One question still gnawed at Hadjar: “Why did you accept me into the tribe?”
The leader didn’t answer at first. The wind made his expensive clothes rustle and his white caftan glittered with embroidery in the rays of the rising sun. He looked majestic, but at the same time, he appeared to be a humble scholar.
“Maybe because I thought that accepting a truly talented swordsman into the tribe would mean gaining a part of his future glory someday. Or maybe I didn’t want to make this swordsman a slave and make an enemy for my whole tribe. Just looking at you, Hadjar Darkhan, is enough for anyone to know you’re a former slave.”
Hadjar twitched, but said nothing.
“You once threw off those chains... By the Great Stars, I doubt anything could prevent you from doing so a second time. I didn’t want any of my people to be in your way when it happened. ”
The wind carried the sand through the air. Yellow and clean, it slightly burned exposed skin upon contact. Maybe that was why the desert dwellers wore even more clothes than the northerners did.
“Or maybe because my Spirit told me to do it.”
“Your Soul, you mean?” Hadjar asked, thinking that the leader had mixed up the two words.
The older man simply shook his head.
“A soul is for the gods,” he said, pointing to his heart. Then his hand moved down to his stomach. “A spirit is for ourselves. A spirit is what makes you who you are, what determines your path through the oceans of sand and time, what you’ll give back to the World River after your death, making it wider and faster, what, after you strengthen it, will make you a Knight.”
A Spirit Knight... Hadjar remembered how, during the battle at the palace, a figure had appeared behind the Governor, making him several times stronger.
“But not everyone can hear their Spirit,” the leader continued, “some forget about it, listening only to their souls. They will never be Knights... I myself won’t ever become a Knight... I haven’t listened to the whisper of sand, which once served as my guide, for a long time. I’ve betrayed my Spirit, Hadjar Darkhan. Maybe, when your Spirit prompted you to endanger yourself in such a reckless and stupid act, it called out to my Spirit as well.”
Hadjar still didn’t really understand why he’d saved the boy. In that impulsive moment, he hadn’t been thinking with his head. He hadn’t been thinking about slavery or the death of the thousand people in the caravan. He’d just done it.
“Maybe everything I’ve told you is nonsense and I just wanted to secure a strong warrior for my tribe.”
“But I’m leaving soon,” Hadjar said. “Our paths are unlikely to ever cross again.”
The leader smiled. He turned to Hadjar and performed an odd salute, putting his fingers to his lips, then to his heart.
“Never say never, Desert Wind Blowing from the North,” the leader put his hand on Hadjar’s head and touched his forehead to Hadjar’s. “Let the Evening Stars illuminate your path in the night, blood of my blood. May you gain strength in a moment of weakness. May your life be free.”
“And your death worthy,” Hadjar answered.
They shook hands and Hadjar, throwing his travel bag over his shoulder, left.
He didn’t turn around. He felt déjà vu. Once upon a time, the villagers from the Valley of Streams had rescued him. Now he had once more been offered salvation. His forearm felt warm thanks to the tattoo with his new name. For some reason, ‘Darkhan’ sounded much dearer to him than Traves or even Duran.
Traves was his Master’s name.
Duran was something that belonged to his ancestors, they’d been the ones to earn it.
Darkhan was his own unique name, one that reflected all his strengths and weaknesses.
“Hadjar Darkhan,” Hadjar whispered his new name.
Climbing up onto his frog’s back, Hadjar caught Ilmena’s gaze. She was sitting in the saddle of her Desert Raven and combing her hair. It looked as erotic as if she were dancing naked around the fire. However, thanks to his recent dalliance, her charms had almost no effect on him.
“That’s a beautiful necklace, Northerner,” Ilmena nodded at the pearls sticking out of Hadjar’s pocket.
He shoved the jewelry down, making sure it wasn’t visible.
“Sorry, oh beautiful warrior, I have a lady close to my heart who is waiting for a present from me.”
“Are you talking about that little demoness, Hadjar?” Einen appeared from nowhere as usual.
“That is an ungodly sin,” Shakh grimaced while eagerly devouring Ilmena’s hair with his eyes. “But it’s normal for barbarians. You must cut off your male appendage so as not to sow rotten seed across this beautiful world.”
For some reason, all four of them were smiling.
Chapter 290
“Show it to me again!” Serra, walking next to Hadjar, yanked on his caftan. “Show me, Hadjar. Show me! Show me! Show me!”
Rolling his eyes, Hadjar rolled up his sleeve and showed off his red tattoo. The little girl, or the ‘demoness’, as Einen called her, looked at it with admiration.
“It’s soooo cool!” The girl breathed out, allowing him to cover the shaman’s gift back up. Hadjar knew that this reprieve would not last long. In 15 minutes, she would ask him to show her the tattoo again. She was very stubborn, willing to repeat ‘Show me!’ endlessly until he caved.
“I want one!” The girl stamped her foot just like Elaine had as a child. Maybe she was a princess too?
“I don’t think your dad would approve of you getting a tattoo.”
“He never approves of anything at all,” Serra frowned. “He’s so mean. You are much kinder. Maybe you can be my dad?”
Hadjar choked. The girl’s innocence and naivety always amazed him.
“Shall I cover for you?” Einen, as usual, appeared out of nowhere.
For five days, they’d been moving toward the Kurkhadan oasis. Actually, the journey had gotten easier because the dunes were lower and the sand colder.
One day, Kharad’s scouts brought the good news that the Kurkhadan river wasn’t far ahead. In fact, the ‘river’ turned out to be a rather wide creek. It curled through the sands. Sharp, low grass grew along its edges. That day, the caravan didn’t move any farther.
They halted. Everyone was allowed to drink plenty of water and fill their waterskins.
Hadjar could feel the smell of life in the air, something sweet, fragrant, and pleasant. It wasn’t all dry doom like at the center of the Sea of Sand.
Kurkhadan was close. The Bedouins had let the caravan pass through their territory. Neither Kharad nor the other scouts had encountered them along the way, but Hadjar was sure that the tribe was watching over the caravan.
“I don’t know how long it will take me-”
Einen raised his hand and shook his head.
“Go do your thing, Northerner. I’ll cover your shifts.”
“Thank you,” Hadjar said.
“Northerner, I’ll need you to repay the favor someday.”
After patting Serra on the head, Hadjar headed for the special cart that only the guards could use. They could use it to take a nap after a night shift, or to hide from the hot sun during the day, for example.
Serra started pestering the islander. She jumped around Einen and constantly bragged about the pearl necklace she’d gotten. He endured all of it with truly icy calm. He even responded sometimes.
After entering the cart, Hadjar unwound his turban. Dissatisfied with the loss of her berth, Azrea immediately jumped to the floor and, after hissing at him a little, curled up near his feet.
Stroking the displeased kitten, Hadjar pulled out the three ornaments from his pocket. Peering at his reflection in his blade, he wove them into his hair, two on the right and one on the left. The Bedouin shaman’s superstition wouldn’t harm him, and if it helped, that would be a wonderful bonus.
Once he was done with that, he laid down the trophy he’d taken from Brom’s cache. The core of a beast at the King stag
e. Not insanely strong, but still.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hadjar smiled at the sleeping Azrea. “Practitioners in the Empire use a variety of expensive herbs and potions to help them cultivate. However, I absorb monster cores, which is the most painful and dangerous method.”
Judging by the kitten’s peaceful sniffing, Azrea didn’t care, and neither did Hadjar, for that matter. He felt like it was time for him to move on. He’d stood on the verge of Awakening his Spirit for too long. After everything that had happened recently, he felt that he was ready to move forward.
Assuming the lotus position, Hadjar let reality fade away. Previously, this had taken him several hours to pull off and had required a lot of mental effort. Now, diving into the World River was very simple.
Hadjar began to breathe and circulate his energy in accordance with Traves’ Technique of meditation. Gradually, he filled his core. There was no space left, and every subsequent breath brought only pain with it, a strong burn, as if a torch had been lit in Hadjar’s stomach. Nevertheless, he persevered.
Only the wealthy people of the Empire could afford to take soothing herb baths or drink elixirs worth half of Lidus.
Clenching his teeth and mustering all his willpower, Hadjar endured. He endured even when the ‘torch’ turned into acid that felt like it was melting his flesh. He endured even when lightning struck his nerves, blinding him. Gradually, the World River began to recede and thin out. Agony took its place.
If someone had entered the cart at that moment, they would’ve seen a bleeding man sitting on the floor. His eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and almost all of his pores were bleeding. A slight jolt hit his body, but he didn’t open his eyes.
A steady stream of energy began flowing into his body. There was so much of it that nearby practitioners could feel it. They quickly guessed that someone was making a breakthrough and therefore decided to move away from the cart. If the practitioner failed, the wave of wild energy released in the backlash would harm them as well.
At some point, Hadjar realized that he was starting to drown in his agony, losing himself and his connection to reality. Then he turned to his inner sword.
Armed with the blade, his mind began to cut its way through the barriers of pain. Hadjar plunged deeper and deeper into himself. He swam through the waters of the energy that flowed into the center of his being. He pushed through the pain, not allowing himself to give in to oblivion. There, somewhere deep down in the darkness and pain, he saw a light. A blue fog. A shapeless shard of the sky. Invisible and elusive. That was what Hadjar’s Spirit looked like at the moment.
Holding his inner sword, Hadjar stopped diving. The pain, like an enemy horde, swept over the ‘castle’ of his consciousness from all sides. It besieged his mind, but was met by his dangerous blade each time.
Hadjar reached for the monster core and immediately heard a roar. The desert beast, a mixture of a dog and hippopotamus, rushed toward him. Now Hadjar had to simultaneously fight against the pain and the monster’s shadow.
Each cut inflicted on its incredibly huge body sent a new stream of its energy into Hadjar. Only this time, it didn’t flow into him, but into the blue fog. Hadjar kept fighting until he saw nothing in front of him but his Self and Sword. The pain receded and the monster’s shadow disappeared.
There was only the void, his sword, and the glowing fog full of energy. Hadjar stood in front of it and, after mulling it over a little, took a step forward.
For a moment, he felt like he was flying...
“Oasis! The Kurkhadan oasis is straight ahead!”
Hadjar opened his eyes and, frantically gasping for breath, fell to the floor. Outside, the people rejoiced, looking forward to their salvation, a bastion of life in the endless waves of sand.
Hadjar smiled stupidly, sensing he’d taken another step forward along the path of cultivation. He’d awakened his Spirit.
Chapter 291
While everyone was bustling outside, Hadjar leaned his head back against the floor and breathed more evenly. Azrea, twitching her nose, jumped onto his chest and, despite his groan of pain, curled up. Hadjar immediately felt better.
The wounds on Hadjar’s body were awful and required a healer’s immediate assistance, but he didn’t call for him. Hadjar took out several pre-stocked flasks from his bag. Each of them contained a special, colorful potion.
Downing their contents in one gulp, Hadjar grimaced. They tasted exactly like earthworms. Why did Hadjar know what earthworms tasted like? Well, when he’d been a circus freak, he’d often had nothing to eat...
Despite their disgusting taste, the elixirs helped him greatly. With each breath, the wounds on Hadjar’s body and his internal organs healed, and the circulation of his energy normalized.
Of course, these weren’t healing potions that could only be bought in the Empire. They were simple healing tinctures that worked so well because Hadjar’s own energy and mind had caused the damage, not a foe. Such wounds were the easiest to cure.
Half an hour later, Hadjar was able to sit up and grip the hilt of his sword. If his neural network had been functional, he would’ve been able to easily discern all the advantages of his new level of cultivation. Alas, without its aid, Hadjar had to rely solely on his best guess.
“Shall we head out?” Hadjar smiled at the sleeping Azrea.
After making sure his turban was properly wound once more, Hadjar placed the kitten into it and, adjusting his belt and sheath, exited the cart. The world around him hadn’t changed, except for the vague silhouette of an oasis on the horizon.
However, it could’ve also been a mirage, something Hadjar had seen numerous times during their month-long journey. Everything from the harmless outlines of forests and mountains to the shadows of the past, which always pained him, had appeared to him. However, he’d quickly learned to distinguish between reality and the potentially lethal mirages.
Sniffing the air, he closed his eyes and listened to the world around him. Hadjar noticed some changes in his perception.
Everything had become a little clearer and brighter, as if a bit more detail had been added to a picture. Hadjar couldn’t find the right words to describe his new perception of the world. Nevertheless, he understood that it differed greatly from how he’d viewed the world at his previous level.
“Nothing tests new power better than a good spar,” someone said from behind him.
Hadjar had felt a slight breath a moment before the islander had spoken. This was the first time Hadjar had been able to notice Einen before he’d revealed himself.
“In a couple of days, islander,” Hadjar nodded, “when I feel better.”
Einen nodded slightly, making it clear that he’d heard his friend. For a while, they walked side by side in silence. Hadjar kept releasing his energy and ‘pulling’ it back like a child playing with a yo-yo. At least that’s what inexperienced practitioners would think. More experienced practitioners would understand his actions. Hadjar was trying to determine the boundaries of his new abilities. Since he didn’t have time to spar or practice with his sword, this was the best way to test himself. He did so for about two hours. Soon, Hadjar’s thoughts were occupied with something else.
Descending from the crest of the dune, the caravan reached a flat sand surface. The creek they’d been walking next to had turned into a small river. It snaked toward the oasis.
He had seen many mountains in his life. However, the sight before him still stunned Hadjar.
The stream flowed into a wide lake that had palm trees and tall grass growing around it, and houses made from white stone and mats instead of doors were dotted all around it as well. Women dressed in colorful robes walked with jugs and baskets on their heads. Their skin was much darker than the desert dwellers’. Children, laughing, ran along the river. Some men were practicing attacks and stances. Somewhere in the distance, the golden domes of a palace shone brightly. A paved street seemed to emerge from the palace, and the stalls of numerous merchants, hawki
ng their wares, crowded the street on both sides.
There was no wall around the Kurkhadan oasis. Anyone could enter the settlement from any direction. However, thanks to his new, sharpened perception, Hadjar noticed that they did have a ‘wall’, just not a stone one. It was like the barrier that Serra had created long ago. Sometimes, if he quickly looked away, he would see a slight golden flicker and bizarre hieroglyphs out of the corner of his eye. But none of that was what had amazed Hadjar.
In the center of the lake, there was an island. It had rugged vegetation that grew at the foot of a cliff as white as snow. The huge rock rose higher and higher into the sky, becoming wider and more massive the higher it went. At the top, it was crowned by a gigantic plateau, so big that it could’ve fit two capitals of Lidus on it. It kind of resembled a giant stone pyramid, only upside down.
On the plateau, there was a… forest. Not one made up of palm trees and other exotic trees, but a most ordinary, deciduous or sometimes coniferous forest. Hadjar saw birch trees, spruces, poplars, ash trees, and even oaks. Everything that his soul sometimes yearned for.
In the center of this forest, there was a large hill. It was crisscrossed by four wide springs, which turned into four rivers the further down they flowed and then into waterfalls as they reached the lake.
“I had thought that I would never see anything more surprising than the Dead Mountains,” Einen voiced their mutual thought.
Many of the caravan’s passengers were also awed by the view and happy to know that they wouldn’t be dying of hunger and thirst in the desert.
“You don’t get to see these kinds of things in the north, do you, barbarian?” Shakh grunted out as he passed by.
“We still have our own wonders we can brag about,” Hadjar shrugged.
But try as he might, he couldn’t remember anything that could compare to the Kurkhadan in beauty and majesty.
“Don’t forget Shakar’s instructions,” the boy reminded them and rode ahead to annoy Ilmena.
Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4 Page 16
