Gritting his teeth, Hadjar sent a stream of his will at the haze, causing it to thicken and condense. It responded with fierce resistance. Harnesses the color of steel and sky rushed toward Hadjar. They tightened around him, binding him.
There was neither time nor air in this world, but nonetheless, it was becoming harder for Hadjar to breathe with every passing second. The haze was crushing him, forcing him to retreat and accept defeat. It whispered to him, telling him that it would be so easy to take a step back and remain a strong practitioner, one able to fight weak cultivators — an accomplishment that many nations and peoples would sing songs and tell legends about.
Hadjar responded to its whispers with a new stream of his will. It continued to grind down and torment the haze, and Hadjar felt a muffled pain. In this struggle, only one person was suffering — Hadjar himself. Some would’ve said that this was a stupid way to go about things. However, such a person would forever remain at a practitioner’s level, and new horizons would forever be unattainable for them. Losing such a battle meant eternal stagnation and being stuck in place.
The path of cultivation didn’t tolerate people who stumbled about aimlessly, only those who could walk resolutely forward, step by step, in spite of any dangers and threats in their way.
The haze increased its resistance. The harnesses that had entangled Hadjar began to assume the form of elastic swords. They cut into his flesh, causing red blood to spill out into the vast darkness, looking like falling stars.
Back in the real world, vortices of energy circled Hadjar as he sat in the lotus position. This caused a commotion in the camp.
“Karissa, hide this idiot,” Ramukhan ordered. “Because of him, other hunters will come here. Tilis, put a spell up.”
Tilis, nodding to her boss, began to whisper a spell. Her staff shone softly, and a wall of flickering air rose up around the camp. Her spell was much stronger than what Shakh’s squad had put up. From the outside, the clearing now looked like a swamp teeming with snakes and vile toads.
Karissa walked up to Hadjar, but stumbled at Einen’s warning glare.
“The amulet,” she reminded him, “doesn’t just protect us from strangers, but also vice versa.”
The islander glanced at the blue amulet on his hand and stepped aside.
“If something happens to him, I’ll know who to blame,” Einen said, slightly pushing the tip of his spear out from his staff.
Karissa just rolled her eyes.
“I have no reason to harm him, nor do I want to.”
She took out a long, red amulet from her book and, holding it between her index and ring finger, whispered something. A whirlwind of her own energy made her clothes flutter. Dozens of smaller amulets began to fly out of the red amulet. They whirled in a scarlet dance around Hadjar, gradually turning into a red dome that kept his energy contained inside of it.
“I trust you more than them,” Karissa added, after she was convinced that the barrier was reliable. It covered Hadjar with a dome of energy, and hid his attempts to advance to the next stage from the outside world.
“Why?”
“Because you have the amulets, but they don’t.”
With these parting words, the witch returned to the fire. Einen noticed how closely Salif’s boy was watching what was happening. Once, in his childhood, the islander had fallen into the lair of poisonous snakes. He’d felt safer there than during these recent months. Looking at the scarlet dome, he whispered:
“Good luck.”
At that moment, Hadjar, who was still meditating deeply, couldn’t hear his friend’s well-wishes, but for a moment, it became easier for him to breathe. As if a bit of some foreign power had slightly loosened the harnesses, allowing the unequal battle to continue.
Using his most secret reserves, Hadjar formed a colorless wave of his will for the second time. It, once again covering the haze, made it contract for a couple of seconds, but then the haze responded with tenfold resistance.
The haze threw Hadjar back. He seemed to fly an almost infinite distance through the infinite void, and then finally skidded along the ‘ground’. The harnesses had left deep cuts along his body. The blood flowing out of them was actually the energy of his own soul. It was a paradox — by trying to advance further, he was killing himself by forcing his willpower to fight against his subconscious.
“Well then.” Wiping away the red moisture on his lips, Hadjar stood up.
He straightened up and extended his hand in front of him. The darkness surrounding him began to tremble slowly, creating waves that looked like the surface of a disturbed lake.
Gathering together all of his remaining power, will, and knowledge, Hadjar formed a sword in front of him. It didn’t look like Moon Beam or Mountain Wind. It resembled the old, shabby wooden sword that he’d used on a makeshift dummy in his own chambers when he’d been a child growing up in the Palace. It was then that a burning desire had arisen in him, an irresistible need to go forward. Beyond the horizon. This need was why he’d come here, to the darkness of his subconscious, to force himself to do what he desired. Not everyone, whether they were a practitioner or a simple peasant, were capable of such a feat.
The sword that formed in front of Hadjar, though wooden, still emitted a terrifying aura. It felt like an army was imprisoned within it. There was a drumbeat, a clang of metal hitting shields, the neighing of horses, and the cries of people. They were eager for battle and ready to fight to break through to their shared dream.
The haze sent out more harnesses. This time, however, they didn’t reach for Hadjar, but formed the exact same sword. The drumming was replaced by the weeping of widowed spouses. The neighing of horses — by the howling of parents whose children hadn’t come back from a war. The cries of the people were no longer filled with passion, but with the agony of death.
With a loud ‘Ha!’ Hadjar directed his blade at the haze. It responded with its own attack.
The two swords crossed in the middle of the darkness. Hadjar felt guilty for all the soldiers he’d led to their deaths. The guilt bore down on him like a mountain, forcing his knees to bend and his shoulders to lower. His wooden sword weakened beneath the onslaught of its copy made from dust. When the wooden sword cracked, Hadjar’s eyes flashed a bright azure.
“No,” he growled, clenching his fists, “they all chose their own path. Like I chose mine.”
Slowly, he rose, straightening his back and unbending his legs. His wooden sword got stronger and filled with power. With each exhalation, it became more defined. The wood disappeared, exposing the sharp steel beneath, which had black dragons painted along its length.
“I see my path.” His every word was like a hammer striking an anvil. “I know who I am. I’m Hadjar Darkhan. Desert Wind Blowing from the North. Regardless of whoever or whatever stands in my way — mountains and rivers, seas and oceans, empires and legions, gods or demons alike — I’ll reach my goal. Because that is how I choose to live my life.”
His palm merged with the steel sword. Together, they stabbed the haze and got lost in it. A whirlwind of energy raged inside the dark world.
Opening its eyes, the little dragon stretched lazily and, grabbing the black blade, rushed into the white whirlwind.
Chapter 367
“Damn it,” Karissa swore.
Sitting in front of the red dome, she opened her book and began to chant something. With every word she uttered, new scarlet hieroglyphs flew out from the pages. They fastened themselves to the spots on the dome where long cuts gaped. Through them, energy the color of steel kept pouring out. Taking the form of blades, it was cutting through everything around it.
There were leaves cut down from trees scattered about everywhere, along with pieces of bark and wood chips. The grass had also been almost completely mowed.
“What the hell is going on?” Ramukhan came up to them.
A stream of the energy, having cut through the dome, struck directly at the sorcerer. He lazily waved his staff at
it. The ghostly blade split apart and turned into flickering dust that disappeared before it touched the ground.
“The barbarian is moving on to the next stage,” Karissa explained and then resumed trying to suppress the steel energy.
She commanded the talismans tirelessly. They kept attaching themselves to the dome, but new gaps were appearing just as quickly.
“Do practitioners normally produce such a whirlwind of power?” Ramukhan asked.
“No,” Einen answered.
Tilis was also intrigued by what was happening. She got up and came closer. She was met with the same thing Ramukhan had been greeted by —an attack from a transparent blade.
“By the Evening Stars,” Salif gasped. “I’ve only seen something like this once before, when one of the Sage’s disciples advanced to the level of a true cultivator.”
Silence filled the clearing. Everyone, even the boy, watched Karissa struggle against a whirlwind of energy being emitted by a simple practitioner. However, his power still exceeded the might of practitioners that were breaking through to the level of a Heaven Soldier.
Hadjar was lost in a timeless void. Scenes from his past flew by before him. He saw himself back in the distant world he’d been born in. The children from the orphanage were mocking him.
He saw the hospital on the hilltop. People came to him only to use him as a silent listener. Only one guy, who’d recently emerged from a coma, was an exception. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten his name.
He saw South Wind’s and the Master’s faces. He heard his mother’s songs and his father’s laughter. He looked into his sister’s eyes, sat on uncle Primus’ shoulders... Then he was holding his dying mother in his arms, and Primus stood above them, gripping her still beating heart.
Like the fragments of a broken kaleidoscope, they danced around him until Hadjar, gritting his teeth, swung at them with his blade. Enraged, he crushed his own past, allowing his old soul to shed its too tight skin and slip into a new, more convenient one, like a snake.
He didn’t know how much time had passed during this struggle. The fragments of the past cut him even deeper than the haze’s harnesses had as they carved into his very soul.
Suddenly, after his attack, Hadjar fell. He fell for ten heartbeats. Despite the fact he’d been expecting some profound changes, he found himself in the same darkness, and saw all the same objects: the curled up dragon, the blade hanging in emptiness, and... The haze. Except now it wasn’t formless.
It was still difficult to say what form it would take, but its outlines were clearer now. Hadjar managed to discern the mystical images lurking within it. It had become denser. The space that it had previously occupied was now empty.
Hadjar emerged from his deep meditation and found himself in the World River. Drawing power from it, he nourished his ‘new soul’, which, in fact, turned out to just be a new skin for his old shell. The old one didn’t suit him anymore. It had interfered with everything, constraining his movements and thoughts, had made him look at things the old way, even hold his blade the same way as when he’d been just a child. Now that he was an adult warrior who’d survived hundreds of battles and seen something that many never got to experience in their entire lifetime, he needed a new... new Hadjar. Not one created by his past, parents, or country, but forged by his own will and desires in the crucible of the dangers that he’d faced, in the millstone of the fate that he’d chosen for himself, in the shadow of the mistakes he’d made, hardened by the successes, anxieties, and experiences he’d gone through, boldly overcoming all obstacles and difficulties.
In the outside world, the whirlwind of power subsided, and when the next amulet took its place on the scarlet dome, no other gaps appeared.
Karissa, wiping away the sweat on her forehead, moved aside. She leaned back against a tree that had been torn into by ghostly blades, and, closing her book, hung it back on her belt.
“Where did this barbarian come from?” She asked breathlessly. “Gods and demons, I’ve never encountered anything like this before.”
Ramukhan and Tilis were about to answer something, when suddenly, a column of energy the color of steel soared into the sky from the center of the scarlet dome. Assuming the form of a giant blade, it cut the dome in half.
Hadjar stood with his back straight and looked ahead with free, unclouded blue eyes. A sword rested in his hand. It was a simple blade, but so heavy that each of its movements created small vortices of power which cut the grass, turning it into a green mess.
“Barbarian,” Tilis snorted and returned to her meditation by the fire.
“Next time,” Ramukhan said, stowing his staff and also returning to the fire, “Try to do your cultivation in a more peaceful place.”
Hadjar looked around and said: “I need some fresh air.”
He left the camp. This seemingly simple action made Tilis jump a little in surprise. Only three of the people present understood what Hadjar had just done. Without making the slightest bit of effort, he’d stepped over the spell. Of course, it was more a defensive barrier than an offensive spell, but it would’ve still been impossible for most practitioners who were on the verge of becoming a true cultivator to simply ignore it like that.
Karissa, Tilis, and Ramukhan chose not to comment on this, but they made a mental note about their companion’s power. Two of them reluctantly thanked the gods for the fact that this monster was on their side, and the third vowed to train harder. Until recently, she’d been confident in her abilities, but now...
Hadjar wasn’t aware of the concerns plaguing his fellow hunters. He only felt an urgent need to test his new power and, more importantly, his perception. Walking through the jungle, he felt that he... perceived the world around him more clearly. He could feel not just the presence of energy in every tree and every stone, but also how this energy flowed. In some places, it was like a roaring stream piercing mighty trunks, then disappearing back into the ground. In others, it was calm, as if crystallized, usually located inside boulders and stones.
Standing still, Hadjar closed his eyes. He ran his hand over Mountain Wind. Only now could he feel the difference between a simple sword and an artifact. It wasn’t anything to do with the sharpness of the blade, or what strength or power it possessed. The difference was in the energy it held inside.
Alas, Hadjar had nothing to compare it to. He felt a stream of energy inside Mountain Wind. Direct and simple, it thrummed inside the blade, creating a dissonance. Now Hadjar understood why his attacks had sometimes been weaker than he’d expected.
Hadjar unsheathed his sword. By sheer force of will, he directed his energy into the blade. An instant later, he got rid of the dissonance and swung his sword lightly. The attack that launched itself from the edge of his blade assumed the form of a visible crescent. After crossing a distance of eighty steps, it cut a tree and disappeared into the air.
According to South Wind’s stories, a Wielder was able to strike at a distance of fifty steps. Hadjar didn’t know exactly how, but Traves’ heart was clearly bearing fruit, which didn’t mean his own hard training and talent with the blade were useless. Unfortunately, his talent was limited.
Returning the sword to its scabbard, Hadjar went back to the camp.
Chapter 368
Compared to the Stone Trees oasis, Kurkhadan was like a small garden compared to a forest. For a week, the hunters of Underworld City explored the area, but didn’t come across anyone else.
Occasionally, they came across the traces of other seekers’ camps or even battlefields: felled trees, huge pits and ravines, scorched earth, and even disturbances in the streams of the World River.
Sitting near the fire, Ramukhan, Salif, and Glen discussed what they should do next.
“Perhaps we should return to the Demon’s Heart,” Glen complained, “We will find nothing but corpses here. Maybe we’re the only ones left in this place.”
“Why would we return to the black desert?” Ramukhan shrugged. “We will be like blind
kittens there.”
“All will be decided by the red comets.” Salif tried to hide it, but he was very tired from the journey. Only the fact that the boy was now carrying the old man on his own back made the situation somewhat bearable.
The old servant was right. It would only be a month and a half before the two red comets soared through the sky. The entrance to Mage City would be where their paths intersected. Moreover, according to most legends, the entrance would also open at that exact moment. However, that hadn’t stopped a huge number of seekers from participating in this dangerous adventure already. That was probably why Sankesh needed the key to the library, little Serra. She could, apparently, interpret the writing on the gate and open the entrance before the comets arrived.
“Once again, we find ourselves in a stupid position because of the barbarian,” Tilis commented.
Hadjar wanted to make a joke about the witch, him, and a stupid position, but he managed to bite his tongue. There was no need to antagonize her even further. The witch was already eager to duel him regularly with sharp words and remarks.
“Perhaps I can help.” Einen, who’d only spoken once this week, suddenly joined the conversation.
“What do you propose, islander?” Ramukhan asked arrogantly.
Over the past week, Einen had managed to not only recall Rahaim’s letter, but also decrypt it. The map that had belonged to the former desert sultan didn’t indicate the way to the entrance itself, but the region where it was located.
The Immortal, who was from these parts, but didn’t want to get involved in the race for the legacy of the past, had pointed them in the right direction. The area Rahaim had singled out covered nearly five thousand acres and was located about four days’ journey to the southeast.
“I’d wanted to keep this a secret,” Einen sat down next to the sorcerer and took a piece of cloth out of his pocket, “but here it is. A while ago, I received a letter encrypted in a special way. It immediately seemed familiar to me as it was what we normally used in my homeland.”
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