Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4

by Kirill Klevanski

  The first horseman spurred his horse. It, foaming at the mouth, jerked forward in a frantic attack. Tearing its hooves out of the sand, the animal soared through the air with the same grace as the falcon circling above the battle. Smiling broadly, Hadjar returned his sword to its scabbard. Roaring, he jumped up to meet the bandit, whose eyes opened wide, either in surprise or horror.

  Landing a couple of inches away from the sharp edge of his enemy’s spear, Hadjar grabbed the shaft with both hands, stopping the tip right at his throat. Along with the spear, the horseman also stopped. Pulled by inertia, the horse bent and broke its front legs. There was a spatter of blood, agonized neighing, and its huge head dug into the sand.

  Now it was clear that the bandit had frozen in horror. Since he was at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell Stage, he’d presumed, at first, that he was facing a slightly stronger practitioner than himself. The difference in power had actually turned out to be so great that his opponent was like a monster compared to him.

  Hadjar yanked the spear down and pulled the enemy out of his saddle. He swung the spear to the left and threw the man forward. With a panicked cry, the bandit flew a dozen yards through the air, crashing into his comrades as they hurried toward the siege. He knocked a few of them to the ground and under the horses’ hooves as they galloped. Blood sprayed as they screamed in agony, dying a gruesome death. The first attacker’s body ended up impaled on no less than four spears, and he, like a standard, hung on them for the rest of the battle.

  Feeling his blood boiling, Hadjar leaned over. The veins on his strong hands were taut, his muscles creaking. With a grunt of effort, he picked up the dead horse and, after spinning it over his head, threw its corpse right after the bandit.

  Without waiting to see the results of his throw, Hadjar drew his sword and rushed into the thick of battle. Like a wild tiger, he tore his foes apart and tormented them, almost playing with them. Blood seemed to flow like a river in his wake.

  He stopped a galloping horse with one punch. It fell to the ground, dead before it landed. The horseman didn’t even manage to stand up before Mountain Wind easily separated his head from his body. A few moments later, a dozen butchered human and horse corpses were scattered around Hadjar.

  “Surround him!” The leader of the horse riders barked in the desert language.

  Hadjar calmly stood in the center of the horsemen circling him. They were at the Transformation Stage. Their sabers and spears glinted in the sunlight. Their horses’ hooves kicked up a whirlwind of sand and dust.

  Closing his eyes, Hadjar grabbed the hilt of his blade with both hands. Mentally, he put his ‘black sword’ inside the real one. As the first inklings of the black fog wafted off Mountain Wind, a war cry left Hadjar’s lips involuntarily. Roaring like an enraged tiger, he soared into the sky.

  Chapter 325

  Turning in the air, Hadjar swung his sword. The blade, several times heavier than what he’d been using before, created enough momentum for Hadjar to spin like a top. By the time he landed back down on the sand, he was already surrounded by razor-sharp wind blades.

  As soon as Hadjar’s feet touched the ground, dozens of spears and arrows flew toward him, but it was too late. The summoned energy had already turned into a powerful tornado.

  With a cry, horses and people alike were torn to shreds and flew everywhere. Blood rained down, thick and heavy, smelling like copper and burnt iron. Taking advantage of the panic spreading across the ranks of his enemies, Hadjar, clutching the bridle of a nearby mount, jumped onto its back. With a slight movement, he decapitated the rider sitting in front of him. Hadjar threw the body off the horse, then directed the horse to intercept the largest group of the enemy’s horse riders. Gripping his blade despite being unable to fight in the saddle effectively, he was still eager to do his best to slaughter them. Suddenly, a gust of warm wind caressed the back of his head.

  Einen appeared from the shadow of one of the riders. Dressed in his people’s traditional clothes, he looked like a vengeful ghost that had come for its victim. His spear-staff blurred through the air, so swift were his attacks.

  “Boulder Storm!” The islander cried.

  Thousands of ghostly stones, sharpened by a never-ending tide, cut through the air. They fell to the sand, sending great clouds of dust into the sky. The bandits unfortunate enough to get caught beneath these strikes lost their lives instantly. Their bones crushed and bodies torn asunder, the riders and horses seemed to splatter across the sand. Blood watered the sand.

  Einen and Hadjar’s gazes met for a brief moment.

  “Good luck,” Hadjar whispered and urged his horse forward.

  The islander would surely be able to cope with the rest of the bandits, which meant Hadjar could return to his original plan.

  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and, releasing the reins, soared into the air again. This time, he didn’t spin, he just landed, hard. The power behind his leap, the speed of his fall, and his sword’s weight combined into a very powerful attack.

  A gust of wind tore off the edge of his blade, assuming the form of a dragon’s head. Opening its mouth wide, it surged through the ranks of the bandits. They had to use their best defensive Techniques for the blow to simply knock them out of their saddles. Those who didn’t have enough power were less fortunate: Hadjar’s attack cut them to pieces. The cries of people who had lost limbs or were trying to shove their guts back into their bodies flooded the area. The echo of this collective agony seemed to soak into the streams of blood, making it shine like faceted rubies.

  Upon landing, Hadjar immediately had to dodge an enemy’s spear. Turning around, he broke the shaft in two with his elbow. Then he grabbed it, and, without even looking, he threw it behind him. It shot out like a bolt from a siege crossbow and pierced through the enemy’s armor, a mighty horse’s neck, its rider, and then two more men behind him.

  Hadjar didn’t see this happen, but guessed it had based on all the cries and wheezing. Tugging at the fragment of the spear, he tore the rider out of the saddle. He kicked him in the head, breaking his skull, and broke the legs of a horse galloping past with the splintered remains still in his hand.

  The horseman’s broadsword flashed by, inches away from Hadjar’s head. However, the man didn’t get to make another attack. He didn’t even have time to pull his feet out of the stirrups, so he just watched his horse’s body burrow into the sand and the sword flying toward his neck.

  After cutting off the man’s head, Hadjar roared and stabbed his sword, soaked in blood and energy, into the sand. A wave of power entered the ground, and then dispersed like a wave, as if the Sea of Sand had really, for a fraction of a second, turned into a stormy sea.

  Huge waves of sand scattered riders and horses like they were nothing. The horses’ neighing drowned out the bandits’ cries. Hadjar raced through these waves like an unstoppable demon. His bloodthirsty smile gleamed, and his blade, enveloped in black mist, seemed to shine with an unholy radiance. Leaving behind fountains of blood to mark his progress, Hadjar slammed into the ranks of those who’d come for his life. As the Master and South Wind had taught him, Hadjar tried to never attack first if he could manage it, but when someone threatened him or those he cared for, he descended upon them with all his fury and might.

  Mountain Wind thundered and cut in half a brave mustang and a heavily armored warrior who was armed with a war hammer. That was a very unusual weapon in the desert... Once again, he didn’t have time to ponder it for long.

  Hadjar, who’d relaxed a bit due to his unexpected superiority over his opponents, didn’t notice a sudden attack aimed at him. Moreover, he confused it with his own wind being playful. He didn’t notice a single difference between the wind heading toward him and the one he’d gotten used to since birth. A wind attack in the form of a saber strike flew over the sand, leaving a white trail behind it. It vibrated slightly, making a sound similar to the rustling of a sheet in the wind.

  Hadjar’s instincts scream
ed at him and he brought his blade up. The strike dragged him a couple of yards across the sand, and then, slipping off his sword, licked his left shoulder. His old clothes were torn to shreds, and a deep cut left white bone exposed.

  Clenching his teeth, Hadjar directed a stream of energy toward the wound. The pain gradually subsided as the blood clotted and the wound began to crust over. The Technique for Strengthening the Body Hadjar had mastered many years ago wasn’t so strong as to push the edges of the wound together immediately. Fortunately, the dragon’s heart had already strengthened his body sufficiently.

  A short, broad-shouldered warrior jumped down from his horse. He didn’t look like a desert dweller. Even his armor was completely different.

  He was wearing iron bracers and spaulders, as well as a pointy metal helmet. Chainmail attached to its edges protected his neck and collarbone. His chest was covered in a heavy, tanned leather armor with a symbol that Hadjar thought he recognized, but couldn’t quite recall where from.

  “How long,” the warrior said in an unfamiliar accent. “How long I’ve searched for someone else who also listens to the wind!”

  He waved his curved saber covered in incomprehensible patterns. Behind the enemy, a whirlwind of whitish wind, soaked in the energy of the Way of the Saber, soared into the sky. Quick, cutting attacks permeated this small storm.

  Hadjar took a step back and grabbed the handle of Mountain Wind with both hands. His muscles swelled and his veins tightened. He hadn’t grown accustomed to the weight of his sword yet.

  Hadjar realized that, from now on, any battle he fought in would eventually turn into a duel. Strong cultivators had no reason to fight against weak opponents. They looked for equally powerful or stronger foes in order to get the opportunity to advance their cultivation further.

  Also… Why was this Heaven Soldier fighting alongside the bandits?

  “Let me introduce myself,” the warrior, ignoring the pitched battle around them and the whirlwinds of sand it kicked up, saluted in the local manner. “I am Turkut, a junior officer in the army of the King of the Desert, Sunshine Sankesh.”

  Chapter 326

  Hadjar blinked in surprise, finally recognizing the emblem on the warrior’s chest: the setting sun with flaming blades instead of sunrays. That was the emblem of the King of the Desert. Of course, he’d proclaimed himself king, but it was foolish to dispute the power of the man who rushed across the sand like a hurricane and left no city, oasis, or Bedouin tribe unconquered.

  “Hadjar Darkhan,” Hadjar responded, “a free traveler.”

  “I’m glad that the Evening Stars have brought us together, Hadjar Darkhan. For a long time now, I’ve been looking for a swordsman who walks with the wind.”

  The battle around them was in full swing. Einen, using his Ape Techniques, was tearing through the attackers’ ranks. As soon as he managed to split the bandits’ forces into two groups, Kharad and his people charged in. Riding their Desert Ravens, they flanked the enemy to devastating effect. The other guards fought at the ‘walls’ of the fortification. The attackers were bombarded with arrows and stones, struck and cut, but they still kept storming the sandbags and inverted stagecoaches.

  Two people having an almost casual conversation was a surreal sight amidst this riot of blood and death, not to mention the whistling of arrows and swords.

  “What does an officer of the Sunshine Army need from Rahaim’s caravan?” Hadjar asked.

  Turkut took a white bandage with black hieroglyphs along its length from his pocket and tied it across his forehead. Hadjar recognized a Bedouin custom in this gesture: they did this when they encountered an opponent who was equal to them in power and had decided to show them some respect.

  “Forgive me, Hadjar Darkhan, but I can’t tell you that,” the King’s officer shook his head. “Now, let’s get started.”

  He pushed off the ground as easily as a leaf fell off a branch. At the same time, Turkut’s movements were faster than a falcon diving down to catch its prey. Hadjar managed to bring his blade up at the last moment.

  Metal rang out. Hadjar felt the light saber, glowing with whitish energy, push his sword back. The saber always won against the sword in melee. It was light and fierce by design, created exclusively for battle and killing. It had no ornamentation or fancy variations, only the naked desire to kill.

  Dodging to the side, Hadjar let the saber pass by his chest and, having avoided it, tried to hook Turkut’s legs. He, unlike most cultivators Hadjar had fought before, respected his enemy’s prowess. He didn’t try to ‘play’ with him. He got some distance between them, assuming a defensive stance. He was a skilled, strong opponent. That was both good and bad at the same time.

  Sankesh’s officer clearly wanted to test his power, and Hadjar wasn’t against that. He had been looking for a deadly battle for a while now, to find out how much stronger he’d become over the six months he’d spent beneath the scorching sun.

  “Calm Wind,” Hadjar said, using the defensive stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique.

  A downward flow of wind immediately flattened the sand swirling around them. It was as if an invisible pillar of force had created a calm space in the midst of all the bloody fighting.

  Turkut grimaced. He felt great pressure bearing down on him. Now he understood that, despite the difference in their level of cultivation, his foe was equal in strength to true cultivators.

  “Sunny Day,” the officer cried out.

  His saber shone with a steady, golden glow. At first, Hadjar didn’t understand what this Technique was doing, and by the time he did, it was too late. A beam burst out from Turkut’s blade. A thin sunbeam. A thread of the white wind wound around it, and it pierced Hadjar’s injured shoulder. With a cry of pain, the wounded swordsman assumed a defensive stance. He used the ‘Calm Wind’, and not just with his real sword this time, but with the imaginary, black one as well.

  In addition to the downward flow, a light tornado of blue wind sprang up around Hadjar. The beams surged out of the saber at an incredible rate, looking like ghostly flashes of sunlight. When Hadjar was almost accustomed to the rhythm of the attacks, the unexpected happened. The strands of the white wind surrounding the yellow light suddenly burst into color, and then bent a beam. Snaking past the tornado, it burrowed into the sand, and then came up right under Hadjar’s feet.

  After fighting many battles against the desert dwellers, he was ready for such a trick and rolled to the side. After avoiding the attack, Hadjar swung his sword.

  “Strong Wind!”

  Using a tenth of his energy and his knowledge of the Way of the Sword, Hadjar lunged. A stream of wind, in the shape of a dragon, rushed toward Turkut. If he’d been facing a simple practitioner who was at a lower level of cultivation, this attack would’ve torn them apart. However, this man was a worthy enemy.

  Sankesh’s officer immediately went on the defensive. The sunbeam was no longer aimed at Hadjar. Like a whip, it wrapped itself around the dragon and squeezed Hadjar’s Technique. With a bang, the beam dispelled it, but also dissipated in a multicolored flash of various energies.

  Turkut, pleased with the performance of his Technique, was about to counterattack, but his enemy had disappeared. Where Hadjar had been standing moments ago, there was now a small hollow in the sand.

  Turning into the blurry shadow of Five Ravens, Hadjar appeared behind the warrior. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he swung at Turkut’s steel helmet so powerfully that Mountain Wind seemed to roar in his hands. Waves spread across the sand and the air rattled with power and energy, but there was no scream, no drops of blood.

  A golden beam, whitish threads interlaced around it, had snaked around Hadjar’s blade. It had stopped his sword mere inches from Turkut’s head. Hadjar, who had been waiting for this, bent his leg. He had been planning to break his enemy’s spine, but suddenly felt a sharp, burning pain in his chest.

  Hurtling back several yards through the air, he left behind a trail of blood
. Hadjar ripped through the sand when he landed. Driving his sword into the ground, he stopped his momentum, and, with difficulty, rose to his feet. Turkut was lazily playing with the two golden beams emanating from his saber. It was a rather strange Technique that suited the warrior who used a saber and the wind.

  “You’re strong, Hadjar Darkhan,” the officer said. “Maybe you’re even stronger than most warriors I’ve encountered. But you lack experience fighting in real battles, not playing childish games with other practitioners.”

  Turkut’s gaze hardened. The whirlwind of white energy soared and swirled even more violently around his figure. The golden glow around his saber disappeared, replaced by a scarlet, bloody light.

  “Crimson Sunset,” the warrior said ominously.

  He swung his saber. With a whistle, the saber cut through the air, and a huge, red crescent rushed across the sand toward Hadjar.

  Hadjar, using half of his remaining energy reserves, utilized a protective stance. A stream of wind struck the crescent. It slowed its progress and chipped away at it, but didn’t stop it. A deep wound tore open across Hadjar’s chest. Blood rained down on the sand. Hadjar fell to one knee. Twitching and trembling, he held onto his sword, stuck in the ground. It was the only way he could remain upright. His head was spinning and everything was muted, as if the sand cloud surrounding the fighters had turned into a swamp.

  “Let’s finish this, Hadjar Darkhan.”

  Turkut traced a figure eight in the air with his saber and said, “Wind of the Crimson Sunset.”

  For this attack, he swung down four times, all at once, launching four scarlet crescents. Most Heaven Soldiers at the middle stage of their level would’ve had no chance of surviving such an attack, let alone a simple practitioner.

  A sudden burst of black energy enveloped his foe, and his blue eyes, which had suddenly become inhuman, made Turkut uneasy. When the simple caravan guard rose to his feet, shrouded in a black cloak woven from wind and fog, Turkut realized that their battle was far from over.