Hadjar didn’t get to comment on this. Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of an old man in expensive clothes. His aura was at a slightly lower level than that of a Heaven Soldier and he looked strong in both spirit and body. His blue eyes radiated wisdom.
“Honorable Arkis,” Tilis bowed, “To what do I owe the honor?”
Arkis waved his hand imperiously and the witch fell silent. Apparently, the old man possessed considerable authority, since he could so easily silence such a quick and sharp tongue.
“Hadjar Darkhan,” Arkis said, carefully examining the northerner’s blue amulet. Was his name also written on it? “The servant told me that a Wielder has asked for an audience with me. When I asked why he’d dared to keep such a guest waiting outside, he replied that he had no right to lead him inside. Now I see why.”
“Wielder…” Tilis shuddered and looked at Hadjar a bit differently... With a lot more hatred and with an even greater thirst for blood. Perhaps this remark had only made the girl more certain of his guilt.
“Could you, honorable Hadjar, demonstrate your skills?” Arkis asked. “Over the course of my life, I’ve only met one other Wielder.”
Hadjar looked at the old man. Only a fool wouldn’t have understood that he simply wanted to make sure his servant hadn’t been mistaken.
Stretching out his hand, Hadjar cut the urn standing nearby in half with a bit of effort. There was a clear cut across the stone, left behind by a sword, although Mountain Wind hadn’t even left its scabbard.
“That’s amazing...” Arkis drawled, stroking his long, gray beard. “If you survive this upcoming year, our city will benefit greatly. It’s a pity that you didn’t acquire the ‘Three Sword Slashes of the Thunder God’ Technique tablet... Oh, please forgive my tactlessness, I was also devoted to the Sword Spirit, once.”
The old man adjusted his caftan, showing off a simple sheath and an equally simple sword. The sight made Hadjar respect him, even if just a little. At his advanced age, almost no one was able to progress along the path of cultivation. People preferred to live in comfort and prosperity. For those people, weapons lost their intended meaning and turned into luxury items. But not for Arkis. He still wore a real blade at his hip. Perhaps it was his old friend and companion, with whom he’d fought in many battles.
“Let’s get to the point,” Einen urged them. “Please forgive my tactlessness.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” the old man waved his hands amiably. “Young people are supposed to be in a hurry, and we old people are supposed to hold you back and share our wisdom with you. However, let’s get down to business. What do you want me to appraise, Hadjar?”
“Here you are, honorable Arkis. Could you appraise this for me?”
Hadjar took out a small stone from his wallet, which shimmered in a variety of colors when bathed in the light of the torches. It was hard to discern its true color.
Putting the stone on Arkis’ palm, Hadjar waited. The old man, after taking a closer look, swallowed. With trembling hands, he pulled a small talisman out of his pocket and laid the stone on it. The moment he did so, the talisman flared up and scattered, turning into ashes.
“Evening Stars!” The man wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve, “I hadn’t thought that I would ever get to see such a thing. Take it back immediately, Hadjar, lest greed and envy overcome me.”
Arkis put the stone back into Hadjar’s wallet.
“It’s a pity that we have to conduct our business like this,” the old man apologized, “and that we’ll be heard by unwanted ears and seen by unwanted eyes.” He was clearly hinting at the servant and Tilis there. “You’ve got an Energy Stone.”
Nothing happened. None of those present, except the auctioneer himself, were amazed by this information.
“I’ve already heard a similar name,” Hadjar recalled what the spirit of Kurkhadan had told him, “but I don’t know anything about Energy Stones.”
“Well, young man, I’m not surprised. This knowledge is as rare as water in the Sea of Sand. Imperial artifacts are made from these kinds of stones.”
His response had the impact of a bomb going off.
“How much would such a stone cost?” Einen asked.
“In our city?” Arkis smiled and spread his hands. “It’s priceless. Collectors wouldn’t want to take such a great risk, and you won’t find a blacksmith who deals in them. You might have some luck in the heart of Darnassus. To use one effectively, a person needs to possess not just power, but knowledge as well.”
“And in the Empire?” The islander didn’t give up.
“Well, given its small size, the paltry amount of energy it has by the standards of its kind, and the cracks, the quality of the stone isn’t the best. Hmm... ”Arkis thought about it and frowned. He was obviously calculating something very carefully. “One thousand and five hundred, plus or minus fifty coins.”
Hadjar almost sat down in shock, right there on the pavement. Fifteen hundred imperial coins! With that kind of money, the issue of advancing to the level of Heaven Soldier would seem like a casual stroll on a fine day.
“I must leave you now.” Arkis bowed. “I would guess that fruitful cooperation awaits us in the future, but for now, forgive me, but the law is the law — until your year is up, you won’t be able to use this entrance.”
The old man left.
Chapter 346
The servant, Hadjar, Einen, and the enraged red-haired witch remained on the street. Realizing that it was dangerous to hang around the trio, the boy moved to the center of the street and continued his work.
“Who did you steal that treasure from, barbarian?” Tilis almost growled the words out. “Regardless, it makes no difference to me. I just want to say that, if you think that the protection of your amulets will stop me, you are sorely mistaken. Make sure to enjoy your last few days... if you can.”
With that, she slammed the tablet down on the pavement. It cracked with a bang and scattered into hundreds of small pieces. The people scurrying past them froze for a moment, saw what was happening, and hastened to get out of there. The witch stared at Hadjar, turned around, and started walking toward the embankment.
“Tilis!” Hadjar called out to her. “I loved your sister as a true friend, which she was to me. By the gods, if I could’ve prevented her death, I would’ve given everything...”
The witch stopped for a moment. She wrestled with her desire to turn around, but, unfortunately for Hadjar, she managed to drown out this impulse. Tilis quickened her pace and soon disappeared into the crowd.
“The last thing a wounded heart needs is words of comfort.” Einen patted Hadjar on the shoulder and headed toward the area where Paris lived.
“And what does a wounded heart need?” Hadjar asked.
“Time,” the islander said over his shoulder, “and maybe the blood of the one who wounded it.”
Hadjar muttered a curse and followed his friend. They walked in silence. Each of them pondered his own problems. Hadjar thought about how he often felt like he needed guidance in the Way of the Sword. The lessons he’d received from Traves and the Shadow of the Immortal had been good, but not relevant. Now, after becoming a Wielder, he understood that he possessed very fragmented and incomplete knowledge.
Hadjar guessed that he could move forward eventually, but he had a long way to go and he didn’t even know the direction he should go in. The dragon hadn’t visited him for a long time, and it was unlikely that the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique could help him with any further cultivation. The remaining three stances only deepened what he’d mastered already, without helping him discover anything new.
Traves hadn’t lied when he’d said that the sword was alien to him and that the knowledge he possessed was superficial. Fifteen years ago, that knowledge had seemed like a dream to Hadjar, but now... He longed for more, but didn’t know where he could find someone or something to learn from.
By the gods, he was ready to join a sect or school. Heh! Hadj
ar mentally laughed at himself. He was ready to do so... Many hundreds of thousands of practitioners dreamed of becoming disciples in such organizations. They would even be happy to lead the semi-enslaved life of an ordinary disciple. And he, a barbarian from a northern kingdom, was ready! If these practitioners had heard his thoughts just then, they would’ve died in shock at his insolence and arrogance. However, that was Hadjar in a nutshell — freedom-loving and restless, like a spring wind passing through the tall grass.
Paris’ domain turned out to be a walled fortress. Several guards stood at the gate. Instead of weapons, they held books like Karissa’s in their hands, or staffs like Ramukhan’s. Talismans danced in the air around them.
“I think you are lost,” the bravest and, apparently, the guard who was in charge of the rest, said. A strong practitioner’s aura emanated from him. Hadjar and Einen didn’t hide their auras, either. Therefore, the man had to have remarkable willpower to go up against two strong practitioners like them. “The entrance to this part of Underworld City is forbidden to non-citizens. I would advise you to turn around, or we’ll be forced to make you do so.”
Hadjar was about to pull out the invitation he’d gotten, but Einen stopped him.
“But don’t our blue amulets protect us from citizens who want to harm us?”
“There are exceptions to any rule,” one of the guards replied.
Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. That damned Karissa had really not told them everything.
“Then here is our invitation.” Hadjar held out the die.
The head guard took it from him and placed it on one of his talismans. It glowed red, then wrapped itself around the die, and finally straightened. Not even a grain of sand remained on its surface.
“Honorable Paris is already waiting you.” The guard nodded to his subordinates and they opened the gate.
“Why didn’t you just let us pass right away?” Einen asked.
“It’s boring here,” the guard shrugged, “besides, you’re strangers. And we, the citizens, should always treat you with prejudice.”
“Well then,” Hadjar nodded.
The tall, broad-shouldered guard seemed to like him.
“Try not to linger in the red-light district,” he said. “At this time of day, there are too many people who’d wish you ill around there.”
Hadjar was sure that if he’d come here with Nero, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to have a laugh at the topic of ‘red lights’, but...
Thanking the guard for his advice, Hadjar and Einen went to Paris’ house, using the signs along the way to orient themselves. The man lived close to the walls of the area, in a small house with two rooms, surrounded by a stone fence and a little garden full of white-red flowers.
Paris opened the door before Hadjar even knocked.
“Come in,” the Researcher smiled.
Being a hospitable man, he seated Hadjar and Einen on his best wooden chairs, used porcelain dishes, and uncorked a jug of tart wine. A hookah was already puffing slightly in the corner, letting smoke through and making it so that a light, sweet smog hung in the room.
“Do you mind?” Hadjar asked, gesturing to his own tobacco and pipe.
“Of course not,” Paris waved his hand dismissively.
For a while, Einen and Hadjar, like real guests, entertained their host with small talk focused around their past and their native countries. Hadjar told him almost everything. He even joked about being the Mad General once.
“It’s probably difficult to command an army.”
“I’ve never really thought about it,” Hadjar answered honestly. “Sometimes, there is only one phrase, ‘You have to’, and that’s all there is to it.”
“You have to...” Paris repeated. “Only a few of the young people respect that kind of sentiment. Most of them want to follow the path of cultivation, become true adepts as quickly as possible, and then plunge headfirst into the eternal wars.”
There was silence. Hadjar had forgotten when the last time he’d just sat around like this, without any urgency, had been. Although, even now, he was pondering hundreds of ways to quickly leave Underworld City. Somewhere out there, above his head, the small, frightened girl who had such a familiar name was waiting for him. He would not let little Serra down.
“Well.” Paris slapped his knees, rose from the pillow he’d been sitting on, and disappeared into the next room. He soon returned with an old, battered Ron’Jah.
“Please play, Hadjar, and then we can discuss our business.”
No one doubted that Paris had invited them to his home for a reason.
Hadjar carefully touched the strings. He tuned them by ear — such a forgotten and alien movement. He moved his fingers along the leather-covered, oval base of the instrument. He sat down so that he could lay the Ron’Jah across his knee. It seemed like the last time he’d played one was in a past life...
“Alas, I’ve forgotten almost all the songs,” Hadjar said apologetically.
It was the truth. Back when his neural network had still worked, he hadn’t bothered to memorize lyrics and notes. Now, after so many years, he could barely remember the music and the words that accompanied it.
Computing module is currently rebooting…
Approximate time until completion is...
“‘Almost’ is a good word,” Paris said. “Play the ones you remember.”
Hadjar nodded and began to play. It was strange, but he could only clearly remember the song his mother had used to sing to him in his childhood. The song about the Black General. About how the Black General had been killed by the God of War because he’d wanted to help a person become a god, and how he came back from the dead to plunge half the world into darkness. He killed demons and gods alike, he was the enemy of the Jasper Emperor, and the death of all things.
Hadjar liked this song. It exuded a nobility that he thought was sometimes lacking under the Evening Stars.
Chapter 347
The song ended and Hadjar put the Ron’Jah away. He regretted doing so: ten minutes of playing music had aroused a half-forgotten sensation in him. He’d enjoyed playing the instrument as much as he enjoyed fighting.
“A good song,” Paris nodded, pouring another glass of wine. “I’ve never heard about the Black General.”
“We don’t mention him often on the islands, either,” Einen agreed, “only in children’s horror stories, or as an example of what not to do.”
“My mother often sang it to me during my childhood,” Hadjar shrugged.
“Oh, well, that explains a lot,” Einen nodded, and, not giving Hadjar a chance to get outraged, turned to their host. “Honorable Paris, I don’t mean to reject your hospitality, but why did you invite us here?”
Apparently, the islander, just like Karissa, didn’t like wasting time on idle politeness. Hadjar, on the contrary, enjoyed small talk. He got to experience it far too rarely for his liking.
Paris, without finishing his wine, set the glass aside. He wiped his lips clean with the edge of his sleeve and waved his hand to close the door and shutters. It was a simple gesture for him, but Hadjar nearly choked on his wine. No one in Lidus was capable of such a feat!
“To begin with, it was I who immersed you in the Green Prison solution,” Paris admitted instantly.
Hadjar and Einen tensed. Their hands involuntarily reached for their weapons, but the law of hospitality stayed their hand. Harming a welcoming host meant cursing oneself and one’s family with a mark of dishonor. Only a beast, not a human being, would be capable of biting a hand extended in generosity.
“During that time, I had to examine your bodies. Frankly, I’ve never seen such... strong practitioners. You are as mighty as Heaven Soldiers at the middle stage in terms of power. Such an achievement obviously inspires respect, and even a bit of fear. I don’t think that there are any monsters in the Pit that can truly threaten your lives.”
“Which means the upcoming year won’t be that difficult,” Einen summe
d up. It was obvious that he no longer liked the welcoming Researcher.
“Of course,” Paris agreed, handing the hookah’s mouthpiece to the islander. He hesitated a bit, but then accepted it. “You can freely spend the year engaging in meaningless battles against weak opponents, gaining nothing from them.”
“Life has taught me something…” Hadjar looked into the Researcher’s eyes, “Such words are usually followed by a ‘but’.”
“You’re right,” Paris nodded. “I advised you to visit the auction for a reason.”
“The experience really expanded our horizons and-”
“No, no, no,” the Researcher cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t do that, Hadjar. Don’t try to seem stupid. You saw everything with your own eyes.”
Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. They’d both heard about the hunters of the Research Chamber. Besides, where did all the artifacts that were brought to the House of the Hundred Coins come from? Where did the animals in the Pit, which couldn’t just spring up from beneath very thick stone and sand, come from? Obviously, someone had brought them all here.
“What are you hinting at, honorable Paris?” Hadjar asked a little officially.
“You have a choice.” The Researcher took the hookah out of his mouth and exhaled a thick cloud of sweet smoke. “You can live an empty and boring year, or you can test yourselves against the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand, facing the kinds of dangers and trials that hundreds of songs and legends are composed about.”
Einen and Hadjar thought about it. Hadjar had already experienced what it was like to be the inspiration for songs and legends. He hadn’t gotten anything out of his fame, and he never sought it, which, probably, greatly distinguished him from most of the other practitioners and cultivators. Therefore, he didn’t care about fame.
He was more interested in an opportunity to escape. This would give him at least a slim chance to leave Underworld City before his year was up. Moreover, the unexplored regions of the Sea of Sand appealed to him as well. Previously, when he’d been the Mad General, Hadjar could easily disregard all resources and ingredients. However, the further he moved along the path of cultivation, the more clearly he realized that just talent wasn’t enough. The pace of his cultivation had slowed down, not quickened.
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