Stone Will

by Kirill Klevanski

  So, to put it simply, the officer had fallen into a hole that didn’t contain mere riches, but a vein of ore whose cost exceeded the total value of the whole kingdom.

  “How big is the vein?”

  They had no reason to rejoice quite yet, maybe there wasn’t much ore there. Possibly less than nothing. No one would set up a whole mine there for the sake of four or five pounds. A couple of miners with a military escort would be sent there. They would then bring the ore back to the treasury.

  “It’s no less than 6 miles deep and a bit less than 250 feet wide.”

  Everyone quieted down. Only South Wind closed his eyes slightly, and then said, “No less than a thousand tons, then. It’s useless to measure its value in gold or in the Azure Coins of the Empire... It's just useless. I don’t know how much such a vein could even cost.”

  “It’s priceless,” the King concluded. “And we have to do something about it, right now. To begin with, anyone who breathes even a word of this to outsiders will automatically become an enemy of the Kingdom. No one will be leaving the room until they take a blood oath.”

  No one argued, despite the fact that a blood oath was a rather serious thing to bind yourself to. If a person went back on their word, all the blood in their body instantly caught fire. As a result, their death was terrible and very painful.

  “Primus, have your soldiers and that officer already taken the oath?”

  “Immediately after the discovery,” the Warlord nodded.

  Haver sighed with relief. Such news could attract vultures from all around the world. And there were at least a dozen kingdoms, equally strong or even superior to Lidus, that might’ve tried something. Not to mention the family clans and sects.

  “I wouldn’t be so happy if I were you, Haver,” Primus said. He was the only person in the Kingdom who could say something like that with impunity. “There’s no way we’ll be able to mine this vein and keep it secret from everyone.”

  “We will station a garrison there, build a fortress around it. Each soldier will be handpicked and all of them will take the blood oath.”

  “The Warlord is right,” South Wind said. “It’ll take at least a month to build a fort. The construction will draw attention, everyone will immediately be interested in it—in why Lidus needs a powerful stronghold so far from the border.”

  “It's not that far...”

  “Four days, if you ride at a gallop,” Primus shook his head. “All our outposts are two days away, by road. And this is twice as close.”

  There was now a heavy, oppressive silence in the room. The situation was a tricky one—they had the wealth, but it was impossible to get to it. They could easily lose their lives and the whole Kingdom if they make a single misstep.

  “And what do you suggest?” Haver leaned back and looked pensive.

  “We could appeal to ‘The Black Gates’ for help,” South Wind suggested.

  “Stop talking about these ‘Gates’ already,” the Master snapped. “It’s not their prey. We need to go to the Emperor. We’ll be sending him a tribute next week anyway.”

  “Go to the Emperor,” Haver repeated. “To the Emperor, you say, Honorable Master? And do you know that The Darnassus Empire is currently at war with the Lascan Empire?”

  Everyone there looked at each other. They hadn’t heard the news. Only the King and Queen were aware of such nuances of the world’s politics.

  “Can you imagine what’ll happen if the Emperor finds out about this vein? One of his armies will be sent here! And how many warriors does his army have? One hundred and twenty or one hundred and thirty million? Even if he decides not to install some Governors here, how will we feed them all? Our forests will be completely cut down during their construction. Our cities will lose all their fields and reserves. The whole southern region will be ravaged. And that is the best case scenario, and what might happen in the worst… If worst comes to worst, ordinary people will be sent to do forced labor. They’ll be turned into slaves and taken away, and the Imperial Governors will come here. This already happened with one of the other kingdoms, do you remember, Primus?”

  The Warlord looked at the dumbfounded Queen and nodded.

  “I remember, brother, I remember.”

  “I would like to point out, my King,” one of the Dukes said. “That despite the possible devastation of the area, we will still thrive and…”

  “Shut your mouth, Duke, before I shut it for you.”

  A palpable menace emanated from the King and the speaker instantly subsided and turned pale.

  “Brother, calm down and think about this,” Primus insisted. ”Duke Remein has a point. Just think, what happens if we do give up this southern territory? There’s nothing wrong with that! We’ll get the peaceful times you and your wife covet so much. After all, who would dare attack us if the Emperor’s own army was stationed here? I’ve heard that all the senior officers are no weaker than the level of the Heaven Soldier. And the generals are the Spirit Knights.”

  The Spirit Knights—words that inspired awe and disbelief in the hearts of ordinary people. For many, this stage of cultivation was nothing more than a part of the tales told to children at night, to put them to sleep. It was difficult to imagine that such monsters could really be living under the same sky as ordinary people.

  “What are you trying to say, brother?”

  “We would gain a lot more than we’d lose. If we did it right, we’d be able to get no less than ten, maybe even fifteen percent of the production. Do you have any idea how much money that is? We’d finally be able to build new, large cities, establish schools and invite high-ranking instructors to teach there. Cultivators would flock here, hoping to make a profit or be recruited into the Imperial Army.”

  Primus looked intently at a point on the map, indicating the place where the Solar ore had come close to the surface.

  “We’ll be able to acquire Techniques and knowledge that we couldn’t have even dreamt of before. You and me, and the others as well… we’ll get a chance to become Heaven Soldiers. A chance to grasp eternity—to be eligible for the title of cultivators, no longer mere mortals!”

  “What must we sacrifice in return? The destinies of tens of millions of people?”

  “The destinies of poor ragamuffins! Of miserable rodents, wallowing in the mud! What are their lives compared to ours? They live for just a century, and no more. On top of that, at the age of fifty, they stop working the fields, they stop being of any use to us. They become useless parasites, ones that waste precious resources. The Kingdom would be better off without them!”

  “You forget yourself, brother!”

  “No, you forget yourself, Haver! How long can we endure the ceaseless raids of the nomads and the attacks of our neighbors? How long will we be forced to eke out our miserable existence? You don’t go to the Empire to pay tribute—I do! I’ve seen their ‘border villages’, which are richer and more beautiful than even our capital! I hate the ridicule of their petty nobles who don’t even consider us to be peasants! I’ve seen beardless boys who are several times stronger than me. Why? Because, from the day they’re born, they’re stuffed full of herbs that we don’t grow. They can buy drugs that we don’t know how to make. They’re taught Techniques we haven't even heard of!”

  “Are you worried about the Kingdom, or are you giving in to your envy?” Haver whispered, but the whisper was more powerful than most screams.

  Things got heated.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so blind, brother.”

  "I’m not blind." Haver shook his head. “But you are, Primus. Do you remember what our father used to say? The life of a single peasant, even if they’re old and infirm, is worth more than a dozen carts laden with gold. It is an honor to protect their lives. An honor worthy of a king.”

  “Father was weak and stupid, and so are you. That’s why he made you King instead of me.”

  Haver grabbed the hilt of his sword, but Elizabeth’s soothing touch stopped him. Sh
e merely shook her head and smiled warmly.

  The rage was gone from the King’s eyes, and his breathing was once more steady.

  “You said it yourself—he made me King. And my Royal decree is as follows—we bury the pit of the Solar ore. We won’t talk about it any further. We’ll continue to live our lives as if it had never existed. That is all.”

  Primus hit the table angrily and left the room. A good half of the Dukes followed him out.

  At that moment, Hadjar realized that he would have to train even harder (if that was even possible), because he had a gut feeling—it wouldn’t end so easily.

  Chapter 9

  Despite Hadjar’s fears, another year passed without incident. A few of his parents’ quarrels led to Elaine being moved to his chambers.

  Not because they didn’t have vacant rooms available, but because it would otherwise have been very difficult for their bodyguards to ensure their safety. Elizabeth had this weird thing about making sure they were safe.

  His five-year-old sister, was, in fact, a pain in the ass. She constantly followed him around like a puppy, which irritated the Master and South Wind. But, regardless, that nuisance was his sister, so the Prince endured it. And if the Prince could handle it, then the Scholar and the warrior had to put up with it as well.

  And now, after letting all the students who’d paid for their training go home, the Master started working with Hadjar.

  They stood on the parade ground.

  The Master, moving the blade forward, struck a pose that was vaguely reminiscent of a classic attack stance in fencing. It should be immediately noted that a sword, in Lidus, was short and narrow. It was about a yard in length, and about two or, at most, three fingers in width. The most interesting thing was the weight of the sword, which was concentrated not in the blade itself, but in the handle, thanks to a weighty pommel. The handguard was almost non-existent.

  It was easy to see that the Master’s Technique would be focusing on speed coupled with thrusts at a distance. The faster the attack, the more elements were added, the more impressive and damaging the attacks would be.

  Yesterday, Hadjar personally witnessed the Master behead 17 practice dummies, while remaining in one place. The dummies had been positioned in a semicircle around him, at a distance of 16 paces from the warrior. The local arts were true magic and they were amazing to behold.

  And, of course, Hadjar had tried to analyze what he’d seen, using his neural network, but it had once again complained about not having enough data to work with.

  “Move more smoothly,” the Master instructed, watching Hadjar’s movements. “But at the same time, move more swiftly as well.”

  They were practicing on the parade ground, leaving long, sandy furrows in their wake. From the outside, it might’ve seemed like just a slow, morning stretch. But in fact, they were practicing the basic Techniques.

  “Tell me the first three levels of these Techniques,” South Wind demanded.

  Today, the Scholar was sitting in the shade again. Fanning himself, he kept adjusting his gold, spacious clothes. They were an interesting mix of a robe and a dressing gown, belted with a wide strap.

  “The first is the level of Mortal, then the Spirit, and finally, the Earth.”

  The Scolar nodded and made a note in his scroll.

  “Can you learn the Spirit Technique?”

  “No,” Hadjar answered. “I need to reach the Heaven Soldier stage before I can do that.”

  “And that’s why a lot of people believe that a practitioner can only be considered a true cultivator once they reach the stage of the Heaven Soldier!”

  South Wind was often irritated when someone in the Palace called themselves a cultivator. In his opinion, most of them weren’t even close to it.

  While the Scholar was grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, the young but already beautiful Elaine was watching her big brother. She noted his black hair, gathered into a tight bun, and his blue eyes; she had a handsome brother. And he was moving around amusingly, a sword in hand.

  She’d seen her father moving around, too; he was swift and as sharp as a Death-Tiger. Hadjar floated through the air, moving his sword as if he were guiding a toy boat along the surface of a spring stream.

  “Tell me, Hadjar, how do you distinguish a Heaven Soldier from a simple warrior?” the Master asked suddenly.

  These kinds of questions were usually asked by the Scholar, not the warrior. Hadjar thought about it for a while, trying to find the catch.

  “The Heaven Soldier is able to fly, to summon fire and water. They’ve grasped eternity and can live for many thousands of years.”

  “That's right,” the old man nodded and stopped demonstrating the Technique.

  The Prince stopped practicing as well.

  “Now, look at this and tell me what you see.”

  The Master closed his eyes. His breathing became steady, and the sand under his feet suddenly started to spin, rising higher and higher into the air. A moment later, a faint, sandy tornado was whirling around the Master. It had been summoned by the swirl of unleashed force.

  [Urgent message! Activation of force has been detected in your vicinity!]

  He’d noticed that on his own. Sometimes, the neural network was more annoying than helpful. But, to the Prince’s surprise, that wasn’t the last message.

  [Expected power: 2 units!]

  I'm sorry, what?!

  Hadjar didn’t get a chance to think about what that message meant. The Master exhaled sharply and swung his sword. Suddenly, a fire sparrow appeared and, leaving a trail of smoke behind it, flew for about forty steps, then crashed into a wall, melting a section of it the size of a tennis ball.

  The Prince staggered back and instinctively raised his sword in a defensive position.

  Now he saw the Master in a completely different way.

  “Are you a Heaven Soldier?!”

  After a moment’s silence, the sound of two people laughing rang out. Both the old man in short training pants and the old man in the golden clothes were highly amused.

  “No, your Highness,” the Master shook his head. “I just showed you the Mortal Technique.”

  The Prince assessed the damage. Perhaps the tennis ball sized amount of damage to the wall didn’t look very impressive, but... Hadjar had seen something truly magical for the first time. Despite the fact that he’d been able to cut a dummy with his sword at a distance of three paces, he still sometimes found himself questioning everything around him.

  “Venerable Master,” Hadjar fell to his knees and lowered his forehead to the sand, “please, teach me!”

  The Master lifted the Prince back onto his feet immediately and shook him off. He didn’t want the Queen to see that her son was bowing to him.

  “Of course I’ll teach you, your Highness,” the old man smiled.

  He went over to a small chest, not far from the barrel that had been pivotal in Hadjar’s apprenticeship five years earlier.

  The old man put his hand on the lid and it opened. Neither untold treasures nor amazing artifacts were inside. There was only one old, battered scroll. The Master handed it to Hadjar.

  Having already given the order to record the scroll to his neural network, the Prince unrolled it.

  “The Scorched Falcon Technique”, Hadjar read. It was Volume One.

  The Scorched Falcon was one of the local fauna’s magical birds. Say, for example, that adult birds could’ve reached the Alpha Level. It was the equivalent of the Spirit Knight among people. One such Falcon, with its wingspan of twelve yards, could’ve burned down half of their Kingdom.

  [Recording information in the ‘Detailed description of Techniques’... A register of ‘The Scorched Falcon Technique’ has been established]

  “Is this the right scroll, Master?” Hadjar smiled a little devilishly. “I saw only a Fried Sparrow.”

  “Shame on you, your Highness,” the elder frowned. “You won’t find another scroll of the Mortal Techniq
ue in this entire Kingdom. I only have this one because I went on an amazing adventure in my youth. And it took me almost two centuries to comprehend it.”

  Hadjar read the contents of the scroll once more. There was little he understood, but, fortunately, the text was accompanied by detailed drawings. They showed the way in which he needed to circulate his energy, and through which nodes he needed to do it, in order to produce the ‘Fried Sparrow.’

  “Tell me, Prince,” South Wind spoke up again. “What kind of Technique is this?”

  “This is a Weapon Technique.”

  “And what other Techniques do you know?”

  “Besides the Weapon Technique?”

  The old man nodded, continuing to fan himself.

  Hadjar could answer this question even without the help of the neuronet. He remembered it easily enough.

  “I know of The Body Techniques, The External Energy Techniques and The Internal Energy Techniques.”

  “And do you now understand what they’re intended for?”

  The Prince looked at the scorched wall again.

  “Do the Techniques allow us to use the power of the higher stages?”

  “Not exactly, Your Highness,” the Scholar disagreed. “Mostly, they allow us to use our current level of power better. In other words, a Heaven Soldier doesn’t really need any Techniques to create fire.”

  “But if a Formation practitioner were to create it with the help of a Technique,” Hadjar continued, “then their fire would be stronger.”

  The Scholar and the Master exchanged glances.

  “I can say both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to that,” the Master sighed, scooping up the cup from the barrel. “The world of martial arts is complex and multifaceted, Your Highness. And you have yet to see even a true glimpse of it, let alone actually scratch the surface. Now, try to memorize the contents of the scroll. It’ll take you at least a year.”

  Hadjar nodded, very glad he had the neuronet since, as it turned out, it was quite useful. Thanks to it, he’d already remembered all of the contents, even the commas. Even if, admittedly, there were no punctuation marks in the local language...