Holding the piece of cloth in front of him, Einen drew a map on the ground, and then indicated the squad and the area marked by old Rahaim on it.
After a few seconds of silence, someone Hadjar hadn’t expected to interject laughed skeptically.
“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Glen swung his saber over the marked area and looked at the people around him, “You, quite coincidentally, have had a map of this region all this time, and then you remembered you had it at the exact moment we decided to leave the route that leads toward the marked area.”
Glen stuck the saber in the center of the marked area, where, according to Rahaim, the entrance to the lost city was. It would seem that the Baliumian was rather quick-witted.
“Glen has a point,” Karissa nodded. “Of all those present, except for Hadjar, I know you better than anyone, Einen. Tell me, where did you get that map?”
“An old acquaintance gave it to me,” the islander shrugged. “He didn’t know that it’s a map. He still probably has no idea what it is.”
The residents of Underworld City looked at each other.
“Please tell me you don’t believe him,” Glen swore. “I’ve been able to smell bullshit from a mile away since the day I was born, and, by the gods, baldy’s little story reeks of it.”
“Do you perhaps have a fondness for it?” Hadjar couldn’t resist asking.
“Let me show you how much,” Glen growled, raising his saber.
“That’s enough,” Ramukhan stopped their argument. “I also can’t say I believe this map is legitimate.”
Hadjar and Einen looked at each other. If they failed to convince the squad of the map’s authenticity, the upcoming journey would get very complicated. Moreover, the map really was genuine. Rahaim had thought so, at least. And there wasn’t a single person who knew more about Mage City than the old man in the whole Sea of Sand.
“We can all sense a lie,” Hadjar said, “but no one can recognize it better than the World River.”
Einen nodded and pulled out his dagger.
“I swear,” he said, making a cut on his palm, “that this map is accurate. I got it from an acquaintance. I’m also not planning to do anything evil to the people gathered here by showing them the map.”
Einen’s blood flashed, and then the cut healed up, leaving a small scar behind. It would disappear in time or when they reached the marked area. One way or another, the World River had accepted Einen’s oath. It hadn’t turned his soul into a column of flame that had burned the islander to death from the inside, after all.
“Damn it,” Glen swore again. “Believe me, we’ll regret it if we listen to these two.”
“What other options do we have, Glen?” Ramukhan asked. These two had managed to become friends over the past couple of months. “Wander aimlessly through the Demon’s Heart while waiting for the comets? Thousands of other seekers are doing just that. Can you guarantee that we won’t come across someone we can’t handle? Or even Sankesh himself?”
“Can you guarantee that this map won’t lead us directly to him? Maybe Einen and Hadjar are his faithful dogs. Don’t forget that they served under Rahaim’s command. You said that he devoted his whole life to searching for the city. Don’t you find this coincidence a bit too... convenient?”
Ramukhan wanted to answer him, but stayed silent. He looked at Einen. The islander sighed tiredly, and ran the dagger across his hand a second time.
“I swear that I don’t serve Sankesh and I’m not a spy.”
Once again, the islander didn’t turn into a pillar of fire.
“We can quibble over his words for an eternity,” Hadjar decided it was time to put a little pressure on the others, “or we can pull ourselves together and keep going.”
They sat in the shadow of the jungle. It was so dark that the world around them had been plunged into a caustic twilight. In such an environment, many travelers could lose their nerve. Hadjar’s hint that the others were being cowardly worked.
Ramukhan rose and gave the signal for them to pack up.
“If we find nothing but trees and corpses there, then both of you won’t have the right to speak until the end of the campaign.”
That was fair. Neither Hadjar nor Einen argued with this condition.
They joined Glen in the vanguard, and the squad started moving farther into the depths of the oasis. They led their camels along, which got very nervous when they spotted a huge snake slithering along the branches above their heads, or when they heard a winged monster flying through the sky and singing a hunting song, its shadow covering a vast area.
They pushed on for about two more days, when suddenly, the jungle ended. Rather, it parted, revealing some ruins buried in golden sand.
“It seems we are on the right path,” Hadjar smiled.
He wanted to mock Glen a bit, but instead grabbed the hilt of Mountain Wind. His senses had alerted him to the presence of an enemy so powerful that even after advancing to a new stage, Hadjar didn’t think he could defeat them.
“The right path,” a vaguely familiar voice sounded.
A wind blew. It was making the sand whirl around them, which didn’t allow them to look around. It was no surprise that they didn’t immediately notice the figure standing on one of the small dunes.
It was a woman of medium height. Her body was hidden by a light steel breastplate. Her tattered caftan skirt fluttered in the wind. Her sharp facial features were emphasized by a tattoo that stretched from her left to her right ear. Around the warrior, leaving behind blurred trails, three purple spheres floated. She also had a broadsword in a scabbard at her waist.
“The King of the Desert invites you, Hadjar Darkhan, to negotiate with him,” Sankesh’s daughter said. “In an hour, six miles north of here. Come alone.”
The wind brought her last words to them, since Rahaim and Ilmena’s murderer had already disappeared among the sands.
Chapter 369
After a brief argument, Hadjar set out. He made Einen promise not to hide in the shadows. He was sure that Sankesh would easily detect the islander’s presence.
He also left Azrea back at the camp. The tigress, contrary to his expectations, didn’t try to resist. Poking her head out lazily, she’d sniffed at Tilis, snorted, and then jumped into Karissa’s lap.
Habitually checking whether his sword’s scabbard was tightly fastened to his belt, Hadjar went to the meeting place. Along the way, he examined the ruins. The ancient stone buildings, almost completely hidden within the sand dunes, weren’t all that amazing. This could’ve been a simple border city or fort. The only thing that really drew his attention was the obvious difference between these buildings and the architecture of the modern desert cities. However, they’d been here for many hundreds of thousands of years, forgotten by the gods, allowing the sands to slowly immerse them in eternal oblivion.
“I’m surprised you came.”
Sankesh’s daughter appeared out of the sand, almost copying how Einen did it. However, Hadjar easily sensed her approach in advance, unlike Einen’s. Or maybe his transition to a new stage of cultivation was why he’d been able to notice her. He hadn’t had enough time to determine the limits of his new abilities yet.
“You’ve gotten stronger since our last meeting,” the girl said. An unnatural power was emanating from the purple spheres floating around her. It was surely an artifact. “And dumber.”
“Courage is often confused with stupidity,” Hadjar shrugged.
“And vice versa,” the warrior agreed. “My father is quite fond of you. Every day, we discuss where to put your head in our palace back in the Pearl of the Sands.”
“In Rahaim’s palace, you mean,” Hadjar corrected.
He noticed how the girl’s eyes narrowed with an oddly casual indifference. She put her hand on the hilt of her broadsword, but didn’t draw it.
“If you talk to him like that, you certainly won’t live to see today’s sunset.”
“I don’t understand
why you’re so worried about my safety.”
Suddenly, the girl’s lips widened in a predatory grin.
“Little Serra talks about you all the time. It’ll be a shame if she doesn’t get to see my father skin you alive and leave you to rot in the sun with her own eyes.”
Now Hadjar’s hand involuntarily reached for Mountain Wind, but his mind took control of his body just in time. He’d learned some important information right then: Serra wasn’t with Sankesh at the moment...
“I wouldn’t rot, I’d languish,” Hadjar corrected her.
They made the rest of the trip in silence. About fifteen minutes later, high, white tents appeared. Soldiers scurried between them, dressed in armor with the solar emblem. Hadjar had wondered how they withstood the heat while wearing so much steel, but now he could feel a stream of energy in their arms.
Sankesh was a wealthy and far-sighted general, who gave artifact armor to even his common soldiers. Admittedly, he probably didn’t have any ordinary and weak soldiers in his army.
Walking through the camp, Hadjar got a lot of sidelong glances. In his simple caftan, old shoes, and shabby turban, he stood out sharply against the backdrop of the military fortification. To be honest, he felt a bit of nostalgia. About three years had passed since he’d commanded his own military camp.
Without wasting any time, Hadjar counted the number of tents and weapon racks. According to his modest estimates (he was really missing the neural network’s help right then), there were at least six hundred soldiers in the camp. Each of them possessed an aura ranging from at least the highest stage of Formation to the Transformation level.
Computing module is currently rebooting…
Approximate time until completion is…
These six hundred soldiers were a very formidable army. With them alone, Hadjar could’ve captured the entirety of Balium in a week. He sensed the echo of the auras of several Heaven Soldiers, so it would’ve taken him even less time.
Soon, all his calculations stopped. Compared to their commander, everyone else seemed unimportant, like a smoldering coal in the presence of a forest fire.
Sankesh lived up to his reputation. He sat at a strong oak table. His tan arms were as thick as Hadjar’s thighs, and Hadjar wasn’t exactly flimsy.
As for armor, the King of the Desert wore only gold bracers, greaves, and a chainmail skirt. His winged helmet lay next to him. His long, black hair lay on his shoulders, which looked like boulders that had been torn from a cliff. Nearby, set against the table, was his halberd, clearly something he was proud of and flaunting. One glance at the weapon was enough to determine its titanic weight. Propping up his square jaw with his fist, Sankesh was indifferently observing the commotion in the camp.
“Father,” the female warrior fell to her right knee and looked down. “I’ve fulfilled your order. This is Hadjar Darkhan, with whom you’ve expressed a desire to talk.”
Hadjar didn’t know what a normal relationship between a father and daughter was like in the desert, but he suspected that it wasn’t this servile and official.
“You can go, Arliksha,” Sankesh nodded.
Well, Hadjar now knew the name of Ilmena’s and Rahaim’s murderer.
Arliksha, still not looking up, walked backwards for at least thirty feet. Only then did she turn around and disappear among the tents.
There were no guards around Sankesh. That immediately caught Hadjar’s eye because it was so unusual. Propriety, if nothing else, demanded that the head of the army went everywhere with his personal bodyguards.
“They’re in there,” Sankesh pointed behind him with his thumb. “They couldn’t bear the heat, and their religion forbids them from wearing my emblem.”
Hadjar looked at the huge tent embroidered with gold, amber, and diamond threads. At its entrance hung the skin of a desert lion, a creature so fierce that it was often mentioned in children’s horror stories.
Now it was clear what had made the scars that covered the Spirit Knight’s hands and that his powerful body couldn’t heal.
“Northerners,” Sankesh sighed again. He looked like a bored giant who couldn’t force himself to care about an ant making a fuss. “I miss their winters sometimes. The ones you get in Lidus, compared to their snowy months, are as hot as our midday.”
Hadjar had heard about the northern regions of the Empire, the countries that lay behind the Misty Mountains. People said that it’s so cold there that water turns into snow, and spilled blood turns to ice. The people there were so harsh that a sword could be broken against their souls. The area was simply too brutal and dead. Those who survived there had little in common with people and were more like animals. Of course, if South Wind’s stories were true.
“Sit down, Northerner.” Sankesh said his nickname with an undisguised grin.
Hadjar sat.
Following the laws of hospitality that the King of the Desert had showed him, Hadjar removed his sword and scabbard from his belt. He set them on the table, and then sat next to them.
“I’ve asked around about you, Hadjar Darkhan.” Sankesh’s almost black eyes were full of indifference. He didn’t care who was sitting in front of him — Hadjar or a stone. “The Mad General of Lidus, now presumed to be dead. The rebel, the criminal, and a kingslayer, whom Primus’ daughter killed. It’s such a beautiful, but oh so illogical tale. Tell me, is she your sister?”
Hadjar remained silent. Despite his huge, muscular frame (Sankesh was probably about six and a half feet tall), this monster possessed a keen intellect. He was a Spirit Knight after all.
“Perhaps when I become a god, I’ll visit your kingdom. I wonder what it’s like to take a dragon’s sister by force.”
If Hadjar had been susceptible to such a simple trick, he would’ve long ago met his forefathers in their house.
“I’m afraid that not all gods can boast about being very potent. I remember the story of the god of wine, who wasn’t able to… boast in front of the fertility goddess. Regardless of how hard she tried to help him...”
Well, one thing was certain. Hadjar had managed to get Sankesh’s attention. The indifference in his dark eyes gave way to anger, the way a person reacted when a mosquito suddenly bit them. It wasn’t painful, but still irritating.
They grabbed their weapons simultaneously. Their auras exploded and turned the nearby tents into shreds of rugged fabric.
Chapter 370
Hadjar, even after releasing his full power, still felt the pressure of an aura so immense that it was difficult for him to breathe. Sankesh, who’d looked like an ordinary man until a moment ago, turned into a wild monster. He radiated the same bestial aura that Azrea’s mother had once had.
Sankesh’s first and only instinct was to subdue and destroy. There were no deals or compromises to be made with him. The might of his halberd was the only law he obeyed.
This wasn’t a man, but a beast wearing the skin of a bronze giant. His power fell like an ocean bearing down on Hadjar. Fierce and unwavering, it pinned him to the ground, as immovable as a mountain. It thundered against Hadjar’s flimsy defenses, which hadn’t even reached the level of a true cultivator yet.
Sankesh’s elite warriors fled from the area where the two almost bestial auras raged. One of them was like a vast sky, and it was trying to crush a small flash of power that was akin to a tiny island compared to the former.
They, who were merely simple practitioners, would be destroyed by such a pressure. It wouldn’t just stop their hearts, but also turn them into bone dust and pulped mounds of flesh.
Hadjar felt like a brave ant stuck beneath the foot of a cruel child. A child with a beastly grin, bringing its foot down harder to try and smear the struggling bug across the sand.
Sankesh’s face didn’t so much as twitch. Only his dark eyes had stopped being human and turned into a beast’s. While blood trickled down Hadjar’s face and he shook like a leaf in the wind, the King of the Desert was still sitting quietly in his chair.
D
eep cracks appeared along the length of the oak table due to the echo of the two auras. Splinters flew around like arrows. The warriors moved even farther away — no one wanted to inadvertently end up with a deadly thorn in their eye socket.
“Father!” Arliksha suddenly cried out. “Calm down, father.”
Sankesh turned to his daughter, who was on one knee. She was in the midst of their ‘battle’, but she was still at ease. It was as if her father’s monstrous aura didn’t affect her at all.
“You are right, daughter,” the King of the Desert said. “The laws of hospitality are on your side today, dragon.”
The pressure vanished, and Hadjar, like a drowning man who’d washed ashore, breathed in deeply. He wiped away the blood on his face and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. Sankesh, however, merely took his hand away from his halberd and continued to gaze lazily at the camp.
By the gods, if not for Arliksha’s intervention, Hadjar wouldn’t have lasted even a minute longer. Maybe if he’d used the Call, he could’ve endured for another minute and a half. In the presence of a strong Spirit Knight, his talent with the sword had been worth almost nothing. Admittedly, if it hadn’t been for his talent, he would have died the moment Sankesh had released his power.
“A dragon,” Sankesh snorted. “I am called the Executioner of Cities, the Terror of the Desert, the Demon of the Sands. But you are a ‘dragon’. This world isn’t very fair, is it, Hadjar Darkhan?”
Hadjar couldn’t believe his ears. Was this man’s negative attitude toward him based on... envy? Or his wounded pride? By the Evening Star! Sankesh no longer seemed like a man who didn’t care about anyone’s opinion but his own.
“You know, we’ve led similar lives,” Sankesh continued. “Both you and I were slaves and exiled from our own countries.”
Hadjar had heard rumors about Sankesh’s past from the caravan’s passengers. As a child, he’d been sold as a slave to the ‘real northerners’. To Darnassus. There, he’d grown up and become a warrior, and then a general. He’d even fought in the war for the throne of his tribe and... won. A slave from the desert then became one of the kings of the North! It was an unbelievable story, one told even in Darnassus itself.
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