn’t embellished by fancy Techniques, but by its firm, well studied base.

And Dora was right — he’d never really learned such a thing.

But even so, that didn’t mean that, over the course of hundreds, or even thousands of battles, he hadn’t had the time to create something of his own. Something special. Something that had kept him alive all these years.

As he unleashed a wild, almost animalistic slash, he released the Black Blade. A moment later, he struck the hilt with his thumb and turned it around in a reverse grip.

The blade cut diagonally, aiming to carve a line from Anise’s collarbone down to her groin. Without wasting time and energy on fancy pirouettes, she simply jumped back, dodging the Black Blade by a couple of inches. The obsidian sword slashed through the air, taking a couple of her hairs with it.

However, that wasn’t the end of his attack. As a seasoned warrior, he was aware of the fact that even a novice could dodge such a strike if they knew how.

And Anise wasn’t a novice. Her biggest strength was her education. However, due to an absence of real world experience, it was also her biggest weakness.

Noticing that Hadjar had left his neck wide open, she wasted no time and counterattacked with a wide slash. Her blade flashed out from behind her, leaving a silvery arc of its afterimages behind in the air (without using any energy or mysteries, just her sheer speed and strength). Her blade was drawing nearer, but all Hadjar did was grin.

Ducking beneath it, he put his left hand on the floor and used the momentum of his dive to turn his body around. Once he was next to Anise’s blade, he bent at the waist and charged her like a battering ram. No sophisticated warrior would ever think of using their body instead of their sword in a battle.

Anise let go of her sword and caught it with her left hand, swinging it in a backhand slash. Hadjar, to avoid losing his legs, twisted and fell back down. Getting back up, he lifted his left hand off the ground. Curling his open palm into a fist, he punched Anise in the face. It was a dirty trick used on the streets, but he didn’t care. After all, all was fair in love and war.

Anise’s right hand wrapped a piece of thin silk around Hadjar’s wrist. With a yank, she pulled him to the side. Once again, she used no mysteries or energy in her moves, just sheer power.

Hadjar rolled across the ground and jumped up, avoiding a possible counterattack. However, the moment he straightened up, Anise was in front of him. With a smooth and quick swing, she brought her sword down across his chest. Blood gushed out of three different wounds.

“Give up, barbarian,” Tom snorted. “With your style, you can only wrestle pigs in the mud.”

Once again holding her sword behind her back, Anise stood calmly in front of her opponent.

Hadjar tore a wide strip of cloth from his sleeve with his teeth and tied it around his chest. Shifting his grip higher on his blade’s hilt, he got up and took a step forward.

Anise instantly closed the distance between them.

“You fought well,” she said. “But we both know how this fight is going to end.”

“I’m not giving up.”

There was a glint of sadness in her green eyes. Sadness, and an awareness of the fact that her words were meaningless. However, she couldn’t stop herself from trying.

“You could die.”

“I know.”

“And for what? The Core? If you’re so desperate for coin, I’ll take you to our Head. He’ll give you a decent reward.”

Her words caused him more pain than any wound he’d received so far. Did she really think that he was after coin? He didn’t give a damn about the clans and their empty promises!

“The Core will bring you nothing but trouble. But for the Empire... It’s an opportunity to gain an advantage in the upcoming war...” Realizing what she’d just said, she lowered her gaze. “Hadjar, I’m sorry... I...”

His azure eyes flashed with such a bright light that the glint of the ice was a dull shimmer in comparison. “You could die, too.”

Like a ravenous animal, he launched himself at her. Anise swayed slightly to one side and held her sword out in front of her. Anyone else would’ve dodged or tried to counter, but not Hadjar.

Crimson stains sullied the shimmering ice.

“Fucking madman...” Einen sighed wearily, taking healing potions out of his spatial artifact.

Anise’s sword had pierced Hadjar’s chest. Blood was trickling down the blade and dripping onto the ground. Dumbfounded, she tried to yank her blade free, but Hadjar, flashing her a mad grin, his eyes full of rage, spat blood in her face. Using the opening, he hit her in the mouth, grabbing her wrist as he did so to prevent her from drawing her blade.

Slashing at her knees, he knocked her over. Landing atop her, he placed his blade against her throat.

“If this were a real fight, you’d be dead right now,” he rasped in her ear. “Next time you decide to take someone’s life for the sake of your precious little Empire, remember this moment.”

With a growl, he got off Anise, shocking both Dora and Tom. He staggered, but Einen caught him and patted his shoulder. Hadjar looked at him and nodded. He truly could go against the world itself with him by his side.

“Where to now, my friend?” Einen asked as he applied a medicinal salve to Hadjar’s wounds. Throwing his arm over his shoulders, he helped Hadjar up and led him toward the exit.

“...an opportunity to gain an advantage in the upcoming war...”

What had Ana’Bree done wrong? She’d lived a peaceful life in her ice palace for so many years...

“Don’t… Trust… Anyone...”

For purely selfish reasons, the Emperor had signed her death warrant. All for the sake of gaining the upper hand in the upcoming war. What, then, was the difference between her Core and the Solar Ore of Lidus? For the sake of a minor advantage, Hadjar’s homeland had been drowned in blood and his family killed.

Fucking politics.

“To find Decater’s tomb,” he responded with great difficulty.

“But-”

“We won’t run away like whipped dogs, with our tails tucked between our legs.”

Einen said nothing more. He was ready to follow his friend anywhere, even to war. Perhaps he’d soon have to do just that.

Leaving the nobles behind, the two of them left the hall.

Chapter 690

T he wounds he’d received, even though they’d been inflicted by an Imperial level blade, healed within two hours. Since Anise’s attacks hadn’t contained any mysteries or energy, it was only his physical body that had suffered. For a true cultivator, such injuries, especially if we take into consideration Techniques for Strengthening the Body and the various medicines and ointments that can supplement those, posed no threat.

It took the duo quite a lot of time to climb down from the mountains where Greven’Dor had been hidden for eons because they didn’t want to risk running into another Spirit-golem or some other nasty creature that had been awakened by the key and the map leaving their rightful resting place.

Over the course of the two days they spent in that icy desert, where the snowcapped mountain peaks acted as dunes, the friends hardly spoke. They both had a lot on their minds.

Hadjar, who’d developed feelings for Anise, realized that he had yet to experience true love. He had not yet found the person with whom he’d overcome any obstacle and whom he could love for centuries and millennia to come. They said that finding true love along the path of martial arts was as rare as cherry blossoms during winter. What he’d felt for Anise had been lust. She simply looked like his favorite type of woman. Besides, she was also a swordswoman. And she was strong. He’d always liked that in women, so it was no wonder that he’d confused attraction, sympathy, and respect for something akin to love.

However, the more time he’d spent with her, the more he’d realized that Anise couldn’t escape the fate that he’d somehow avoided. Perhaps she hadn’t had friends like Sera and Nero. She certainly hadn’t had Mentors like South Wind, the Master swordsman, the Shadow of the Immortal swordsman, and, of course, his venerable ancestor and Master, Traves, the last of the Dark Storm tribe. All of them had helped him avoid becoming like Primus in his pursuit of vengeance. But Anise, poor Anise, hadn’t been as lucky.

She might not have been completely lost yet, wandering through her uncle’s house of mirrors, but she was dancing on the edge of the abyss and Hadjar didn’t know how to help her. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to.

As they wandered through the snow toward the Wastelands, he felt empty. It was as if something important and valuable had been taken from him. Like he’d been deprived of some greater purpose.

After all, there was no point in denying that Anise had been a beacon for him, and the force that had kept driving him onward. All he felt for her now was a speck of sympathy. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what awaited her once all the nobles returned home and had to admit their failure.

“They were going to kill Dora.”

Hadjar turned around.

They were at the foot of the mountain range. Instead of snow and rocks, they were once again surrounded by dry air and earth, withered grass and sparse, low trees. Nothing had changed in the Wastelands.

“You figured it out as well?” Hadjar just barely managed to duck.

Azrea, pleased to see her two-legged friend again, had run over and jumped on him. The tigress herself weighed quite a lot, and when you combined that with the inertia of her jump, you got a trip to the nearest healer. Not wanting to risk it, Hadjar dodged his furry friend. The tigress, as she flew over his head, snorted in displeasure. Landing, she sat down, wrapped her tail around herself, and titled her head.

“All right, all right...” Hadjar smiled and came up to her. “It’s good to see you again, furball.”

He tried to put his arm around her powerful neck but she snarled and turned away.

“Don’t pout!” Hadjar laughed. “I was just stabbed! I didn’t wanna risk it.”

The tigress glared at him. To make sure that he wasn’t lying, she moved closer and sniffed his chest. She then snorted again and nuzzled Hadjar’s shoulder. He understood it to mean: ‘It’s your fault, you idiot’, but that didn’t matter. She allowed him to scratch her behind the ear.

“Clever girl, Azrea,” Hadjar said. “Were there any problems?”

Purring, the tigress nodded toward a small mound. At least that’s what he’d thought she was pointing at, at first. Upon closer inspection, he found out that it was actually a pile of corpses. In addition to various monsters with missing Cores, there were also a couple of human bodies on the pile. The horses that had been left with Azrea for safekeeping were grazing peacefully around the stakes stuck in the ground.

“They’re still there…” He mumbled to himself.

Perhaps this was for the best. For the nobles, and for Azrea, him, and Einen. Who knew how the tigress would’ve reacted if they’d come back down without him. For a moment, he wondered what sort of artifacts the trio might’ve left with their horses...

By the time Hadjar had finished arguing with Azrea, Einen had managed to untie his horse and bring it over.

“Lascanians?” he asked calmly.

The smile instantly faded from Hadjar’s face. Azrea, feeling his sudden tension, stiffened and braced herself. Looking around, she struck the ground with her tail and growled.

“I don’t think so,” Hadjar said, shaking his head.

When Einen had mentioned that ‘they’ had been planning to kill Dora, he hadn’t been referring to the Dinos siblings.

As soon as the real reason for their trip to the Wastelands had been revealed, something had begun to seem out of place. But he wasn’t sure what yet.

To begin with, the sudden appearance of an Ice Spirit that could singlehandedly destroy a small army had been a surprise to both the Dinos siblings and Dora. It was very possible that the Head of the Predatory Blades clan had sent the unwanted heirs of the former ruling family on a suicidal goose chase. But why would the Elven King do something like that? No matter how hard he thought about it, Hadjar couldn’t find a single good reason for Dora to be sacrificed like this. The old elf loved her. If a single hair on her head ended up lightly disturbed, the entire Empire would fall victim to his wrath. The first people he’d point his finger at would be the Predatory Blades clan. And all this right before an upcoming war? It didn’t make any sense.

Einen tightened his saddle’s straps and checked the blanket that served as both his bed and cloak. “It seems that whoever orchestrated this will remain unknown to us.”

“Seems like it, my friend.” Azrea crouched down and allowed him to climb up onto her back. “However, they must’ve spent a lot of time and coin on this...”

“And they must’ve had a lot of connections in the ruling circles and, therefore, a lot of fools who are indebted to them.”

Hadjar gave Einen an amused look. Unlike him, the islander felt right at home in the world of politics and scheming.

“If Dora had died,” he continued, “one of two things would’ve happened.”

“A fight between the elves and the Predatory Blades clan. A major boon for the Lascanians,” Hadjar said. “Or, a fight between the elves and the Imperial family. Another event the Lascanians would’ve applauded and cheered for.”

Einen nodded.

“Whoever is behind this took great care to ensure that all the clues point to Lascan,” he said.

“They must be quite close to the seven great clans if they managed to pull something like this off,” Hadjar drawled.

“Why were their artifacts so weak, though? I doubt that there’s a treasure in the Empire powerful enough to destroy Ana’Bree, but still...”

The two of them cast one last glance at the icy mountains and then took off. They’d been riding in silence for a while when a thought struck them.

“The Tarez,” they said in unison.

Chapter 691

S itting by the fire, Hadjar stared into the flames. Next to him, Einen sat in deep meditation. They’d agreed to take turns while training. Fortunately, true cultivators didn’t need physical exercise (most forms, that is) as part of their cultivation.

The old bit of folk wisdom that a healthy body nurtured a healthy spirit had been turned upside down for them. The stronger their spirit’s energy got, the stronger and healthier their mortal coil would become, but only up to a certain extent, of course. To go beyond that limit, an adept needed to use Techniques for Strengthening the Body. But even without them, a true adept whose spirit was strong enough never got sick and was always clean. Hadjar couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a bath for anything besides the sheer pleasure of it, like pure necessity.

With a sigh, he threw a branch into the fire.

“Damned Tarez!”

“Hell yeah!”

Hadjar shuddered.

In the art of creeping up on someone without being noticed, Helmer had left Einen far behind. He came as suddenly and unnoticeably as his nightmares. But he always made sure to make an entrance that’d remain with you for quite some time. Like a true nightmare.

“Will you ever leave me alone?” Hadjar sighed wearily, rubbing his face with his hand.

Helmer didn’t show up with wine this time but with a... loaf of bread. Sitting by the fire, he propped his cheek up on his clawed hand and held a slice of bread over the flames. The fucking bastard was making toast!

“Peace is a fool’s dream,” he said with a sneer, “but the Tarez have outdone themselves this time.”

Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the demon. He felt a pang of fear in his very soul.

“You didn’t know?”

“Contrary to your beliefs,” crimson eyes flashed, “I’m not all-knowing.” He removed the piece of bread from the fire. With a smile of anticipation, he tore off a chunk, put it in his mouth, and then promptly spat it back out, cursing profusely.

“What? Not good?”

“Oh, no, no, I love it so much... Are you really that dumb?” Helmer threw the bread into the fire, where it was devoured by the flames. “I’m especially thrilled by the fact that not only did you manage to get the Core, you also kept the splinter.”

Now it was Hadjar’s turn to swear angrily. As soon as the fae had died, the Core had landed on the splinter.

“You want to keep it?” The demon asked, peering intently at Hadjar.

Of course, he didn’t actually want to part with an artifact that had been able to kill someone like Ana’Bree, but he had no other choice.

Sighing, he stretched out his hand. In a flash of silver light, the splinter appeared in his open palm.

“Here.” He didn’t even flinch when the artifact disappeared. There wasn’t even a trace of energy left behind to suggest that it had been stored in a spatial artifact. Hadjar had never seen anything like it. In all honesty, had it happened a couple of weeks ago, before he’d reached the level of a peak Heaven Soldier, he would’ve probably missed it entirely.

“Do you remember our agreement, Hadji?”

As if he were cold, Helmer moved closer to the fire and held his hands out over the flames. Where the blood sphere that the demon always carried with him had disappeared to, Hadjar had no clue.

“I do. I owe you for helping me.”

“That goes without saying.” Helmer smiled his nightmarish grin. “But I’m talking about our other deal. About the Tarez. The ones that almost got me killed.”

“I-” Hadjar started, but then closed his mouth with a click. He suddenly realized why the Dinos siblings and Dora had made an alliance with him and Einen.

It was because he’d managed to annoy the Tarez family the moment he’d stepped foot in ‘The Holy Sky’ School. But that had been a year ago, and it wasn’t like he’d made an enemy of anyone truly important. Back then, he’d had a lot of fun in the capital and its surrounding area. A powerful family like the Tarez probably couldn’t help but find out who’d brought the map that led to Decater’s tomb back to Dahanatan. And they’d surely found out who was to blame for the fact that the orcs were roaming near their territory once again.

“I can practically see the cogs turning!” Helmer chuckled. “Good things are coming, Hadji. The more dots you connect, the less ol’ Helmer will have to worry about his favorite employee.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would’ve just died of worry.”

“You wound me, Hadj!” Helmer raised his hat, revealing his thinning, white hair. “I worry about you constantly! How are you? Have you accomplished anything? I’ve invested so much in you, but I’ve yet to see any results.”

“I haven’t figured everything out yet,” Hadjar hissed. “Besides, you said that they’ll show themselves at the Tournament. And there’s still a lot of time before then.”

Helmer looked him up and down and then stared up at the sky. Since the moon was bright, no stars could be seen.

“Why am I being punished like this?” Helmer whispered in a feigned tragic voice. “Use your brain, Hadj! If there’s even any of it left in that thick skull of yours.”

“The Tarez included me in their plans and are planning on killing me. I know that much.”

“Oh, is that so? Well then, good things really do come to those who wait! All is not yet lost for you, Hadj! Maybe you’ll even grow up to be a politician one day. Wrinkly and feeble, you’ll be sitting on your boney ass and drinking wine, surrounded by pretty boys. I don’t know why, but all great politicians and schemers seem to like pretty young boys... Do you have any idea why?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Only when someone else has more interesting things to say than I do.” The demon shrugged.

Hadjar poked one of the logs with a stick. It had almost burned up entirely. He might have to wake Einen up soon to replace it.

“You have what you came here for. What’s keeping you from leaving?” He asked the demon.

“I want to offer you another deal and-”

“Save it,” Hadjar interrupted him. “I’ve already made enough of those with you. I’m starting to feel like an abused wife who keeps going back to her drunkard of a husband.”

“For your honesty, Hadj,” Helmer got up and moved deeper into the darkness of the night, “I’ll make sure that no one dares attack Lidus.” Scarlet eyes flashed once again. “But... Only if you give me the Core.”

Heavy silence fell over the camp. Only the crackling of the burning logs and the song of the cicadas could be heard.

“No.”

“Just think about it.”

“No,” Hadjar repeated. “I won’t give you the Core.”

“No one else will help your homeland, Hadj.”

“Lidus doesn’t need the help of a demon. Besides, the thought of making another deal with you makes me sick.”

Helmer laughed.

“You idiot! Do you honestly think that Anise will take your secret to her grave? One word from her and hundreds of her clan’s warriors will descend upon Lidus and burn it to the ground. Then you’ll regret not giving me the Core. Mark my words.”

“She won’t do that.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that, you naïve fool?”

Hadjar’s eyes flashed with a blue light so eerie that it could’ve frozen the very blood of those who might’ve dared to look at him right then.

“Because she knows that if she does that, I’ll kill anyone who has so much as a drop of her clan’s blood in their veins. And if that’s not enough, then I’ll burn the entire Empire to the ground.”

Silence.

Followed by laughter.

“I really know how to pick my employees, don’t I?”

With that, Helmer was gone, leaving Hadjar alone with the crackling fire. For some reason, he didn’t see the flames in the orange light, but his sister’s silhouette instead.

“What the hell is going on?”

He shuddered. This time in surprise. Einen jumped to his feet. Summoning his Spirit, he looked around. His frantic actions were followed by Azrea’s growling and the horse’s frightened neighs.

“Helmer visited you too?”

“Helmer?” Einen asked. “That fucking demon! I had the worst dream! Cursed was the day he was born and the womb that carried him! His mother was a lying snake and his father a booze-loving landlubber! By the Seas, there’s never been a bigger whore or a bigger drunkard-”

Hadjar sighed and shook his head. Once Einen started cursing, there was no stopping him until he ran out of profanities.

Chapter 692

H adjar and Einen spent the next week traveling through the Wastelands. Since they had no information about the location of the key or the map, they decided to move in the same direction as before. The Falcon’s Head was still a long way off, despite the fact that they were travelling at a decent speed.

The Wastelands constantly justified their reputation as a vast territory full of surprises. During their week of traversing them, they encountered other disciples, wandering monsters, and even a couple of Spirit-golems. They fought some of them and passed by others, but in most cases, they changed direction to avoid unnecessary complications.

They’d had to fight against a huge, eight-legged reptile that breathed acid out of its two mouths. With Azrea’s help, they’d managed to defeat it and even got an Ancient Beast’s Core out of the deal. It was an unprecedented achievement. Just a year and a half ago, that same Ancient Beast would’ve been the last thing they would’ve seen in their lives.

They avoided other disciples because they didn’t see the point in fighting against weaker opponents. And since the duo didn’t bother hiding their auras, the disciples preferred to avoid them as well.

A couple of days after their escape from Greven’Dor, an avalanche of disciples from other schools flooded the Wastelands. With ‘The Holy Sky’ School’s two weeks head start over, the best cultivators of the current generation swarmed the area. Of course, the less talented disciples arrived along with them, as well as those who cared more about adventure than power and fame, but such people were rare.

“Do you sense it too?” Einen asked.

Hadjar nodded.

“Let’s wait,” he suggested.

“There’s no point in running, after all.”

They set up camp for the night, spread a blanket out over the golden sand, then placed several bottles of good wine and eight bowls on it. Hadjar asked Azrea not to interfere. With a grunt of displeasure, the tigress turned into a small cub and disappeared into the withered grass, accompanied by Einen’s horse. Hadjar filled his pipe with scented tobacco and savored it. Einen uncorked a bottle of wine with his carving dagger, poured the fragrant, scarlet liquid into a bowl, and sipped it with great enjoyment.

Their guests arrived soon after. Seven riders emerged from under a hill and rode up to the duo. Each of them was a Spirit Knight at the peak stage — the highest level of cultivation allowed under the current conditions. They were all men. The youngest was in his twenties, while the others could’ve been anywhere from thirty to three hundred. They rode on huge, black cats. The felines were at the King Stage and clearly very fast and dangerous.

“Have you been waiting for us long?” One of the riders asked as he dismounted.

Tall and thin, the man, like his companions, was wearing a gray cloak held in place by his school’s medallion. Hadjar didn’t recognize the emblem and the neuronet didn’t find it in his memory, either. This meant that the school either didn’t exist, or, more likely, that it had been established just over a week ago.

“You’re late.” Hadjar puffed out a ring of smoke. “Join us and help yourself to some wine.”

Einen lifted his bowl in greeting. The other riders only dismounted once their leader sat down and took a bowl. Hadjar, not wanting their guests to think that he was a bad host, poured the man some wine. He took a sip, smacked his lips, and nodded respectfully.

“Wine this delicious is a rare treat.”

“Please, help yourselves,” Hadjar said politely. “We don’t drink much, so it’s all for you.”

Only then did the remaining six Spirit Knights sit down on the blanket. Their leader filled their bowls for them.

“My name is Gurth. I’m from the Dead Moon clan.”

The Dead Moon clan… Its very existence went against the official policy of the Imperial family, so it was forbidden to so much as mention its name out loud, but the clan’s members were still untouchable. The Dead Moon clan was… useful to the nobility that didn’t like to sully their own hands with blood. Its members were, after all, highly skilled assassins.

Some claimed that they lived in the swamps of Pereis, or in the mountains of the Hungry Mist — inhospitable lands where even animals and birds didn’t dwell. The assassins did everything they could to keep the location of their base a secret. Most importantly, their services were so expensive that only a few, even amongst the nobility, could afford them.

“Is the contract only for my head?” Hadjar asked.

Gurth retrieved two sealed scrolls from his cloak.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” he read from the first. “Einen of the Islands,” he read from the second.

The islander remained calm.

“Who’s your employer?”

“If you know who we are, you should also know that such information isn’t something we’d ever disclose.”

Hadjar nodded respectfully. The Dead Moon clan was famous not only for their prowess, but also for their code of honor, which they didn’t violate under any circumstances. Mothers, children, practitioners, mortals, and those who’d never taken up a weapon in their life, they left alone. What’s more, it was said that those who came to the Dead Moon clan with such a request were later found impaled on a stake in the central square. The assassins could be rented, but not bought. They never revealed the names of their employers, and if they were caught, they committed suicide. Their code of honor had earned them a great deal of respect throughout the Empire.

“And here you are.”

“And here we are, Darkhan,” Gurth repeated with a nod. “I always judge people based not on what the client says, but on what my eyes see.”

“And what do your eyes see right now?”

“A person whom I don’t want to fight.”

Hadjar didn’t insult Gurth by telling him not to fight him if that’s how he felt. Instead, he saluted and bowed slightly to show his respect.

“Give me the Core, Darkhan.”

“And will you let us leave if I do?”

Gurth sipped the wine.

“I can’t do that. But I swear I’ll spare your lives. You won’t be able to follow the path of cultivation any longer, but you’ll get to keep living. The world, Darkhan, whatever you may think about it, needs more than just warriors. There’s nothing wrong with being a mortal farmer.”

Hadjar looked into the assassin’s gray eyes.

“Would you agree to your own deal?”

Gurth sighed a little sadly.

“Tell me the name of the person to whom I can convey your last words, Darkhan.”

“Sorry, Gurth, but I’m not going to my forefathers today.”

For the next five minutes, the members of the Dead Moon clan drank their wine in silence while Hadjar smoked his pipe. When the bottles were empty and the ash buried in the sand, Gurth got to his feet.

“Let us begin,” he said and drew two curved daggers. His men did the same.

Hadjar and Einen got to their feet as well. However, they didn’t have time to draw their weapons. To the northwest, where the Falcon’s Head was, a broad column of blue energy suddenly surged into the sky. It broke through the clouds and dispersed.

“The key has been found!” Thundered over the Wastelands.

Hadjar cursed.

“Let’s finish this quickly!” He shouted and summoned the Black Blade.

Chapter 693

G urth was the first to attack. If Anise’s movements were light and smooth like a cat’s, his were like the deceptive slither of a snake or a reptile that seemed slow at first, but was faster than a crossbow bolt when attacking.

Shrouded in a green glow, his daggers sliced through the air an inch from the two most vulnerable spots on Hadjar’s body. He immediately closed the distance between them and stomped on the ground. The impact made the bowls jump up. Hadjar struck the nearest one with the back of his hand. Shards of clay hit Gurth in the face, blinding him temporarily and forcing him to take a few steps back.

“Four. Three,” he ordered.

Four assassins, including Gurth, stood in front of Hadjar. Their faces were hidden beneath a red, moon-shaped mask with thin slits acting as eyeholes. Einen, who was already channeling his Spirit, found himself facing three foes.

“Look, my bald friend, they think I’m cooler than you.”

“I’ll make them change their minds soon enough.”

Einen leapt into the air. His ape swung its spear-staff over its head, preparing the ‘Boulder Storm’ Technique. A wide coastline of rocks and raging waves crashed down on the heads of the assassins.

“You don’t have time to worry about your friend!”

Gurth crossed his daggers in front of him. The green glow around them flared up, covering them along the edge of the blade and making them grow larger. Gradually, they reached a length of over five feet.

“First Dance: Grasshopper’s Jump!”

Uncrossing the daggers, he sent the green glow around them flying. It formed an X, but was devoid of any mysteries. Like a grasshopper, it jumped up and down as it moved. The grass it touched lived out its life cycle in a fraction of a second: it grew to about knee height, then began to yellow, then brown, and finally, it withered, letting the wind scatter its remains. The ground was instantly covered in cracks, deeper and wider than those that the dry wind and lack of rain had left behind.

Hadjar didn’t feel any crushing power coming from the Technique. He’d never seen anything like it before.

“Calm Wind!”

A column of descending wind slammed into the ground, caving it in. The second stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique slowed down the glow’s progress. Gurth’s legs buckled slightly under the pressure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar spotted several shadows. The other assassins had surrounded him without him even noticing. If it hadn’t been for his Technique, he would’ve probably died before he’d even gotten the chance to protect himself from the ‘Grasshopper’s Jump’.

The ‘Calm Wind’, strong as it was, had its downsides, too. That usually didn’t bother him, but he didn’t want to take the risk of relying on its second stance right now. This Technique allowed him to use other stances as well, but it took more energy from his Core the more opponents there were fighting against its pressure. As he was now facing four Spirit Knights, every second he used the ‘Calm Wind’ took away half the energy he needed to use the ‘Black Wind’.

He kicked the nearest assassin’s wrist and pushed himself away. Spinning like a top, he flew over the assassin’s head. Just before it was about to hit its ally, the green glow zigzagged again and, swerving around the assassin, came dangerously close to Hadjar. Not daring to block it directly, he put all his strength and power into his next attack.

“Black Wind!”

A roaring dragon woven together from the Sword’s mysteries and his energy burst out of the obsidian blade. Leaving a deep furrow behind in the ground, it slammed into Gurth’s Technique with its fangs and claws. Hadjar’s best and most powerful Technique was able to stall the green glow for a couple of seconds. The dragon struggled as it gradually grew weaker. It decayed, cracked, and began to retreat back into the World River.

At the same time, another pair of daggers shrouded in emerald light was already being thrust toward Hadjar’s back. Obeying his mental command, his black cloak wrapped itself around the assassin’s wrists and sent him flying. The man landed on the fourth member of the Dead Moon clan. Together, they tumbled down the slope. After charging his Technique with power, Hadjar instantly severed his connection to it.

The black dragon flashed with energy and then disappeared in a sudden explosion. It pushed Gurth and the other remaining assassin aside and allowed Hadjar a moment to catch his breath. The Dead Moon clan was incredible. Their fighting style looked very different from what other cultivators used. They didn’t use overbearing Techniques, didn’t wear heavy, bulky armor, and had only Heaven level daggers. Despite all of that, their every attack and movement was steeped in death.

“You should be proud of yourself, Hadjar Darkhan.” Gurth rose to his feet. Reaching into his gray robes, he pulled out a mask similar to the one his subordinates were wearing and put it on. “You’re the fifth Heaven Soldier to ever make me put on my mask and use the second dance.”

The four assassins, once again standing in a row together, cried out in unison:

“Second Dance: The Moon Bird’s Feather!”

They disappeared. Hadjar didn’t feel their auras in the energy flows at all. They’d completely hidden their presence.

Acting on instinct, he raised his left arm in a defensive gesture. He had no idea if it was Gurth or someone else, but a dagger coated in green energy sliced through his Call’s armor. It got through so easily, too, as if his Call wasn’t already as strong as a Heaven level artifact.

Still guided by instincts developed over the course of thousands of battles, Hadjar slashed through the spot where he presumed the assassin would be. Scarlet drops fell to the withered grass, and Hadjar caught sight of a blur circling around him. The four assassins were running around him so fast that it was impossible to see them. Their speed seemed to be backed up by some stealth Techniques as well.

Hadjar was now certain that their prowess hadn’t been exaggerated by rumors — the Dead Moon clan was truly the deadliest clan of assassins this world had ever seen.

Chapter 694

“Y our armor...” Gurth stepped out of thin air as if going through an open door. Hadjar recognized his voice. “I’ve never seen armor that can withstand the ‘Moon Bird’s Feather’ before.”

Hadjar looked at the spot where the assassin’s attack had hit him. The bracer, made from black fog and framed with a silver pattern, was gradually restoring itself. He finally realized the biggest flaw of their Techniques: they constantly used their power to maintain the green glow.

“Give it to us along with the Core and we’ll spare both your life and cultivation.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not actually armor. It’s my Call.”

“Your Call? I’ve fought a hundred warriors with Calls, but I’ve never seen one like yours before.”

Hadjar shot a quick glance at Einen and his iridescent ape. The two of them were fighting against three assassins. He knew what Gurth was talking about. His Call not only gave him power, but also worked in tandem with the ‘Path Through the Clouds’ Technique. He still didn’t know how that was possible.

“Kill them!” Gurth commanded.

Hadjar got ready to defend himself, but then realized that the command hadn’t been given to the assassins. Seven dots flashed in the air. Like lightning, sharp claws and fangs flew toward him but were immediately deflected by a roaring white flame — Azrea had thrown herself at the seven cats. They moved so quickly that Hadjar could barely see their blurred outlines.

Azrea, an Ancient Beast, was singlehandedly fighting against seven cats at the King Stage, and she didn’t seem to be losing at all.

“You’re making me look bad.” Hadjar smiled.

Turning toward the hissing and roaring, Gurth made a strange sound.

“You’re a true enigma, Hadjar Darkhan,” he said and disappeared again.

Hadjar prepared to parry. A dagger shrouded in green was thrust at his feet. Along with it, the silhouette of the assassin appeared out of thin air. His crimson mask shone in the light of the rising sun. Hadjar, twisting his blade, parried the blow and was about to use a Technique when he had to dodge another blade aimed at the back of his head. Leaning forward and moving away from the thrust, he lost sight of the first assassin. As soon as he dodged the second blade and tried to cut the attacker with his sword, another dagger almost ripped his stomach open.

“Fucking bullshit,” Hadjar growled.

Dodging and parrying, he snarled and hissed at his foes like a cornered beast. He couldn’t even buy himself enough time to use the ‘Light Breeze’ sword Technique, one of his quickest Techniques, let alone the ‘Black Wind’, which required a few moments of preparation.

No matter how fast he was, he was still outnumbered. His four opponents might not have been incredibly strong, but just one of their attacks would be enough to send him to his forefathers if it landed. No matter how agile he was, he still had to block eight blades at once. Even if he were ambidextrous, a trait only a couple of the people he’d met in his life had had, he still wouldn’t have had enough time to defend himself from all of them.

Hadjar skidded across the ground and dodged a dagger aimed at his abdomen. He lost his balance and fell, but successfully got out of the way of a blade aimed at his neck. It whizzed past his face like the emerald sting of some giant scorpion and disappeared into the void. He rolled away from another thrust aimed at his throat. Hitting the dry ground with his palm, he soared into the air. Four green blades crossed beneath him, almost cutting through his chest and back.

Hadjar deflected the wrist of one of the assassins and finally saw a chance to use a Technique. His fastest one was the ‘Spring Wind’, but it wasn’t an attack on its own. It only enhanced the Sword’s mysteries by adding energy to them.

In the span of a heartbeat, he managed to launch three strikes. They appeared in the form of ghostly dragons, each of which was actually a separate attack generated by his mastery of the Weapon’s Heart.

“Defend!” Someone shouted.

The four assassins, all of them emerging from stealth simultaneously, stood side by side. The raised their daggers in unison and held them in front of themselves. The glow leapt off their blades, formed a gigantic copy of their weapons, and easily sliced through the three black dragons.

“What the fuck is this!” Hadjar cursed under his breath.

He could feel his energy slipping away. It took a lot of power to maintain the ‘Calm Wind’, which the assassins were gradually overcoming. Breathing heavily, he sensed that he’d be able to keep fighting for maybe another thirty seconds, perhaps forty if he got lucky, but no more.

The assassins had already started their Second Dance once more. Disappearing into thin air yet again, they circled Hadjar. A dagger flashed past his waist. Cutting through the air and leaving a trail of murderous green light behind, it almost grazed his stomach.

However, at that moment, something impossible happened.

[Analysis of the enemies’ attack patterns has been completed.

A list of countermeasures has been created.

Would you like to transfer control to the system? To do so, you will need to allocate 90% of the neural network’s power to the task, which will delay the previously specified task.]

Like a drowning man recklessly grasping at any opportunity to save himself, he instinctively responded with a hurried “Yes!”

[Control over the host’s body has been established.

Projected level of damage to host: 63%

Projected level of damage to host without the autopilot: 100%

Beginning the process of elimination...

Quantity: 4 targets]

Chapter 695

“W hat’s-”

Gurth had never seen anyone at such a low level move like this before. He was sure that his dagger’s copy had struck Hadjar’s stomach. It was a wonder that the peak-stage Heaven Soldier had managed to survive against them for even this long. The man had even made him use the Second Dance, the secret Technique of his clan that was available only to its cultivators.

Many Spirit Knights and weak Lords had been unable to hold out against it for even ten seconds, but Hadjar had been fighting them for almost half a minute. Normal cultivators, forced to constantly fight against a variety of opponents, always relied on the power of their Techniques. The bigger and more destructive they were, the better they felt about them. Thinking themselves above the subtle art of killing from the shadows, they failed to realize that their Techniques were also their biggest weaknesses: without enough time to prepare them, they were more vulnerable than even a simple practitioner who didn’t rely on them.

Only those who’d grasped the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart could hold out for about twenty seconds. And yet, this simple Heaven Soldier had held out for half a minute. However, even with his weak ‘Spring Wind’ Technique, he was just postponing his trip to the afterlife. He surely wouldn’t dodge the attack aimed at his stomach. He was too tired. That’s what Gurth had thought, at least.

During his time as an assassin, he’d sent 349 souls to their forefathers. But this one... This was the first time Gurth felt… uncertain. For some reason, he felt like he might not get to see tomorrow’s dawn.

Hadjar hit the ground with his left toe, held his sword against his body, and spun on his heel. The obsidian blade deflected an emerald one. Shocked by this strange move, Gurth’s fighter lost his balance. Hadjar’s cloak came to life and, stretching out, swept the legs of the confused assassin. The man lost his footing and began to fall on his back.

Still spinning, Hadjar struck out with his left foot again, knocking one of the daggers out of the falling assassin’s hands. The blade, losing its glow, flew through the air and sank into another assassin’s shoulder.

Gurth was absolutely certain that their Dance was still active. Even peak-stage Lords were unable to see or sense a member of the Dead Moon clan when they were using the Second Dance. Only a real genius could’ve predicted their attacks. And yet… Hadjar had not only managed to kick the dagger back with frightening accuracy, but he’d also hit an invisible target. Gurth would’ve thought it was merely a stroke of luck, but everything he’d seen Hadjar do so far suggested otherwise.

The obsidian blade moved in a wide arc over Hadjar’s head. Bending his back and knee, almost hitting the ground in the process, he made a very strange maneuver with his wrist. The blade, like a whip, moved along the arc, drawing a crescent in the air that couldn’t be avoided by jumping or dodging. The fourth assassin had to stop using the Second Dance to block. For a fraction of a second, three of the four assassins were visible and completely immobilized. This was enough for Hadjar to gain the upper hand.

The assassin who was still falling was completely defenseless. Unable to regain his balance, summon his Spirit, or rely on his companions for help, he hovered in the air.

Hadjar pointed the tip of his blade at the ground. Once he had a strong foothold, he spun in an oddly controlled fashion before placing his foot on the sand and abruptly straightening up. He pulled his blade out of the ground and sent a crescent of energy toward Gurth even as he kicked the falling assassin’s forearm. When the man, pierced by his own dagger clenched in his already lifeless hand, landed on the sand, he went from a young man to a mummified corpse in an instant. A gust of wind scattered the dust, leaving behind only a red mask, gray robes, and a pair of shimmering blades.

Gurth, too busy dodging the attack aimed at him to help, couldn’t believe his eyes. Hadjar had pressed all of them hard in less than a second and had even managed to eliminate one of them. His movements were so simple that they could’ve easily been used in street fights by weak practitioners. At the same time, they were executed so perfectly that not a single grain of energy was wasted. Hadjar used only as much power as he had to, no more, no less.

The only other person Gurth knew with such frightening skill was one of their clan’s Masters, a Nameless level assassin. Only he could combine aristocratic styles with the ability to control his body and energy perfectly. But Hadjar was just a Heaven Soldier! How the hell was he able to move and fight like a Nameless who’d dedicated fifty centuries of his life to turning himself into a living weapon?

“Defend!” Gurth ordered.

The other two assassins instantly returned to his side.

The only thing that gave him hope was the assumption that Hadjar had used some sort of artifact. That was the only explanation for such a sudden increase in his skill level. He was fighting in a way that only a few people in Darnassus could hope to imitate. His guess was proven correct by the injuries Hadjar had sustained, as his body couldn’t support the use of such maneuvers and speed for long. Blood trickled down his arms and legs and several of his bones were clearly broken. The capillaries in his eyes had burst, indicating that he wouldn’t last long at this rate. But… He wouldn’t need to, either. Five seconds would be enough for him to send them all to their forefathers if he kept fighting like this.

“Use the Third Dance,” Gurth ordered.

Despite the fact that only the most talented of Lords were afforded the honor of seeing the Third Dance, none of the assassins argued. All of them understood what would happen if they didn’t use the Technique.

A Spirit formed behind them — a red moon with a green dagger shining in front of it.

***

From the moment Hadjar had given the mental order, it had felt as if he’d been thrown out of his own body, like he was in the backseat of a car or in the front row of a movie theater. He saw everything and was aware of what was happening, but he couldn’t actually feel or influence anything. His body moved on its own. His energy, circulating in a manner that he’d never practiced before, wasn’t obeying him either. Even his Call and the Black Blade refused to respond to his mental commands. He suddenly felt like he was imprisoned in his own consciousness, like his very body no longer belonged to him.

In a matter of moments, the neural network, using him like a puppet, had been able to eliminate one assassin.

[Damage level: 36.4%

Correction of projected outcome according to new data initiated.

Analyzing the remaining targets...

Quantity: 3 targets

Projected level of damage host will sustain in the end: 69.7%]

The wounds he’d received were only a ‘Damage level’ to the neural network and his opponents nothing but targets.

“Stop! Give control back to the host!” Hadjar shouted in his mind.

[Please confirm latest command.

Probability of host’s death in case of manual override: 96%]

“Confirmed, you stupid hunk of junk!” He shouted.

For the first time in decades, he truly feared becoming a slave again. But when the Spirit formed behind the three assassins, he was clenching his fists on his own once more.

“Never,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll never be anyone’s slave ever again! Not even my own!”

The Quetzal bird’s wings spread out behind him and his eyes flashed with a bright blue light. Gripping the hilt of his blade with both hands, he plunged his mind into his spatial ring. Once he was there, he unfolded the Black General’s scroll. The results of his actions shook the Wastelands to their core.

Chapter 696

“W hat is going on here?”

Having dispelled the ‘Moon Bird’s Feather’ Technique, Gurth and the other two assassins channeled all of their energy into the Third Dance. Gurth didn’t understand how it worked, but this Dance, created by their clan’s Founder, allowed one to use the ‘Dead Moon’ Spirit like a shield. Three red ribbons merged together and created a barrier in front of the trio. Gurth, as befitting a leader, was in the front.

What’s more, even Einen’s opponents had been forced to use this Technique. The islander, who had almost no energy left to maintain his impenetrable defensive Techniques with, retreated behind his friend. Gurth watched helplessly as the young man swallowed some energy restoration pills.

Unlike Hadjar, Einen hadn’t attacked his opponents, only defended himself, but he’d done so masterfully. For assassins, cultivators with good defensive Techniques were always an issue.

The Quetzal bird’s appearance conjured such an incredible wave of power that boulders crumbled around them, and small trees were reduced to splinters.

Hiding behind the Third Dance, the assassins were content to just wait out the attack as their Technique had almost no equal in its ability to absorb damage.

“Impossible…”

Gurth had seen a lot in his three centuries of life. He could even accept that a Heaven Soldier somehow had a Spirit. But how the Spirit Bird had managed to meld with the obsidian blade was beyond his understanding. As soon as it touched the sword, it was instantly drawn inside of it. A blue symbol depicting a bird taking flight emerged along the black steel.

The pressure didn’t disappear after that. On the contrary, it increased so much that Gurth suddenly realized it was difficult for him to breathe. It was difficult for him, a peak-stage Spirit Knight, to breathe due to the pressure of a Heaven Soldier’s energy!

Hadjar raised his sword above his head. A tornado of black energy streaked with thin, blue threads swirled all around him.

“By the demons and gods!” Gurth gasped.

What he saw standing in the eye of the storm wasn’t a human, but a wild beast; a predator ready to tear him apart just because he’d trespassed on its territory. A moment later, all that primal rage and power charged him.

“Black Wind!”

The tornado, after shrinking to the size of a tiny dot for a moment, flared up again and opened a hole in the sky. A dragon’s maw emerged from the streams of turbulent energy. 18 feet tall and 6 feet wide, it had been created from Sword mysteries so dense and potent that it looked like a real dragon had descended from the sky. The fanged chasm opened with a roar, revealing its sword-tongue — a perfect replica of the obsidian blade held firmly in Hadjar’s hands. The dragon flew three feet above the ground, plowing through its surface with its mere presence, leaving behind a wide, deep furrow in its wake.

With a mighty roar, it slammed into the Third Dance. The assassins tensed up and poured almost all their energy into the barrier, hoping that the other group would help them. But their friends couldn’t move. After the collision of Techniques, the echo of the released energy had spread out all over the area, sending hundreds of lethal energy crescents flying in all directions.

They destroyed everything they touched: the ancient ruins were reduced to rubble, trees to sawdust, and the ground split apart in dozens of places.

“Amplify!” Gurth shouted.

The assassins all simultaneously reached into their robes and retrieved some pills. An explosion of energy followed as they consumed them. With their Cores refueled, they poured all of their energy into the shield.

The ground around them was shaking violently and threatening to burst apart. Huge chunks of dried earth, unable to withstand the pressure, erupted into the air and instantly turned to dust.

Gurth and his men stood on the edge of a deep chasm.

“Holy shit!”

Gurth managed to react at the last second and jumped back. Unfortunately, the two assassins behind him weren’t so lucky. When the shield formed by the combined power of the three Spirit Knights had cracked, Hadjar’s weakened attack had destroyed them. Not just killed them, but annihilated them completely. Everything had disappeared — their bodies, armor, weapons, and all the items they might’ve had with them at the moment of their deaths.

But the attack didn’t stop there. It flew a few more feet forward, where it then exploded in a flash of black and blue energy.

When the dust settled, Gurth cursed and stared at the crater left behind by the explosion. Of his six subordinates, three had already gone to their forefathers. He still couldn’t believe that a simple Heaven Soldier had managed to survive fighting them for so long. Of all the people he’d ever fought, only Lords had been able to keep up with them. Lords! Not fucking Heaven Soldiers!

What kind of an unholy monster was this Hadjar!

If he didn’t destroy this beast right here and now, the Dead Moon clan would be in great danger when Hadjar reached the true peak of his power. He couldn’t allow that to happen, he simply couldn’t.

He turned to Hadjar, who was lying unconscious on the hot sand. He was so still that it was almost impossible to see his chest moving as he breathed. Gurth’s blades flashed green again. The assassins from the second group wordlessly came over to stand next to their leader, facing the other foe and his iridescent ape.

The bald warrior had also surprised Gurth. Somehow, his shadow ape Technique was able to merge with his Call. The assassin had already seen such Techniques before, but, when using his Call, which assumed the form of an iridescent armor made from many scales, the man’s ape increased its defenses fivefold and even acquired the ability to attack. After witnessing such odd Techniques and his strange weapon, one could definitely count on the islander having a couple of surprises up his sleeve.

“What the fuck is going on here? Who are these two?” Gurth whispered to himself.

He’d only taken a single step forward when one of the other assassins called out to him.

“Sir.”

Gurth turned and saw a horde of cultivators of various levels stampeding toward them, kicking up dust in their wake.

“What fresh hell is this?” He yelled in annoyance.

By the looks of it, they weren’t running over to help these two, but to investigate the area where the ray of energy had shot out from. As luck would have it, their route would take them right past the assassins and their prey.

“Retreat.”

“Yes, sir!” The assassins instantly disappeared.

Gurth wasn’t surprised to realize that he’d stopped feeling the auras of their cats just a few seconds ago. That damned tigress had turned them into a pile of meat and bones.

“Tell your friend,” Gurth said to the islander, “that we’ll be seeing each other again soon...”

His threat delivered, he disappeared. He urgently needed to consult the Master about what had just happened. A monster wielding such immense power deserved to face someone who was able to perform the Fourth Dance…

Chapter 697

H adjar was in a strange state, trapped somewhere between a dream and reality. It was like that moment when a person lay awake in bed, but desperately refused to open their eyes, trying to prolong the feeling of lethargy in which the darkness felt like something warm and pleasant.

[Host’s state: stable

Time elapsed since the crisis: 4 hours, 16 minutes, and 25... 26... 27... seconds]

The flash of the neural network’s information window almost made Hadjar open his eyes. Holding himself at the edge between oblivion and awakening, he smiled broadly.

This feeling was familiar to him. He’d felt it many, many years ago, back when he’d still lived on Earth. Bedridden and unable to move anything but his left arm, he’d felt trapped inside his own body.

He’d felt it once again in the Black Mountains of Balium, during his battle with the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect. No matter how hard he tried to forget that memory, it still visited him in his nightmares. The feeling had been so vivid that, in the year after, Hadjar had been glad that his neural network had been disabled. He’d even hoped that it would disappear altogether and take the memory of the twenty years he’d spent in a prison of his own flesh and mind with it. The memory of him lying in a hospital bed, watching as life passed him by as he clung to the illusion of being needed in this world. Little did he know that the world didn’t really care about him. Even his music had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to make the world acknowledge that he was still alive and kicking. He’d waited for years for something to come along and fill the gaping void in his chest. But nothing ever had…

He was once again trapped inside his own body, and all these feelings, all the memories, returned to him with renewed vigor.

“Network, prepare for a priority command.”

[Ready to obey command.]

“I hereby forbid the use of the autopilot mode, regardless of the situation.”

[Processing command… Error! This command cannot be obeyed.]

A chill ran down his spine. His suspicions had just been confirmed. He felt like he was lying in that hospital bed again. It was as if he’d never lived thirty years in this new world, as if he hadn’t been the Mad General who’d fought and won even the most difficult of battles, relying only on his own strength and sword.

“Elaborate.”

[Switching to autopilot in situations where the host’s chances of death exceed 99.9% is a preset.]

“Damn it! Who programmed that?”

[Processing request… Error! No information available.]

Hadjar cursed again. Why wasn’t there any information about something so important? Who had done this to him?

“Is it possible to change this preset?”

[Processing request… It is possible to change the preset.]

“Then remove the preset. Cancel switching to autopilot in all situations.”

[Please confirm the command.]

“Confirmed.”

[Processing request...

Please, confirm a second time.

Warning: If you cancel the automatic switch to autopilot mode, the probability of host’s death increases by 37.98%.]

“Confirmed!” Hadjar shouted.

The darkness was silent at first, but then another information window popped up.

[Command completed. Autopilot will now require a request to activate.]

“Fucking piece of shit!” Hadjar ranted. “What’s the point of turning on autopilot if it makes me weaker over time?”

A cultivator could only become stronger if they experienced all the difficulties and hardships of life in the world of martial arts on their own. If it were possible to become stronger by simply being an observer (which Hadjar became when using the autopilot), the heirs of the great clans would always be followed around by a crowd of Lords who would fight on their behalf. And the heir would just watch them do it and become stronger in the process.

[Would you like to switch to training mode?]

Hadjar snapped out of his musings. Apparently, the neural network had interpreted his rhetorical question as a command. He was beginning to doubt that he’d ever understand how this thing worked.

“What’s that?”

He suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of a vast emptiness. There was a flash, and a moment later, he found himself standing in the middle of a parade ground. Huge and covered in sand, it resembled the one in the Royal Palace of Lidus. However, instead of dummies, his opponents were real people and creatures. Realizing that he’d already seen all of them before, he recoiled.

In front of him stood everyone he had ever fought, from the bodyguards who’d betrayed his mother to Gurth.

[Information about all battles and hostile units has been stored in the database.

Calculate success rate?]

“Yeah…” Hadjar said slowly.

Numbers appeared above the heads of all the represented foes.

“Holy shit!” Hadjar breathed out in bewilderment.

He guessed that the success rate meant how effectively he’d fought. The highest result was 6.8%, which he had earned by… training with a dummy. In all the other cases, it was rarely higher than ... 2.5%. He couldn’t help but wonder what all of this meant. According to the neural network, he’d wasted more than ninety percent of his potential and power in battle.

Under his own were the success rates of his opponents. The most successful one was Anise, who had fought with an efficiency of 17.3%. And this rather low number made her the strongest swordsman of her generation.

Hadjar cursed. Then he pondered it some more and... Swore even harder.

“What does this mode look like?”

[Select opponent.]

Hadjar pointed at Gurth.

[Downloading [Gurth’s] attack patterns... Download complete.

Enable battle hints?]

“Alright…” Hadjar agreed warily.

This all seemed somehow surreal. Maybe he was still sleeping? Maybe this was just a dream? Never before had he felt this technologically inept. Why had he chosen to study the arts?

[Battle hints loaded.

Select stage.]

“What the shit!”

Hadjar almost fell over in surprise when thousands of small portals appeared in the air. Behind them were all the landscapes that Hadjar had seen in his life, everything from his mother’s chambers, where he’d been born, to the Wastelands.

A moment later, he found himself in a familiar desert.

Chapter 698

H adjar knew that this wasn’t real, but the damned network had recreated everything with such precision that he was starting to have doubts. Only the knowledge that he was in his memories stopped him from switching off the network entirely.

Gurth appeared in front of him. The assassin froze in an attack stance, right in the middle of using the Second Dance. Hadjar didn’t understand how the network had managed to record his insanely fast movements. It had also managed to pinpoint the location of each assassin, even though they’d been using the Second Dance as well.

His opponent’s daggers were covered in the familiar green glow of the ‘Moon Bird’s Feather’ Technique.

[Initializing hints…

Hints have been enabled.]

“Holy shit!” Hadjar gasped.

As soon as the network started the program, hundreds of Hadjars and Gurths appeared. They fought until only one pair remained standing.

[The most effective method of neutralization has been found.]

Hadjar tilted his head, watching as the network presented him with the best strategy for his next fight against Gurth. He followed the surge of power as it appeared in his energy structure and then coursed through his body. It moved rather strangely. He’d never heard of energy being used like that in the Empire. He then watched as his clone performed a rather complex attack.

He was certain that his body, even though it was much stronger than that of most Spirit Knights, wouldn’t be able to withstand such a great strain. The number eight hovered above his clone’s head — the probability of damage due to strain.

“Disable hints.”

[Processing request...

Hints disabled.

Would you like to switch to duel mode?]

Hadjar pondered the question for a long time.

“Yes,” he finally concluded.

Gurth’s figure blurred and disappeared. Hadjar felt a sudden jolt in his chest. Raising his head, he saw Gurth looking back at him — a frozen puppet created by the neural network.

[You died.

The round lasted 0.01 seconds.]

Hadjar swore so creatively that Nero would’ve asked him to write it all down so that he could add it to his repertoire of curses.

“How many modes do you have?”

[Processing request...

Opening the settings menu...]

Hundreds of different options appeared in front of him. He cursed again. He could do anything in this simulated world: adjust his opponent’s level, the effectiveness of their Techniques, their speed, the weather, the landscape, the weapons, the types of energy used, everyone’s characteristics, the number of opponents, whether he received tips, and so much more.

Why the hell had he studied to be an artist? He should’ve studied IT! He didn’t know a damn thing about technology! He’d only ever adjusted the volume on his old laptop!

“Why wasn’t this available before?”

[Processing request…

Insufficient energy to create a training area.

Training mode unlocked: 12 days ago]

Although he wasn’t a tech whizz, he knew that a lot of power would be required to create and maintain something as complex as this. These options had appeared in his neural network after Hadjar had strengthened his soul with the 99 drops of molten Celestial Metal.

“What’s the effectiveness of this training method?”

[Processing request...

Efficiency: 32%]

“How can I improve that efficiency?”

[Processing request…

An increase of up to 86% is possible when the training area is projected directly onto the host’s retina. In that case, the host will be able to train his entire body at once.]

Hadjar wasn’t technically savvy, but he still felt like something was off there...

“Is there a minimum energy capacity required for such a projection?”

The neural network answered immediately:

[Not enough power available currently. Six upgrades are required to activate and maintain the projection.]

“Upgrades?”

What he earned through sweat and blood — a transition to the next stage or level, the neural network saw as just an ‘upgrade’!

“Six... six... That means that I’d have to become a mid-stage Lord! Fucking piece of shit!” Unless his math was off? He was pretty sure it wasn’t…

He spent a good couple of minutes just cursing.

“Take me back... back... to the parade ground.”

[Processing request…]

A moment later, he was back in the middle of the sandy square littered with lifeless dummies.

Sitting down in a lotus position, he mulled everything over for a long time. Had he not disabled the autopilot, he never would’ve discovered this place. He’d had no idea that the neural network was capable of such a thing! He wasn’t a bloody scientist or engineer! He had used to brick his laptop fairly regularly because he hadn’t known how to use it properly, for fuck’s sake!

“I wonder,” he murmured curiously, “if it’s possible to create a fighting style based on the available data?”

The neural network spent a good fifteen minutes processing his request.

[Request cannot be executed.]

“Why?”

[Processing…

Reasons:

1. Lack of power. 9 upgrades required.

2. Lack of information. Information on 46 styles required.]

So, it would take him reaching the Nameless level and studying 46 sword styles before the neural network could create its own. He didn’t know if he could do all that, but he did know that he wouldn’t agree to use that style as it wouldn’t have been created by him, but by the neural-

[3. Style cannot be created without the host.]

“What does that mean?”

[Processing request... Insufficient data.]

The network only used the data that he already had, but it used it far more effectively than he did. Suddenly, another thought struck him:

“Is it possible to create a new sword Technique at the Imperial level or higher based on the available data?”

Contrary to his expectations, the network responded instantly.

[The request cannot be processed due to lack of necessary data and capacity.]

An Imperial level Technique wasn’t a simple fighting style, but something far more complex. Too difficult for even the network to comprehend, apparently.

Hadjar sighed.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

With a great effort of will, he finally forced his eyes open. He saw a worried Einen peering down at him.

“Who or what is this ‘neural network’ and why did you call out for them in your sleep?” He asked.

Hadjar swore.

Chapter 699

H adjar and Einen stared at each other for a while.

“I-”

The islander suddenly got to his feet and walked over to the fire.

“Barbarian, sometimes we have to keep secrets in order to protect each other,” he said, throwing some twigs into the fire.

Hadjar glanced up at him, but Einen was looking at the dancing flames. Night had fallen in the Wastelands. The stars were shining above the moon, looking like a crown atop a queen’s head. Hadjar got to his feet with some difficulty and walked over to Einen. He gripped his friend’s shoulder, sank down beside him, and held out his hands toward the fire.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Einen handed him a bowl of foul-smelling liquid. Hadjar took a sip and winced.

“Next time, think twice before you try to pay your forefathers a visit.”

Hadjar smiled. Wrapped up in a blanket, with a warm bowl in his cold hands, he felt happy to have a loyal friend like Einen, someone he could always rely on.

“How did we survive?” Hadjar asked. “There’s no way that my attack killed all six of them. Three, maybe...”

“Two,” Einen corrected.

“Then how did we get away?”

Hadjar wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. The wind was blowing in from the northwest, bringing with it the cold from the mountains of Greven’Dor. If a mortal somehow found themselves in the Wastelands right now, they would’ve instantly turned to ice because of this wind. Provided that the local atmosphere hadn’t killed them already, that is.

To a Heaven Soldier, the cold was inconvenient, but not deadly.

“We got lucky,” Einen said and filled him in.

After hearing about what had happened, Hadjar agreed that it had indeed been a stroke of luck. If the disciples hadn’t come across their battle, they would be standing in front of their forefathers right now.

“Did he really say that?” Hadjar asked. “That we’ll see each other again?”

Einen nodded.

“Fucking bastard,” Hadjar grumbled.

“That bastard almost killed us.”

“Only because he caught us off guard.”

“Because we were weaker than them, more like it. Our Techniques were weaker. Our styles were weaker.”

Hadjar opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. He remembered the numbers shown by the neural network. According to them, Gurth was almost three times more skilled than they were. He couldn’t deny that Einen had a point. He was absolutely right, in fact. They’d gotten really lucky.

“We should go back to the capital,” the islander continued. “If we continue to only cultivate our power, even the most poorly trained aristocrat will become a serious threat to us soon enough.”

“Do you want to give up on the search for the tomb?” Hadjar guessed.

Einen shrugged. He threw a couple more twigs into the fire.

“You came here because of Dora,” Hadjar suddenly said. How come he hadn’t noticed it before?

Einen turned to him, amethyst eyes glimmering under thick lashes. Hadjar saw no anger or irritation in his friend’s gaze, only sadness and disappointment. The islander turned away.

“The spear-staff is a rare weapon, my barbarian friend. No matter how rich Decater was, I don’t think he left any Techniques or Inheritances I can use.”

It was hard to argue with that. Hadjar had lived through thousands of battles, but he’d only seen someone use a spear-staff twice. And one of the warriors had been the man from Traves’ memories.

“What if I told you that Decater’s tomb was built in an ancient maze?”

“I hate mazes.”

“Wait, wait...” Hadjar waved his hands placatingly. ”Remember the maze that the Last King built? That maze.”

The mention of the Last King made Einen twitch slightly. Over the past few weeks, everything related to Erhard had caused them all nothing but trouble.

“How do you know that?”

Instead of answering, Hadjar just looked at his friend. Realizing that they were talking about another secret, Einen turned back to the fire and threw a few more twigs into it.

“I see...” He sighed. “Do you think we’ll find Techniques we can use?”

“I do,” Hadjar said. “I’d bet on it. If we’re really lucky, we’ll find the Inheritance as well.”

Einen opened his eyes wide. The sternness of his gaze made Hadjar feel uneasy.

“An Inheritance isn’t something to joke about, my barbarian friend.”

Hadjar understood what he was saying. The difference between a Technique and an Inheritance was the same as the difference between a Technique and a style. They both revolved around fighting, but a Technique allowed a person to use their energy in many different ways, while an Inheritance granted them knowledge that included Techniques, styles, and even clues to comprehending various weapon mysteries that were difficult to grasp on one’s own.

For example, the neural network, no matter how powerful it was, couldn’t take into account things like inspiration, insight, and the understanding of mysteries. An Inheritance was also difficult to create, but very useful to an Inheritor. The descendants of the ruling families of the great Imperial clans were called ‘junior’ or ‘senior’ heirs not because of their place in succession, but because of what kind of Inheritance they received when they reached the Lord level. Senior heirs got the full Inheritance created by the founder of the clan. Developed and improved by his heirs, it was a well-formed path of cultivation.

In other words, any cultivator, even the most gifted one, had to climb a rock-strewn cliff, cut themselves a path through multiple dense jungles, and swim across deep rivers just to achieve what those with an Inheritance had already managed to do. This was what their path of cultivation looked like. For heirs, this path was a well-made road they traversed in a carriage. They didn’t have to risk everything for the sake of power. The foundation of their cultivation was always stronger, and their understanding of the essence of things deeper. That was why any cultivator was prepared to sell their soul for a chance to get their hands on an Inheritance. The stronger its creator, the more valuable it was.

That was why the Shadow of the Immortal swordsman had been so astonished when Hadjar had refused its Inheritance. Even the Emperor of Darnassus would’ve gladly sold his soul to attain it.

If the Black General hadn’t lied to him, it would be possible to find a suitable Inheritance for Einen in Erhard’s maze. As for him, he needed only one thing from Erhard — a scroll with the sword Techniques created by the strongest swordsman in all of history, the first Darkhan himself.

“Well, let’s get going, then.” Einen slapped his knees and stood up.

Chapter 700

H idden in a ravine, lying prone on the ground, Hadjar looked through his telescope at what was happening on the plain. He didn’t like it.

“Here.” He handed the telescope to Einen.

The Islander held it up to his left eye. He also didn’t like what he was seeing. The entire plain was littered with the corpses of both humans and animals.

Azrea, who’d emerged victorious from her fight, and with only a couple of small wounds at that, was sprawled out beside Einen’s horse. By some miracle, the two animals had managed to become friends.

“260... 275… 293…” Einen counted the corpses.

Whoever had found the key to Decater’s tomb had suffered a terrible fate. In the center of the plain, floating in a pool of boiling acid, were several gradually-disappearing armor plates. That was all that remained of the adventurer.

The battle for the key, where it was every man for himself, had lasted the entire night. The plain was covered in Technique remnants: icy needles, dying embers of fire, crushed earth, poisonous plants, lakes of acid, whirlwinds, metal structures of some kind, and huge replicas of weapons.

Once upon a time, when he’d been just a simple officer in Lidus’ Moon army, Hadjar had used to fantasize about what a battle between cultivators would look like. The reality of it wasn’t inspiring, but horrifying. He was afraid to even imagine what would’ve happened if such a battle had broken out in Lidus.

“When do you think it ended?” Einen handed the telescope back to Hadjar. He’d counted more than four hundred corpses. Four hundred dead cultivators!

“No more than half an hour ago.” Hadjar put the telescope back into his spatial ring.

“I agree.” The islander nodded. “If more time had passed, the remnants of the Techniques would’ve already disappeared into the World River.”

Everything that the friends were looking at was going to disappear soon. Energy shaped into Techniques couldn’t exist for too long on its own. The only exception, as far as Hadjar knew, was the invisible bridge leading from the Arva’Lon Tree to Greven’Dor.

“Where to next, my friend?” Einen asked.

Hadjar thought about it for a moment.

“We need to get closer. I can’t see any tracks from here,” he said reluctantly.

Einen knew that Hadjar was an experienced tracker, which is why he didn’t argue, even though neither of them felt like going down there. However, they had no other choice.

Hadjar drew Azrea’s attention with a sharp whistle and gestured for her to guard the horse. The tigress replied with a displeased snort and went back to licking her wounds. Hadjar had no idea why she didn’t speak when her intelligence was comparable to that of a human. He’d always suspected that she knew and understood more than he did, but chose to remain silent.

Hadjar and Einen went down the hill, crawling on all fours as silently as they could. Sometimes, they had to stay still and cover themselves with their Calls. Groups of disciples were constantly approaching the plain. After a couple of minutes observing the battlefield, they’d turn around and head in a different direction, wanting to catch up with the new holders of the key as soon as possible. They also didn’t want to run into other disciples and potentially have to fight them.

Hadjar and Einen didn’t have enough power to hide perfectly, but-

“Help…”

Hadjar froze. He was crawling over a corpse. It wasn’t pleasant, but after fighting in several wars, he had ceased to perceive corpses as human remains. He treated them as if they were nothing more than rocks or trees.

A young man of about seventeen looked at the sky with empty eye sockets. A hole with jagged edges gaped in his stomach. A sword wouldn’t have left that kind of wound behind. He’d probably been hit with a battle axe. Various larvae and bugs had already made their home in his entrails, which had spilled out. Despite that, he was still breathing. Just barely, but he was definitely breathing and clinging to life. He didn’t want to go to his forefathers without having attained power and glory first. In all honesty, the vast majority of cultivators only needed glory. They wanted legends and songs to be written about them and passed down for centuries, so that even after their deaths, they wouldn’t just disappear amongst the other cultivators of the past...

Hadjar turned to Einen, but the islander looked away. He was a pirate, not a soldier…

“What’s your mother’s name, warrior?” Hadjar whispered.

“Theseus,” the boy croaked through a mouthful of blood.

“Tell me about her.” Hadjar pulled his carving dagger from his boot.

Trying to make as few unnecessary movements as possible, he crawled over to the young man and lay down next to him. Together, they watched the sunrise. The eyes of a true cultivator could withstand the bright light of the dawn.

“She has... brown... hair.”

Hadjar said a prayer to Derger, asking him to accompany this warrior to the house of his forefathers, ensuring they would receive him with honor.

“She makes... delicious... pies... and… cakes. And she smells... smells…”

“What does she smell like, warrior?”

“Like... a spring... field.”

With a swift jerk of his hand, he cut the young man’s throat. He didn’t try to close his eyes. Only in songs did heroes do this to the dead. In reality, the corpse would become so rigid that it was impossible to move anything.

After wiping his dagger clean on the dead cultivator’s armor, Hadjar returned to Einen. They crept on in silence. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, Hadjar had to finish off four more unfortunate souls. All of them asked for help. They didn’t ask to be spared, they just begged to be put out of their misery, because, at best, they would’ve ended up crippled, and worse still, lost their ability to cultivate. All they asked for was a dignified death — a weapon in their hands and honor in their hearts, so they could look their forefathers in the eye with pride.

At times, Hadjar missed the simple life of a soldier, one devoid of schemes and plots. He missed having to only worry about his own life and the lives of those who stood next to him. But this didn’t happen very often.

After all, Hadjar hated war.

Chapter 701

W rapped in his black cloak, Hadjar sat on his haunches. He ran his hand over the seemingly lifeless earth. Where even a true cultivator wouldn’t be able to see anything but traces of other people’s Techniques, he saw a lot more.

A small footprint. It looked like it had been left behind by a girl, but it actually belonged to a man who was more than six feet tall and weighed about 330 pounds. This giant wielded the war axe that had killed over fifty warriors.

But why was his footprint so small? Despite his size, he seemed to be rather quick. Perhaps as quick as Hadjar himself. He’d used a lot of Techniques at the Heaven level, so he had to have an abnormally large reserve of energy in his Core. He’d heard of these monsters before. All of them belonged to the Eternal Mountain clan, famous for its forges and armor. Each of their Heaven Soldiers had a reserve of energy comparable to that of a Spirit Knight’s. And on the Spirit Knight level, they had about as much as a Lord. The secret behind their meditation Technique, which allowed them to expand their Cores’ capacity, was guarded zealously.

“It’s the ‘Quick Dream’ School,” Hadjar said.

“The Eternal Mountain clan?” Einen asked.

“Yeah.” Hadjar continued to stare at the footprints left behind on the battlefield. “There were nine of them, maybe eleven. Three of them are from the Eternal Mountain clan. The others are all slightly weaker.”

“Not servants, then. Allies, maybe?”

“Or mercenaries,” Hadjar suggested. They were more likely to be allies, but he wasn’t ruling anything out just yet. “They don’t work very well together.” He pointed a little farther away. “They almost hit each other with their Techniques there.”

“So, not mercenaries.”

“That’s bad. Mercenaries can be bought.”

Unless they were from the Dead Moon clan. But neither of them wanted to think about those particular mercenaries, fearing that the thought alone could summon the assassins. They could feel someone’s gaze on them at all times. Maybe it was just paranoia, or maybe Gurth and his men were lying in wait. Hadjar had already lived like that before, always expecting the next attempt on his life. But that had been in distant Lidus, and he hadn’t taken it seriously enough back then. Now such an attitude could end up costing him his life.

“What else do you see?”

“Two archers,” Hadjar continued. “Very skillful. Maybe hunters, but it’s more likely that they’re from the military.”

“The Military Academy… Then the Eternal Mountain clan was surely here.”

The Eternal Mountain clan supplied the army with their equipment, so the military stuck close to them. It wasn’t surprising that they’d been able to acquire the army’s support in this ‘expedition’.

“Several swordsmen. At least one of them uses a fighting style similar to Anise’s, so he might be trouble.”

“What else?”

“That’s all. I’m not the god of tracking, my bald friend. I can’t tell everything from just their footprints.”

“I’ve heard legends about old women who could read one’s past and future by the lines on their palms.”

“If you become an old woman, make sure to give it a go and tell me how that worked out for you,” Hadjar retorted.

Einen smiled.

“We need a plan.”

Hadjar grinned back.

“I have one.”

Einen raised an eyebrow.

***

“Your ‘plan’ sounds more like a suicide pact.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll do it again to make sure it gets through to you: you’re mad, Hadjar.”

“Oh, if only I had a coin for each time I’ve heard that one...”

“Stop talking in your native language!” A spearhead was moved dangerously close to Hadjar’s throat. “One more word and you’ll have a new hole to match the one in your head!”

Another spear was suddenly near Einen’s Adam’s apple.

There were three, not two archers as Hadjar had guessed, in the squad that had managed to take the key from the cultivators who had originally found it. Arrows nocked and bowstrings pulled back, they were ready to shoot them if they so much as twitched. Two spearmen stood guard over Einen and Hadjar, who were on their knees.

Finding them hadn’t been difficult. Cultivators raised in the capital were never able to hide their tracks. They moved across the Wastelands like they were walking down a busy street in the center of a city. If he’d wanted to, Hadjar could’ve tracked every group that had left the plain.

“We’re just discussing our plan.” He shrugged.

“What plan?”

Simultaneously with the spear drawing closer, a wave of some odd, acidic stench struck Hadjar in the face. Whatever Technique the lanky spearman practiced, it clearly left its mark on him. He smelled like a killer.

“How to kill you and take the key.”

“What? You-”

A roar of laughter drowned out the rest of his sentence. A tall man came out of the tent the two friends were kneeling next to. He had a thick, black beard adorned with braids and bronzed, powerful arms bound with leather. His fists looked like sledgehammers, and the axe strapped to his back was even bigger than the weapon Sunshine Sankesh had wielded. Hadjar wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the Eternal Mountain clan were descendants of the northern tribes where Sankesh had spent his youth.

The man was over six feet tall and broad-shouldered. His legs were so wide and muscular that it was difficult for him to fit them into pants, so he wore a kilt made of steel and fabric. The armor, with its breastplate stripped of its sleeves, looked like a dress. But Hadjar knew better than to make fun of a giant who could pop his head like a ripe grape.

“Who are you?” He thundered.

His aura marked him as a mid-stage Spirit Knight. However, given the blue tattoos on his face — the trademark of the Eternal Mountain clan — it was likely that his power reserves were beyond that of a Lord at the initial stage. And if Hadjar wasn’t mistaken, he was also an heir of his clan, a true aristocrat.

Fighting him would earn you a one-way ticket to the afterlife.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” he introduced himself. “And this is my friend, Einen of the Islands.”

“Why is your friend silent? Unless I’ve gone mad, I distinctly recall hearing him talk a moment ago. What’s the matter, has he gone mute from fear?”

The warriors laughed and the giant laughed the loudest of all of them.

“The culture of his people is too complicated to explain. Not that you’d find it interesting, anyway.”

The giant shrugged.

“Then our conversation is over.” He turned back toward his tent. “Kill them.”

“Wait! Wait!” Hadjar shouted. “You don’t even know what we can offer!”

The giant paused midstep and arched his right eyebrow.

“I’m listening,” he said, a little interested.

“We know,” Hadjar began, smiling, “that you have the key to Decater’s tomb.”

The warriors glanced at each other. The lanky spearman turned to the giant.

“Galkhad, let me send them to-”

“And what do you have to offer, kid?” Galkhad interrupted.

Hadjar ignored the insult.

“You have the key, and we have,” he carefully pulled a papyrus scroll from his sleeve using just two fingers so as not to unnerve the archers, “the map… We should join forces!”

“We’re dead,” Einen mouthed.

Hadjar continued to smile, but in the depths of his eyes, an animalistic madness glittered.

Chapter 702

“N ice try, kiddo!” Galkhad grinned, revealing his pearly white teeth. “But the map hasn’t even been discovered yet. You aren’t worth my time. Kill-”

“Wait!” Hadjar interrupted him. “I know the original map hasn’t been found yet, but…” He drew his carving dagger and cut his palm before the spearman could react. “I swear by my Name that this is a real copy of the map that leads to Decater’s tomb.”

Eleven warriors watched the wound on Hadjar’s palm heal in a flash of golden light. A couple of long seconds passed, but the man didn’t turn into a pillar of raging fire.

“Well, you aren’t lying.” The smile disappeared from Galkhad’s face. “How did you get it?”

“When the map was delivered to our School,” Hadjar held up his medallion of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, “I was able to use a copy artifact on it.”

“A copy artifact-”

“Galkhad, do you actually believe this bastard?” the spearman holding the tip of his weapon to Hadjar’s throat protested. “He’s just a fully-fledged disciple! How could he have gained access to the map?”

“You’re right.” Galkhad nodded. “But he swore an oath and lived.”

While they bickered, Hadjar looked around. They were surrounded by Galkhad, two spearmen, three archers, and six swordsmen. Two people stood out due to their size and were easily identifiable as part of the Eternal Mountain clan. One of them held a battle axe, and the other a warhammer. It looked even bigger and bulkier than Dora’s.

Hadjar gazed at a tall swordswoman. Clad in armor that revealed more of her magnificent, slender body than it covered, she leaned on a heavy sword. Judging by how deep the blade had sunk into the ground, it had to weigh at least a ton. It was amazing how a fragile-looking girl like her could wield such a mighty weapon. Then again, if the medallion on her belt really belonged to her, it was no surprise. She was part of the Geran family.

“Then take the map and be done with it!” The spearman exclaimed.

Seeing the hesitation in Galkhad’s eyes, Hadjar moved to the next phase of his plan. He touched the scroll with his willpower, in a manner so subtle that even the most observant of cultivators would’ve missed it. It burst into a blaze of black energy, leaving only ash behind in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this, commoner?” Galkhad growled.

“If you kill us, you’ll lose the advantage, and the chance to be the first ones to find Decater’s tomb.”

“You little-”

“And what’s stopping us from simply killing your bald friend, kid?” Galkhad interrupted.

Einen and Hadjar exchanged a look. They hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Or even better,” Galkhad continued, “I’ll torture him in front of you until you agree to draw us another copy. And then I’ll kill you. How do you like that idea, peasant?”

“In all fairness, it’s a good idea.” Hadjar said. “However, it’s also flawed.”

“By the forge, I’ll kill you both if you don’t start talking! I don’t enjoy feeling like an idiot.”

“I doubt that that’s a new feeling for him,” Einen said in his mother tongue.

“What did baldy just say?” the spearman screamed.

“Nothing important,” Hadjar hastened to assure him. “He just reminded me that he was the one who did the copying. He encrypted the map. And I only know the encrypted version. So, you need both of us. Just like we need you. Fighting you for the key wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“It certainly wouldn’t,” Galkhad muttered. “Your friend is a Spirit Knight, at least, but you’re just a pathetic Heaven Soldier... By the hammer and steel, if you try to pull any tricks on us, I’ll send you to your forefathers!”

The spearman, who had eagerly been waiting for a chance to slice Hadjar’s head clean off his shoulders, looked at his leader in surprise.

“Galkhad-”

“Give them water, food, and a tent. In the evening, after meditation, we’ll discuss our plan.”

His orders given, he turned and went back to his tent.

“By the demons and gods,” the spearman swore. “Mark my words, bastard, I’ll be the one to kill you.”

Hadjar didn’t know what he’d done to annoy the man so much. Perhaps he disliked anyone who was more handsome than he was. Then again, he would need to hate a lot of people if that was the case...

“I don’t doubt it.” Hadjar nodded, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. “Just get in line first.”

“What did you just say, commoner?”

The spearman, who had already moved a few steps away, rushed back to Hadjar and grabbed him by the shirt. He’d stuck his spear in the ground beside him, wanting to demonstrate that he didn’t need a weapon to defeat a lowlife like this pathetic beggar. Hadjar had a Heaven level sword sheathed at his hip. He’d found it on the battlefield.

Galkhad’s entire group, save for the girl with the giant sword, who was standing by the fire, had already retreated to their tents.

“Leave him alone, Proximo.” She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

By the High Heavens, she’s insanely strong!

Hadjar didn’t need the neural network to tell him that she was a mid-stage Spirit Knight. Given that her specialty were heavy swords, her body was much stronger than it looked.

“Theia,” the spearman hissed, “you’re not the boss of me! Hands off!”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Proximo.”

As if by magic, two more swordsmen appeared next to Proximo, carrying broadswords at their belts and round shields on their backs. Each of them wore the Geran family’s medallion — the best builders of the Empire. Due to a series of political mishaps, the clan had almost been impoverished, and had been restoring its former greatness bit by bit for several centuries now.

“She isn’t even an heiress,” Proximo snorted.

“And you’re the son of a minor nobleman, hiding behind your friendship with a junior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan,” one of the warriors hissed. “Know your place, cur.”

“Shut up, Kurt.” Proximo’s hand moved toward his spear. The swordsmen unsheathed their blades. “You’re only in this squad because Theia asked for it. How do you like the favor of an inferior family?”

The situation continued to escalate until one of the giants from the Eternal Mountain clan walked by. Holding a monstrous hammer over his shoulder, he was on his way to Galkhad’s tent. He gave Proximo a warning look in passing.

“Damn it!” The spearman spat at Theia’s feet. Yanking his spear out of the ground, he shouldered past the swordsmen and went about his business.

“My lady.” The swordsmen bowed and moved away, leaving Theia alone with the two friends.

Einen gave Hadjar a look that said: ‘We got lucky.’

“Nice sword, Hadjar.”

“Thank you... my lady. It’s my pride and joy.”

“Really now?” Theia arched an eyebrow slightly. “I’ve heard that Hadjar Darkhan of ‘The Holy Sky’ School fights with a strange black blade made from fog. Not some pitiful Heaven level toothpick.”

Hadjar and Einen instantly tensed up. They were ready to both fight and run away at the same time. Hadjar suddenly realized why Theia’s appearance seemed so familiar to him.

“Price-”

“My brother,” she said. “Price Geran is my brother… Was my brother…”

Chapter 703

T hey were sitting around a fire and drinking alcohol. Galkhad, for some reason, had rescheduled their meeting for the following morning. As Hadjar had learned, he was a junior heir of the Eternal Mountain clan, a Spirit Knight who’d mastered the Weapon’s Heart. According to rumors, he was the only junior heir of the seven great clans who’d been able to acquire and fully comprehend Imperial level Techniques. It was no wonder that many held Galkhad Garad in such high esteem.

“Price was a good man.” Since the incident at the ‘Heaven’s Pond’, Hadjar hadn’t drunk alcohol. “And a great warrior. It was an honor to fight against him and... Alongside him.”

Einen was meditating in their tent, so it was only Hadjar and Theia warming themselves up by the fire.

“He was an idiot.” Theia drank her wine. “He fought when he shouldn’t have.”

Hadjar said nothing. If it hadn’t been for Price, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Or rather, Einen wouldn’t be here with him today.

“That idiot…” Theia tossed her bowl into the fire and hugged her knees as she stared into the flames. “You know, after that battle on the Imperial road, he kept talking about this amazing Heaven Soldier from ‘The Holy Sky’ School.”

Hadjar took another bowl and handed it to her. Was this her seventh or eighth one? He’d lost count. All of them had ended up in the fire; some still burned, refusing to turn into coal.

“He kept talking about how he’d finally gotten a chance to fight a worthy opponent. He told me about a strange sword and the Technique that had nearly killed him. He told me that Hadjar Darkhan was the man he wanted to fight in a fair duel.”

Hadjar drank some more. He’d almost managed to repress his memories of Price. But now they’d resurfaced to hurt him once again. Rare were the people whom he trusted enough to fight side by side with. Price, even though he’d been a foe, even though he hadn’t known him for long, had been one such person.

“To Price Geran.” He raised his bowl above his head. “To a man of honor.”

“To my brother.” Theia raised her own bowl. “To a naive idiot.”

The silence that they were suddenly enveloped in was occasionally interrupted by the song of the cicadas and the wind. The moon and stars shone brightly, glimmering like a noblewoman’s gown studded with diamonds. Nights like these reminded Hadjar of the Sea of Sand. And Arkemeya, too. Why had he remembered her? Half monster, half human… The poor thing.

“What’s her name?” Theia asked suddenly.

“Whose name?” Hadjar asked in confusion.

“The one you’re thinking of.”

He didn’t answer.

Theia drained another bowl, tossed it into the fire, then grabbed the bottle and took a few hefty gulps from it.

“Men,” she breathed out, wiping her lips. “Put you near a fire, under a night sky, with a bottle of booze in your hand… and you turn into helpless romantics.”

“Do we now?”

“Poor sods, drooling over pretty girls you’ll never have.”

“The one I was thinking about tried to yank my heart out of my chest rather than win it over.”

Theia chuckled. She cradled her head in her hands and looked at Hadjar. Her brown eyes looked almost black in the darkness of the night, just like-

He shook his head. Theia smiled knowingly.

“You stupid warrior, you really are thinking about a girl,” she repeated with a drunken chuckle.

“She wanted to kill me. She’ll probably try again.”

“What kind of cultivator wants a meek, gentle spouse? What kind of cultivator just needs to have their dinner cooked, feet washed, and bed warmed?” Theia started crying. “No, cultivators need something different. We need someone who’ll hand us arrows on the battlefield. Someone who’ll face a dragon alongside you. Someone whom you’ll be able to fight and cultivate with for centuries to come.”

Hadjar knew exactly what she was talking about. Once, he’d considered Anise to be someone he could do so with, but now…

“I can assure you, Theia, that she’s not someone I think of in such a way.”

“Really?” Something mischievous flashed in the girl’s eyes. “Then kiss me.”

Hadjar tilted his head slightly to one side.

“Or is the mighty Hadjar Darkhan afraid of-”

The sharp taste of alcohol instantly went to his head. Theia leaned forward, like a cat begging to be petted. He caressed her soft, brown hair and wound it around his fist. Theia threw her head back and moaned as Hadjar’s lips moved down her chin and neck.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered in a husky voice.

Hadjar obeyed. His left hand slid under her strange armor. He found the ribbon, loosened it with a practiced move of his fingers, and then yanked it off, revealing her perky, rosy breasts. Theia moaned harder. He threw her to the ground right next to the fire. He took her right there, in the middle of the camp, illuminated by the dancing flames and beneath the starry sky. One… Two… Three times.

“Don’t stop... More... Harder…!” Sighs exploded from Theia’s lips. Dragging her nails down his back, she kept pleading for more.

Pausing only to drink, they returned to each other with renewed lust each time. Theia wasn’t as skilled as the priestesses of love in a brothel Hadjar had once visited had been. But she was still a cultivator, a Spirit Knight with endurance that no whore could match.

He took her over and over again.

It was like a fight. Leaving bloody scratches on each other’s bodies, they rolled across the dry ground of the Wastelands. The fire had long since died out, the waning moon was descending somewhere to the west, but they continued their passionate struggle. As if both of them were trying to escape from something or someone…

It wasn’t until the next morning, when footsteps could be heard coming from nearby, that Hadjar finally moved away from a panting Theia. They were both dripping with sweat and blood, skin scratched until it was red and bitten until it became bluish-purple. What had just happened wasn’t an expression of love between two people, but sheer, animal lust.

“Leave me,” Theia breathed out.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, she added wood to the fire, causing it to flare up. Hadjar put his old, worn clothes back on and went over to his and Einen’s tent.

The emptiness in his soul didn’t disappear. On the contrary, it grew larger. He realized that he couldn’t remember what Anise’s hair smelled like. If he’d even known that to begin with…

Chapter 704

S eated on a folding chair at the table where a rough map of the whole Wastelands was spread out, Hadjar reminisced about his days in the Moon army.

“What do you think, Buremir?”

Galkhad handed the pointer to one of the archers, who, as far as Hadjar had understood it, was a member of a noble family, just like Proximo. To the commoners of the Empire, the nobles were something akin to celestials.

“A group of forty cultivators has come together in the east, twenty miles from here...” Buremir moved some figures around on the map.

It really looked like a war council back in the Moon army had, but on a smaller scale. It was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that everyone present could destroy a quarter of the Moon army on their own.

“Their levels?”

Galkhad, sitting on a massive chair that had been carved into the shape of a pair of intertwined deer horns, propped his chin up on his fist. He looked menacing, but still charismatic enough to earn the loyalty of Spirit Knights and even the Gerans, who were also aristocrats, albeit of a lower rank.

Hadjar had initially assumed that he was dealing with an allied force, but he’d recently realized that there was a strict hierarchy in the squad. At the top was the Eternal Mountain clan, represented by Galkhad and his brothers. Honestly, that made their task easier to some extent.

“Seven Knights, the rest are Soldiers. None of them have mastery over the Weapon’s Heart. They’re an easy target, Galkhad. We’ll deal with them in half an hour.”

“Great.” Galkhad nodded. “And if we turn a little bit to the north?”

Taking the pointer from the archer, he began to move the figure that represented their squad along the mouth of what had once been a river.

“We could go around to the northeast and hit them before they suspect a thing.”

“But if we come up along the river, we’ll be able to-”

“Cut to the chase!” Galkhad prompted Buremir impatiently.

“That’s uncharted territory. No one knows what other monsters besides the lights might’ve woken up.”

As far as Hadjar could tell, Buremir called the Spirit-golems they’d fought against ‘lights’. Judging by everything he’d seen so far, he had no doubt that these creatures were just as powerful as Galkhad’s squad. The Dinos siblings and Dora were worth ten of the ‘Quick Dream’ School’s inner circle disciples.

Galkhad nodded. “So, in order to move farther east, we need to get rid of these idiots.”

Hadjar suddenly realized that after the Wastelands had been opened to all the disciples of the Empire, the situation in the region had changed greatly. Loners could still get by unnoticed, but they could do little on their own. Even strong cultivators like the Dinos siblings and Dora. On their own, none of them would be able to survive for long. The Wastelands were no longer the same as they’d been a couple of months ago. The map and the key had drastically changed the region.

Being part of a large squad had its pros and cons. The main downside was the lack of subtlety. If they approached the enemy group just like Buremir had suggested, it would definitely come back to bite them in the ass.

“A battle may attract other squads,” Theia said.

“It’s fine, we can handle it,” Galkhad retorted dismissively.

“You giants from the Eternal Mountain clan may have recovered, but the rest of us need more time.”

Several of the other squad members backed her up on this. The Eternal Mountain clan’s warriors were famous for the incredible amount of energy in their Cores, and the fact that they could easily restore it. Any army was happy to have them — one of their warriors was worth ten others in a war.

“You’ve had plenty of time to recover, Theia,” Proximo said. “You should’ve spent the night meditating, not pleasuring a commoner.”

Theia slammed her hand down on the table and rose to her feet. The Geran warriors rose behind her.

“One more word, you son of a measly baron, and I’ll make sure to water your lands with the blood of your kin.”

Proximo grabbed his spear.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Just because you belong to a poor clan? I’ve heard about how your Head restored the clan’s treasury. How many husbands has she had? Eight? Ten? All of them were rich nobles and-”

“Shut your mouth, Proximo!” Galkhad roared, eyes blazing with rage. “I don’t like it when an upstart nobleman disrespects an old clan in my presence!”

Proximo, realizing that he’d gone too far, bowed to the giant and then to Theia. While bowing to the latter, he didn’t bother to avert his gaze. Instead, he stared sternly into her eyes — he was challenging her.

“My apologies to House Geran.”

Everyone present knew that accepting such an apology was even worse than not receiving it in the first place. If Proximo had disrespected the Dinos or Marnil clan like that, he would’ve been dead in an instant, followed by all of his relatives, including even their most distant cousins. And their lands would’ve been covered with a thick layer of ash, under which they’d have buried the mauled corpses of his family. House Geran was weak. They held the position of the seventh greatest clan only because it was beneficial to the Emperor.

“Your apology is accepted, Proximo,” Theia hissed through clenched teeth.

Leaving deep furrows in the surface of the table, she sat back down in her chair. Her warriors followed her example.

“I thought so,” Proximo whispered and sat back down as well.

“So, if there are no other suggestions, we’ll go east.”

“But-”

Galkhad’s interrupted Theia with a wave of his hand.

“Proximo has allowed himself to go too far, and I apologize on his behalf, Theia. But he’s right. You should’ve meditated. So, unless someone has a reasonable argument against it, we’ll fight this group. Let me also remind you that we have the key. And if these two commoners could track us,” Galkhad nodded at Hadjar and Einen, “others can as well.”

Hadjar gave Einen the signal. The islander leaned close to his ear and began to whisper… swear words in his native language. Furrowing his brows and tightening his lips as if in deep thought, Hadjar began to nod.

“Yes... Of course... I remember, obviously... A clever code, my friend... Yes... Really? Interesting…”

Galkhad rolled his eyes.

“What are you two whispering about?” He growled irritably.

“Pardon.” Hadjar smiled apologetically. He picked up one of the pointers and began to move the squad’s figure with it. “If we follow the river... According to the map, there’s an underground channel that the ancients used as a sewer.”

“And why should we care about where the ancients dumped their shit?”

“Well, the shit, if it’s even still there, has been petrified for a long time. But the channel will allow us to sneak six miles northeast.”

“Which will take us from the entrance to the east side,” Buremir said, “and that’s where the map is rumored to be located.”

Hadjar had no idea how the rumors of the map’s location had even reached the Wastelands, but he figured that the organizers themselves had probably spread them.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Hadjar shrugged. “But wherever the map is, why should we bother looking for it if-”

“-if we can have them bring it to us.” Galkhad nodded. “No one can enter the tomb without it. So, why not wait for it at the entrance?”

“Exactly.” Hadjar nodded.

Galkhad pretended to consider this suggestion. However, it was obvious that he’d already made up his mind.

What the giant didn’t know was that Hadjar had ‘forgotten’ to mention that the ancient sewer system would lead them directly to the center of a city from the Hundred Kingdoms era that hadn’t been marked on any map of the Wastelands. It had been hidden from everyone for hundreds of centuries.

“Oh, by the Great Turtle,” Einen sighed, his face buried in his hands, “we’re all going to die.”

Chapter 705

“R emind me again why we have to go first? We have the map, but we don’t have-”

“Shut up, peasant! Shut up and keep walking!”

“That’s a reasonable argument. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Hadjar turned away from the mounted Galkhad. He and Einen were walking along the bed of the old river. Putting one foot in front of the other, he descended carefully, paying no heed to the scorching sun or his worn clothes.

Once upon a time, this river had been a sight to behold. It had been hundreds of feet deep, and wide enough for several merchant fleets, accompanied by the military, to move along it. There was about fifteen miles of nothingness between the banks now. Instead of being full of life, they were now sandy slopes just like the rest of the Wastelands. Sparse, withered grass was all that remained after the Last War, the tragedy that had robbed this area of not only millions of lives, but of nature itself.

“Stop looking around!” Proximo, riding behind Hadjar, jabbed him in the back with his spear. “Move faster!”

“I’ll kill him,” Hadjar hissed in the language of the Islands.

“What did you just say, you stinking peasant?”

Hadjar cursed and looked down at his feet. Like Einen, he wore his best cloth-wrapped shoes. They were his favorite and most comfortable pair. Unlike the nobles, they didn’t have to change their shoes often. This kind of footwear was much more practical than their fashionable cavalry boots. He couldn’t imagine anyone climbing the mountains of Greven’Dor in them. Both the Dinos siblings and Dora had had to put on special boots with crampons in order to climb the treacherous slopes.

“If we don’t die before then,” Einen replied.

“What did he say? Tell me!”

“Calm down, Proximo.” Theia snorted haughtily. “You’re gonna pop a blood vessel.”

“Or shit yourself,” one of the giants suggested. Argakhad, that was his name.

“Good thing he wore his brown pants,” she sneered.

“Maybe they’ll kill each other?” Einen said hopefully. “By the way, this particular plan, my barbarian friend, is the most insane one you’ve had in a while.”

“Are you scared?” Hadjar arched an eyebrow.

“No,” his friend retorted, “I’ve survived many of your plans, barbarian, but this one… Even the Great Turtle can see that this one is suicidal.”

Hadjar seemed confused by that. “How can it see the plan? Isn’t the Great Turtle blind?”

“Doesn’t it bother anyone else that they’re discussing something in their native language?” Proximo screamed.

“Blasphemer!” Einen shouted and almost tripped in his outrage.

“I’m serious!”

“Look, Proximo,” Galkhad said with a chuckle. “We’re at the bottom of what was once a great river. The forge only knows what kinds of beasts were awakened by the appearance of the key and the map.”

The rest of the squad chuckled as well. Proximo gripped his spear with both hands and looked around.

By this point, they’d descended the slope and were now moving along the riverbed that looked more like a gorge with high rocks that towered above their heads. Like the walls of a mighty fortress, they surrounded the squad. Sharp as blades, they jutted out of the ground, reaching toward the sky. The horses, despite their high Stage of cultivation, couldn’t deal with the gorge while carrying a rider.

“Dismount,” Galkhad commanded and jumped off his mount.

He grabbed his horse by the bridle and gripped the handle of his axe with his right hand. His Imperial level armor was the best that Hadjar had ever seen. Even the sets that the Dinos siblings and Dora wore had some flaws. Their sets of armor weren’t able to fully maintain energy circulation, so they couldn’t store the power poured into them by their owners. Galkhad’s armor didn’t have any such flaws. At an auction, it would sell for way more than an ordinary set of Imperial level armor.

“I don’t like this,” Argakhad said and approached Galkhad. He held a hammer; his armor was in no way inferior to his cousin’s. “Do you really believe these two peasants?”

Hadjar, who was walking in front of the two, couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. However, the neural network could. It was as if someone had suddenly made all the sounds in the world much clearer. Hadjar heard a snake crawling ten paces to the north. He heard hundreds of small bats, their wings quivering slightly and creating vibrations.

In all that noise, two voices stood out clearly.

“I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t wear the insignia of our clan,” Galkhad responded quietly. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“We could destroy that group of forty cultivators.”

“We could,” Galkhad agreed, “but then what? Go blindly toward the east, chasing after rumors?”

“It was thanks to rumors that we even found the key.”

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, cousin. Rumors may help, but they may just as easily lead us into a trap.”

Galkhad wasn’t stupid. Hadjar hadn’t initially taken that into account. He had trusted the rumors he’d heard in Dahanatan that claimed the Eternal Mountain clan were all big, strong, power-hungry, and stupid. Then again, had they been as stupid as the rumors made them out to be, they wouldn’t have secured themselves a place at the table of the seven great clans. Or been able to forge such perfect armor.

“These two could be leading us into a trap.”

“They probably are,” Galkhad said. “But whatever they’ve come up with, they won’t be able to take the key from me.”

“A spatial artifact doesn’t make for the best safe, cousin.”

“But they won’t just steal the key. Even if they’re planning something nefarious, their plans will only end in their own deaths and—”

Since he’d heard all that he needed to hear, Hadjar discreetly took a small, King Stage Core out of his spatial ring.

“Here we go.” Einen sighed.

Hadjar winked at him and hurled the Core forward. A few seconds later, there was movement.

“We’re dead.”

“Stop being such a pessimist!”

The walls of the gorge shook as something roared, sounding like it was crashing through the walls themselves.

“Take cover!” Hadjar shouted. “It’s a Stone Crocodile!”

The two friends ducked behind a nearby boulder.

Chapter 706

B reaking through the high rocks, a huge crocodile came around the bend. Attracted by the Core, it had sniffed out the squad and now sought to devour the Spirit Knights, whose Cores were far more powerful than the one that had originally lured it here.

“Get into formation!” Galkhad commanded.

Their trained horses immediately retreated a few yards back and huddled behind a big rock, following Hadjar and Einen’s example.

“By the Great Turtle,” the islander breathed out. “That creature is much stronger than we thought.”

“Yeah…” Hadjar rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, I couldn’t have predicted that.”

Einen grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back behind the rock. Hadjar took a small mirror from his spatial ring and poked it out a little from behind their shelter. Now he could see what was happening even without the neural network.

The Crocodile really was stronger and bigger than Hadjar had planned for. It resembled its mortal kin in appearance, only it had sixteen instead of four legs. Its huge, square head was completely covered in stone plates. Some of them were dotted with red crystals that radiated destructive energy. Their scarlet rays cut through the walls of the gorge, reducing them to many small pieces. The large rocks were no tougher than dry wood to them.

“Shields up!” Galkhad roared.

Hadjar could see why the military appreciated the Eternal Mountain clan no less than they valued House Marnil. The Geran warriors stepped in front of Galkhad’s squad. They took their shields off their backs in perfect unison and held them in front of themselves.

“Stork’s Wing!” They shouted.

White energy swirled around the warriors and passed through their shields. Hadjar was surprised to realize that they were Heaven level artifacts. A scarlet ray shot out from the crystal on the monster’s face and struck the white energy. The latter flared up and turned into a wide stork wing that covered the squad protectively. It looked both mesmerizingly beautiful and deadly. The scarlet beam, deflected by the defensive Technique, split into dozens of smaller rays. Twisting and turning, they melted and cut through several boulders.

“Archers! Aim for its eyes!”

Three men rose from behind the Geran warriors. Long-range fighters were very rare: a Lord level archer was valued more than even the most talented of swordsmen. These three Spirit Knights were both skilled and strong.

“Phoenix Feather!” one of them shouted.

A Spirit appeared behind him, assuming the shape of an arrow in a quiver. Hadjar imagined the archer reaching behind him and drawing a fire arrow from his quiver, but he didn’t. Or rather, he couldn’t. Only he and Einen used the ancestral path in the human world.

The Arrow Spirit shone with energy that instantly flowed into the archer’s body. It passed through his hands, merged with his arrow, and then went into his bow as well, which was a Heaven level artifact. An arrow made of fire suddenly appeared on the previously empty bowstring.

There was a high, ear-piercing whistle, and then the arrow sank into one of the monster’s six eyes — it had three on each side of its huge stone head. The other two archers released their arrows, hitting the remaining eyes on that same side. Their arrows had been made of ice[DI1] .

Even before the three arrows struck the beast’s eyes, Galkhad had already given the next order.

“Spearmen! Aim for its legs!”

Proximo was the first to attack. A Spear Spirit flashed behind him. It imbued him with great power, allowing him to use a truly frightening Technique. Hadjar clearly saw the difference between Einen’s powerful and fast, but rigid spear-staff, and Proximo’s slightly slower, but more flexible spear.

“Porcupine’s Rage!”

The Technique’s name sounded a little dumb, but not taking it seriously would prove deadly to most foes. Proximo moved so fast that it looked like he was gliding over the sharp rocks instead of running over them. Unlike Einen, who merged his attacks into one continuous stream, he preferred to separate them.

With a furious cry, the spearman lunged forward explosively. The rocks that had been torn out of the ground followed in the wake of his weapon. A spear-shaped hole appeared beneath Proximo’s feet. Brownish energy passed through the Heaven level spear and split into hundreds of different rays that circled around the giant Crocodile. They stung its legs, making it stomp around in anger.

The beast was so massive that its every movement created a gust of wind that sent debris flying at the squad. The ‘Stork’s Wing’ Technique deflected the attacks, but with every second that passed, its glow dimmed further and more holes appeared in the barrier.

Protected by his Technique, Proximo managed to get close to the monster. He attacked its tendons with fast and unpredictable strikes. This was his greatest strength — the ability to deliver a barrage of attacks from a distance most weapons couldn’t reach.

“He’s… good.” Einen admitted, watching the fight.

The second spearman, whose Spirit was some kind of river fish, was weaker than Proximo. He moved slower, his attacks were less powerful, and his simple Technique full of weaknesses. There were almost no mysteries of the Spear contained within it. He was one of those Spirit Knights who, in their pursuit of power, had forgotten about their weapons. He wasn’t even a Wielder, which seemed quite odd. But Proximo, even though he was still only at the Wielder level, had made his first steps toward mastering the Weapon’s Heart.

“Close combat!” Galkhad ordered and charged into the fray.

Discarding their shields, the Geran warriors followed the Eternal Mountain clan warriors into battle.

Looking in the mirror, Hadjar became more aware of the value of blacksmiths, not only as suppliers of weapons and ammo, as well as ferocious warriors in their own right, but as commanders, too. As he’d been examining the battlefield, he’d almost become convinced that there were more soldiers in Galkhad’s squad than there actually were, all because the giant had managed his squad with such precision and talent that any military commander would’ve envied him.

But it was now time to see just how good of a warrior he really was. Two Heaven Soldiers using Spirits seems impossible, since it’s apparently something only people like Hadjar or Dora can do at that level, due to their odd connection to the ancestors. Random archers doing it kind of breaks all the lore of the books so far.

Chapter 707

T heia was the first to push off from the ground and soar into the air. A Bear Spirit appeared behind her. It spread its massive arms out and tried to wrap them around the girl, but couldn’t. After learning the ways of the ancestral path, Hadjar had begun to notice oddities in regards to how Spirit Knights used their Spirits. The latter sought an alliance with their cultivators, but the former only cared about the power they could take from the Spirits. In Theia’s case, the Bear Spirit had tried to join the battle, but had been rejected.

“Bear’s Paw!”

Hadjar could sense her Spirit screaming in pain and despair, but Theia, unaware of its plight, blithely kept fighting.

The heavy sword in her hands, which was more than six feet long and several palms wide, was suddenly enveloped in gray energy. Her attack assumed the form of a huge bear paw. With a crushing blow, it rammed the Stone Crocodile’s head into the rocky bottom of the dried-up river with a chilling crack. A huge cloud of dust rose high into the air and the earth trembled. Trickles of thick, swampy blood flowed down the reptile’s head.

However, a moment later, the shroud was torn to shreds. The explosions that went off around Galkhad reminded Hadjar of gunpowder blowing up.

The air was filled with flashes of pure power and energy that were so strong even Galkhad’s Spirit struggled to retake the form of an axe, looking like it was ‘choking’ on the flow of energy seeping from his Core.

Imbuing his attacks with the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart, Galkhad rained blow after blow down on the Crocodile. Surprisingly, he didn’t use any Techniques. He didn’t have to. His armor oozed power and energy that poured into Galkhad’s axe, tearing off large chunks of the stone plates that covered the Crocodile’s head.

His cousins weren’t far behind, wielding Spirit replicas of their own weapons. But unlike Galkhad, they imbued their attacks with mysteries at the Wielder level. Since they didn’t have the incredible amount of energy their leader did, they had to use Techniques. However, they poured so much power into them that they could’ve easily been mistaken for Lords.

Chunks of stone skin flew off as the Crocodile was stunned by Theia’s attack. The other melee fighters charged across blood-soaked sand that turned into mud beneath their feet. The archers, constantly changing their location, continued to shoot at the reptile’s left side, forcing it to keep that set of eyes closed. Due to its square muzzle, it couldn’t see what was happening on that side, and Galkhad, skillfully coordinating their squad so that it was hitting its blind spot, took full advantage of that fact.

Trapped by a furious onslaught consisting of eleven different attacks, the huge Ancient Beast couldn’t move to defend itself. All it could do was snarl occasionally, sending out scarlet rays of energy that were immediately blocked.

“I think,” Einen drawled, “that we underestimated these guys.”

“To some extent,” Hadjar agreed and summoned the Black Blade into the physical world.

“Hey!”

“It’s all right,” Hadjar assured him. “If we don’t help the beast a little, we can kiss our plan goodbye.”

“Then we need a diversion.”

His purple eyes glittered with excitement. Leaning out from behind their shelter, Einen gathered energy in his palm.

“On my signal, barbarian.”

“What signal?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Einen struck the ground with his palm, sending three quarters of his Core’s full capacity into the stone. The energy went through the rocks and crackled down the steep slope until it exploded about 150 feet away from their shelter. Heavy stones broke off from the sides of the gorge and fell directly on the heads of the cultivators standing below them.

“Ah, that signal.” Hadjar grinned.

“Go already!”

Without waiting for the boulders to fall, he aimed and swung his sword quickly, imbuing the attack with pure energy. He couldn’t use Sword mysteries, lest he give himself away.

A bolt of energy flew off from the Black Blade that instantly disappeared back into his soul. Barely perceptible due to its complete absence of mysteries, it didn’t look like a dragon, nor did it affect the world around it.

It struck just in time. Galkhad was still swinging his axe, continuing to rain crushing blows down on his foe. If the beast didn’t move soon, it would die.

“Die, you damn monster!”

Glowing due to the amount of energy he’d absorbed, Galkhad slammed his axe down toward the beast. But before the weapon could reach its target, something invisible collided with it. Despite all his power, the giant failed to correct his swing. So, instead of hitting the already open wound, the axe simply cut off a few more stone plates.

“Fucking shit!” The giant swore.

Without wasting a second, the reptile demonstrated that, despite its enormous size and considerable weight, it could still move at an impressive speed. The leg that Galkhad had attacked twitched slightly, sending the warrior flying back with such violent force that he whizzed through the air like an arrow released from a bow. With a loud crash, he slammed into the side of the gorge, causing more rocks to roll down. The time between Einen’s diversion and Galkhad slamming into the wall had been no more than a fraction of a second, so the two friends were reasonably sure they wouldn’t be suspected of foul play.

The monster, now enraged beyond all reason, scattered the cultivators as if they were training dummies. Its blows were strong enough to break through their defensive Techniques as well as their armor, managing to hurt some of the warriors with shards of dislodged steel. The second spearman, not managing to jump aside in time, was trampled by the Crocodile. He died immediately, not managing to even cry out for help.

A scarlet ray of energy pierced the fire-wielding archer’s chest. The man, after shouting something incomprehensible, died right there on the spot.

“This way!” Hadjar shouted. “Over here! Quickly!”

He and Einen were standing next to a small, narrow crevice, flailing their arms around to attract everyone’s attention and guide them to safety. Galkhad was smart enough to realize that even if their original formation was somehow established once again, the reptile would still kill a lot more of them in the process.

“Retreat!” The giant shouted. “Everyone into the crevice! Now!”

The cultivators wasted no time fleeing the battlefield.

The two friends, who were already in the crevice, looked at each other.

“Everything’s going according to plan.” Hadjar’s calm tone was a sharp contrast to the chaos raging outside.

Einen swore.

Chapter 708

T heia was the first to jump into the crevice. Swinging her sword as she ran, she widened the entrance enough for the other cultivators to pass through.

Hadjar and Einen went on ahead. The crevice was so narrow that they had to move sideways. Despite their best efforts, the jutting stones kept scratching their faces, leaving deep cuts on their foreheads.

Proximo leapt into the crevice after Theia, followed by one of the Geran warriors. The poor lad didn’t make it — one of the scarlet rays went through his right leg, making him fall to the ground. He was instantly swallowed by the monster; it didn’t even bother to chew.

“Hoover!” Theia shouted, but it was already too late.

She tried to go back out to help him, even though she knew that her friend was dead, but Proximo stopped her. Hoover’s death made the others pick up the pace. The two ice-wielding archers tried to push into the crevice at the same time. Predictably, they got stuck and were ‘helped along’ by a kick from one of the giants of the Eternal Mountain clan.

Galkhad was the last to go into the crevice. Before retreating, he sent an attack at the Crocodile that was so full of energy that it came down on the reptilian like an avalanche and managed to stop it for a couple of seconds. Such a feat would normally be almost impossible for a Spirit Knight to pull off, but the amount of energy Galkhad’s Core had was…

“Faster! Move it!” He shouted.

Noticing that its prey was escaping, the furious Crocodile roared and hit the stone wall near the entrance to the crevice like a battering ram. The ceiling of the crevice shook, covering the cultivators in dust and debris from above. The dust enveloped them like a cloud, getting into their throats and noses, and making their eyes water. Small stones fell on their heads as well, but didn’t cause any harm.

After the Crocodile’s second attack, the crevice was plunged into darkness. They couldn’t hear anything, save for their own breathing and coughing. And even though Heaven Soldiers and Spirit Knights could see in the dark, the tension began to thicken.

“Demons and gods,” Argakhad whispered. He left a trail of blood behind him as he pushed through the narrow passage. “Where did that monster come from?”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea,” Proximo hissed. He’d given his spear to Galkhad, who’d placed it in his spatial ring. “These two commoners lured it here!”

Hadjar, who’d almost lost an eye because of yet another protruding rock, muttered a curse under his breath. Proximo was starting to get on his nerves. It was a pity that the Stone Crocodile had crushed the wrong spearman.

“Stop being an idiot, Proximo!” Theia exclaimed. “How could they have lured it here?”

“You know how! With the Core of another monster.”

“Do you even understand how powerful a Core would have to be to lure in an Ancient Beast at the fourth level?”

The animals also had a system of cultivation, but theirs had Stages with multiple levels. It seemed a bit arbitrary to Hadjar, but no one had asked for his opinion on the subject. For example, Azrea was at the second level of the Ancient Beast Stage. The gaps between the animals’ levels were much wider that between the humans’ stages.

Human cultivators could neutralize their enemy’s advantage with amulets, talismans, secret Techniques, artifacts, and alchemy. The animals didn’t have access to such things.

“A King Stage Core at the second or third level,” Proximo answered.

The rest of the squad burst out laughing. Even Hadjar and Einen joined them.

“Stop it,” Galkhad wheezed out through tears. “The gorge will collapse on our heads because of you.”

The laughter died down. Cultivators were brave, but navigating through pitch darkness and a narrow corridor full of dust that made it difficult to breathe was terrifying, to say the least. The thought of the crevice leading to a dead-end only made things worse.

“Galkhad, can’t you see these bastards are leading us into a trap?”

Proximo was unknowingly repeating the conversation that had recently taken place between Galkhad and his cousins.

“Proximo,” Theia hissed like a venomous snake, “Where could Hadjar and Einen even get such a Core?”

“Don’t forget, Theia, that we’re dealing with the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School,” Proximo said, making the rest of the squad exchange worried glances. The disciples that came from Einen and Hadjar’s School were normally really powerful. “They’re strong enough to kill such a monster.”

“One King Stage monster Core costs several hundred Imperial coins! Look at how they’re dressed. If they could afford to buy such a Core, or had had the chance to sell it, would they be wearing rags?”

“Are you a complete imbecile, Geran? Anyone can wear rags to pass themselves off as a beggar. Do you think an idiot could ever become a Spirit Knight and an inner circle disciple of one of the top martial arts Schools?”

“But why would they do that?”

“Gods and demons, are you truly this dense? It’s obvious that they’re playing their own little game! Doesn’t anyone else want to know where they were while we were busy risking our lives?”

Hadjar mentally cursed. He felt a strong urge to kill Proximo and shut him up forever. Galkhad was already suspicious of them even without him adding fuel to the fire…

“That’s a good question, Proximo,” the giant’s voice thundered from the darkness. “You two, answer him. And if you give us some dumbass excuse, upon exiting this accursed place, you won’t get to see the light of day, but the threshold of your forefathers’ house.”

Einen and Hadjar ran into a massive pile of rocks just as Galkhad said that. Fortunately, the stones had collapsed in such a way that they’d left a two-foot-tall hole for them to crawl through.

In order to give Einen enough space to get on all fours, Hadjar had to stop and back away. Theia ran into him, making everyone else bump into one another.

“What’s going on over there?” Galkhad roared from behind them.

“A pile of stones is blocking our way,” Hadjar replied. “We’ll have to crawl.”

All of them cursed. No one liked crawling, and they liked it even less in such a claustrophobic space.

“Don’t change the subject, commoner,” Proximo continued. “Where were you when we were fighting?”

Hadjar crawled under the rocks, following Einen. The hole was so narrow that he had to squirm like a snake to make any progress. There was barely enough air to take a single breath. Crawling through total darkness, not knowing when the hole would end, the last thing he wanted to do was answer stupid questions.

“We hid behind a rock and hoped that you would all get killed.”

Chapter 709

“I warned you! I told you! Great Mountains curse them! We’re all going to die here because of those two morons!”

“Stop your hysterics, Proximo!” Galkhad’s voice rumbled like he was talking to them from the bottom of a well. The three giants of the Eternal Mountain clan were having a harder time walking and breathing in the crevice than anyone else in the squad. “And you, commoner, explain what you meant by that and... Demons and gods, how much longer till we get out? Stupid rocks, I think I just cut my head. By the mountains, it hurts like a motherfucker!”

“There isn’t much to explain,” Hadjar grunted. “When we saw the monster, we hid behind a rock and waited for it to kill you. The plan was to take the key from your corpses and then look for the tomb.”

His honesty shocked the squad members so much they halted.

“Hadjar, you-” Theia began, startled.

“Nothing personal, Geran,” Hadjar interrupted her. He tried to keep his tone as cold and calm as possible, but he felt awful about it. “We had fun that one night, but that’s all it was.”

Theia swore.

“I shouldn’t have stood up for you, you filthy scoundrel,” she said with obvious hatred.

“Well, if you’d thought with your head and not with your-”

“Watch your language, Proximo,” the giant thundered. “She’s still an aristocrat!”

The spearman fell silent.

Although them coming together had been an accident, he didn’t really want to hurt Theia. However, Hadjar couldn’t allow their relationship, whatever it was, to affect his and Einen’s plan.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, peasant,” the rumbling voice sounded from the darkness once again, “but allies aren’t supposed to try and kill each other.”

“Why are you still talking to him, Galkhad?” Proximo shouted. “We should just kill them both!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Proximo, it’s a bit hard to breathe in here, let alone fight. But if you’re so impatient to see someone die, I’ll gladly kill you! Your tantrums are getting on my nerves!”

Realizing that he was on very thin ice, Proximo whispered something that sounded like an apology and fell silent.

“Well, commoner? I’m still waiting for an answer.”

Hadjar had just crawled past another sharp piece of stone protruding from the floor. If he’d been a little less careful, it would’ve easily ripped his stomach open. With every movement, with every foot of ground they covered, the passage grew narrower. He’d lost count of how many cuts and wounds he’d received, despite the fact that he and Einen were using their Calls, which, luckily, had remained unnoticed until now.

“You are right, Galkhad, allies don’t do that. But ever since we joined your squad, you’ve treated us not like allies, but like prisoners. And what does any prisoner want to do? Escape. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with trying to take advantage of a chaotic situation to save yourself.”

“So you just hid while we were fighting?” Theia hissed. “One of my clan members died because of you! I won’t forgive you for this, Hadjar Darkhan! My brother was wrong about you!”

“Darkhan… Darkhan...” Argakhad repeated as if he was trying to remember something. “I’ve heard that name somewhere before… In Fort Darigon, the people still talk about a warrior who came from the Lascanian steppes. And his name was... Hadjar Darkhan.”

“The Lascanian steppes aren’t a very friendly place,” Galkhad said. “And I’ve noticed those orc feathers in your hair, commoner. To get them, you would’ve had to fight, not sit behind a rock-”

“Found the exit!”

Einen fell out of the crevice first. As soon as he got out of the way, Hadjar closed his eyes. After they’d spent so much time in the darkness, the dim light ahead felt brighter than the midday sun.

After waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light, he finally crawled out of the rocky crevice and found himself in what was clearly a manmade tunnel: it had a flat floor with a rectangular hole in the center, and oval walls that came together beneath a wide arch. Once upon a time, this had been a sewage system running underneath an ancient city. And now there was nothing left but moss and sparse vegetation.

Moving with Einen to the opposite wall, Hadjar called the Black Blade to his hand and filled it with Sword mysteries. The tunnel was instantly filled with dense, suffocating air. Einen followed his example.

Theia was the first to emerge from the crevice. Getting to her feet, she was taken aback by the sudden explosion of Hadjar’s power, but then she raised her heavy blade in front of her.

“This seems like a fitting tomb for scum like you, Darkhan,” she growled, her voice oozing hatred.

The rest of her squad gradually emerged from the crevice. Galkhad was the last one to come out. He seemed surprised by what he saw.

“So, the sword you’ve been wearing at your belt all this time was just a toy,” he said thoughtfully.

“Be careful,” Argakhad said. “I’ve heard rumors about his sword. They say that it can drain all your energy with a single cut. The blade is poisoned.”

“A poisoned blade?” Theia spat. Her eyes shone with the same kind of hatred that she’d just recently felt for Proximo. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone without honor.”

Hadjar remained silent. He saw no reason to explain how the Black Blade actually worked.

“Let me go first.” Proximo licked his lips. “I’ll tear out his heart and put his head on a spear. And when we find the tomb, I’ll place it at the entrance. That way, the rest of ‘The Holy Sky’ School’s disciples will get to see what the ‘Quick Dream’ School is capable of.”

With a ferocious grin, he assumed an offensive stance. Streaks of midnight black energy began to swirl around Hadjar in response, but then Galkhad stepped forward. With a slight nod of his head, he extended his hand.

“My apologies, Hadjar Darkhan and Einen of the Islands,” he said, shocking everyone present. “You came to us with a plan, no doubt about it. But we also have our own plans. I can’t promise you friendship, or a proper alliance, but while we are pursuing the same goal, I can assure you, honorable cultivators, that I’ll treat you as equals.”

Hadjar cursed under his breath.

“Did your plan account for that, my barbarian friend?” Einen whispered so softly that only his friend heard him.

Chapter 710

“D id you really just shake hands with them?” Argakhad asked, coming closer to Galkhad.

The third giant was walking ahead of his cousins. The Eternal Mountain clan members were bringing up the rear while Hadjar led the group forward. He’d hoped to hear Galkhad confessing his treachery, as it was much easier to use a dishonest and evil person than it was to abuse an honorable one’s trust. During his time as a General of Lidus, Hadjar had done a lot of shameful things.

“I was wrong, my dear cousin. The pursuit of our goal blinded me. What does it matter if these two wear different tokens? They came to us with an offer, which I accepted, so it’s my duty to make them feel like our equals.”

“But they’re probably going to use us.”

“And we are going to use them,” Galkhad retorted. “Those are the laws of politics, my dear cousin. When my oldest brother becomes Head of the clan and I become his right-hand man, you, as my advisor, will have to learn to understand politics. Otherwise, the Eternal Mountain clan will not fare well.”

“I’ve always believed that our clan relies on the army.”

Galkhad laughed and slapped Argakhad on the shoulder.

“And what do you think, dear cousin, who will the military support? The Marnil clan, or the Eternal Mountain clan?”

Argakhad remained silent because the answer was obvious: the army would support House Marnil. Weapons and armor were important, but healers were in high demand.

“So, we’re all just playing our own games?”

“That’s right. Let’s see who wins. We know that they want to use us, and they know that we want to use them. All’s fair, dear cousin.”

Argakhad swore.

“I hate politics.”

Galkhad laughed.

Hadjar agreed with the giant.

Their journey through the sewer tunnel was mostly quiet. Sometimes, they’d run into monsters below the King Stage. A cross between reptile and rat, they didn’t pose much of a threat to the elite disciples. Hadjar and Einen spent almost no energy on finishing them off and putting the beasts’ Cores into their spatial artifacts. No matter how their quest ended, they’d need the Glory points eventually.

“Found an exit!” Einen shouted.

They climbed up an old, crumbling stone staircase and finally reached the surface. The silvery light of the moon and the bright stars were a refreshing sight after the dimness of the sewer.

“By the gods and demons,” they all whispered.

They were standing on the edge of what appeared to have once been a central square. Back in its heyday, it had probably been bursting with life. Columns and pillars had been erected along its edges. In the distance, one could see the domes and towers of once majestic castles.

The entrance to the sewer had once been covered with a cast-iron grate, but after so long, only a few fragments of it remained. Everything around them was in a similar state. The former grandeur of the ancient Kingdom’s capital was no more. Only ruins remained, poking through the sand, earth, ivy, or red moss. Nothing, not even a majestic Empire, could survive the onslaught of time.

“Buremir!” Galkhad called the archer over.

The man nodded, craned his head back, and spent a few moments studying the stars. Einen looked skeptical, but no one noticed.

“We shortened our trip by about twelve miles. Maybe a little more.”

“It’s not much, but given that no one else knows where to go, it’s not bad at all. So, where to now, Hadjar?” Galkhad asked as he turned toward him.

“Do you agree to follow our map?”

The giant smiled wryly.

“Lead on, barbarian. Just make sure that we don’t end up in a situation where everyone is fighting while you and your friend are hiding. Equality works both ways…”

Hadjar took the hint.

“Einen, what does your map say?” He asked and leaned toward the islander. His friend didn’t swear this time, but hummed some vulgar tune instead. Hadjar was surprised to find that his friend had a very good singing voice, although his repertoire was… Well, Nero would’ve liked it. Enough said.

“We’ll have to wait until morning.”

“Why?” Proximo asked.

“The next landmark will only appear in the light of the midday sun,” Hadjar explained.

The map that the neural network had copied showed not only the landmarks, but also some of the descriptions attached to them. Hadjar didn’t know the ancient language, but the network had managed to provide him with a loose translation after spending a few days studying the poem at the entrance to Greven’Dor. And that was despite the fact that the last time he’d interacted with it, Hadjar had been directing at least ninety percent of its power toward the analysis of the Sword’s seal. He still wouldn’t be able to train until he returned to the School.

“We need a place to spend the night…” Galkhad looked around and pointed at a crumbling house made from stone. “We’ll camp there. I hope everyone will devote their free time to meditation and recovery this time. Who knows when we’ll get another chance to rest for an entire night?”

Exchanging glances, the squad members scattered to set up their tents, and soon disappeared inside them.

Hadjar stayed outside, smoking his pipe and looking at the ancient ruins. This city was older than any city in the Seven Empires. It was amazing to consider how many centuries it had endured. He imagined people who knew nothing of gunpowder or flying ships walking through the streets. In those days, practitioners, cultivators, and mortals had all lived together. Such a coexistence had been possible back then. After the Last War, the Wastelands had become too dangerous for mere mortals.

“Ha-a-a-dja-aar…”

He jumped a little and looked around. This wasn’t his first time hearing mysterious, ghostly voices calling out to him. Listening to them had never ended well for him.

“You don’t hear anything. You don’t hear anything,” He whispered to himself.

Someone, or something, tugged at the edge of his tattered clothes, making him shudder with unease. He turned around just in time to see a flickering light disappear. It hovered a few feet above the ground before it turned away into a narrow street.

“Ha-a-a-dja-aar!” The voice was like the rustle of the grass or the whisper of the wind — light, elusive, and almost inaudible.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this later,” Hadjar said to himself, shook the ash out of his pipe, and then followed the light.

Together, they wandered the dark streets of the ancient city. They walked down the wide roads, sometimes stopping to let monsters and Spirits pass by them. They walked under dilapidated bridges and passed through buildings that had collapsed long ago, until, at last, they came to a structure that appeared untouched by time. It stood almost in the center of the city, as proud and majestic as ever. It wasn’t far from the ruins of the royal Palace.

Hadjar stared at the unfamiliar script etched into the stone above the central arch. The neural network helped him decipher it.

“House of Derger, the God of War,” he read and swore.

This was the first temple he’d ever seen.

The heavy gates swung open and the light darted inside.

Chapter 711

H e crossed the threshold and immediately felt something heavy pressing down on his shoulders. The pressure he experienced wasn’t like the usual density of an atmosphere filled with power. What he was feeling right now wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before. He tried to summon the Black Blade, but it didn’t budge. However, despite the pressure all around him, nothing was really hindering his movements. Upon realizing that, he turned around and calmly walked back outside. Once he was outside, he saw that he was holding his trusty sword in his right hand.

“That’s interesting,” he commented idly and went back inside.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the Black Blade began to ripple. Hadjar felt a very painful stab to his heart and fell to his knees. Coughing, he spat out blood all over the scarlet floor decorated with white hieroglyphs. Dozens of candles burned atop tall, red columns whose bases resembled the pommels of battlestaves. It was as if someone had made a bunch of giant replicas of the weapons, stabbed them into the ground, and then lit them.

Whoever had done that had also dusted the statues that represented the God of War’s generals. These giants, their faces hidden beneath demonic masks and armed with various weapons, towered over the temple’s visitors. If his memory served him right, there were a total of nineteen generals, but only eighteen pedestals were currently occupied. Next to the empty one was a pile of black stones.

It was easy enough to guess whose statue should’ve been standing there. At the end of a long corridor full of columns, surrounded by burning candles, Derger sat on his throne. The God of War. One of the gods that had created the Black General. The statue wasn’t overly large, but it was very skillfully made. It was so lifelike that he could’ve almost sworn a real person was sitting in front of him. The clothes, although made from marble, looked as if they were being blown back by the wind, revealing the god’s well-sculpted muscles. Hadjar could distinguish every pore and scar that adorned the warrior’s body. Derger had a thick beard, one so skillfully chiseled that every hair on it was visible. The God’s hands, arranged in the traditional salute of the Land of the Immortals, looked like a formidable weapon.

“Weapons are forbidden in here if you don’t wear the God’s seal.”

Hadjar turned to the voice. The small, yellow light that had brought him to the temple grew larger in front of him and changed shape, turning into a portal from which a tall, stately man emerged. He wore robes that were such a deep and dazzling blue that the skies would’ve envied their color and ladies of any court would’ve sold their souls for a scrap of that cloth. His face was more handsome than any bard could ever describe. No painting or sculpture could’ve done justice to his fine features. His hair, softer and finer than even the best silk on the market, was tied back in a bun with a strap of leather that radiated more power than Traves’ armor.

It wasn’t merely a simple item, but an actual artifact. As were his scabbard, sandals, and even his earrings made from a metal unknown to Hadjar. The man was fully clothed in artifacts, the combined power of which was enough to destroy ‘The Holy Sky’ School and half of Dahanatan along with it.

Hadjar didn’t sense the man’s power, which meant that it was beyond his perception. Just like the splinter from Ash’s staff. Because of this, he was glad that he could feel the power of the artifacts, at least. A thought crossed his mind: maybe the stranger had selected these clothes and accessories to impress him, but he immediately discarded that idea.

“You’re a priest,” Hadjar guessed and took a few steps back.

The doors slammed shut behind him, preventing him from leaving. The temple was suddenly plunged into gloomy darkness. The shadows struggled with the flames and hurried to hide behind the columns and statues.

The stranger laughed. Even his laugh was beautiful. Hadjar was certain that he was a human, not something else. But, by the High Heavens, was nature really capable of creating such perfection? It probably wasn’t. He was most likely so handsome because the stranger’s level of cultivation was very high.

“No, wanderer, I’m not a priest.” The man shook his head. Coming to stand next to Hadjar, he knelt and bowed to the statue of Derger. “I’m just a novice who was sent to check out this abandoned temple.”

He got up, dusted off his clothes, and sat down on the floor in the lotus position.

He held out his hand, and a bowl of wine appeared in it.

Hadjar guessed that the man had come from the Land of the Immortals, a mythical place inhabited by incredibly powerful beings that not many people believed in.

The stranger pointed across from him.

“Sit down. Let’s talk.”

Hadjar paused, then did so. Wearing his old, tattered clothes, his best shoes wrapped in rags, without even a scabbard or a sword on his belt, he looked like a beggar. Admittedly, even the Emperor would’ve looked like a peasant next to this man. But Hadjar didn’t care. He wasn’t impressed by the beauty of the novice’s clothes, but by the high quality of his artifacts. They were clearly above even the Divine level.

“Hadjar Darkhan,” the novice drawled. “I’m sorry that I cannot offer you any wine. If you take even one sip, you’ll sleep for a week, or go to your forefathers before your time.”

“I had expected to die the moment I set foot inside this temple. The gods and I are not on the best of terms. You can ask your master about it. Maybe he’ll be glad to see me sooner rather than later.”

The novice burst out laughing, spilling wine everywhere. Hadjar dodged the droplets as if they were poisonous acid.

“You and the gods are not on the best of terms?” The novice’s laugh was so deep that the flames of the farthest candles flickered. “Don’t flatter yourself, wanderer. The gods don’t care about someone like you. Hundreds of thousands of the original Darkhan’s descendants roam this world. Do you know how many of them think that they’re the arbiters of fate and are looking for the Seventh Heaven? More than you can count, I assure you.”

Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the man.

“But-”

“The fairies?” The novice guessed. “I think even ordinary mortals have stories about them… About how they were suddenly saved at the last second by something. Maybe a person received a mysterious hint, which they attributed to a fairy… Or maybe an arrow meant to pierce their heart hit an old medallion instead… Or maybe they slipped and fell not on a blade, but near it…”

Hadjar had heard such stories before. Moreover, he had a couple of them himself, just in case he ever got drunk and had to entertain a crowd.

“The fairies are numerous. They are the only ones among the Eternals who have the same or even greater fertility than mortals. Alas, bound by the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, they have to serve the mortals forever. To protect them as much as possible, to give them hints, and, of course, help the Seventh Heaven a little in order to make sure that what is written in the Book of Thousands comes to pass.”

“What are you talking-”

“Did you really think you were the only one who has a fairy?” The novice’s bright eyes flashed with amusement. “You aren’t that special, Hadjar Darkhan.”

Chapter 712

T he novice stuck out his pinky and drank from the bowl. With a haughty smile on his lips, he waited for Hadjar to digest what he’d just heard.

In Hadjar’s opinion, the information he’d just received had helped him put a lot of things into perspective. For example, the fact that it wasn’t just a coincidence that bad things had begun to happen to him after his fairy had been killed. Both Helmer and the Spirit of the Kurkhadan oasis had tried to convince him that it had been a good thing. However, bad luck had followed him ever since.

“You shouldn’t just blindly believe everyone you meet, young man,” the novice said in the manner of a teacher scolding their student. “Especially Spirits and demons.”

“You-”

“Know? Yes. I know exactly who caused the deaths of your previous guardians.”

“But-”

“How? She told me,” he said and pointed over Hadjar’s shoulder.

Hadjar spun around just in time to see a tiny face fade away. It was the same fairy that had appeared before him at the waterfall in the land of the Dah’Khasses. She’d said a lot of unpleasant things to him at the time.

“We’ll talk to her later,” the novice’s voice became harsh. “No one has the right to interfere with the freedom of choice that mortals have. The desperation with which she tried to manipulate you-”

Hadjar immediately remembered South Wind’s words.

“How can I be sure that you’re not trying to manipulate me?”

The novice spread his arms out. “I freely admit that I’m going to do just that.”

Hadjar raised both eyebrows, taken aback by the man’s honesty.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” the novice continued, sipping some more wine, “I’m not happy that I had to come to this dump and worship a statue that hasn’t been visited for ages... I already have plenty of things to do in the Land of the Immortals.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“The Land of the Immortals doesn’t really differ from other countries, wanderer. Imagine your commander or king or whoever telling you to go and keep watch over some hill or whatever. Would you refuse?”

“Maybe,” Hadjar said evasively.

“Maybe,” the novice repeated. “But the threat of being flogged by the Abbot of the monastery for my disobedience… Well, wasting a couple of weeks to get to... this…” he said with disdain, “was a better option than that.”

Hadjar was surprised to hear that it had taken an Immortal several weeks to get to the Wastelands. How long would it have taken a Lord or a Nameless? A couple of years? Just how enormous was this world?

“Wait a minute,” he said. “If you came here just to visit this temple, then... why did you bother learning my name and life story?”

The novice took a long gulp from his bowl. He wiped his lips with a white napkin made from a material that looked like it cost more than the entire Imperial fleet combined and smiled broadly.

“Clever little bugger, aren’t you? However, the others were older-”

“Older?”

“When you consider everything I know about you, you being almost thirty is pretty impressive. Not many cultivators, Hadjar Darkhan, can boast about having had as many adventures as you. Of course, such an interesting life attracts attention.”

Hadjar studied the novice, but couldn’t guess what he was really feeling. He was friendly one moment, then amused, then humble, and then arrogant a second later. Whoever was sitting in front of Hadjar had perfectly mastered the art of negotiation, and therefore, scheming as well. He hated scheming…

“It just doesn’t add up, novice. First you claim that the gods don’t care about me, and then you say that someone’s interested in my fate.”

“That’s right, someone!” The novice exclaimed. “The Seventh Heaven is a huge place, Hadjar. Of all the worlds, only the Spirit World is equally large.”

Hadjar paid special attention to the word ‘worlds’. Plural.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” The novice smiled as if he knew a secret Hadjar would never discover. “Let me show you…”

He held out a finger, the tip of which lit up with turquoise light. Hadjar knew that what he was looking at was energy, but he didn’t feel any sort of disturbance in the World River. It was as if... the novice wasn’t drawing power from the World River he was familiar with, but from another… It was annoying… and frightening.

The Immortal, not paying attention to Hadjar’s inner turmoil, drew some diagrams in the air. Overlapping circles, to be precise. In the center of each was a hieroglyph so complex that Hadjar couldn’t even comprehend it. After glancing at one of them, even for just a moment, he felt his soul tremble. If he’d stared at it for a fraction of a second longer, he would’ve gone mad.

The novice pointed at the centermost circle. “You and I are here.”

“And the Land of the Immortals?”

The novice smiled again, acting as if he’d anticipated this question from the very beginning. Hadjar suddenly realized what this young man reminded him of. A fox that was very happy about the fact that its prey was heading into a trap.

“That’s here.” The Immortal nodded and then pointed at the smallest of the circles, located right under the one they were ‘in’. “This is the Demon World. The smallest one of them all. But, alas, as you can see, it touches our own, and-”

“Crosses over into it,” Hadjar finished. He could see that the circle that represented the Demon World partially overlapped with the one that represented their world. As a result, there was a small, shared territory between them.

“And that’s why people are more likely to encounter demons than gods,” the novice said with a sigh. “Now, look here. This is the World of the Gods, the Seventh Heaven. And that’s the Spirit World.”

He pointed at two more circles. Unlike the Demon World, they didn’t intersect with the Mortal World, only barely touching it. The Spirit World, which overlapped a great deal with the World of the Gods, was separated from the Mortal World.

“This is a very loose map of reality.” The novice waved his hand and the drawings wavered, then completely disappeared. “But I assure you, such knowledge isn’t available even in the Dragon Lands.”

Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that the novice knew what kind of beings were really the masters of the seven human Empires. Moreover, the size of the circles… The World of the Gods was almost four times bigger than the Mortal one. Wherever he was now... it wasn’t an ordinary planet.

“What do you want from me?” Hadjar asked bluntly.

“What do I want?” The novice arched his right eyebrow. “Absolutely nothing. I assure you, many of my kind would consider it humiliating to have to speak to a mortal. But I don’t care how I spend the night at this temple — alone or in someone else’s company. I will even admit that having company is better and-”

“Stop that.” Hadjar interrupted him. “You lured me to this temple. You told me about the structure of reality. You’re sitting here, drinking wine, and talking to me. You know my story. You know about fairies. So get to the point already. What do you want from me?”

All kindness and foolishness instantly disappeared from the Immortal’s expression. The person sitting before Hadjar was no longer a handsome young man, but a beast that could destroy him with its gaze alone if it so pleased.

“Know your place, mortal!” His booming voice made the walls shake. “You are nothing but a speck of dust in my eye! You-”

“Enough already!” Hadjar shouted, interrupting the young man for a second time. There was no fear or doubt in his azure eyes. “Enough with the bullshit. What. Do. You. Want?”

Chapter 713

T he storm subsided, taking the beast with it and leaving behind the handsome young man who continued to sip his wine.

“You really aren’t a coward, are you?” He winked.

“You’re an Immortal.” Hadjar grinned. “The laws of the Heavens and the Earth apply to you. You can’t hurt me.”

“The laws of the Heavens and the Earth…” The novice sighed. “Sometimes, those are really annoying… But, you know… there are exceptions to any law.”

Hadjar frowned. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking.

“Tell me, Hadjar Darkhan, did I force you to come here?”

“You didn’t.”

“Did I force you to cross the threshold, or did you do it of your own free will?”

“I decided to do so on my own.”

“Do you know where gods make their homes in the Mortal World?”

Hadjar finally got it. He turned and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see that the doors were open, but they were still locked. A moment later, he felt as if someone had pressed a piece of hot metal to his left cheek. The pain was similar to what he’d experienced after drinking the potion that Steppe Fang had given him to open a path to the Spirit World, so deep and biting that it made him cry out in distress.

Touching his face with the tips of his fingers, he felt something warm trickle down his cheek and neck. He’d been cut with a sword, he was sure of it. However, he’d felt no mysteries or energy being used, and the young man hadn’t drawn his blade, too busy drinking wine. However, he wasn’t a young man at all. Perhaps he was even older than the Emperor himself, who was about six thousand years old.

“You came into this house freely, Hadjar Darkhan. The house of the God of War. I am Derger’s humble servant and the guardian of his home. The laws of the Heavens and the Earth... they mean nothing in here. I could destroy your soul and the Black General’s fragment inside you, and then continue drinking my wine in peace.”

Hadjar looked into the Immortal’s eyes.

“But you haven’t.”

The novice held his gaze.

“What you’re doing instead is continuing to intimidate me.” Hadjar got to his feet and towered over the novice. “I wonder what you would do if I slapped you right now?”

Hadjar felt the air grow heavy with tension. He felt as if he were walking on the edge of a razor-sharp sword.

“Oh, please, by all means, Hadjar Darkhan, do just that. By the Gods and demons, I’ll survive any punishment that comes after your death.”

There would be a punishment. That was all he’d wanted to know. Still, he wasn’t crazy enough to keep poking a sleeping lion, even if it was leashed and caged. Whoever the novice was working for needed him alive and relatively unharmed.

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Hadjar sat down on the floor. “What do you want from me?”

The novice sipped his wine and remained silent for a while.

“Accept the mark of the God of War,” he said at last.

Hadjar looked at him in confusion.

“Pardon?”

“Accept the mark of the God of War.” The novice took a small bundle out of the folds of his robe. Inside it was a simple iron pommel shaped like a sphere. It looked as if someone had cut it off from the hilt of a blade.

“And why should I do that?”

The astonishment on the novice’s face was quickly replaced with disdain.

“I forgot that you’re truly ignorant, Hadjar Darkhan,” he said and gently placed the pommel on the cloth it had been wrapped in. “By accepting the divine mark you become a divine neophyte. This is an honor that hundreds of thousands of Immortals can only dream about…”

Hadjar choked on air. How many Immortals? Hundreds of thousands? He would never pay attention to the nobles’ snobbery ever again! What were they compared to the Immortals? Merely dust in the wind!

“It’ll bestow upon you power that even Immortals dare not challenge. Accept the mark, Hadjar Darkhan. Right here and now! You’ll ascend to a level one step away from Immortality,” the novice continued. “Accept the mark, Hadjar Darkhan, and you will become powerful enough to stand alone against both Darnassus and the Dragon Emperor. Think it through, but know that this is a one-time offer and-”

“May I go?”

The novice stared at him in bewilderment.

“I see that I’ll need to explain everything once again… You’re clearly too stupid-”

“I refuse,” Hadjar calmly interrupted him. “I’ve been trying to remove the Sword’s seal for years, and I’m pretty sure that a divine seal is impossible to remove.”

The novice said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“Tell your masters, servant of the gods,” Hadjar stood up and went over to the door, “that I’ll reach the Seventh Heaven. The fact that you brought one of their seals here tells me everything I need to know.”

Reaching the door, he kicked it open, letting in the fresh night air. The coolness of it helped dry the blood on his face and numb the pain.

“You’re a fool, Hadjar Darkhan! You’ll die!”

“Maybe I will.” Hadjar shrugged. “But at least I’m not a coward. I don’t try to bribe my enemies to make them come over to my side. Goodbye, Immortal servant of the gods,” he said and exited the temple.

“Until next time, Darkhan,” Hadjar heard coming from behind him. A yellow light flew past the crumbling walls of the temple. “I’ll rip your heart out and bring it to your beloved sister.”

Hadjar turned abruptly, but there was no one in the street. His azure eyes flashed with a bright light and his pupils momentarily resembled that of dragon.

“We’ll see who gets their heart ripped out, you divine dog.”

***

Derek, the son of a Baron and a disciple of the ‘Red Mule’ school, sat in his room, deep in meditation.

“Derek…”

Startled, he opened his eyes and saw a small yellow light hovering in front of him.

“Do you want power?”

Chapter 714

“H e’s trying to trick us again!” Proximo leaned on his spear and stared at Hadjar’s back.

“Calm down,” Galkhad grunted. “And you, Hadjar, you better convince me that this isn’t just another trick.”

“We’re allies now,” Hadjar reminded him. “So, I would advise you to do the same thing I am.”

“And what’s that?” Theia asked hatefully.

“I’m waiting,” he replied calmly.

Their whole squad was standing in the center of the abandoned city. Hadjar could’ve sworn that Derger’s temple had been right here, not far from the stele they were standing next to. It had been a simple stone structure that had stood out only because of its quaint roof. However, it had vanished, and only dust and sparse vegetation remained.

“You said that we’d see a sign that would tell us where to go next at noon,” Argakhad said. “What-”

“Yes, at noon,” Hadjar interrupted him. “Be patient. You’re behaving-”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence. The sun finally rose high in the sky. Its bright rays destroyed the last remnants of the shadows and struck the arrow-shaped top of the stele.

“By the demons and gods!”

“By the Great Turtle!”

The whole squad let out various shouts of surprise when a golden bird suddenly flew out of the stele. Spreading its wings, it soared into the air, leaving a trail of golden sand behind that fell to the ground, and flew off somewhere in the direction of the Wastelands.

“Don’t just gawk at it!” Theia exclaimed and ran after the bird.

Looking at the map created by the neural network, Hadjar was very grateful to Galkhad and his squad. He and Einen had managed to avoid a lot of danger thanks to them. They might not have been able to overcome all those challenges on their own.

While pursuing the bird, the cultivators kept encountering Spirits and various other monsters. This time, Hadjar and Einen helped the rest of the squad deal with the enemies. Their power surprised some, and made others grit their teeth in envy.

They escaped from the city with minimal losses — an archer had been wounded and a few talismans and artifacts broken and used up. The bird, however, didn’t stop, but continued deeper into the Wastelands.

“Where is it leading us, Hadjar?” Proximo asked as he ran.

“I have no idea,” he replied honestly. Wearing only his Call’s black cloak and armor for protection, he ran so quickly that he kicked up dust in his wake. Few cultivators would be able to maintain this kind of pace for long. The Eternal Mountain clan members were already getting tired.

“Damn it,” one of the giants groaned. “Why haven’t they invented a mechanical horse yet?”

Hadjar remembered Earth and smiled to himself.

“Look!” One of the ice-wielding archers exclaimed.

The bird folded its wings and landed atop a mound of cracked earth surrounded by a few nondescript, withered bushes and nothing else. It perched on one of them, let out a sharp cry, and then disappeared in a flash of bright light.

The squad stopped. Their clothes were tattered, their armor banged up, and they were covered in dust and blood. They didn’t look like elite warriors, but vagabonds and beggars instead.

“Is that it?” Proximo went over to the mound, leapt onto it, and plunged his spear into the bush where the bird had landed. “There’s nothing here, damn it!”

“Calm down,” Galkhad said, wiping the sweat off his forehead, and fell to the ground. “Are you sure we’re at the right place, Hadjar?”

Hadjar brought up the map in his mind. A three-dimensional image, woven together from a myriad of shimmering green threads, instantly unfolded before his eyes. He leaned toward Einen.

“I remember what I need to do,” the islander whispered in his native language.

“That’s great,” Hadjar whispered back, equally quiet. “It’s about time.”

The map, like most other treasure maps, didn’t show the exact location of their goal, but numerous landmarks leading to the tomb instead.

“Yes,” Hadjar said aloud, turning back to the giant. “I’m sure we’ve come to the right tomb.”

“Have we really?” Proximo spat at his feet and leapt down to the foot of the mound. “It looks like a slave’s tomb.”

Everyone looked at him with disapproval.

“What?” He asked. “You know I’m right! See for yourselves! Does this look like the entrance to an Emperor’s tomb to you? If I were an Emperor, my crypt would be visible for hundreds of miles around and-”

“Shut up!” Galkhad shouted. “By the gods, Proximo, this is the last time I go anywhere with you!”

The spearman fell silent and turned pale. Everything he had was thanks to the giant’s generosity.

“But-”

“The map, you idiot,” Argakhad said wearily. “We can’t do anything without the map. We only have the key!”

“But-”

If what followed hadn’t been part of Hadjar’s plan, he would’ve been very surprised. Three people shot out of the ground, ripping apart the earth with some very strange artifact, and threw a metallic, shimmering net at Galkhad’s squad. The powerful artifact pinned the cultivators to the ground. It was impossible for them to move so much as a finger or summon any energy.

“Like your leader said, you’re an idiot,” Tom sneered. “Without the map and the key both, you could blow up this whole mound, but you still wouldn’t find the entrance.”

“Who are you?” Galkhad growled.

“Disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.” Tom bowed theatrically. “Now, if you value your lives, please give me the key.”

“‘The Holy Sky’ School?” Galkhad growled even louder, thrashing around like a captive animal trying to break free. “Damn it all! You’ve betrayed us, Hadjar Darkhan!”

“Hadjar Darkhan?” Tom staggered back and drew his blade. “The gods favor us, sister! We’ll get to take both the key and the Core!”

“Wait, Tom,” Anise said. “Something’s wrong-!”

The end of her sentence was drowned out by a powerful explosion.

Chapter 715

“Y ou know,” Einen shook the sand and dirt off his clothes, “I didn’t think your plan would succeed.”

“My bald friend,” Hadjar also dusted his clothes off and stretched, “you offend me sometimes.”

When the dust and flames from the explosion settled, Hadjar and Einen were no longer trapped by the artifact of the three nobles. Instead, they were standing on the mound next to the spot where the bird had landed.

The Dinos siblings and Dora were up to their necks in rather expensive binding artifacts, each of which had cost the two friends seven hundred Imperial coins.

“What’s going on here?” Galkhad roared. “I demand an explanation!”

“Fucking Darkhan,” Tom shouted. “The Dead Moon clan has already sent one of its best assassins after you! Give me the Core or you and your friend’s days are numbered.”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other in confusion. The islander shrugged.

“The fact that aristocrats think that they’re in a position to threaten you even when they’re your prisoners continues to baffle me.”

“Must be in their genes.” Einen sighed. “Maybe they absorb it along with their mother’s milk?”

“That’s why we drink the milk of cows, my friend,” Hadjar said, patting his friend on the shoulder, “straight from the tit!”

“Idiots!” Anise swore. “Now you don’t have the key or the map! Or do you think you can keep us trapped here forever? Merida’s Net will melt away in an hour, and these Gray Stone Sarcophagi will disappear even sooner!”

“Merida’s Net,” Hadjar repeated. “What a poetic name!”

“Did the Dead Moon clan hit you on the head, Darkhan?” Anise hissed out angrily. “You don’t-”

“Sorry, do you mean to say I don’t have this…?” Hadjar took out the ancient medallion that would open the way to Decater’s tomb. “Or this…?”

Einen took out a scroll. Old and yellowed, it bore the scars of centuries spent in this world on its parchment.

The other cultivators stared at them in shock.

“You’re… bluffing,” Galkhad breathed out.

“We have some time,” Hadjar said, looking at his shadow. “Do you want me to explain it to them?”

“It was your plan.” Einen shrugged and put the map back into his shirt, then sat down on the mound.

Hadjar stepped forward and cleared his throat, “We didn’t go through the gorge because it was the shortest route, Galkhad.”

“But you-”

“I didn’t swear to that,” Hadjar interrupted him. “It was, of course, shorter and simpler than fighting a group of forty cultivators, which, by the way, is probably not that far away by now. At least those of them who are still alive should be close by.”

“The bird!” Theia guessed. “We weren’t the only ones who saw it.”

Hadjar nodded.

“That’s right,” he said. “It was seen by everyone who was looking up at the sky. Although, given that the map had already been found by then, I doubt that there were many people doing so.”

“The map… What?” Galkhad swore. “That damned crevice! You planned to take us here from the very beginning!”

“Yeah.” Hadjar nodded. “Although, the sewers were also the backup plan in case you heard that the map had been found.”

The others were silent for a long while, trying to digest this new information. The nobles, who considered themselves masters of intrigue and manipulation, suddenly realized that they’d been dancing to someone else’s tune for the past few days.

Hadjar hated scheming with all his heart, but he was still rather good at it.

“But how... how did you know that we’d find the map?” Dora, unlike the Dinos siblings, stood still rather than bother trying to get out of the trap.

“That was the riskiest part of my plan,” Hadjar admitted. “All I could do was believe in you. The alliance between your families is the most powerful one in the Wastelands at the moment.”

“Damn you, you fucking idiots!” Galkhad tried to throw off the net even more angrily, but failed. Even if he’d been a Lord, he wouldn’t have been able to do it.

“Shut up! The Eternal Mountain clan is-”

“You shut up, you bastard!” Galkhad shouted. “You’re a disgrace to your father’s memory!”

“Galkhad!” Tom roared. “I’ll rip your fucking tongue out!”

“Only after you manage to escape from under your sister’s skirt!”

Hadjar and Einen looked at each other again.

“I could watch this forever.” Hadjar smiled and then turned to the nobles. “Stop it!”

Galkhad and Tom fell silent.

“Don’t believe their lies,” Theia said suddenly. “What they’re holding in their hands are fakes! Both the key and the map are fakes. They’re trying to trick us again!”

There was utter silence for a moment.

“Your spatial artifact,” Galkhad said, struggling to overcome his hatred of the Predatory Blades clan, “Has it been tampered with?”

It took Tom only a few moments to check the seal. Seeing that it was intact, he calmed down a little.

“Same as yours, Galkhad.”

“Enough of this, Darkhan,” the giant snarled like a bear. “If you release us immediately, we’ll-”

“And now you’re insulting Einen and his ingenuity,” Hadjar interrupted with a mock sigh. “Have you ever heard of sea glue?”

“Sea glue?”

“I hadn’t heard about it either, until recently, that is, but Einen knows all about it. The magic of an artifact doesn’t affect its properties in any way. Sea glue is used to patch up holes in a ship, connecting similar materials and-”

“But-”

“The net,” Hadjar explained. “You took the net out of the artifact to bind us. At that moment, Einen switched the copy and the real deal.”

“But-”

“Galkhad has been walking around with a fake for a while now. When Proximo gave Einen’s spear to him, my friend managed to attach a forgery to it. When Galkhad gave his spear back to Einen, all that remained was to substitute it.”

Tom and Galkhad looked inside their spatial artifacts in near-perfect unison. After checking every nook and cranny, they cursed up a storm.

“The Eternal Mountain clan won’t forget this, Darkhan.”

“Get in line and wait your turn.” Hadjar chuckled. “Thanks for the company, by the way. If there hadn’t been so many of you, the Dinos would’ve never parted with their artifact. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my friend and I have a tomb to visit.”

Chapter 716

“Y ou know, my bald friend.” Hadjar and Einen crossed to the other side of the mound. Shouts could be heard coming from somewhere behind them, but they didn’t pay any attention to that. “For a moment, I was afraid that your trick wouldn’t work.”

Einen looked at him and then winked. An exact replica of him emerged from the shadows. This Technique was difficult to use in fast-paced combat, so Einen, cunning as always, had found a different way to make the most of it. His clone wasn’t that much different from the original, even when looked at through the World River. Just before the trio of nobles had arrived, he’d put his clone to work.

“What would we have done if Tom hadn’t taken the amulets out? Or if someone else had put them into their spatial ring instead?”

Einen had managed to make a copy of the map. After that, the search for the tomb had become a game of skill. The islander had thrown the amulets on the ground in anger, but not before attaching a copy of the map to each one. He’d placed them deep in the items, ensuring that no one but a skilled Lord would’ve been able to find the trick.

“Tom’s an aristocrat, but he’s still quite greedy,” Hadjar said. “He wouldn’t have wanted to squander something so valuable.”

“He didn’t do it because of greed, but out of necessity,” Einen objected.

Hadjar knew that the islander was probably right: it was unlikely that Tom’s uncle, a kinslayer who’d seized power in the Predatory Blades clan with a coup, had spoiled his nephew as much as the elven Head had spoiled his daughter.

“It was all pure planning!” Hadjar exclaimed. “I don’t believe in blind luck!”

“If you say so,” Einen just shrugged.

As for the key, they’d replaced it the moment they’d gotten to the sewers. The only purpose of their ‘alliance’ had been to lure out the people who held the map. Had the Dinos siblings and Dora not been the ones with the map, Hadjar had still had a plan; however, it hadn’t been a pretty one.

“Here.” Holding the map in front of him, Einen stopped at a boulder.

Peeking over his friend’s shoulder, Hadjar looked at the ancient manuscript. The mark that looked like a small, black dot on the side of the mound where they were standing appeared only when the key was held up to the map.

“Interesting,” he said.

Taking the ancient medallion from his friend, he went over to the stone and, holding his breath, placed it against the rock. A couple of seconds passed, but nothing happened.

“We better hurry,” Einen said calmly. “The bird was clearly visible. I think we have about half an hour before the other squads get here.”

“Not to mention the fact that Galkhad and the others will probably manage to free themselves in half an hour,” Hadjar added.

He walked around the boulder several times, holding the key and the map up to it in various spots. Once he was done, Einen took the artifacts from him and tried out his own ideas, but he didn’t succeed, either. Of the twenty-five minutes they’d allotted themselves to try and open the tomb, ten had already passed.

They sat down with their backs to the stone and stared at the map and key.

“Something’s not right here.”

“What do you see?” Hadjar asked.

Einen’s purple eyes saw far more than the eyes of a simple cultivator. That was why the islander had been terrified when he’d first seen Helmer: he’d been able to see the demon’s true form, not the mask that he put on to visit the mortal world.

“Nothing that can help us,” he said.

“Then let’s think this through.” Hadjar went over everything he knew about the age of the Hundred Kingdoms. He didn’t know much, of course, but unlike all the other people in the Wastelands, he was the only one who’d actually seen Erhard, the man who’d built this damned tomb. And the only one who’d ever been able to get into it was Decater. But why? Why had his followers hidden the map and key after his death?

That meant that Decater had visited the tomb at least twice. The first time had been when he’d acquired the Techniques and the Inheritance, thus becoming the strongest in his generation and seizing the throne. The second and probably last time had been just before he’d died. Before his death…

“He was still alive when he came here,” Hadjar said thoughtfully.

Einen nodded.

“He was a very powerful cultivator,” he said. “Did he sense his own death was imminent? Did he come to the tomb to lay down and die?”

“That sounds unlikely.” Hadjar muttered. “He would’ve fought to his last breath…”

“Apparently, he did... but ultimately decided to hide.”

They looked at each other and then simultaneously turned toward the stone.

“Can it really be that simple?” Hadjar frowned. “Damn it, Einen! That can’t be it! The mere presence of such a structure should’ve created visible anomalies in the energy flows. Such an artifact would’ve destroyed all life for miles around!”

“Well, we should at least try it,” the islander suggested.

Getting to their feet, they placed the map on the stone and then the key atop it… Nothing happened.

“Who’ll go first?” Hadjar asked and took out his carving dagger.

“Let’s do it together,” Einen replied and followed his example.

“All right.”

On the count of three, they cut their palms and, clenching their fists, let a few drops of blood land on the key. Nothing happened. The two of them let out disappointed sighs, but then...

There was no flash of bright light or explosion of raw power. Instead, the two friends were sucked into the stone like they weren’t even people, but objects that had been placed into a spatial artifact. And that’s exactly what this mound was. This place wasn’t Erhard’s vault or Decater’s tomb. It turned out that Decater didn’t even have one. Before his death, he hadn’t gone off to die in a beautiful sarcophagus, but to look for a way to fight for his life. He’d gone to the Last King’s repository of knowledge. The stone turned out to be a spatial artifact that violated all the known laws of the path of cultivation.

***

“Einen? Einen, where are you?”

Hadjar, his Call wrapped around him and the Black Blade in his hand, stood in the middle of a thick fog. It was so thick that he couldn’t even see his own feet through it.

“Einen?”

“You deceived me.”

Hadjar’s heart sank.

“You deceived me, Hadjar.”

A figure stepped out of the fog. She was tall, beautiful, and... Deathly pale, with a gaping wound in her chest and a throat that had been cut open.

“You never came back…”

“Elaine?”

Chapter 717

“N o,” Hadjar recoiled. “You aren’t Elaine...”

“You left me alone, brother…” Crimson tears ran down his sister’s beautiful face. Her terrible wounds were so deep that they exposed her internal organs. Blood bubbled in her throat as she spoke. “You left me all alone.”

The fog around Hadjar exploded in a kaleidoscope of color and he found himself in the middle of a blooming garden that was at the edge of a big pond. On the other side was a mountain, atop which stood a structure that was currently ablaze. Hadjar’s eyes widened as he recognized the castle of his ancestors. The garden of the Royal Palace of Lidus was littered with corpses. Among them, he recognized Lian, bent over the spear that had pierced her body. He spotted Tuur’s head and part of his right shoulder trapped beneath a mound of other bodies, and Simon, hanging from a tree, swaying in the hot wind that brought ash with it.

“Where were you?” Elaine’s bloodied hand reached out to Hadjar. “Where were you when we needed you the most?”

Hadjar fell to his knees. His heart was pounding so fast that he feared it might jump right out of his chest.

“They came for us.” Elaine sat down next to him and wrapped her crimson-stained arms around his neck. She pressed him to her chest, right where her arrow wound was. “Your enemies came for us, but you weren’t there.”

How many enemies did he have? He’d lost count long ago. The only thing that stopped them from going after Lidus was the fact that he’d kept his origins a secret. Traveling across the continent and studying martial arts, he’d given it his all to fabricate a legend that would protect them.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, stroking Elaine’s dry, disheveled hair. It no longer smelled like a field full of flowers, but like metal and ash. “Forgive me... I let you down...”

“You let us all down…” Elaine picked up a dagger from the ground. “Your selfishness got us all killed.”

Hadjar had naively believed that he could deceive everyone. That passing ‘The Holy Sky’ School’s age test had been enough to stop people from associating him with the Mad General. He’d hoped that he had buried his secrets deep enough.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and hugged his sister. He didn’t care about the blood and dirt that now covered his clothes. “I should’ve been there... I should have…”

“You should have,” Elaine repeated.

If it hadn’t been for Anise, no one would’ve ever known about his past…

The dagger in Elaine’s hand dropped a little lower. Its blade was pointed directly at his heart.

He should’ve finished her off back in the icy chambers of Greven’Dor! If he’d done that…

The dagger came a little closer. Only a couple of inches separated it from Hadjar’s back.

…he would’ve taken his secret to the grave with him. Goddamn it, Anise. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve killed them without a second thought. But then he remembered that Einen also knew his secret. If he knew… And if Anise also knew… Others might find out as well. For the sake of his family, for the sake of his country, he had to kill Einen…

The blade sank into his back.

“I’m sorry,” Elaine whispered, dry lips cracking as they moved. “Forgive me, brother.”

The wave of pain and the blood running down his back sobered him up for a moment.

“No,” he cried out. “No! Einen would never do that to me! He would die before he betrayed my secret. And I would do the same for him!”

Elaine’s eyes widened. They were a jade green and shone with deep sadness.

“You’re betraying us again, brother... Why do you always choose others over us? Why do you-”

Hadjar looked at his sister. Her words opened up some old wounds, ones he’d thought had healed long ago.

“Listen to your sister, my dear brother…”

His heart skipped a beat.

A man stepped out of the fire. His once snow-white hair was now the color of ash. His high cheekbones, once rosy, now looked as sharp as mountain peaks. The spark in his eyes was gone, extinguished like a candle flame in the wind.

“You betrayed us all,” Nero said. “You chose revenge over me. And I believed in you. I believed in you as much as I believed in myself.”

Hadjar stared at his brother in silence. The blade of his own sword still protruded from Nero’s chest.

“Did you find happiness in the Empire, my friend?” Serra followed Nero out of the fire, her bronze skin almost black because of the flames. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Was it worth our son’s, your nephew’s, life?”

“Shut up!” Hadjar screamed desperately.

He tried to move away from them, but all he managed to do was drive the dagger deeper into his back. He’d suspected that Serra had been pregnant, but every time he’d thought back to those events in the Palace, he’d told himself that he’d been mistaken. That the World River had deceived him by showing him what he’d wanted to see.

“You betrayed us all,” Nero repeated. “And for what, brother? What did you even get out of it? Did you find the justice you were so adamant about pursuing?”

The wounds on his soul only grew larger. He could feel it crying out in anguish. His energy and life force flowed out along with his blood.

“I didn’t,” he whispered.

“Do you at least understand the difference between revenge and justice?”

Hadjar remembered Anise asking him that same question not that long ago. He hadn’t been able to answer it then, and he couldn’t answer it now.

“I don’t.”

“Then tell me… What did I die for, my brother?” Nero’s eyes were full of sadness. “What did your sister die for? Your mother? Your father? For what!”

He was drowning in the pain. His energy body, unable to withstand the pressure, began to gradually crack and decay.

“I don’t know… I don’t know… I don’t know…” he kept repeating. “Forgive me,” he whispered, looking into Nero’s eyes.

Something invisible, but very tangible, struck him in the shoulder.

I’m leaving now, you idiot. Hadjar suddenly remembered an old dream in which he and Nero had sat on the shore of a lake by the campfire. And remember, if you ever start blaming yourself again, I’ll reach out from the other side to give you a good smack.

His brother had kept his word. If he, a man whose soul had already left the house of their forefathers and gone on to its rebirth, had been able to keep his word, then why couldn’t Hadjar? The two wedding bands were still in his leather wallet. His brother and sister were still dead. Just like his father, mother, uncle, their friends, and many others. All of them had died because the Spirits, blinded by power, had started thinking of themselves as gods and playing with the fate of the worlds. It was they who’d ripped apart the threads woven together in the Book of Destinies and renamed it the Book of Thousands. Thousands of their mistakes, which had gone unpunished thus far. Hadjar no longer cared about revenge. No. He cared about justice. He didn’t want to punish them, but to make it so that neither he nor anyone else would ever again have to bow their heads and submit to the will of others.

“Justice,” Hadjar croaked. “Maybe you’re right... Maybe it really doesn’t exist. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be created.”

He let go of Elaine.

“Where is your sword, my dear sister?”

Those beautiful, green eyes reflected her surprise.

“My sister wouldn’t have died in such a pretty, but ultimately useless dress. Oh no. She would’ve fought in full armor, and her sword would’ve been drenched in the blood of her enemies by the time she fell.”

Hadjar reached behind him and pulled the dagger out of his back. He got to his feet and turned to Nero and Serra.

“And you two are just a shamefully poor imitation of my brother and his wife. The words you say are empty. Your eyes haven’t seen the battles where we fought side by side and the rivers of blood that we crossed together. You’re just shadows.”

His soul wounds were closing as quickly as they’d reopened. As soon as the last one disappeared, the Black Blade appeared in his right hand.

“Whoever you are, I’ll kill you for defiling my family’s memory!”

He raised his sword and was about to deliver a vicious attack when he saw a pair of familiar, inhuman purple eyes.

Chapter 718

E inen?”

“Hadjar?”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then asked in unison:

“Are you real?”

Followed by:

“Holy shit!”

They were standing in a wide and dark corridor that didn’t seem to have a beginning or an end. They were standing on opposite sides of it. Behind each of them was a dagger sticking out of the wall. They’d pushed one another onto those daggers. Had they not been able to see through the illusions, they would’ve ended up killing each other.

“By the Evening Stars.” The islander pushed himself off the blade. His blood trickled down onto the cold floor.

Hadjar followed his example. “Seems that getting to Erhard’s treasury won’t be as easy as we’d hoped.”

Einen said nothing. He took several bottles full of ointment and a couple of wide bandages out of his chain. Whatever the blades were made of, it wasn’t allowing their wounds to heal. As far as Hadjar knew, that was possible only if you used special Techniques, but the ancients must’ve had their own secrets.

“Help me,” Einen said.

Once they were done bandaging each other up, they summoned their Calls and armed themselves.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Hadjar looked down the branching corridor, but didn’t dare take a step further. “I can feel the World River in here.”

“So can I.” Einen nodded. “This spatial artifact couldn’t have been created in the Hundred Kingdoms. Their understanding of artifactoring was more limited than ours.”

“Which means Erhard must’ve found it somewhere,” Hadjar guessed.

They exchanged glances. The stone was much older than they’d first thought and it might have initially belonged to someone much more powerful than Erhard. Hadjar wondered why the Black General hadn’t mentioned such an important detail…

“By the Evening Stars, where are we?” He exclaimed.

“Come on,” Einen said. “Who knows how long we were in that... fog. The people outside might’ve freed themselves already.”

Hadjar nodded and took the first step forward. Einen followed, and the two of them began their careful advance across the ancient marble floor. The walls, several yards high and emanating a dim glow, loomed above them.

When they came to another crossroads, they stood there in silence for a while, and then Hadjar, out of sheer habit, turned left. As soon as he did so, a wall materialized behind him.

“Fuck this place!” Einen cursed. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Hadjar glanced around — it looked the same as the corridor he’d just left behind. He found himself facing a wall with two daggers mounted on it. But these blades didn’t have any traces of blood on them.

“What do you see?”

“Hard to say,” Hadjar answered. “Look, are you still in the corridor with the daggers?”

Einen paused for a moment.

“Yes… I am… Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m in it as well.” He went over to a dagger and deliberately cut his finger. Just like last time, the wound didn’t heal. “Either that, or an exact copy of it.”

Einen swore.

“Can you break the wall?”

Hadjar summoned the Black Blade and hit the wall with all his might. His energy, aided by the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart, simply disappeared into the stone without leaving so much as a single scratch on it.

“I don’t think so.” Hadjar sighed. “Whoever created this damned place was at an incredibly high level of cultivation.”

Leaning back against the wall, Hadjar slid down it and sat on the cold floor. Einen did the same.

“I’m sorry I dragged you here, my bald friend. I should’ve listened to you and returned to Dahanatan.”

Einen was silent for a while.

“This is just another trial, barbarian,” he said finally. “We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“You’re going right,” Hadjar guessed.

“I am.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“If we don’t get out of here alive, I want to tell you that-”

“Save it for when we do get out,” Einen interrupted him. “Don’t forget that we still have to survive the Treasure Tower’s trials, the Tournament of the Twelve, and the war with Lascan.”

“And some maniac who wants to kill me.”

“And the Dead Moon assassins.”

“And you still have the fae’s incredibly powerful Core in your spatial chain,” Hadjar chuckled.

It had been part of their plan to move the Core to another artifact. Hadjar trusted Einen with it.

“Which you’re going to sell at an auction where all the nobility of the capital will be gathered together.”

“And half of them are holding a grudge against me,” Hadjar added.

There was only silence once again.

“Don’t you dare die here, barbarian,” Einen whispered. “Whose annoying chatter will I listen to on my travels then?”

“Don’t rush to your forefathers either, my bald friend. Who else could ever be my silent companion?”

Einen stood up.

“Good luck, my friend,” he said.

The hallway fell silent.

Hadjar waited for a while.

“Good luck, my friend.” he whispered into the void.

Getting up, he went over to the fork in the hallway and turned left.

Chapter 719

H adjar didn’t know how long he’d been walking through this maze. After seeing the same branching corridor for the hundredth time, he decided to turn right instead of left. After another two hundred turns, he decided to leave it up to luck and began flipping a coin. After 93,116 turns, he lost count and began choosing turns at random.

“Time.” Hadjar gave the command to the neural network, but it didn’t react. No interface clock appeared in front of his eyes.

As far as he could recall, this maze was the first place he’d ever encountered that could block the neural network.

“Erhard couldn’t have created something like this… No offense to him,” he whispered, sitting down on a stone to take a breather.

Deep in thought, he idly scratched his chin. In the time he’d spent in the Sea of Sand, he had grown a short beard. Right now, it was an inch longer than it had been back then. Going by that, he knew that quite some time had passed.

“I have to keep going.” Standing up, he went over to the fork in the hallway, picked up the coin, and was just about to throw it when he noticed a small scar on his finger ― the wound from the dagger had healed.

He turned around and saw the same two blue blades sticking out of the wall. Decater had gotten through this terrible place twice. But how?

“I doubt I’ll get anywhere if I keep doing the same thing over and over,” Hadjar muttered under his breath. “But what do I need to do, then?”

He fidgeted with the green coin in his hand and then tossed it into one of the corridors. Just like the previous thousands of times, it spun in the air and fell with a dull echo. But unlike what he’d tried during his previous attempts, he didn’t walk into the corridor right away, but crouched down and then lay down on his stomach instead. Carefully, trying not to cross the invisible line, he reached for the coin.

“Slowly,” he whispered. “Very slowly…”

Inch by inch, he tried to reach the coin with just his index finger. At first, he felt nothing but tension in his arm. But the closer he got to the coin, the more pressure he felt. It was like some kind of veil. And as soon as he touched this veil, the reality around him wavered and the air in front of him began to thicken, turning into transparent stone. As soon as he pulled his hand back, everything returned to normal.

After testing his theory several more times, he was convinced that his guess was right. The wall that separated the corridor from the exact replica of the previous one only appeared when he crossed the threshold. In all other cases, whether he threw out a small stone, a coin, or a piece of cloth, the wall never materialized.

“All right.” He leaned back and looked around. Same corridor, same glowing walls. “So, the wall only appears when I cross.”

He went back to the very beginning of the corridor and touched the stone barrier. There might’ve been an exact replica of this corridor behind it, or there might not have.

“Hmm…”

Moving away from it, he went down the familiar path. He even counted the steps — twenty-three until he reached the dead end.

“And what if…”

A wild idea struck him. Pulling out his carving knife, he cut his palm. Thick drops of blood instantly fell to the floor. Turning toward the left corridor, he waved his hand and sprinkled his blood in that direction. He sensed some vibrations and changes in the fabric of reality.

“So, you want more?”

He continued to sprinkle blood on the floor until the stone wall appeared directly in front of him. For the first time, he was standing in the corridor, and not with his back to it, but actually facing the damned obstacle.

“Looks like it wasn’t that difficult of a puzzle,” he said and stroked his beard.

Repeating the process with the right corridor, he suddenly realized that the materialized walls formed some kind of arch that led to a huge hall.

Once he was inside, he didn’t even bother to turn around. He knew what lay behind him.

He was standing in a circular hall, which was quite a big change considering the last few days... or weeks he’d spent in those claustrophobic corridors.

“Another one? Well, well…”

Hadjar turned toward the voice. A creature stepped out from behind one of the columns. It was as tall as a tree and as wide as a boulder. It looked powerful and terrifying. The beast had the legs of a man, the torso of a lizard, the arms of an ape, and the head of a bull. It kind of resembled a Minotaur, and wore gauntlets and steel boots. A scabbard was strapped to its belt. Its sword looked like it weighed as much as Theia’s did.

“Who are you?” Hadjar asked.

He didn’t sense any hostility from the creature. On the contrary, it was looking at him as if he were a jester it had been waiting for for quite some time.

“I’m the guardian of the third trial,” it thundered, steam billowing from its nostrils.

“Trial?”

The giant nodded.

“You passed through the Fog of Gloom and proved that your heart is strong. Regret has sent more warriors to their graves than any blade ever could. You passed the Maze of Ignorance,” Hadjar grimaced slightly at the name, “ignorance and stubbornness are two of the most dangerous enemies. Only a sharp mind can help you master the true art of battle. And now it’s time for the third trial. The trial of Strength.”

“Wait, hold on.” Hadjar waved his hands. “You said I wasn’t the first one.”

“That’s right.” The monster moved to the center of the hall. In the pale light, it looked even bigger and more powerful. “Only a few have had the honor of meeting me. But in the past month alone, I’ve met four of you. It must be a time of great change in the world if so many people are looking for my creator’s Inheritance.”

“Your creator?” Hadjar looked at the giant again. “You’re a golem, then?”

“The guardian of the third trial,” the beast corrected him sternly.

Hadjar couldn’t believe that he’d been wandering the maze for a month. It seemed impossible, but the beast had no reason to lie to him. If he was going to get to the Black General’s Technique first, he had to hurry.

“What do I need to do?” He asked the guardian.

“You get three attempts, challenger. Using only three attacks, you must make me draw my sword. Otherwise, I’ll banish you to the outside world and seal the entrance to you forever.”

“Three attempts?” Hadjar grinned and summoned the Black Blade. “One will be enough! Black Wind!”

A huge dragon, created from a mix of the Sword’s mysteries and his own energy, descended upon the giant. Its power made the ground beneath them quiver. All the stones within a radius of sixteen feet began to crumble, and the columns were suddenly covered in countless cuts and slashes.

No Spirit Knight, even if they were wearing Imperial level armor, could’ve survived such a Technique. Perhaps it would’ve even injured a Lord.

But when the dust settled, the giant simply brushed the dust off the fur on its shoulders.

“First attempt.”

There wasn’t so much as a scratch on its body.

Chapter 720

H adjar stared at the guardian in disbelief. That attack should’ve left at least a scratch! A dent if nothing else!

He blinked and bowed low to the creature.

“I apologize for my rude and hasty words,” he said, straightening back up. “The days I spent in that maze took their toll on me.”

“Days,” the guardian repeated. Hadjar could tell that the guardian had lived here for countless years by the tone of its voice alone.

If this place, this alternate plane of existence, had actually been created before the time of Erhard and the Hundred Kingdoms, then the guardian was very old indeed…

“Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to show me something actually worth my time?” The beast thundered.

Hadjar nodded. He only had two attempts left to get the guardian to draw its blade. It sounded simple enough, but... He looked more closely at his opponent. All the previous trials had included something that, at first glance, had seemed simple, but had actually turned out to be a little more complicated. He needed to think instead of relying on his muscles alone. The guardian’s chest, for example, was bare, protected only by its scales, which made them an obvious target, right? Except that they were probably much stronger than even Imperial level armor. Its legs were protected by armor as well. The tip of the heavy blade hung right next to them.

Hadjar squared his shoulders and looked into the guardian’s eyes, “I’m going to use my best attack. I have nothing stronger than that.”

“Give it your all,” the ancient creature said calmly.

Hadjar dived into his soul: a huge expanse covered with green grass that swayed in rhythm with the wind, the hill with the stone that Traves had once sat on, and the tree that provided him with shade. The Quetzal bird had made its nest in its branches. After it absorbed Hadjar’s energy, it broke free of the soul world and appeared next to him. Once it grew so large that its wings obscured the ceiling of the hall, it was instantly drawn into the Black Blade.

***

For the first time in thousands of years, the guardian felt… something. It had met many warriors during its long servitude. Many of them had come looking for power... Well, all of them had, really. But unlike the warrior that had arrived today, those people had been very strong. Some of them had used Techniques that could’ve easily damaged it. And yet, for some reason, watching this young man use one of the old Techniques made it feel something that it couldn’t explain.

The young man’s Technique wasn’t anything new, since the path of the Spirit had been used often by the first visitors. There had even been a few of them since then. However, this boy was the first to wield it after many hundreds of years.

His spirit was weak, shaped like an inferior being. Of the four types of Spirits, it was the simplest and weakest kind.

The black whirlwind of energy he conjured wasn’t amazing, either. It was dense and there was a lot of it, but it wasn’t anything new. It had seen stronger and more gifted cultivators before.

The man’s Sword Spirit’s mysteries, though strong, still didn’t have what it took to call their wielder a real swordsman.

Despite the fact that, by all accounts, this young man appeared to be absolutely mediocre, something about him had attracted its attention. The guardian didn’t know how to describe it because it hadn’t been created with a mind of its own. Unlike all the living things with souls, it had only a semblance of one. But even so, it sensed that it had never encountered such a weak challenger before. At least in terms of raw power. His will, on the other hand, could’ve moved mountains.

Looking closer, the guardian noticed tears and holes in the whirlwind. The path of this cultivator wasn’t based on the sword, raw power, or unique energy, but on sheer willpower. This appeared to be enough for the young man, but little did he know that the higher he climbed, the less firm his base would become. In other words, if he didn’t strengthen his will soon, he’d end up getting himself killed. His path was obviously heading toward the abyss…

If only... if only it could help him, just a little…

***

“Black Wind!” Hadjar roared.

A blue hieroglyph appeared along his obsidian blade, assuming the form of a bird in flight. It released a torrent of energy so strong that it turned all the stone within a 30ft radius to dust and brought down the massive pillars as if they were nothing more than a house of cards.

Whirlwinds of black energy streaked with blue light reached the distant arches, sending them crashing down. They were reduced to dust before they even managed to touch the ground.

Following the broad swing of his blade, a dragon-sword emerged from a portal of black energy. It was imbued with so much power and mysteries of the Sword that, for a brief moment, it reached the Imperial level.

With a mighty roar, it struck the guardian, engulfing it in a thick veil of impenetrable darkness filled with hundreds of silhouettes of other dragon-swords. Each of them was as powerful as Hadjar’s strongest attack.

The last time he’d used his Spirit, he’d lost consciousness. He had even less energy left now than he’d had back then due to his exhausting trip across the Wastelands. However, he remained standing.

Leaning against the stone wall that blocked the entrance to the accursed corridor, he watched the raging storm of energy and Sword mysteries.

Apart from the one depicted in the Black General’s scroll, this was Hadjar’s strongest attack. After what had happened during their battle against the Dead Moon clan assassins, he wouldn’t dare to use that attack without Einen at his side. If it hadn’t been for the islander’s medicine, he would’ve found himself knocking on the door of his forefathers’ house long ago.

“Is that it?”

The whirlwind burst like a soap bubble, revealing the guardian standing in the middle of the hall, unharmed and with its sword still in its scabbard.

Chapter 721

T he guardian stared at the exhausted young man. The attack he’d performed did fit the requirements that its Master had written down so long ago. However, over the course of thousands of years contemplating eternity, the guardian had gained its own understanding of things.

What would be the point of letting this man progress any further? Even if he received the Master’s Inheritance, he’d still fall victim to the abyss one day. With such a flimsy foundation for his path, he would never be able to achieve anything significant.

But the guardian would give him a chance to strengthen his Core, soul, and will, to find the gaps in the foundation of his path and patch them up.

The guardian looked at the young man again. Everything depended on whether he would understand the following words:

“You’re pathetic, boy,” it said in disgust. “Get out of here.”

***

The wall disappeared behind Hadjar. He almost fell back into that accursed corridor, but he managed to grab on to the edge of the wall and hold on tightly.

“I... have... one... more… attempt… left,” he wheezed out.

“You won’t need it.” The guardian’s eyes flashed. “Weaklings like you aren’t worthy of even breathing in the same air as the Master. You’ve attacked me twice and now you’re barely standing. How dare you call yourself a warrior?”

Hadjar managed to get up, sort of. In his trembling hand, he held the Black Blade. Both his cloak and armor were gone. He didn’t have enough energy left to maintain them.

“One… more-”

“Enough!” The guardian roared. “Get out of my sight.”

He didn’t even have enough strength left to argue. Hadjar just shook his head. Holding his sword in front of him, he tried to take a step forward but fell down. As he slammed his face into the floor, he dropped the blade and it disappeared. He couldn’t muster up the energy to summon it again.

“Look at you, boy,” the guardian continued. “Lying on the floor, powerless. Do you truly consider yourself a warrior? The Path of the Sword has nothing you could ever use!”

“You’re... wrong…”

“Wrong?” The guardian roared with laughter. “You had a chance to prove yourself, but you failed.”

“One-”

“Even if you had one hundred attempts left, you’d still fail! You’re a mediocre warrior at best, just one of the innumerable nuisances wandering this accursed world. Do you really think that someone like you is worthy of the secrets stored in here? You’re as insignificant as a grain of sand!”

Hadjar rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling that he’d destroyed. He couldn’t see the azure sky or the stars through the gaps in the stone.

How ironic. He was being mocked by a puppet. This golem was nothing more than a toy imbued with energy and the semblance of a mind. But even it seemed to understand things more clearly than he did.

“You can start licking your wounds now,” the beast snorted, causing the ring in its nose to sway.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t lie,” it growled. “Don’t lie to yourself, at least. That’s what you do all the time, isn’t it? You comfort yourself with sweet little lies.”

“You don’t know-”

“I know you better than you know yourself,” the guardian interrupted him again. “I know your name, Hadjar Darkhan. I know the names of your parents. I know your Master’s name, your best friend’s name, the name of the first girl you ever wanted to kiss, the name of the first girl you thought you loved. I know all about you. I know your every thought. I saw your whole life. All your fears. And they’re just as simple and boring as everyone else’s.”

Still lying on his back, Hadjar stared into the guardian’s eyes. They were like the eyes of a doll, but they still reflected emotions. He didn’t see any deceit in them.

And then it dawned on him.

“It was... you,” he whispered hoarsely. “The fog... It was you…”

“Yes.” The guardian nodded. “Of all the 63 guardians that guard the entrance to the treasury, you were unlucky enough to come across me. You might have deceived the others, but not me. I saw your fears. I know you. I’ve taken your measure. And you’re nothing, just a spark that’s about to go out.”

Hadjar remembered Elaine’s bloodied face. He remembered the blazing fire devouring Lidus. He remembered what his brother and his wife had told him. The cries of their unborn child.

“You-”

“You’re pathetic,” the guardian sneered. “You want to blame me for what you saw? Do it! Do what you always do — blame others.”

Hadjar tried to get up, but all he could do was groan. The guardian crouched beside him. It was so close that he could feel its hot breath on his face.

“Admit it, Hadjar Darkhan. Tell the truth for once.”

“What?” He rasped.

“Admit that no one but yourself is responsible for your troubles. If you’d been stronger, would your mother have died? Would Primus have ripped out her heart? You were too weak.”

“I was a child!”

“You were a warrior!” The guardian’s roar was so powerful that even the columns that had been lucky enough to survive Hadjar’s two attacks cracked. “A warrior isn’t a child! A warrior isn’t a man or a woman! It’s a way of life! A life you never led!”

“I’ve... always...”

“Never! Think back on your life, boy! When did you follow the path of the warrior? When you schemed your way into the Master’s parade ground? When you didn’t save your parents? When you watched Serra sacrifice her life for you? Or when you were too afraid of the truth that could’ve left you alone forever? You’re always running away. A warrior isn’t a coward! A warrior doesn’t run away! A warrior doesn’t bend! A warrior fights until their last breath! A warrior is in a constant struggle with their worst enemy ― themselves. After conquering themselves, a warrior continues following their path! That is what it means to be a warrior. You’re just a pathetic coward.”

“I’m… not... a coward.”

“More lies!” The guardian turned its head and spat on the floor next to Hadjar. “Your words aren’t worth shit. You blame everyone around you: Primus, the gods, me, Anise… You were even ready to blame Einen, the only person who would give his life for you because you don’t want to see your own weaknesses.”

“I’m looking for power…”

“Power isn’t sought! Power is nurtured! Every day, every hour, every second! Power isn’t something you can just come and take! You can only find it in yourself. And I don’t see it in you! So get out of here. Don’t defile this place with your presence any longer!”

“I-”

“OUT!”

The guardian’s furious roar lifted Hadjar, spun him around like he was as light as a feather, and slammed him against the wall.

The world around him was plunged into darkness.

Chapter 722

T he guardian looked at the young man lying in a pool of blood near the entrance. It had lied when it had said that Hadjar had been unlucky enough to come across it out of all 63 guardians of the treasury. They would’ve simply let him pass after that second attack, condemning him to an inglorious, inevitable death.

“I remember your words, Master.” The guardian sat down and waited. It looked at the young man, hoping that what it had said and done would help him. “It’s better to live freely among the mortals than to be a servant among the gods. That was what you said so long ago, wasn’t it?”

It recalled the years it had spent watching its Master attempt to comprehend something that was still a mystery to it. It was certain that its Master had been a warrior, and that he would’ve only wanted to reveal his secrets to another warrior. The Master had taught it that a warrior wasn’t someone who hit faster, killed more, or didn’t know fear. Those kinds of people weren’t warriors.

The cook who made the best soup in the Kingdom and yet served it to both kings and slaves alike was a warrior. The woman whose husband had been killed in a war and who’d raised three daughters and two sons alone, all the while retaining her love for them and for herself, was a warrior.

A warrior didn’t need a sword. A warrior didn’t need armor.

A warrior only needed a soul and faith in themselves. Not in Techniques, mysteries, or weapons.

At least that’s what the Master had said.

The guardian hoped that it had been able to convey its Master’s words to the young man, because out of all the people who’d come to the hall, only he was close to being a true warrior. All he needed was a little push.

The guardian had given him that push, and now it was all up to the young man.

“Maybe today,” it sighed. “Maybe today.”

***

Hadjar lay in darkness. Helpless and weak, as always. He’d become a cripple on the day when his father, the strongest warrior he’d ever known, had died before his very eyes; when his mother, who he’d believed could protect him from any threat, had died in his arms; when a man he’d thought was the most loyal person he’d ever meet, his Uncle Primus, had become a traitor.

He’d become a cripple, but not because his legs had been cut off and the rest of his body stripped of strength, but because something more valuable had been taken from him — his faith. It had been replaced with a need to get revenge on anyone or anything he could.

Hadjar finally understood that.

He’d blamed Primus for the death of his parents, but… nobody was responsible for Haver’s death. Maybe if the gods hadn’t made a mistake in their Book of Thousands, and the demons hadn’t broken into the mortal world, Primus’ wife would’ve still been alive. And Hadjar would still have a brother…

But Haver wouldn’t have stopped looking for power regardless. He would’ve put the whole country in danger. He would’ve led Lidus to the brink of destruction. And Primus would’ve done what he would’ve had to do. If Hadjar had been older, he would’ve prevented it and destroyed his homeland with his own two hands.

That was the truth. The bitter, scary truth.

What should he do now? He was afraid of anyone finding out about Lidus and Elaine. But had Traves taught him to be afraid? There was no place for fear on the path of cultivation.

He’d never sought power, that much was true. But only because he was weak. Too weak to hold a proper sword in his hands. Not just any old piece of iron, either, but a real sword that could cut through everything in its way, pave the way to any goal, and bring him real freedom. Freedom to be himself. To live for himself.

He had no faith. He’d replaced it with determination to get… what? Revenge? Justice?

If he was so worried about Lidus and Elaine, he had to become stronger. So strong that even the very thought of someone harming his sister and his Kingdom would make his enemies tremble in fear.

Was he afraid of the Black General? Perhaps. He wasn’t sure. But what he was certain of was that he had to become so strong that the fragment within him wouldn’t dare utter another word ever again!

Could he distinguish revenge from justice? No. But that was simply because he was too weak to accept the simple fact that he didn’t need both of them.

He’d been looking for only one thing. Even after he’d come to this world, gotten his legs back, gained both friends and enemies, and spilled rivers of blood... He’d simply kept looking for a way to fill the growing void inside of him. Just as he’d done back on Earth.

Only now did he understand the true meaning of what the orc shaman had shown him. None of it had been about his Name at all, but about the real him. Weak. Uncertain. Full of doubt. Without meaning or purpose.

What did he live for? To kill the gods? To bring justice to the Seventh Heaven? No.

Gods could always be replaced. The people didn’t know this, as they’d been too afraid to even try and tackle the divine forces. Even after they, just like him, had been robbed of their faith.

And even if he, in spite of all the blood that had already been shed, all the pain he’d caused and felt, all the suffering and bitterness, and all the difficulties and fears, reached his goal and got to the Seventh Heaven, turned the Jasper Palace upside down, forced the gods to pay for all they’d done, and destroyed the Book of Thousands, someone else would realize that they, too, could do what he had done.

And even then, at the end, he still wouldn’t fill the void inside him. He would meet his forefathers with honor, certainly. But when they asked him what he’d lived for, he’d tell them that he had lived to bring freedom. And then they’d chuckle and ask him about the people he’d tried to free and why he’d done it. Then he’d say that he had done so for himself because you could never be truly free while living in a world of slaves.

And then they would let him in and they would sit together at the table. They would sing him old songs and treat him well because they would understand that he’d lived his life with honor. Like a true warrior. They’d know that he hadn’t turned away, let doubt stop him, or felt fear. That he hadn’t run away from his enemies or friends. That he’d kept walking for as long as he could. That was how he should live.

If he encountered a barrier that he couldn’t break through, he’d become stronger and tear it down. If he came across an enemy that he couldn’t defeat, he’d become stronger and kill them. If someone came for his friends and family, he’d protect them. If someone led an army against his homeland, he’d destroy them.

And no one would stand in his way: not the guardian, not the Emperor of Darnassus, not the Black General, not Helmer, not the gods, not even the laws of the Heavens and the Earth. None of them would make him lower his sword. What he held in his hands and carried in his heart wasn’t a sword made from steel, but one made of his life, his world, his way of filling the void ― his freedom.

***

The guardian, who’d been sitting in silence for almost three hours, turned its head toward the sound of coughing.

The young man regained consciousness and spat out blood. And although he didn’t have enough energy left to stand up, he still did so. And although he couldn’t summon his strange sword, he still did it.

Then he bowed low to the guardian.

“Draw your sword, honored guardian,” he said. “I, Hadjar Darkhan, have come here to fight you.”

He rushed forward.

The guardian smiled. It drew its sword and deflected its opponent’s attack.

“You’ve passed the test, young warrior,” it thundered, smiling. “You can go and-”

It fell silent, staring at azure eyes that were as clear as ice. For a moment, it was convinced that its own Master was standing before it — there was no doubt or fear in those blue eyes, only a certainty that had enough power to bend the Earth to its desires and burn the Heavens themselves down.

A solid, unshakable foundation…

“Our battle isn’t over yet!” The young man roared.

Ducking under the massive sword, he pushed off from the guardian’s knee, soared into the air, and struck with his sword. The blade pierced the beast’s chest and knocked it down to the ground.

Hadjar bowed to the guardian and then walked to the door that had just opened.

Staring at the ceiling, the guardian was slowly losing the life force that had been placed inside of it so long ago. Its Master had once told it about the stars. It wondered if it would get to see them when it ceased to exist.

“Finally,” it croaked. “The day has finally come… I can finally see you again, Master…”

***

The guardian turned to stone and then disappeared in a cloud of dust. Pausing just before leaving the hall, Hadjar turned and knelt down, pressing his forehead to the floor.

“I’ll never forget you, mighty guardian,” he whispered softly. “Of all the healers I’ve ever met, you were the only one who managed to heal me.”

He got up and left the hall.

His eyes were just as bright as they’d been in the past, when a six-year-old boy had tried to save his mother. It had taken him almost a quarter of a century to become his old self again. But he was back — the man whose march couldn’t be slowed and whose sword couldn’t be stopped.

Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind!

Chapter 723

E xiting the passageway, Hadjar found himself in a room so huge that he froze in astonishment. It was easily as big as the Forest of Knowledge in ‘The Holy Sky’ School. He couldn’t even see where the walls ended and the ceiling began. All he saw were an infinite number of staircases that, spiraling like ivy, branched out in different directions, forming a floating maze of banisters and stairs.

Hadjar didn’t even manage to let out a gasp of surprise before something or someone appeared behind him and, grabbing his mouth and shoulders, pulled him into the shadows. He watched the mesmerizing dance of darkness and light and then felt the cold ground touch his back. Whatever had been holding him let go and he inhaled greedily.

“I beg you... stop dragging me... into... Your damned shadows!” He hissed at his friend.

Sitting next to him, Einen tilted his head. Those purple eyes were observing him curiously.

“Something’s changed about you, barbarian,” he said. “Or maybe you’ve become the old you…”

Leaning on his friend’s shoulder, Hadjar got to his feet.

As always, Einen’s eyes saw more than anyone else’s. Hadjar gave him an appraising look and chuckled. Whichever guardian the islander had encountered, it had done him a lot of good. Einen had also changed slightly. He seemed… more complete. It was as if he’d found something he’d been looking for. The shadows around him quivered constantly, like they were beckoning the former pirate into their cold embrace. No wonder Hadjar hadn’t been able to sense him in time. Such a thing hadn’t happened since the Sea of Sand.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He took a few alchemy pills that Einen handed him and tossed them back. A torrent of borrowed energy spread through his body, but only a small part of it lingered in his Core. However, that was still enough to fill it to the brim.

Before reaching the peak stage of the Heaven Soldier level, he hadn’t noticed that borrowed power harmed his energy body, leaving tiny wounds and injuries all over it, thus allowing the energy to slowly seep through it.

“Disgusting.” Hadjar grimaced.

“Those pills cost us a fortune.”

Ten Bubbling Blood pills really did cost a ludicrous amount of money. They’d spent almost all the savings they’d been able to accumulate during their year spent in the capital on them. And Hadjar had just ingested three of these pills at once. In other words, he’d just eaten the annual earnings of a minor Imperial nobleman.

“How many do we have left?”

“Two,” Einen responded, handing him another pill. “You were gone for quite some time, barbarian.”

Hadjar put the pill into his spatial ring. He rubbed his cheek and let the energy flow through his palm. There was a thick beard on his face again.

“How long have you been here?”

They were sitting under a stone canopy that looked like the cap of a poisonous mushroom.

At first, Hadjar couldn’t really figure out where Einen had taken them because the ceiling had suddenly swapped places with the floor. They were standing on a parapet, but they were also... upside down. Or maybe the people Hadjar could see from under their shelter were wandering through the endless staircases upside down.

“About a week and a half.” The islander peered out from beneath the ledge and instantly leaned back. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hadjar didn’t thank him. He would’ve done the same for Einen.

“What did you find out?”

Hadjar took out a few energy crystals he’d obtained in the Dah’Khasses’ mountains from his spatial ring and began to make bombs out of them. His instincts, which he’d come to trust implicitly after years of relying on them, were telling him that the trials of the ancient treasury were far from over.

“The laws of gravity don’t work here.”

“I’ve already figured that much out myself.” Hadjar chuckled.

Einen swore. His purple eyes shone with both excitement and tension.

“To progress any further, you’ll need to shed blood,” Einen said. “You must kill someone to move on.”

“Are you sure?” Hadjar asked.

Einen just shrugged.

“Everyone I’ve seen so far simply disappeared after they did that. Just like the bodies of their enemies. The first day I was here, there was a massacre.”

“There were really that many cultivators here?” Hadjar asked in surprise.

Einen nodded.

“It seems,” he said, “that when you and I managed to enter the stone, it also drew in all the cultivators in the area.”

Hadjar swore. They’d gone through a lot of trouble, not to mention come up with and executed an insane plan, and the others had simply gotten an opportunity to claim the Inheritance for free! The world of martial arts was truly unfair.

“And now?”

“It’s quiet, but there are still some skirmishes going on. Cultivators are drawn to them like moths to a flame.”

“To fights?” Hadjar asked and raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Einen shook his head. “You don’t have to defeat anyone in particular. It’s enough to just finish someone off. And then both you and the corpse will disappear.”

Hadjar cursed again. What a ridiculous system!

“How many people have you seen so far?”

“76,” Einen said and peeked out again, “including you, 77.”

“What about our old friends?”

“Except for the archers, they’re all here. I don’t think they failed the trials. I think that-”

“-there are no Techniques or Inheritances in here that are suitable for them.” Hadjar nodded in understanding. He then told Einen about what he’d gone through. “What kinds of trials did you get?”

Einen shrugged and told him that his trials hadn’t differed from his own save for the fact that he’d encountered a guardian wielding a spear-staff. Hadjar found that quite surprising because such a weapon was one of the rarest ones around.

The islander had passed his trial on his first attempt, using his most powerful combo. He hadn’t been able to even scratch the guardian, but it had drawn its weapon, thus deeming him worthy.

Once he was done making the bombs, Hadjar looked around again — staring back at him was the same seemingly endless web of wide staircases. Except now he knew that every nook and cranny of this area hid their enemies, including the Dinos siblings, the Eternal Mountain clan, and Dora.

There must’ve been around fifty to eighty thousand people near the stone when it had gone off, so there were probably at least a thousand of them in here.

“So, I just have to finish someone off?”

Einen turned to his friend. His purple eyes glinted in amusement.

“Another plan?” He asked.

“I’m really tired of sitting around.” Hadjar shrugged. He hid the bombs in his spatial ring, got to his feet, and, summoning the Black Blade and his Call, stepped out onto the parapet.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath.

“PROXIMO!”

Chapter 724

A s Hadjar had expected, the gloomy maze answered him with absolute silence that was suddenly broken by the whistling of something cutting through the air. He didn’t so much as flinch as a dagger was thrown at him. Without even looking in the direction of the energy-infused blade, he made a quick slash. It was followed by the metallic clang of two steel fragments and a hilt landing at his feet. He’d merged three sharp sword strikes into a single, far deadlier one.

“PROXIMO!” Hadjar roared again, making the deteriorating staircases wobble. Chunks of stone and clouds of dust rained down into the abyss below. Their fall was followed by a deafening silence. Hadjar wondered if there even was a ground floor. Whoever had created this world had wielded power that was beyond his comprehension.

This time, however, the spearman appeared. He and the other members of Galkhad’s squad were just six flights of stairs above where he was standing. Grabbing the edge of one of the steps, Proximo vaulted over it and got to his feet.

“I didn’t think you’d be strong enough to get this far,” he said, putting his thumb to his right nostril and blowing his nose toward Hadjar’s feet. Coming from a warrior, this was an expression of utter contempt even worse than if he’d spat in Hadjar’s face. “I didn’t think you’d have enough courage to challenge me, either.”

Hadjar felt numerous eyes watching them from the darkness. Everyone else was hiding in the shadows, also coveting the secrets, Techniques, and the Inheritance of the ancients. They were hoping to steal a kill and get out of this maze as quickly as possible.

He wasn’t about to make it easy for them.

“Where’s Galkhad? Or are you without your nanny today?” He replied with a sneer.

“Thank the gods, you wretched fool, that I asked him not to interfere. Otherwise, he would’ve already torn you to shreds, you fucking traitor.”

“Are you trying to talk me to death, or are we actually going to fight today?”

Proximo shouted something, whirled his spear over his head, and then lunged forward. A Spear Spirit materialized behind him. By infusing power into its master, it allowed him to use a Heaven level Technique.

Swirls of brown energy passed through the spear and split his attack into hundreds of beams. Like twisting ribbons, they enveloped Hadjar and trapped him in an impenetrable sphere that was fifteen feet in diameter. It cut him off from the outside world completely. This attack was different from what Proximo had used in the battle against the Stone Crocodile.

Assuming a defensive stance, Hadjar prepared for the next attack.

It didn’t take Proximo long to launch it.

A couple of energy beams burst out of the sphere and intertwined to form a spear tip. Like a scorpion’s stinger, it struck out at Hadjar’s chest.

Back then, at the bottom of the dried-up river, Proximo had been at the Wielder level, but now he was at the Weapon’s Heart level. Apparently, the trial had done wonders not only for Hadjar and Einen, but everyone else who’d passed it as well. The attack aimed at his chest was thrumming with the deep and powerful mysteries of the Spear.

Hadjar didn’t block the attack and instead dove to the side. Wrapped in his wispy cloak, which was now adorned with a silver hieroglyph, he tried to break through the sphere, but to no avail.

As soon as he approached the wall, it responded by sending out dozens of spears. The attack that he’d just dodged changed its trajectory and aimed at his back.

The Black Blade, leaving a fading trail of energy in its wake, struck the spear made up of dozens of brown ribbons. Hadjar tore the attack to shreds and passed through the strike. His blade cut through the sphere, but its walls reformed in a fraction of a second.

“Not bad, Hadjar, not bad,” Proximo’s voice came from far away. “For a commoner, of course. But we should really end this charade now. Porcupine’s Ball!”

The sphere shot out countless copies of Proximo’s spear from all its walls.

Cursing, Hadjar used the second stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.

Thinking that he’d finished him off, Proximo dispelled the sphere. He was about to leave when he suddenly realized that the sphere hadn’t disappeared. Instead, it bubbled like molten glass, quivered, then cracked like a broken mirror. Finally freed, a gust of strong wind burst forth from its prison, crushing the stone stairs.

Proximo met the wind with his spear held out in front of him. The spear tip cut through the storm like a knife through butter, but even so, he was still pushed back a few steps.

Hadjar straightened up and wiped a few drops of blood off his cheek.

“Is that all you got, Proximo?”

The spearman’s eyes were bloodshot. Letting out a terrible cry, he charged in. He slid over the rocks, his spear shining with a brown light.

Using the ‘Spring Wind’ stance, Hadjar parried his first thrust, which had been aimed directly at his stomach. Knocking the tip of the spear slightly to one side, he decided to take advantage of his own close-quarters combat style. Proximo, being a long-range fighter, would find himself in a tight spot if Hadjar got too close as he wouldn’t be able to wield his weapon properly.

At least that’s what he’d presumed.

As soon as he slipped past the spear tip and tried to get close to his opponent, Proximo smiled broadly and swung his body to the side.

It felt like the trunk of a mighty oak had crashed into his side. Hadjar was thrown back. He almost fell into the chasm below, but managed to grab the edge of the staircase at the last second and pull himself back up.

Looking around, he didn’t immediately notice Proximo.

“I hate this place!” He hissed.

The spearman was… hanging upside down on the opposite staircase. Or maybe he was the one standing upside down? He wasn’t sure, nor did it really matter.

Proximo used his spear like a pole and vaulted over to Hadjar. They stood in silence, eyes locked, then finally bowed. In the world of martial arts, power was valued above everything else. Proximo had shown Hadjar what he was capable of and seen that Hadjar was a serious and dangerous opponent.

“Tell my name to your forefathers, Hadjar Darkhan,” he said calmly. “As I will be the one to send you to them.”

“I hope you’re prepared to meet yours, Proximo.”

After a moment of silence, the two warriors charged each other.

Chapter 725

P roximo’s movements were unnaturally quick and so smooth that he was gliding along the stone surface of the steps. His spear was slower than Einen’s spear-staff, but much more versatile.

His first thrust, imbued with the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart and the energy of a Spirit Knight, was aimed at Hadjar’s feet. He automatically jumped back, forgetting that he was dueling an enemy that preferred long-range attacks.

Having knocked Hadjar off balance, Proximo pushed down on the bottom of the spear’s hilt with his right hand, pointing it upward, right at his opponent’s chest.

Hadjar raised his sword and prepared to block, ready to deflect the spear with the back of his blade. Proximo jerked his hand a little in response and the spear changed its trajectory once again. Skirting Hadjar’s sword, the spear’s handle slammed into his shoulder. The power of the strike was so great that it smashed one of the staircases to pieces. Whoever had built this place clearly hadn’t expected for duels to take place in it.

Hadjar was pushed back a few steps, but Proximo kept on attacking, sending waves of powerful energy at him from all directions. Hadjar fought back with incredible speed, but even so, he couldn’t quite escape the barrage of seemingly endless blows.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get close enough to Proximo to hit him back. The spearman kept his distance, thus preventing Hadjar from using any sword Techniques. Regardless of how he’d viewed Proximo before, the spearman was proving to be a talented and experienced warrior.

However, being a nobleman, Proximo was used to duels and group fights, but Hadjar was used to war and fights where there was only one winner, the odds being against him, and fighting tooth and nail to survive. He’d gotten used to fighting one enemy after another until he was knee-deep in blood and gore.

Parrying another thrust, he leaned back and, pushing off with his palms, leapt into the air. Although he hadn’t been expecting such a swift move, Proximo still managed to react in time. He thrust his spear in front of him and said something. Hadjar couldn’t hear what he’d said over the sound of blades clashing.

The noble’s Spear Spirit flickered behind him and Proximo was enveloped in a sphere of brown ribbons bristling with hundreds of spear tips hungry for blood.

“Seventh stance: Azure Cloud!”

Hadjar’s attacks were smooth but so simple that the spectators didn’t think he’d be able to do any serious damage. A storm cloud swirled into existence above the sphere that was now reminiscent of a sea urchin. With a wild, unbridled roar, a dragon-sword emerged from the thunderstorm. Its appearance was followed by a wave of such crushing power that the nearest balustrades and steps crumbled to dust. The dragon’s cry echoed in the still air, shaking the staircases and making dust rain down from the ceiling lost somewhere up above in the looming darkness.

Wasting no time, it plummeted downward and struck the sphere, driving it deep into the stone. Without losing any power, it dragged it for about sixty feet in the opposite direction, gouging deep furrows in the floor. The stone cracked and gave in beneath the pressure of two opposing Techniques. The flashes of sword swings and spear thrusts filled the air. The mysteries of the Sword and the Spear collided, creating whirlwinds that destroyed everything in their wake.

A thick stream of brown energy burst out from within the sphere. It punched a hole through the dragon’s obsidian armor and they disappeared together, leaving behind only fading, multicolored sparks.

Hadjar had to get as far away as possible from Proximo. Although he still considered sword fighting up close to be his greatest strength, he had to admit that there was nothing he could do against an opponent skilled in long-ranged combat. He had to rely on his Techniques.

“Not bad, Darkhan!” Proximo was bursting with excitement. For a warrior, there was no pleasure greater or purer than fighting against an equal opponent. Only by battling those kinds of foes could they become stronger. “Not bad! Spear Shot!”

Leaning his spear against his shoulder as if he were getting ready to throw it, he aimed the tip at Hadjar. A thin beam of light shot out from it. Despite its almost imperceptible size, it held so much power that Hadjar had no doubt that it would break the Black Blade if he tried to block with it, despite the fact that his sword was an Imperial level artifact and the spear only a Heaven level one.

The beam moved noiselessly and with truly astonishing speed. Luckily, it wasn’t faster than Hadjar, so he managed to use his fastest Technique, the ‘Spring Wind’, just in time.

Imbued with its enhancing properties, he made a simple but powerful slash with the Black Blade. Without slowing down, he twisted his body and followed that up with another slash. The two attacks crossed, forming an X, and met the beam, destroying it. But in doing so, they created a whirlwind of shrapnel, which, like an angered swarm of bees, rushed toward Proximo.

Hadjar let out a sigh of exhaustion. He’d managed to deflect the beam, but it had cost him two-thirds of his power.

If he’d been merely a talented spearman, Proximo wouldn’t have been able to earn the respect of the Eternal Mountain clan. As soon as Proximo’s beam touched his own Technique, it split into dozens of thin threads. Not prepared for this, Hadjar managed to repel only six of them. Two managed to slice through his forearm and one hit him in his wounded right side. Passing right through it, it disappeared off into the darkness of the maze.

Proximo, on the other hand, had been a little more successful in dodging the shrapnel, but he’d still missed a couple fragments. A scarlet streak now ran down the length of his left arm.

Hadjar felt the eyes of the spectators on him. Like jackals, they were just waiting for an opportunity to slip out of the shadows and finish off one of the wounded combatants. Most of them didn’t care about honor. The opportunity to rise to the top was the only thing that mattered to them.

“You fought well, Darkhan.” Proximo sneered and spat out blood. The shrapnel must’ve hit him hard. “But it’s time to put an end to this. This Technique has already killed one of the personal disciples of the ‘Quick Dream’ School. Except for me, my victim, and Galkhad, no one else has seen it.”

The Spear Spirit behind him shone more brightly than ever, brimming with power, and turned into a huge beacon of energy. Shining even brighter for a moment, it poured all of its power straight into its master.

“Heavenly Spear City!” He roared and slashed his spear through the air.

A brown crescent surged out of the steel spear tip. As it widened, it split into thousands of beams that formed a wall. Hadjar was absolutely certain that what he was looking at was an Imperial level Technique.

I guess I’ll have to use my trump card, he thought.

The spectators held their breath in both awe and surprise. They felt the hair on the back of their necks stand up. For some reason, they also felt like they were in just as much danger as the two cultivators they were observing.

Followed by an azure curtain of blinding light, a giant bird spread its wings behind Hadjar. Letting out a shrill cry, it folded its wings and plummeted down, merging with the sword in Hadjar’s hands. The obsidian blade was no longer marked solely with the blue hieroglyph located at the base of the crossguard, but also with a depiction of a bird in flight.

“Black Wind!” Hadjar roared.

“Attack!” A familiar voice echoed through the air at the same time.

Tom, who’d already witnessed Hadjar’s true power, had been hiding in the shadows of the maze, waiting for the right moment to strike. He was fully aware of the fact that if he were to attack him head on, he would join his forefathers way before his time. However, he also knew that Hadjar was vulnerable during the brief period he needed to build up the ‘Black Wind’.

Seeing one cultivator rushing in to join the fight, the staircases suddenly came alive. Dozens of other warriors followed Tom’s example.

A mad smile spread across Hadjar’s face.

Chapter 726

I t was just as Hadjar had expected, the other people wouldn’t let him and Proximo finish their duel. The moment the powerful dragon, imbued with the mysteries of the Weapon’s Heart, had emerged from the Black Blade, it had attracted cultivators from all corners of the maze. They’d gathered around them like flies around carrion. Armed to the teeth, and with their eyes burning with greed, they charged. All of them were driven by a single desire: to be the one who’d kill either of the two duelists.

From the very beginning of their duel, both Hadjar and Proximo had been aware of the fact that the smallest of mistakes would cost them their lives. And this was why they’d saved their best Techniques for an emergency.

“Who is that monster?” Someone shouted.

“Are both their Techniques at the Imperial level?”

“How could that pathetic Heaven Soldier fight someone who’s almost an entire level above him in cultivation?”

Hadjar’s power had amazed the other cultivators. The roaring dragon with a blue pattern gleaming on its midnight-black scales made many of the warriors tighten their grip on their weapons. They were afraid of this odd Heaven Soldier, afraid of the possibility that his attacks might truly be equal to that of a Lord’s. They’d heard tales about such monsters… But still, their desire to acquire the power of the ancient Masters helped them overcome their fears.

The dragon collided with the spear-covered wall of brown energy.

However, the explosion that followed wasn’t due to the collision of those two Techniques, but a natural consequence of the four bombs that had been placed in the corners of the ‘battlefield’ going off.

Hadjar smiled to himself.

Einen had understood his plan without so much as a word being spoken between them. They’d known that the Dinos siblings, Dora, and the Eternal Mountain clan were strong and that there was no chance that they’d failed their trials. Therefore, Hadjar had been certain that they would come after them. Had the circumstances been different, forcing him to fight fairly, he was sure that he and Einen wouldn’t have gotten to see another dawn.

He knew that he’d be strong enough to face any foe with his sword alone one day. But the mind was also a weapon, the greatest one of them all, in fact. Therefore, as long as he couldn’t clear his way with just his sword, he’d do so with his wits.

His battle against Proximo hadn’t been about him killing the spearman and getting out of here. He’d dueled the man with the intent of buying Einen enough time to plant the bombs without being noticed.

“What’s going on?”

“Where did those explosions come from?”

“Fucking hell! What’s happening to the World River?”

The simultaneous explosions had created such violent turbulence in the streams of the World River that they’d cut the cultivators off from their energy source.

The dragon and the wall disappeared the moment they came together. Not because they were equal in power, but because the disturbance in the energy flows wouldn’t allow either of the two warriors to maintain their Techniques.

“What the-” Proximo looked down at his hands in surprise and disbelief. They still held his spear, but he could no longer feel any power in them.

Screams and shouts could be heard coming from the herd of cultivators running toward them. Because they’d been racing to reach the two warriors, they’d all used movement Techniques. And since they were now unable to access their energy, they lost all momentum. Most of them managed to get their bearings and land on the stairs, or at least grab the railings or the edges of the staircases. Some, however, plummeted into the chasm below, failing to react in time. Judging by their fading voices, it was a long, long way down.

“Fucking barbarian!” Tom shouted in anger. He’d landed several flights away, on the opposite side of the staircase that Hadjar and Proximo were standing on.

“Proximo!” Hadjar called out, grinning like a wild animal. “Our fight isn’t over yet!”

The spearman dusted himself off, his eyes flashing with determination. He nodded his agreement.

“I don’t know what you did, Darkhan, but I-”

He didn’t get to finish talking. Instead, he just gurgled.

Hadjar was fast. Some of the people who were still watching their fight thought that he was somehow using a movement Technique. In reality, all he was doing was using brute force. He’d pushed away from the steps with such explosive power that he’d left an imprint on the ground.

However, Proximo had managed to react. When Hadjar had taken off, he’d placed his spear in front of him. Unlike Anise, he’d done so clumsily. It was clear that he had no experience in simple combat. He possessed truly powerful Techniques, there was no denying that. He used the power of the World River with great expertise and his energy body was really strong. But despite all of that, Proximo, who’d been brought up on alchemical concoctions and who’d used several shortcuts to get to where he was today, had an even weaker foundation than Hadjar did.

They both had no formal style, nor had they been taught by wise and experienced Masters. But while Proximo had won a handful of battles before today, Hadjar had survived many wars and the horrors that followed after them.

Halting abruptly in front of the spear, Hadjar had used the momentum of his strike to kick it aside, then he’d somersaulted and landed with his knee on Proximo’s weapon. There’d been a loud crunch. Deprived of energy, the spear hadn’t been able to withstand Hadjar’s kick. If he’d been a regular cultivator, he would’ve broken his knee. But he had a dragon’s heart and a body strengthened by the Wolf Broth.

The moment the first splinters had flown upward, Hadjar had already placed the Black Blade in front of him. Cutting through the air, it had also sliced into Proximo’s Adam’s apple. Choking on his own blood, the nobleman fell back, landing with a heavy thud. He stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. His body slowly turned pale and limp.

“Close my... eyes…” he gurgled. “I want to... see... the sky one last time.”

Hadjar had only started leaning down to touch his face when he’d heard an alarmed cry coming from behind him.

“Hadjar! To your right!”

Reacting to Einen’s shout, he turned and saw a flaming arrow. The one that had managed to sort of stand up to even Ana’Bree’s attack.

That fucker Tom had had another artifact up his sleeve this whole time!

With a wide grin, the junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan hurled it straight at Hadjar. The latter, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to use any energy due to the state of the World River around them, only managed to raise his sword in front of him. It wouldn’t save him, but he wasn’t planning to go down without a fight.

Suddenly, Einen leapt out of the shadows in front of him, which should’ve been impossible in these circumstances. With his arms outstretched, he prepared to shield his friend from the firestorm with his own body. Hadjar reached out to push him aside, but he couldn’t even lift a finger. A mysterious blue light surrounded him.

He felt something pulling him backwards, but not quickly enough to avoid Tom’s artifact killing him.

“No!”

To Hadjar’s surprise, he wasn’t the one who’d let out that cry.

Einen screamed, his voice the pure embodiment of anguish. Locks of snow-white hair fluttered in the wind. Dora, who’d jumped in front of him, had protected Einen from the artifact.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered through bloodied lips, then she slid down the islander’s torso.

The last thing Hadjar saw were the tears trickling from those purple eyes. Einen, without saying a word, lowered Dora to the ground. A crimson stain bloomed beneath her, blood gushing out from the fist-sized hole in her chest.

Chapter 727

H adjar’s hand, drenched in blood, slid down the stone wall that separated him from the previous hall.

“Congratulations, young warrior, you-”

“Shut up!” Hadjar growled. Without turning around, he slammed his fist into the stone barrier, breaking his knuckles. “Shut up and let me out of here!”

There was a moment of silence, followed by an eerie, hollow laugh. It sounded as if someone was banging a bunch of bones together.

Hadjar turned involuntarily. His hand, still clenched into a bleeding fist, hovered in the air. What he saw made him rather uneasy. He’d already seen the living dead once. But those had just been puppets of the Dah’Khasses, nothing more than the hollow shells of the people they’d once been. But what stood before him now was a true representative of the undead.

On a throne placed upon a pedestal situated between two flaming urns, sat a skeleton clad in battered, Imperial level armor, a seven-pronged crown adorning its head. It stared at Hadjar with its empty eye sockets. With its left hand, it gripped the armrest of the throne, and with its right, it leaned on a broadsword with a long crossguard.

Hadjar had no idea who the skeleton had once been, but he recognized the sword, or rather, the symbols that formed an elegant pattern along its broad blade.

He’d heard of it before, in the stories of bards and minstrels that gathered in taverns and around campfires. Strumming their lutes, they’d sing about the sword that was as famous as its owner, named The Wailing of Cities — the mighty weapon of Emperor Decater. It was a Divine level artifact. Even hundreds of thousands of years after Decater’s death, the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School had continued to search the Wastelands, hoping to find it and harness its power. According to the legends, a single swing of that sword, even if it was being wielded by an average Spirit Knight, would be able to kill a hundred opponents.

Hadjar hadn’t believed the stories as he’d never been one to put much faith in legends, but now, after seeing The Wailing of Cities in person, and being able to sense the power contained within it, he suspected that they were all true for once. The weapon, which had been infused with an Imperial level Technique, could destroy a flying battleship with just a couple of attacks.

Thank the gods that there were only about ten such swords in all the Seven Empires, and most of them were either made up or hidden somewhere.

“Decater?” Hadjar said. Then, catching himself, he gave a salute and bowed low. “Greetings, your Majesty. Please forgive my rudeness, but could you bring me back?”

“Back?” The skeleton spoke without moving its jaw. Then again, given that it had no vocal cords, no lips, and no tongue, it didn’t need to. The voice coming from the skull sounded almost human. “You’re a strange little warrior. No one I can recall has ever asked to go back to the staircases. On the contrary, they were deathly afraid of that place. They feared it even more than the Soul Maze.”

“Soul Maze?”

“The infinite hallway of endless turns,” it explained, “which opens its doors only when you pay a blood toll. The creator of this place believed that cultivators were most reluctant to part with their own blood. And he was right. Arrogant bastards…”

The skeleton laughed. Hadjar realized that he wasn’t the first visitor it had had. And if it was still sitting on that throne, then... It was like that guardian, a puppet bound by an oath to perform its duty.

“Bring me back,” Hadjar demanded, almost using a commanding tone.

The empty eye sockets, as well as the marble floor of the gigantic room, flashed blue. Hadjar tried to ignore the fact that the skeleton had no eyes. For some reason, he found that more unsettling than anything else that was going on around him.

“You, a mewling weakling, dare to order me around?” The skeleton’s roared, making the flames in the urns flicker and quiver. “How dare you even think that-”

“My friend is in trouble,” Hadjar interrupted it and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t care if you’re an Emperor, a god, or a demon; I demand that you take me back!”

The skeleton leaned back in its throne and stared at him.

“And you’d trade my Master’s gifts for your friend’s life?” It asked, half disgusted, half interested.

“Once, for the sake of a friend, I gave up the Inheritance of an Immortal Swordsman,” Hadjar replied in a steely tone of voice. “What’s your Master’s Inheritance to me, Nameless Emperor?”

Even the great Decater himself hadn’t been able to break through the shackles of the Nameless level. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been here, locked up and deprived of his freedom, forever doomed to be a skeleton.

His response made the undead laugh again. This time, it even threw back its skull and twitched its jawbone.

“I’m sorry, little warrior, but I can’t send you back,” it finally replied, “As you may have already guessed, I’ve been put here to do my Master’s bidding, may the most horrific creatures of the abyss devour his soul. May his name be forever lost in the ages. May-”

While Hadjar tried to come up with a way to get out of this room and help Einen, the skeleton continued to curse its Master. Apparently, their relationship hadn’t been the best.

“You mean Erhard?” Hadjar asked.

“Erhard…” The skeleton spat out air as it didn’t have any saliva. “One of the most damned of all fools. However, lover boy suffered a fate much worse than those of us who were left here to greet new idiots.”

“What are you talking about?”

The skeleton’s fingers gripped the throne’s armrests with such force that the marble cracked under the pressure.

“About this! I’ve been sitting on this damned throne for ages, forced to deal with one power-hungry idiot after another! I’ll tell you this much, nothing in this world is free! Everything has a price!”

Hadjar looked at the skeleton’s battered armor and sword.

“And the price you had to pay was this throne?” He guessed.

The skeleton nodded.

“I couldn’t fulfill my end of the bargain. So, to repay him, I took my place among the other 116 of the Master’s disciples, all of which are now stuck here like me and greeting those who’ve passed the previous three trials: the trial of the Wandering Soul, Wandering Heart, and Wandering Power. And, now, for the last trial — the trial of the Wandering Will. Only those who pass all four can enter the treasury.”

“I don’t care about any of that. I need to go back, right now!”

“As I’ve already told you, you stupid commoner, that’s impossible!” The blue light flickered again in the skeleton’s eye sockets. Then it settled in the right one, seemingly looking at something. “You can calm down, though. Your friend is with Kiy Doriask.”

Hadjar recognized that name. Kiy Doriask was one of the legendary heroes of Lascan. He’d become famous for his skill with a spear-staff.

“That means…”

“That during the trial of Wandering Power, you proved yourself to be a swordsman’s apprentice. Although, if it had been up to me, I would’ve made you stay at least a spitting distance away from the secrets and Techniques-”

“Why so close?” Hadjar asked.

“What?”

“You have no saliva, you can’t really spit. At least not far, right?”

“...”

“I mean-”

“Shut your mouth and let’s begin your final trial already. By the gods and demons, I hope you fail.”

Decater rose from his throne and raised his sword above his head. His heavy sabatons made a hollow echo. Hadjar tried to summon the Black Blade but realized that he couldn’t even move. His energy flows had been cut off and the neural network was malfunctioning.

What’s going on here? He thought, panicking a little as he watched the skeleton draw closer.

Chapter 728

“I t’s one of the simplest but most difficult trials, little warrior,” the skeleton said. “Only your willpower will be tested here.”

Hadjar continued staring at his hands in bewilderment. He’d lost his connection to the World River. Whoever had created this world had been the absolute master of it. The energy just flowed around the great hall, and no one, not even the most powerful of Immortals, would’ve been able to touch it.

The skeleton’s fingers closed around the hilt of its sword.

“If your willpower is strong enough, my sword will stop before it reaches you.” It chuckled. “If it isn’t, your wish will come true and you’ll leave this room. You won’t die. You’ll only be thrown out of this world. You won’t be able to tell anyone about what you saw here or find the entrance ever again, even if it’s right in front of you. You’ll be banished from this place. You have only one chance, you fool. And if you have any brains in that head of yours, you’ll fail.”

As the skeleton spoke, Hadjar sensed that he was losing his connection to the Sword and its mysteries, followed shortly by the ability to enter his soul. He didn’t sense his Call, the Black Blade, or the Quetzal bird. Even the Spirit’s mark on his back disappeared.

Hadjar was completely alone against The Wailing of Cities, the mightiest blade he’d ever seen in person. He was as alone as he’d been many years ago, when, small and utterly weak, he’d decided that he would grow stronger.

All he’d ever wanted was to explore this magical world, find out all its secrets, solve all its riddles, and figure out if it had an end, and where that end was.

He’d wanted to run and jump around, enjoying his new, healthy body. He’d wanted to love, to lose, to worry, to find, to meet, to be happy, to be sad. He had wanted to live a free, fulfilling life.

But those days were long gone, drowned in a river of blood, and lost in the endless struggle to see the new dawn. He’d built so many walls around himself. But the creator of this amazing and frightening place had easily broken them all down.

Staring up with azure eyes full of uncertainty, Hadjar watched the sword fall toward his head. Was his willpower truly unyielding?

What had the skeleton actually offered him? It had said nothing about the power that lurked in the treasury. It had, however, mentioned something about what every cultivator who aspired to reach the peak of cultivation deprived themselves of. And what any dying person at the very bottom of that very staircase regretted and wished for in the end...

Proximo... His only request when faced with death had been for Hadjar to close his eyes so he could see the sky one final time and return to when he’d been happy…

…not because he’d been stronger than others, but because… Well, because of whatever had once brought him joy. It could’ve been his home, his friends, a dish he’d liked to eat, the person he’d loved most of all… Anything. But not power, no.

Hadjar hadn’t known Proximo well, but he knew that power had never brought him happiness. It had never brought Hadjar happiness, either. On the contrary, the more power he’d accumulated, the more misfortune he’d suffered. It was as if every grain of power he acquired meant a drop of blood that had to be spilled, along with another death to pave his way. When was the last time he’d been happy without his happiness being connected to his sword? A long, long time ago… Back when he’d been a little boy, back when he’d been Prince Hadjar Duran of Lidus…

He’d been happy whenever he’d come to his parents’ room in the evening, hugged them tightly, and listened to his mother talk till he fell asleep. When he’d looked into his mother’s kind and warm eyes and touched his father’s strong hand. He’d been happy when he had run around the field with his sister. When he’d tickled her and then jokingly run away from her. How many years had it been since he’d last seen her? How many years since he’d hugged her? Held her to his chest? How many years had it been since he’d last talked to her? When had they last reminisced about their parents together, their childhood, their games…

He had been happy when he’d drunk wine with Nero and Serra, when they’d joked and laughed so hard that their stomachs had ached and tears had flowed from their eyes, when his brother had taught him how to make smoke rings, all the while staring at the girls passing by.

He remembered Serra hitting Nero upside the head. He recalled laughing at the sight. He remembered being happy.

“Good choice, little warrior,” the skeleton whispered. “What’s the use of power if you’re still destined to die one day? Don’t even think about it. You’d better go home…”

He’d been happy when he and Einen had stared at the clouds moving sedately across the sky. Each of them had silently thought about his own woes, but Hadjar had felt like he wasn’t alone, like he had someone nearby who would come to his aid in his time of need.

“...go home to your parents and siblings. Find a woman you can love. She’ll warm your bed, cook you a delicious dinner, and give you children. Raise them, little warrior. Raise decent men and women. And live. Just live. Because we all die in the end, little warrior. So what’s the point-”

Hadjar remembered what the previous guardian had shown him: Lidus burning, Nero and Serra dying, his unborn nephew, Elaine reaching for him…

But somewhere out there, in the middle of the maze, stood Einen, covered in someone else’s blood. He hadn’t managed to help him, just like he hadn’t helped his parents. Or Senta. Or Eina. Or Dogar. Or Leen. Or Ilmena. Or Kharad. Or Price. Or Alea. Or Irma…

Their faces flashed before his eyes. All of them had already gone to their forefathers. And their blood had permanently stained Hadjar’s soul. He hadn’t helped them because... because... because…

“Go home, little warrior.” Decater’s sword was almost touching Hadjar’s head.

“Please,” the voice of his dying mother sounded in his head. “Don’t become... a practitioner... that road… only brings misfortune.”

Perhaps she’d known all along what Decater seemed to grasp as well.

“Forgive me, mother,” Hadjar pleaded. “I can’t go back…”

The Wailing of Cities stopped less than an inch from Hadjar’s head. His eyes flashed with an azure light that could rend the Earth and sunder the Heavens.

All the people he’d remembered... If only he’d been stronger, they would’ve been alive right now.

“I’m not ready to leave just yet, Decater,” Hadjar said softly, but his voice roared through the hall like thunder. “I’m not ready to throw away my sword.”

With that, he disappeared.

In the middle of the empty throne room, only a skeleton remained. It stared at nothing.

“Maybe today... Maybe today is the day I finally die,” it whispered hopefully and walked back to its throne.

Born the son of a wharf wench, Decater had dreamed of a throne and a crown since early childhood. These days, he would trade them and everything else he’d once had for just one sunny day of peace and quiet.

“Fool,” the skeleton whispered, then entered a deep slumber that would remain undisturbed until another naïve fool arrived.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t dream…

Chapter 729

H adjar was standing on a cliff. Ahead of him, a huge rock reached for the black sky, dense smoke loomed over his head, and at his feet, ribbons of white mist slithered around like snakes. He shivered. It was like the morning after a fierce battle, with the sun obscured by the smoke from the funeral pyres. It was if he were a soldier again, looking for survivors on the blood-soaked battlefield, knowing full well that he’d have to bury his brothers-in-arms and bring the news of their passing to their loved ones.

Somewhere nearby, a sea was raging, or maybe even an ocean. Surprisingly, despite all his travels, he hadn’t seen either before.

He turned toward the sound, but there was no sea, only a field covered in discarded blades of all shapes and sizes. Some were so strange that he couldn’t imagine what kind of warrior could even hold them properly, let alone wield them in battle.

Not far from the towering mountain was a hill, and a winding, rocky path led up to it. Across from it, flames burned, making the rune that had been expertly carved into the rocky hill glimmer orange.

He’d probably seen it before, but he couldn’t remember where. The neural network was silent, as were the Sword’s mysteries and the World River.

Nothing had changed since his encounter with Decater.

“Fuck this shit!” He hissed under his breath.

Taking another look around, he realized that what he’d at first thought to be three columns standing next to the hill were actually gigantic swords, all of them more than ninety feet tall and twenty feet wide. Each of them must’ve weighed as much as the hill they’d been plunged into. He couldn’t imagine a creature capable of wielding them.

“What is this place?” He whispered.

“A graveyard,” said a voice behind him, “The Graveyard of Swords.”

Hadjar turned around. An old man stood before him. His hair was white and tangled, falling in wispy waves over his shoulders. His crooked fingers, covered with parchment-thin skin, clutched a crooked staff. A long, black robe hid his hunched figure. Brushing along the rocky ground, it spread out, turning into the white mist that swirled around their feet. From his shoulders rose dense smoke that turned into the black clouds that hid the sky from view.

“Who are you?”

He couldn’t get a read on the old man’s power. More than that, he couldn’t even sense his presence. It was unsettling, frightening even. Back when he’d been just a simple practitioner, he’d still been able to sense the power of the Immortal Swordsman’s Shadow. Now, as a peak-stage Heaven Soldier, he couldn’t sense an old man’s presence. Was he that much stronger than the Immortal’s Shadow had been…

“I’m the one who owns this graveyard.”

His face hidden by the hood of his robe, the old man hobbled past Hadjar. He slumped down onto a rock and leaned heavily on his staff. With a trembling hand, he cleaned away the dust and rocks from a patch of ground.

Only then did Hadjar notice that the swords hadn’t been stabbed into the ground, but into bones, and that he wasn’t standing on a rock, but on someone’s skeletal remains.

“This is the path you are following, little warrior,” the old man whispered. Getting back up, he went on. “The path we’re all following.”

The old man was a Shadow. A small fraction of the power of someone who’d once walked this world. And a powerful fraction at that. If not for the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, he could’ve probably destroyed Darnassus on his own.

“What am I doing here?” Hadjar shouted as he ran after the man, trying to drown out the sound of the raging sea.

“Can you not use your head, little warrior?”

The old man suddenly appeared 300 feet away from the young man and leaned over one of the graves. Hadjar hadn’t even noticed him move.

“Are you Decater’s Master?”

“Decater?” The old man looked thoughtful. “Ah... You mean one of the guardians of the Wandering Will trial... No, I’ve never taught him.”

“But he-”

“-talks too much,” the old man interrupted him. Then, moving to another grave, he chuckled. “He talked too much, that is. But it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t understand.”

The old man straightened up with great difficulty and looked at Hadjar.

“Don’t you know where you are going?” He asked, surprised.

Hadjar shook his head.

“Then you’re either stupid or fearless. I don’t know which is worse.”

“What’s so wrong with being fearless?”

The old man gave him an unpleasant, yellow-toothed grin.

“Look around, boy. You stand on the bones of the fearless.”

Hadjar tried to touch one of the swords, but couldn’t. It was as if someone’s power was stopping him.

“That isn’t yours,” the old man grunted. “Your reward isn’t that paltry sword, that meager Divine level Technique.”

Hadjar looked around again and finally realized what kind of treasure Decater had found in here. The weapons around him weren’t artifacts, but representations of Techniques, knowledge, and Inheritances that had been collected by this ancient creature over the ages.

Hadjar’s heart started beating faster. He looked at the old man again.

“What’s your name, Shadow?” Hadjar took an involuntary step back.

“I don’t mind when young cultivators come here. If someone is strong enough, I give them an appropriate reward. Everyone gets an artifact from my collection after passing the Wandering Will-”

“What’s your name?”

The old man didn’t appear to be listening to him.

“-if a cultivator demonstrates sufficient talent, I offer them a Technique. They can choose any one they like, but almost no one ever chooses meditation Techniques, only combat ones. A stupid mistake, but what can I do? I don’t interfere-”

“What’s your name?” Hadjar yelled at the top of his lungs.

“-I only give my own Techniques to a select few. Only two people ever earned them before today... One of them is dead, and the other is in an eternal slumber… But no one ever showed me what you did, Hadjar. No one has ever seemed worthy of my Inheritance. Until today…”

The waves that had been surging against the shore all this time suddenly rose above the mountain of bones. That wasn’t water. It was blood.

The old man threw back his hood.

“You already know my name, my descendant.”

“The Enemy.” Hadjar said through gritted teeth. “The Black General.”

Chapter 730

T he Black General looked up at the sky.

“I love my raven form,” he said. “The raven is such a noble bird. So wise and strong.”

“What’s going on here?”

“Calm down, boy,” he said, still looking up at the sky. “I already told you that I wouldn’t try to devour your soul.”

“Yeah, but that was a few months ago,” Hadjar said, remembering the conversation they’d had on the edge of the Wastelands.

“A few months... A day... A hundred years... A thousand years... At some point, Hadjar, you stop noticing the difference. The only time that truly matters is today. This, of course, has its advantages, but it also-”

“Stop yammering. I hate philosophy,” Hadjar growled. “Einen is one philosopher too many as it is. Since you aren’t going to devour my soul, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Everything!” Hadjar shouted. “I had a conversation with the fragment trapped inside my soul and now I’m facing a Shadow that has that same knowledge... That shouldn’t be possible!”

“It shouldn’t.” Leaning heavily on his staff, the old man slowly sat down on one of the skeletons. “When you entered the Stone of Faith, the fragment from your soul merged with this Shadow. To be honest, the process wasn’t pleasant. The Shadow was much older than the fragment. I still don’t understand how it happened myself, if I’m honest…”

“You planned this,” Hadjar said. He didn’t understand it either. “From the very moment you showed me that vision of Erhard.”

“Sometimes, you should consider using your head instead of your muscles, Hadjar.” The creepy, yellow-toothed smile flashed again. “Unless, of course, you actually want to die prematurely. And ruin me in the process.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll throw myself on my own sword to ensure that you don’t get to see the light of the next day.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, my glorious descendant, I really don’t.” The old man set down his staff and rubbed his feet as if they were aching. “Still, try to think with your head. It’s a useful skill.”

Hadjar swore.

“Why did you do this?”

The old man shrugged and stared at the sky again.

“I already offered to teach you before, Hadjar. You refused.”

“And I will refuse again if need be.”

“You’re stubborn... Just like me. We really are similar, you and I.”

“We really aren’t. I am Hadjar Darkhan, and you’re the Black General.”

The old man didn’t respond to that. Maybe he was imagining things, but Hadjar could’ve sworn that whenever the old man heard that nickname, he got angry. He wondered what had happened to ‘his’ fragment when it had merged with the ancient Shadow.

“I know that you’ll refuse my Inheritance, Hadjar. And that you’ll die because of your stupidity and stubbornness one day. And that I’ll die along with you. I’ll lose the biggest fragment of my soul if that happens. I’ve already lost too many of them. If this continues, my imprisonment on the Mountain of Skulls will indeed be permanent.”

Hadjar stared at him. Somehow, he’d forgotten that his ancestor was actually still alive. The gods had divided his soul into many pieces and scattered them all around the world. And the bit they hadn’t been able to cut away, they’d imprisoned in a dungeon on the Mountain of Skulls, plunging it into a kind of forced slumber.

“And how’s that supposed to change my mind?” Hadjar snorted. “Why should I accept your Inheritance? I can leave here with any of these Techniques. Or even without them. You can’t. You’ll be stuck here forever.”

The old man’s smile widened.

“I’m attached to you now, my descendant. When you leave this place, I’ll leave it with you. And after it loses its Shadow, the Palace of Space,” he said, gesturing to the world around them, “will collapse.”

“What is this Palace of Space?”

“I’m afraid that it’s far too complicated for your mortal brain to comprehend.”

Hadjar grumbled.

“Then I’ll just choose the first Technique I see,” he said and pointed a finger at the blade next to him.

“The ‘Steel Light’ Technique. Not the best choice.”

“I don’t care.”

Lifting his staff back up, the old man took it in both hands and rested his cheek on his wrist. For a moment, he looked like an ordinary, tired old man sitting on a bench, lost in thought.

“You’re so predictable, my descendant.” With a trembling hand, he pointed at an object stuck in the ground.

Hadjar followed that finger with his gaze and felt a cold shiver run down his spine — he was looking at a spear-staff.

“You’re bluffing,” he said slowly. “It’s just a copy and-”

“You brought your friend right to me. Along with his beloved. Dora Marnil, was it? A lovely elf and a descendant of the Great Forest...”

“He doesn’t love her, and she doesn’t love him either…”

“If you really believe that, Hadjar, you’re both stupid and blind. She was ready to give her life for him. What is that, if not love? You wouldn’t do the same for Anise. She wouldn’t do it for you, either.”

Hadjar felt his heartbeat quicken.

“Was ready? She’s still alive?”

“She is. You know what, if you refuse my Inheritance, I won’t kill Einen. Instead, I’ll take the life of his beloved. And before you and I leave the Palace of Space, I’ll show him this conversation. I think he’d deserve to know that his dear friend chose his own pride and safety over the life of his best friend’s beloved. Ah, not just his best friend’s… His only friend’s.”

Hadjar was silent.

“And he would’ve sacrificed himself not only for you, but also for Anise as well, if he’d thought that she was truly your beloved. Also-”

“Shut up!” Hadjar snapped. “Just get it over with! Give me your Inheritance.”

The old man instantly appeared close to him. He looked deep into Hadjar’s eyes. It felt like the universe itself was staring at him.

“Do you know what an Inheritance is, my descendant?”

“All the knowledge and skills you’ve accumulated over the course of your life.”

The old man touched Hadjar’s chest with his finger.

“It won’t all open up to you right away, little one. The weight of my knowledge would destroy not only you, but everything in a ten-mile radius. Take it, it’s yours.”

Hadjar felt the power of the whole universe flow into him.

“Through your own idiocy, you’ve brought the hour when I’ll destroy your soul and take this body for myself so much closer. This body that I’ll make sure is strong for when I start using it.” Every word the old man uttered imprinted itself on Hadjar’s soul and mind. “All you needed to do to protect yourself was to sacrifice a single life. One life for the sake of many, my descendant. And if you think you can replace my Inheritance with someone else’s, you’re sorely mistaken. My Inheritance will simply overpower any other, lesser Inheritance and-”

“Except my own.” Hadjar’s eyes flashed with a fierce, blue light that made even the Shadow of the Black General step back in fear. “My Inheritance will defeat your own,” he repeated. “Our battle, my ancestor, has only just begun. And I, Hadjar Darkhan, will destroy you with your own weapon.”

The world around him began to crumble. Left alone in the Graveyard of Swords, Hadjar noticed that the flaming rune had disappeared as he listened to the disembodied laughter that gradually turned into croaking.

Chapter 731

“H ow do I get out-”

Hadjar abruptly stopped talking. The artificial world around him collapsed and he realized that he was now inside his own soul. The wind was playing with his hair and the blades of the tall, green grass. The sun was shining in the azure sky and white clouds were moving lazily across it. That familiar hill with the tree where the Quetzal had built its nest was where it had always been. Opposite it stood the stone where Traves had once sat. He still couldn’t get used to the fact that he was no longer there.

Another stone appeared next to that one. An old man, wearing a robe and holding a staff in his hands, was sitting on it.

“You can’t be here,” Hadjar hissed. “The elven poison should’ve locked you up and-”

“It did,” the first Darkhan interrupted. “You’re just seeing a mirage that I created in order to teach you.”

“Why should I bother learning anything from you? I accepted your Inheritance. That should be enough.”

“You probably don’t know anything about how this really works. Well, that’s not surprising. People ruled by beasts and their vassals are obviously going to be ignorant.”

Hadjar wasn’t listening to the old man’s mockery. He was still trying to process the information that the Black General, even if it was just a projection of him, had managed to worm his way into his soul.

“When you accept an Inheritance, you make a pact with its Creator,” the old man explained. “The pact binds you, forcing you to keep learning from that Inheritance until you’ve either replaced it with your own or learned everything there is to be learned from it.”

“How do I know you’re not just making all of this up?”

“Try going back to the physical world.”

Hadjar shot him a hateful glare, closed his eyes, and focused on the physical world. He imagined himself ascending in order to reach it. As he’d suspected, his path to it wasn’t blocked. He smiled triumphantly but then grimaced the moment he was within arm’s reach of his goal. He was suddenly feverish, similar to how a cultivator felt whenever they were close to breaking an oath. No one had found a way to simply ignore the laws of the Heavens and the Earth yet.

“How was your trip?” The old man sneered.

“Fucking hell!” Hadjar swore. “Am I trapped inside my own soul now?”

“That’s the price of an Inheritance. You have to learn it. What’s the point of accepting it if you don’t use it, right? Pride and laziness can ruin everything that one has achieved throughout their life. You’d be wise to remember that, my descendant.”

Hadjar didn’t answer him.

“I am a man of my word, though. You came here for the Technique I taught Erhard. I’ll teach it to you. And as for the rest… you really don’t want to go there. The sum total of my knowledge is beyond the understanding of even a Nameless.”

It finally dawned on Hadjar why exactly the first Darkhan had actually forced him to accept his Inheritance: if he could devour his soul and occupy his body right now, he would have to start from the very beginning. Instead, it would be much easier to take over if he had something familiar to work with. He was grooming Hadjar to be his vessel. He wasn’t violating the terms of the Inheritance pact, but he wasn’t granting Hadjar access to all his secrets, either. Unless, of course, he could reach the Nameless level. Which, given the warped state of his soul, would be impossible.

“Let’s start.” The first Darkhan slammed his staff against the stone. “I call this Technique the ‘Sword of Four Strikes’. Master it, and your opponents won’t be able to survive more than three of your attacks. Let’s start with the weakest and simplest one. You have neither the power nor the understanding of the Sword necessary for more than that. Only the First Strike — the ‘Flying Sword’ — doesn’t require the energy capacity of a Spirit Knight or mastery over the mysteries of the Weapon Kingdom. Use that for now. Once you’re ready, I’ll show you the others.”

Hadjar was about to ask how he could use this Technique if he didn’t know anything about it other than its name when a flood of information seeped into his mind: the knowledge required to use this powerful Technique, the first stage of which was already at the Imperial level, was now his. It penetrated every cell of his body, sinking in deep and granting him the ability to use the ‘First Strike: Flying Sword’.

The knowledge settled inside his energy body as well. He now knew how to manipulate his energy in order to activate the Technique, how to use its power correctly, how to channel it through his sword, how to imbue it with mysteries, and even how to move his blade correctly for maximum effect.

In the span of a second, he’d learned and understood a Technique that, in normal circumstances, would’ve taken him at least six months to master so completely. Such was the power of an Inheritance. That was why everyone sought them out. It was the easiest and fastest way to gain power. So easy and fast, in fact, that it was more like cheating than learning.

“Now go away.”

Hadjar was thrown out of his soul world.

Standing on the crumbling cliff made up of fossilized skeletons, he heard the echoes of the crashing waves.

“Did I forget to mention that my Palace of Space has been drawing power from the Demon gates all this time? I’d run if I were you. Without the Palace to contain them, the gates will open up again.”

Hadjar remembered the stories about the Demon gates that he’d heard in the Wastelands. He wanted to swear, but didn’t have the time. The space around him changed again and he realized that he was now on the hill where that damned stone had once stood. It had been split in half, which meant that all those who’d left it had received their gifts already.

The bodies of dozens of cultivators lay on the sand around him. They looked like puppets that had been destroyed by an evil child. He recognized some of them.

“Darkhan!” A loud roar rang out.

Hadjar dodged an axe that struck the spot where he’d just been standing, creating a large crater in the dried ground. He looked at Galkhad and the nobles lined up behind him. A dozen more surviving cultivators appeared from all around them.

He was the only survivor of the Eternal Mountain clan. The two archers were also alive, and so was Theia, but she was also the last remaining member of House Geran. The Dinos siblings were shaking their heads, trying to make sense of everything.

Taking advantage of the fact that the giant was still in shock, Hadjar looked around. He spotted Einen sitting on the sand and holding a bloodied Dora in his arms. She looked terrible, but she was still breathing.

“I’ll kill you, Hadjar Darkhan,” Galkhad growled.

“Now’s not a good time.” He came over to Einen, who seemed rather shaken. He was cradling Dora and mumbling to himself. “We have to leave, my friend.”

“You-”

“Everyone needs to leave right now!” Hadjar shouted. “We need to reach the Fort and send a signal to Dahanatan.”

“What... are you... talking about?” Anise managed to rasp out.

“The Wastelands will soon be overrun by a demonic horde.”

The other cultivators were about to laugh at him when the hill they were standing on shook and the ground crumbled. A pillar of bright, scarlet energy surged into the sky.

“Oh shit!” Hadjar cursed. “It’s too late-”

Something soft poked him in the back. He turned around and buried his hands in Azrea’s white fur. Behind the tigress stood several dozen other felines. Instead of fur, they had bone plates.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

Chapter 732

“H ow is she?”

“The healer says that she needs to be transported to Dahanatan, to her aunt. Otherwise… She has maybe two, three days left at most.”

Einen exited the infirmary and sat down next to Hadjar. Here, in the center square of the Fort, they looked like a single island of calm in the middle of a raging storm. Soldiers, urged on by their officers, scurried around like ants, carrying supplies to and fro. Some of them were busy preparing the old cannons on the western ramparts for use.

These mighty weapons and the tall walls below them, now smudged and weakened by the hand of time, had been placed here for one purpose — to defend the Fort from demons.

Of course, all the former glory of the fortification had long since waned. The soldiers, most of whom were practitioners on the verge of becoming true cultivators, and the officers — Heaven Soldiers — had less combat experience and training than their predecessors. The size of the garrison itself was also vastly inferior when compared to the hundred thousand soldiers that had once been stationed here. The current garrison of twenty-five thousand soldiers was but a pitiful drop when compared to the sea that would soon crash into these walls.

Back when he’d first come to the Fort, Hadjar had thought it strange that a fortification located almost in the heart of the country looked far more impressive than those located directly on the border with Lascan. By the looks of it, it would be able to withstand at least ten shots from a proper battleship without repair or support from the engineers.

The thousands of years of peace granted to the Wastelands by Erhard, who’d locked the Demon gates with his Master’s artifact, had been enough to make people forget about the past.

“They didn’t believe you?” Einen sighed.

His hands were shaking slightly and his eyes were focused on the ground. He didn’t close them, which was unusual for him. The soldiers scurrying past, rattling their armor and smelling of fear, stopped every now and then to stare at him.

“Would you have believed it?” Hadjar chuckled.

When they and the nobles, covered in the dust and dirt of the Wastelands, had stumbled into the fort, they’d been called mad. Only after they’d all made a blood oath had the Fort’s General believed them. He was a Lord at the initial stage. On a real frontier, he would’ve been a senior officer at best, not a General. Here, where the battles only took place between the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School to which the Wastelands belonged, it was enough.

One of the soldiers who was too busy gawking at the islander’s eyes tripped and dropped a barrel of gunpowder. It fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere.

“You clumsy bastard!” The officer who was supervising the transfer of the cargo up to the wall yelled at him.

“Sir! I’m sorry, sir!” The soldier bowed.

“Apologize to your forefathers when you see them!”

The officer slapped the soldier hard and sent him off to the warehouse to get another barrel. He then turned toward the two friends.

His look was a mixture of fear and hatred. He was only a Heaven Soldier and feared all these disciples that could easily kill him. He also hated them even more than the messengers who never brought any good news.

Cursing, he urged on the soldiers who were carrying the barrels up to the walls. The rest of the soldiers were stacking cannonballs into neat pyramids, placing barrels of special resin, which, if set on fire, could melt through stone, on the battlements, cleaning rot and dust from huge crossbows and attaching hooks to them, and preparing explosives made from spare storage crystals taken from various sky ships.

“Officer,” Hadjar called out. “Do you need any help?”

“You’ve already helped enough,” he hissed, turned around, and carried on with his business.

Hadjar couldn’t blame the man. A person who’d lived all their life in comfort and was then suddenly forced to deal with the realization that they might die tomorrow could only be scared. The officer was so scared that he kept glancing over his shoulder at the sky port.

The ancient hieroglyphs still hung over the Wastelands, preventing anyone from flying over them. Because of that, the battleship and the three military frigates had to be moored above the Fort, unable to leave the sky port.

Shooting over the Fort was a dangerous idea that the local General was smart enough not to try. Instead, hundreds of soldiers descended from the ship in neat rows, carrying with them cannons two or three times smaller than the ancient beasts atop the walls.

“How is she?”

The Dinos siblings came into view from around the corner. Galkhad was with them. Everyone who’d brought back the bad news was shunned and hated.

“Stable so far,” Einen said. “But if we don’t take her to Dahanatan soon, she won’t last longer than three days.”

Tom swore. He was pale and haggard. Hadjar hoped that he’d matured a little over the course of his restless evening.

Neither the islander nor Hadjar blamed Tom for the incident. The aristocrat had just taken advantage of the situation. Their vow had applied only to the Wastelands. The artificial world inside the spatial artifact hadn’t been part of the Wastelands. All of them understood that quite well.

The rest had been a result of Dora’s own choice.

Hadjar and Einen had seen enough misery in their lives. They weren’t like these soldiers and officers. They weren’t looking for someone to blame for their misfortune. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.

“I thought as much,” Tom said and turned to Galkhad. “Are you with us?”

The giant thought it over for a moment, then exhaled.

“I am.”

Hadjar looked skeptically at the trio. Anise looked away. She stood a little closer to Galkhad than her brother. Well... Everyone had sought solace last night. Hadjar felt absolutely nothing about it. He thought of Anise as just a good friend. He’d fought side by side with her, and would be glad to do so again, but he wouldn’t mind fighting against her, either. Curse this wretched world of martial arts…

“What are you planning?” Hadjar asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

“We’ll steal Dora’s boat.” Tom grinned.

Hadjar coughed. By the General’s order, all the ships had been magically bound to prevent a mutiny due to all the panic. And, of course, to keep the unsuspecting reinforcements — the forty thousand cultivators that had recently arrived back from the Wastelands — inside the Fort.

“I feel the need to remind you, honorable junior heir of the Predatory Blades clan, that what you’re suggesting is treason.”

Tom spat.

“I don’t take orders from a miserable General.”

“Why would you do that?” Hadjar asked and sighed wearily.

“We are doing that,” Anise said, her voice a little shaky. Dora was her closest and probably only friend. “We’ll use boosters and bring Dora back to Dahanatan. We’ll save her life and ask her father for backup in the process.”

“My father will also send his fleet,” Galkhad said.

“And the Head of our clan as well,” Tom added.

“If you forgot or were too busy to hear about it last night, I’ll remind you: the General has already sent a letter to the Minister of Warfare. He refused to recall the army on the eastern front and send it here, which is quite reasonable. If we move our forces away from the east, Lascan will immediately take advantage of the situation and send two armies west. The forces we have right now are enough to destroy ten times as many demons as there are currently in the Wastelands.”

“But they’ll only get here in four days! Didn’t you hear your friend? Dora won’t survive for that long!”

Einen jerked.

“You-”

Hadjar’s words were drowned out by the low cry of a bugle.

“They’re coming!” one of the soldiers shouted from the wall and was almost immediately hit with a fireball.

Turning the poor man into a handful of ashes, it whizzed over their heads and exploded right as it struck the tower of the sky port. Thousands of fireballs streaked across the sky, turning it into a riot of red and gold.

The demons were here.

Chapter 733

H adjar felt a chill run down his spine and a sense of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. The moment the sky had been painted red, the General had given a belated order. Hundreds of storage devices in the center of the fort had powered up the magic hieroglyph. It shone with a bright light and now covered the fort with a defensive dome.

However, by the time the shield had formed, hundreds of fireballs had reached them. They’d struck the walls and scattered flames all across the ground, turning any unfortunate soul standing in their way to ashes. Bales of hay and wooden structures had caught on fire, adding to the chaos. But that wasn’t the end of it. The ashes swelled grotesquely and vomited out terrible creatures ranging in size from three to five feet. They resembled jackals, but walked upright and had human eyes that glowed scarlet. They were clad in bone armor and wielded bone daggers.

“Soldiers! Ready-”

The rest of the order was cut off by gurgling and coughing. One of the demons had leapt through the air and sunk its teeth into the officer’s neck.

Hadjar had never seen a creature tear through Heaven level armor and the flesh of a Heaven Soldier so easily. Wasting no time, the jackal demon jumped off its victim and rushed straight at a group of soldiers.

The entire fort was plunged into chaos.

The disciples saw flames devouring the walls of the infirmary and cried out in horror.

“Oh no! Dora!” Hadjar shouted. He summoned his Call and the Black Blade as he ran. “Get to the infirmary! Hurry up!”

The Dinos siblings, Galkhad, and Einen rushed inside as well. The latter turned around at the door and saw his friend standing in front of dozens of small jackal demons. They opened their fanged maws and growled at him.

“Einen, go!” Hadjar cried.

“But-”

“I’ll cover you!” He slashed through the air with his sword and sent out a black crescent of energy. “Hurry up!”

Einen nodded and rushed into the infirmary. The only intact staircase inside led from it up to the sky port. If a fight had already begun brewing inside, Hadjar couldn’t sense it. He hoped that the four of them, even carrying a wounded Dora, would be able to break through to the port.

All he had to do was make sure to cover their retreat.

He took up a defensive stance and blocked the entrance to the infirmary. The hundreds of demons easily tore through the soldiers guarding the approach to it. The only remaining resistance was a small group of novice cultivators.

He swung his sword and struck one of the jackals in the chest. Its bone armor cracked and it fell face-first to the ground. Green blood spurted from the wound on its chest.

Hadjar cursed under his breath. He couldn’t feel their auras and so he didn’t know what level of power they were at. The neural network wasn’t able to get a read on them, either.

Given that his attack had easily destroyed one of them, they were probably no higher than the Spirit Knight level and their bone armor was at best a match for an Imperial level artifact.

After one of the jackal demons fell, the others turned toward its killer. They sniffed, and then growled low and deep.

“Descendant… Traitor’s…”

Streams of demons seeped out from between the buildings and merged into one mighty river that rushed in Hadjar’s direction.

“Get to the walls!” Hadjar shouted. With a fist covered in black armor, he bashed in the head of a jackal that had leapt at him. “Help the soldiers!”

The cultivators didn’t argue with him and immediately ran toward the walls. Hadjar was left alone with a hundred demons.

“We’ll tear... your soul apart…”

“Eat... your heart…”

“...your guts…”

Hadjar shook his hand, splattering the rocks with green blood. Using his willpower, he lifted several boulders into the air. Clenching his fingers into a fist, he smashed all the boulders into a single mass and lowered them in front of the entrance to the infirmary.

“Try it!” He growled.

Azure eyes flashed with a bright light. The demons stumbled for a second at the sight but soon recovered. The bag of flesh and bones that stood defiantly before them was a descendant of the first Darkhan. They would tear him apart and forge new armor and blades from his bones.

Hadjar quickly assessed the situation. The street in front of him was narrow, so no more than five jackals could approach him at a time. That was good. He could deal with five Spirit Knights at once. His top priority was saving Dora…

The bloody dance began.

Hadjar moved with such blinding speed that no one could keep track of him or his blade which resembled a blurry shadow.

Dodging a clawed hand, he swung his body around and grabbed the passing demon by the tail. With a powerful throw, he sent it flying to land at the feet of two other jackals. They stumbled, lost their balance, and were then instantly impaled by the Black Blade. Blood flowed like a river through the cracks in the pavement.

Hadjar threw himself into the fray. He spun, dodging a dagger aimed at his chest, and attacked its wielder.

Energy passed through his body and merged with the Black Blade to form a whirlwind of darkness and smoke that stunned, wounded, and scattered the demons around him in all directions. Knocking down other demons as they fell, they landed on the pavement.

Hadjar didn’t stop.

Another jackal jumped on his back. Its teeth sank into the black cloak, but all it managed to do was scratch it. After all, a Call wasn’t the same as armor of a similar level. The demon was instantly sent flying back by a powerful blow. It crashed into the nearby wall with a loud crunch and fell to the ground.

“Impossible…”

“A wretched bag of bones…”

The demons stared at Hadjar in anger and disbelief. The power radiating from him was many times greater than that of the other humans the jackals had had the pleasure of ‘meeting’ so far.

The demons continued their onslaught. Hadjar fought back without fear or any signs of exhaustion. He was a butcher, his sword a cleaver, and the demons pigs sent to the slaughter. But they were unwilling to go down without a fight, raining down blows on their assailant from all sides.

The demons threw their very bodies at him in an attempt to slow him down, but even that failed. A pile of mauled and butchered corpses formed behind the lone swordsman crazy enough to take on a horde of demons, reinforcing the barricade he’d placed in front of the infirmary.

“Hadjar!” Someone called out from above him. “I’m here, my friend!”

Sending another demon flying with his fist, Hadjar looked up. There, on Dora’s ship, were his friends. They were covered in both green and scarlet blood. He could only hope that the scarlet part of that mess didn’t belong to them.

Einen, spear-staff in hand, threw down a rope. Hadjar reached for it, but couldn’t grab it.

“The wall!” The islander yelled. “Get to the wall!”

Hadjar nodded. He’d be able to grab it if he climbed the wall.

He slashed through the air twice and cut himself a narrow path through the ranks of the demonic horde. Wrapped in black fog, he raced through the undulating sea of bodies and weapons. Blows rained down upon him from the most unpredictable directions, but he continued to fight back. He was like a wild beast clearing itself a path through its enemies with its mighty claws and fangs.

“By the High Heavens!” He gasped.

Looking over the edge of the wall, he saw that the Wastelands were flooded with demons. Right below him, in the square, groups of soldiers wielded their blades and shouted their battle cries as they tried to fight off the jackals. But their valor was in vain. The river of blood flowing through the streets had both green and crimson in it, though the latter seemed more prominent…

The soldiers standing on the wall near him poured boiling tar on the demons below them. These particular demons looked like mangy cats walking on their hind legs. Their crooked teeth looked more like fishhooks. Instead of front legs, they had curved sabers, which they used to cling to the walls.

Explosions thundered behind him, shaking the very foundation of the Fort. Cannonballs flew through the air and struck groups of enemies. They exploded, gouging out deep craters and sending clouds of fire and smoke spiraling into the sky. Hundreds of different shrieks and cries filled the air.

But all of it was futile. They were only delaying the inevitable. One couldn’t fight against a raging sea.

“Get off the walls, you cowards!” The General shouted. “We have to fight them face to face! Get down! For the sake of your parents, your future children, and your gods-damned country, get down off the wall!”

It would be impossible to defeat such a horde while standing atop a wall. Well, it would be impossible to defeat them anyway.

The only thing they could do was keep fighting and hope that the West Army came in time to reinforce them. It had been called back from the border that it had been guarding for years now. The border of the barbarian kingdoms such as Balium and Lidus…

“Elaine,” Hadjar whispered.

The sight of his home and sister suffering because of his mistakes came back to him. The dancing fires, the smell of blood…

Hadjar stared at the soldiers and cultivators around him as if stunned. Tied down by ropes that connected them to the ships floating above them, they shivered like autumn leaves, helpless against the oncoming storm. None of them had ever seen war… They weren’t true warriors, but children drunk with power. Power they had no idea how to use. Power they had no purpose for.

Did he even know why he needed all his power? After all these years, he could finally say that he did.

“Nero, are you watching over me?” He whispered.

The clinking of wedding bracelets answered him: Always.

Lifting the Black Blade, he cut the rope that held Dora’s ship tied to the port. Using his willpower, he pushed it away. Never again would he grieve for lost friends he hadn’t been able to save…

He leapt up onto the edge of the wall and stared down at the raging sea of monsters and blades.

...because he would become strong enough to save everyone…

He pushed off the wall and jumped down. His black cloak stretched out behind him, forming wings that resembled the wings of the Quetzal bird. Just like his Spirit, he, too, would be free again.

Landing at the very foot of the wall, he found himself facing the horde on his own. A fishing boat against an entire fleet.

For the first time in his life, he felt fear spread out to the very last nook of his soul. But he didn’t fear for his own life, as he had died and been reborn so many times he’d lost count. No. The thought of everyone who would die if the demons broke through was what terrified him.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! came from somewhere far, far away.

Hadjar looked toward the horizon, but saw nothing.

The BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! sounded again, this time closer, more powerful and resonant, but still nowhere to be seen.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the beating of the war drums inside his mind and soul. Someone was calling out to him, calling for the Mad General. It had been quite some time since his last visit...

A war cry broke through the storm of war, attracting the attention of both the demons and the soldiers. The walls of the Fort shook. The ground cracked. The sky, filled with fire and smoke, darkened. The whole world seemed to halt for a moment.

And then came an explosion of power.

“What’s that?”

“Fuck, is it another demon?”

“No, look, he’s fighting them…”

“Wait, I’ve seen him before…”

“Isn’t he an aristocrat?”

“No, he’s a commoner! The one who fought alongside the Lascanian orcs.”

“By the gods! Is that an Imperial level Technique?”

But Hadjar paid no attention to the shouts and whispers. Overwhelmed by his own power and energy, all he could do was focus on what was about to transpire.

Only now did he finally understand the fundamental difference between a sword Technique created by a great swordsman and one created by a great dragon.

The Black Blade had a different feeling to it now.

The ‘First Strike: Flying Sword’ Technique, unlike the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique, didn’t only use his energy, but also the Sword’s mysteries he’d mastered and the energy of the Black Blade itself. It drew power from within his very soul and willpower, and fed on his flesh. It turned Hadjar into his sword and made him a part of the attack. Shouting the Technique’s name, he slashed through the air in a wide arc. In that moment, all his power surged out of him like a tidal wave.

A crushing onslaught of dragon-swords swept through the demon ranks, killing everything in its way. Those who’d thought themselves lucky for avoiding the initial attack immediately fell victim to its aftermath. Hundreds of violently sharp crescents of energy scattered all over, mowing down demons like they were overgrown weeds.

“Is he a Lord?”

“No, he’s a fucking Heaven Soldier!”

“How can an Imperial level Technique be so powerful?”

“I don’t know…”

The soldiers and cultivators alike watched in awe as Hadjar stuck the Black Blade into the ground and, breathing heavily, leaned on it. It had cost him all his energy, but he’d cleared a path through the horde. He wouldn’t be able to do that for a second time, he knew that much. The onlookers seemed aware of this fact as well.

Despite that, he had no intention of giving up or retreating. He was running on fumes, but he was ready to fight until he dropped.

“Why am I still standing up here?” One of the soldiers suddenly shouted. Gripping his axe, he untied his rope and threw himself off the wall.

“For Darnassus!” His voice trailed off.

“For Darnassus!”

“For Darnassus!”

Thousands of soldiers jumped off the wall to join the brave swordsman. In the streets, cultivators ran out of their hiding places. Armed with both weapons and artifacts, they charged at the demons, pushing them back.

“Fire, you sons of bitches!” The General shouted and cut through the horde that had broken through the wall with his axe. “Fire! Burn these monsters! For Darnassus!”

Popping his last energy-restoring pill into his mouth, Hadjar suddenly felt his left shoulder resting against someone else’s. And his right one. Behind him was his homeland. Ahead was the enemy that was trying to destroy it. His soldiers surrounded him. It felt like he’d come home…

Letting out another battle cry, he rushed forward. He was about to attack when he suddenly realized that the demons in front of him stood frozen in horror. One by one, the humans fell to the blood-soaked ground as if they’d been knocked out. It was as if someone had snapped their fingers and put everyone to sleep.

“You sure know how to make a fuss, Hadji.”

Hadjar turned around. Behind him stood Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares.

Chapter 734

“H elmer, what are you doing here?”

“That’s what I was about to ask you, you fool!” Helmer exclaimed. “You’ve already dealt with the Dah’Khasses, with an ancient fae, and with your glorious ancestor… Haven’t you had enough?”

Helmer looked around. Just hearing his voice had been enough to make many of the demons tremble in fear.

“Too much, it’s way too much, my friend.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “How many times have I come to your rescue? Could you remind me?”

“I didn’t call you,” Hadjar retorted.

He had a vague idea of what was going on. He’d always suspected that Helmer, being the emissary of the Demon Prince and the Lord of Nightmares, was strong. But strong enough to make an army of demons freeze up with his appearance alone and put almost a hundred thousand cultivators and practitioners to sleep? What kind of a monster was he?

“You’re right about that, Hadji. Debts ruin friendships, even the best ones, y’know?”

“You aren’t my friend.”

“How rude! I got out of the bath to come here. Do you know how relaxing it is to bathe in the blood of virgins? Oh, I do recommend it. It’s so refreshing.”

Hadjar gritted his teeth. He was growing tired of this inane chatter.

“What are you doing here?”

Helmer looked at Hadjar, then at the horde of demons, and then back at him.

“Are you really that dumb?” Helmer shouted, making several demons keel over from terror. “Maybe I’m here because I’m a demon? I was sent by the Prince, whom a messenger of the Seventh Heaven asked-”

“Get to the point!” Hadjar interrupted.

“Right, right... To the point.” Helmer nodded and cleared his throat dramatically. “These idiots were locked up by Erhard a long time ago, with our help, of course. And now they’ve decided that they can do as they please. The Prince doesn’t agree with them, you see. The Seventh Heaven doesn’t agree with them, either. But, more importantly, I don’t agree with them!”

“And?”

“Helmer,” a voice hissed.

Pushing aside the bewildered demons, a different beast slithered toward the Fort. It had the body of a snake: wide and green, about 20 feet long and 5 feet wide. Horrifying breasts, delicate legs, and slender arms hung in clusters from its body. Each of its arms clutched a curved saber.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember your name.” Helmer bowed deeply. “You look better than any succubus though, I must admit. How’ve you been? Did you enjoy your imprisonment?”

“You’ll regret putting me there!”

“Nothing personal, sugar.” Helmer bowed again. “Complain to the Prince, if you must. You did try to break the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, after all.”

“I did that so I could conquer this pitiful world!”

“It’ll be ours one day, of course,” he agreed, sounding unusually serious. “But without bringing down the wrath of the Heavens and the Earth on the entire demon race. No one needs that, honey.”

“What are you-”

A red sphere appeared in front of Helmer, interrupting her. The demoness’ eyes widened in horror. A veritable horde of nightmares spilled out of the sphere and scattered in all directions. The demoness followed their example.

“Make me proud, little ones.”

Hadjar felt no surge of power or disturbance in the flow of ambient energy. He felt nothing at all.

The sphere suddenly flashed with a bright light and another swarm of creatures emerged from it. Hadjar remembered them well as they were always scurrying around Helmer’s feet whenever he saw him. But now there were millions of them. They filled every nook and cranny of the fort, covering it in a blanket of darkness and shadows.

However, that didn’t last long. In a matter of seconds, all of the creatures returned to the sphere.

At first, Hadjar wondered why they’d even appeared, but then he saw that the streets were… empty. There was nothing left: no traces of green blood, no broken and bloody corpses, no pieces of bone armor, no dented iron, not even any accidental survivors. The entire demon horde had disappeared. Just like that.

“Take this.” Helmer threw something to Hadjar.

He caught it. When he unclenched his fist, he saw a rather powerful, scarlet item sitting there.

“What is it?”

“The Core of that lovely snake,” Helmer explained. “It’s not as good as the one you got from Ana’Bree, but still.”

“Why are you giving me this?”

“The Prince apologizes for the inconvenience.”

“Isn’t his goal to conquer all of the worlds? Why is he apologizing to anyone?”

“It is, of course,” Helmer answered, “but not by annihilating them. This lady’s army was locked up for a reason. We don’t like killing our own people, Hadjar. We aren’t humans, after all. So, we imprisoned them until the end of time or until demon kind won. But they took advantage of the situation and decided to destroy and break everything. Such childish behavior.”

“And that’s why-”

“The Prince sent me here. A messenger of the Seventh Heaven came to him and… Wait, I’ve already explained all of this to you!”

“But the laws of the Heavens and the Earth-”

“This again?” Helmer rolled his eyes. “The laws… There are so many loopholes in them that if I had a wife, I could divorce her and get everything in the deal if I used just half of them. Hell, I could make her pay me child support for kids we don’t have! And I could make her pay it in virgin blood! Hadji, you’re right! It’s time for me to get married! That’s settled, then! I’m going to get me a wife! See you later! Will you be my best man?”

“Go to hell!”

“That’s the plan!”

Helmer disappeared with a jaunty salute, leaving Hadjar standing amongst the sleeping cultivators and the absolutely empty Wastelands.

He groaned in annoyance and then cursed everything he could think of.

***

Hadjar was sitting by the gates and smoking his pipe. The sun was shining brightly, like nothing had ever happened. The Fort was slowly recovering. So much had happened in the last 24 hours...

He’d pretended to be asleep and woken up when everyone else had. Once they’d returned to the Fort, they’d all given their testimonies so that the higher-ups could report what had happened both inside and outside the Fort. To no one’s surprise, even after several hours of questioning, no one had been able to recall anything. In the end, everyone had just agreed that they had no idea how the demons had disappeared or where they’d gone to. Hadjar had made that oath along with everyone else. However, it had been so oddly worded that anyone who’d stopped to consider it would’ve seen the loopholes. Luckily, they hadn’t.

For the next several hours after the oath ceremony, he’d been pestered by other cultivators. All of them had wanted something from him. Some had wanted to talk and become friends, while others had wanted to argue and spar.

Right now, sitting near the gates, he was waiting for Azrea. The moment they’d set off for the Fort, she’d run off somewhere else. She’d looked as if she had some business to attend to.

His train of thought was interrupted by a cluster of dots that appeared on the horizon. He soon identified the combined fleet of three great clans — the Predatory Blades, the Eternal Mountain, and the Green Hammer clan.

Three figures descended from the enormous flagship. It had twelve masts, nine decks, and more than three thousand cannons. He recognized one of them — an old elf who looked more like a tree than a living being ― the elven Head. Next to him stood a tall man with a narrow sword at his belt, and a medallion with the crest of the Predatory Blades clan on his chest ― Tom and Anise’s uncle.

Next to them was a giant. He was at least 8 feet tall, if not taller. His muscular torso, which was clearly visible as he wore nothing but a pair of pants, was covered in scars. Around his neck was a necklace of metal beads. His coat of arms was depicted in a tattoo.

The trio headed straight for Hadjar.

A hundred warships hovered in the sky above them, including battleships and frigates.

“Hadjar Darkhan?” The Head of the Eternal Mountain clan thundered.

“That’s him.” The elven King’s voice sounded like the rustling of grass. “We’ve met before.”

“The fae’s Core, boy,” the Head of the Predatory Blades clan growled. “Hand it over right now!”

Hadjar sighed. The General’s report had reached the capital, but the aristocrats had gotten here first. Confronted by three Nameless ones, he could barely breathe, let alone move, so immense was their power.

But despite that, he managed to answer them.

“I refuse.”

“You idiot.” The Head of the Predatory Blades clan raised his index finger toward the sky. More Sword mysteries were concentrated on the tip of his finger than Hadjar’s entire soul possessed.

But before the Head could attack, a white lightning bolt split the sky and struck the sand. Out of it, as if going through an open door, walked… Orune.

“It’s been a while since I last visited,” he said quietly.

His earrings and necklace jingled as he walked. The sun caressed his bare torso adorned with tattoos and strong arms that rested on the hilts of his swords. The wind played with his long hair.

Utter silence followed.

Hadjar could hardly believe his eyes. Orune was a prominent figure, but he was just a Lord. So why were three Nameless bowing to him?

“Orune,” the Head of the Predatory Blades clan lowered his finger, “what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come for my disciple.”

The trio let out sighs of relief. The Head of the Predatory Blades clan gave him a restrained bow.

“I’m glad to hear that the famous swordsman Orune finally has a disciple. The Empire would suffer a crushing blow if it lost your knowledge and skills.”

“Blah, blah, blaaah,” Orune mocked. “Well, if that’s all, then we’ll be off. We have training to do! You’ve rested enough, boy! It’s time to test what you’ve learned!” He said and grabbed Hadjar by the shoulder.

“Is he really your disciple?”

“Yeah.”

“But he isn’t even a Spirit Knight!” The Head of the Eternal Mountain clan said.

“So?”

“He’s a mere fully-fledged disciple!” The elven King added.

“So?”

“It’s forbidden by the rules of ‘The Holy Sky’ School for you to make him your disciple!” The Head of the Predatory Blades clan also interjected.

“So?”

A confused silence followed.

“This boy has something we need. We have to talk to him first.”

The Head of the Predatory Blades clan nodded toward the hundred or so warships they’d brought with them. Orune looked at them, grinned, and tapped the hilt of one of his swords.

“So?”

Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes — three Nameless ones, backed by an entire fleet no less, were terrified of taking on just one Lord!

“I thought so.” Orune spat on the ground. “We’re leaving.”

White lightning struck the ground nearby.

When Hadjar opened his eyes, he found himself standing at the top of a high mountain. Below him, he could see green forests interspersed with high mountain peaks.

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

Hadjar started cursing.

Note from the author

Hello folks!
Half of the all already written books of the series is translated! The 17th book is completed in Russian now. One guy even has started learning Russian for reading the series ongoing! Great, isn't it?

The 3rd big arc is in its mids (9 and 10 books 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.

'Dragon Heart' is being translated into German now. I do hope that's not the last hight I plan to reach).

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.

The new series 'The Fist of the Three Kingdoms. Book 1. Adept' is being translated, too. And soon will be introduced to you.

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!

If you have an opportunity to leave a review on Amazon - it would be really a great great help. Do please. Even if it would be a one-line comment - it helps very much.

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The 9th book is already opened for the PRE-ORDER

PRE-ORDER NOW!

Patreon (First free chapters of the 9th book will be here)

I am glad to introduce you several books of Russian authors

Rick Scar: Player reached the Top (4 books of 8 are translated)

The world of 100 levels and terrible dangerous creatures waits for you.

Dan Sugralinov: Class-A Threat (Disgardium) (5 books of 7)

A very unusual young adult litRPG with a unique class of the MC.

Andrey Vasilyev: Raven’s Castle: The Raven Disciples

An epic fantasy about the travelers of the magician’s apprentice.

LITRPG GROUPS TO VISIT

LitRPG books

LitRPG Forum

GameLit Society

The Apocalyptic Book Club

Amazon litRPG books  <<< great amount of gamelit books

LitRPG Russian authors <<< recently translated and released Russian bestsellers

Table of Contents

Prologue
Chapter 633
Chapter 634
Chapter 635
Chapter 636
Chapter 637
Chapter 638
Chapter 639
Chapter 640
Chapter 641
Chapter 642
Chapter 643
Chapter 644
Chapter 645
Chapter 646
Chapter 647
Chapter 648
Chapter 649
Chapter 650
Chapter 651
Chapter 652
Chapter 653
Chapter 654
Chapter 655
Chapter 656
Chapter 657
Chapter 658
Chapter 659
Chapter 660
Chapter 661
Chapter 662
Chapter 663
Chapter 664
Chapter 665
Chapter 666
Chapter 667
Chapter 668
Chapter 669
Chapter 670
Chapter 671
Chapter 672
Chapter 673
Chapter 674
Chapter 675
Chapter 676
Chapter 677
Chapter 678
Chapter 679
Chapter 680
Chapter 681
Chapter 682
Chapter 683
Chapter 684
Chapter 685
Chapter 686
Chapter 687
Chapter 688
Chapter 689
Chapter 690
Chapter 691
Chapter 692
Chapter 693
Chapter 694
Chapter 695
Chapter 696
Chapter 697
Chapter 698
Chapter 699
Chapter 700
Chapter 701
Chapter 702
Chapter 703
Chapter 704
Chapter 705
Chapter 706
Chapter 707
Chapter 708
Chapter 709
Chapter 710
Chapter 711
Chapter 712
Chapter 713
Chapter 714
Chapter 715
Chapter 716
Chapter 717
Chapter 718
Chapter 719
Chapter 720
Chapter 721
Chapter 722
Chapter 723
Chapter 724
Chapter 725
Chapter 726
Chapter 727
Chapter 728
Chapter 729
Chapter 730
Chapter 731
Chapter 732
Chapter 733
Chapter 734