Dragon Heart: Land of The Enemy. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 8

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar glanced to where it was likely going to strike. As any predator would, it, too, was aiming to get rid of the weakest member of the pack — Dora. She was free of the ice, but she was still too wounded to defend herself.

  Curse whoever made this vile thing!

  “Hey, asshole, over here!” Hadjar shouted.

  Taking a phial out of his spatial ring, he uncapped it with his teeth and poured its contents down his throat. The bitter concoction, one of Steppe Fang’s parting gifts, made him experience an incredible surge of energy. The wound on his leg didn’t heal, but he didn’t care about that right now. He felt no pain, only power. It was as if all the safety locks on his body had been removed, unleashing a torrent of unbridled power that flooded every cell of his being.

  The black dragon, writhing and pushing away from the ruins, covered a distance of hundreds of feet in a matter of seconds. It was now much faster than either of the Dinos siblings. Before it could figure out what was going on, the Spirit was forced to defend itself.

  The dragon coiled around it, shooting darkness out of its fanged maw. Hundreds of crescents merged together at great speed, sending forth a continuous stream of attacks that reduced the Spirit to a pile of dust. However, the moment it fell, it began to recover.

  At one point, the dragon stopped. Instead of attacking, it simply stared at the regenerating Spirit, and then disappeared. Hadjar emerged from the hole in the wall and rammed his shoulder into the Spirit’s chest, sending it over the edge and into the snowy abyss that lay below, but he also fell with it in the process.

  “Find me!” Echoed throughout the empty hall. “Find me!”

  Chapter 681

  “W ake up, North Wind...”

  The voice sounded both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, like when someone who you didn’t recognize but were certain you knew came up to you in the street to say hello.

  “Did they not teach you to avoid sleeping in the snow, little warrior? You’ll freeze to death if you do that, you know?”

  His head felt heavy. He spent a few moments struggling to open his eyes and look at his savior. However, there was no one there.

  “By the High Heavens,” he breathed.

  He remembered plummeting alongside the Spirit. His stunt had probably seemed suicidal to the others, but he’d had a plan. He wasn’t foolish enough to just jump to his death like that. When Tom’s arrow had brought down the wall, Hadjar had noticed a small ledge protruding from the wall just below it.

  And he’d landed on that very ledge. The Spirit, if he remembered correctly, had continued falling into the gorge. All he could do now was hope that the thing was finally dead and that the rest of the squad had heard him before he’d fallen.

  Had he said anything? He was sure that he’d told them to find him... He couldn’t remember, though. His head was a mess.

  As he turned to get a better look at his surroundings, he realized that he hadn’t landed on the ledge at all, but on a smooth, cold floor. He saw his tired eyes stare back at him in the bluish light. After his fight with Sunshine Sankesh, he’d acquired yet more scars. There was one on his cheekbone, one on his brow, and two on his forehead. His bright, blue eyes were a sharp contrast to his wild, black hair adorned with ornaments and orc feathers.

  Blinking, he realized that what he’d mistaken for polished marble was actually ice. Feeling his palms starting to hurt from the cold, he sat up and jumped to his feet. That is, he tried to.

  Sharp pain shot through his entire body. Gritting his teeth, he crawled over to the nearest pillar and pulled himself up. After a couple of seconds, he staggered backward — the pillar was just as cold as the floor. As was everything around him, actually. He was standing in the middle of a large hall. Looking around, he realized that he’d been wrong to presume that he was in a building covered in ice.

  “By the High Heavens...”

  As it turned out, the entire place was made from ice. Every bas-relief, every tile and its pattern, every window frame, every stained-glass window, the staircase and the balcony it led to, all of it was made from ice.

  Moreover, in front of the balustrade on the first floor, was a fountain. To someone less attentive than him, it would’ve seemed like a beautiful ice sculpture, except that it wasn’t. Instead of water, streams of molten Celestial Metal were being jetted into the air. Upon closer examination, he realized that a couple of streams were indeed made of ice, as if someone wanted to disguise the true purpose of the fountain.

  Hadjar didn’t know how this was possible. On top of that, he felt absolutely no energy anywhere near him. Looking through the World River also gave him no new information. All he knew was that he was in a hall made from ice, and the only exit seemed to be a staircase leading to the second floor.

  “Do you like it?”

  Hadjar turned around.

  In front of him stood a tall, slender woman with an exquisite figure many women would’ve sold their souls to possess. Men would’ve gone to war in hopes of winning her favor. He’d probably be on the front lines.

  The slender elegance of her legs was only made more prominent by the high-heeled shoes she wore. Completely bare, they beckoned him to run his hands over them and feel the smoothness of her pale skin.

  Looking up, his gaze traced over the black cloth that covered her nether regions, over her flat stomach, her waist so thin that he could grip it fully with just one hand, and stopped at the black cloth that hugged her firm breasts. Around her pale neck was a high collar to which a translucent veil that trailed behind her was attached.

  Adorning her midnight-black hair was a crown made from metal in a style that could only be seen on the ancient bas-reliefs and tapestries. A couple of stray locks of hair framed a face so divine that calling it beautiful would be an insult rather than praise.

  All of her clothes and accessories, if not her body as well, were made out of ice. How she was doing that, he didn’t know. He didn’t dare look at her through the World River. Some things, after all, were better left unknown. If one wasn’t careful, they could end up traumatized or, even worse, with a damaged energy body.

  He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

  Somewhere in the distance, war drums began to beat.

  Opening his eyes once more, he stared at the woman. Like everything else around him, she, too, was both beautiful and cold at the same time. He figured that even getting a hug from her wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

  “Ana’Bree,” he stated confidently.

  “Do you not like me?”

  Swaying her hips, she walked over to him and brushed her finger over his cheek. A shiver ran down his spine. Coming to his senses, he touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  It hurt. It was as if his skin had been frostbitten. Without hesitation, he sent healing energy from his Core to his head. A simple case of frostbite wasn’t a difficult thing to deal with, so he was surprised to see it taking so long to heal. Forget hugging, bedding this thing would instantly send one to their forefathers.

  “I do.”

  Ana’Bree smiled wide. Her face shone as brightly as the winter sun above the snow-covered mountain peaks.

  She waved her hand. Yet again, he felt no ripples in the World River as he watched a throne emerge from the ground. Tall and graceful, as if carved by the most gifted sculptor the world had ever seen, it stood a good couple of feet above the ground.

  Ana’Bree walked up the stairs at its base and sat down. Tossing back her veil, she crossed her legs.

  The drums continued to beat steadily, calming his heart.

  “What are you doing here, little warrior?” She asked, resting her cheek on her hand. Black eyes looked down at him.

  “I’m looking for the Last King’s Inheritance,” Hadjar replied against his will. Realizing that she was controlling him, he wanted to struggle and swear, but couldn’t. By the Heavens, he couldn’t so much as sense her presence!

  Ana’Bree laughed.

  “Yo
u won’t find it here, little warrior. Like all his other treasures, Erhard kept that in a labyrinth. So... Tell me. Why are you here?”

  Her gaze, which had been interested and slightly aloof until now, turned cold and distant. Hadjar felt as if he were hanging off a tall ledge, holding on to it with two fingers and slipping.

  Dropping to his knees, he hugged himself tightly, trying to retain some of the elusive warmth.

  Chapter 682

  “A nswer me, mortal!” Silky whispers suddenly turned into a raging storm. “And don’t you dare lie to me this time!”

  Her rage made the sculptures and windows rattle like glass cups during an earthquake. Snow rose into the air and began to swirl, threatening to turn into a real blizzard.

  “I don’t know!” Hadjar replied against his will once more.

  The storm instantly subsided. Ana’Bree’s collar and veil turned from needles and blades into an endless stream of water. Hadjar had no idea how something could look so beautiful and deadly at the same time.

  “You’re telling the truth,” she said, slightly surprised. “Tell me, North Wind, do you think of yourself as a fool?”

  Once again, Hadjar found his lips moving against his will, as if forced open by an invisible hand.

  “I don’t,” he said. He wanted to add more to that reply, but he couldn’t open his mouth. It was as if his lips had been glued shut.

  “Of course you don’t,” she said. “Then again, an actual fool would never consider themselves one!”

  Her laughter sounded like the burbling of a mountain stream and a roaring avalanche at the same time. The feeling it evoked was impossible to describe. It wasn’t fear, but it did leave one feeling deeply unsettled.

  “The biggest fools,” she continued, “usually consider themselves to be the smartest people. Tell me, North Wind, do you think you’re the smartest man alive?”

  “I don’t.”

  Hadjar was no longer trying to regain control of his body. Instead, he’d commanded his neural network to track all changes that occurred within his physical and energy bodies.

  [The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

  Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000001%]

  If he could speak, he’d say that he was speechless. How in the High Heavens had she managed to do this to him? Was it even possible to influence someone to this degree without them even noticing? And while using almost no power, too!

  Fucking mysterious entities! There’s always at least one lurking around!

  Whatever Ana’Bree was, she was leagues above any person he’d ever met.

  “Then you’re not a fool. So, how did you end up in Greven’Dor, little warrior?”

  His lips and tongue moved. A sudden wave of primal rage swept over him. Ana’Bree’s eyes flashed for a moment as she tensed up.

  Hadjar Darkhan, the Mad General, disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, the man who’d defeated the Dah’Khasses, would never be anyone’s slave ever again!

  Controlling him, was she? By the High Heavens, there was no god, no demon, or law that could stand in his way! No matter how much stronger, older, or wiser they were, no one would stop him from reaching his goal! No one would ever again put bindings on his wrists and ankles!

  But no matter how much willpower he mustered up, his body was no longer his own.

  “I crossed the bridge.”

  Gritting his teeth, he shaped his willpower into claws and fangs. With them, he beat against the walls of the prison this wretched witch had thrown him into.

  He was on his knees, unable to so much as move his eyelids, and forced to answer questions he’d rather leave unanswered. But he wasn’t giving up. By the Evening Stars, he’d fight until he passed out.

  “You want a fight?” Ana’Bree flashed him a predatory smile. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Getting to his feet, Hadjar felt the pressure of an alien will push him back down. In an instant, he found himself sprawled out on the cold ground. The sensation, which was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, took him by surprise. He’d fought against many opponents capable of mind control before and had walked away from many tempting gifts life had thrown at him, but he’d never experienced something like this. Never before had someone hit him so hard with their willpower.

  Looking at the smiling Ana’Bree, he remembered what the Shadow of the Immortal swordsman had once told him. What had once seemed like just a piece of advice any Mentor gave to their disciples, now had a far deeper meaning. The Shadow had told him that everything he knew about the path of cultivation was nothing more than mere suggestions for those who lived and breathed the martial arts.

  Back then, as a mere practitioner, he’d had no intention of arguing with the Shadow. But, as the years had gone by, he’d realized that he probably should’ve done so. In comparison to Ana’Bree, the Shadow had been nothing more than a child. The ice maiden was clearly not human, and she had to be something truly extraordinary as her power could easily be compared to the might of the Immortal Harlim, the old man whom Hadjar had met in the Sea of Sand.

  [The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

  Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000002%]

  The message only confirmed his suspicions. Despite using a minimum amount of her power, she was controlling him like a puppet. Fueling himself with willpower and sheer spite, he managed to move his fingers, then his hands, and then his arms. He felt like he was trying to move a mountain with his bare hands.

  “Don’t you want to give up already?” The creature chuckled. Hadjar, growling, gradually rose back up. “Maybe a little more?”

  [The host system is being influenced by outside stimuli.

  Percentage of total power used: 0. 000000003%]

  No, not a mountain. He felt like Atlas carrying the weight of the sky on his shoulders.

  Pushing himself off the ground with his shaking hands, he made the ice and stone in a radius of several feet all around him cave in. He could move, but he was now struggling to breathe. Still, he was making progress all on his own. Without any Techniques or energy. We often forget just how powerful our sheer will could be. Ana’Bree also seemed aware of this fact.

  Streams of scarlet were trickling down his strained face. It wasn’t until he gasped for air that the pressure disappeared entirely.

  Like a beached whale, he lay there, motionless, opening and closing his mouth in silence as he desperately inhaled oxygen.

  “I think that’s enough.”

  “Who...are you?” He gasped and struggled to his feet. “No... What... What are you?”

  Uncrossing her legs, Ana’Bree rose from her throne. Her heels clicked on the ice stairs as she descended, her veil fluttering behind her like a pair of translucent wings. By the High Heavens, just looking at her graceful movements could heal any wound.

  Until now, he’d had no clue what being on par with the Immortals looked like. Every time he’d met them (all one and a half of them) he hadn’t been able to tell where their power began or ended.

  “I, Ana’Bree,” her voice thundered, “am a sidhe of the Eternal Ice of Greven’Dor. I am a fae of the Winter Court, a subject of the Queen of Night and Darkness. I, North Wind, descendant of the Nameless, am your undoing.”

  She made a sharp gesture with her hand. Ice spikes erupted from the ground and surrounded Hadjar. Reaching toward the sky, they formed bars, trapping him in a prison of ice. He carefully touched one of them with his finger. Withdrawing it, he saw black spots on his skin.

  Oh, fuck everything sideways! He cursed mentally. One of these could easily send Orune or Markin to their forefathers, let alone him, a mere Heaven Soldier and... Descendant of the Nameless One?

  Ana’Bree narrowed her eyes at him.

  “You seem surprised. Do you not know who your distant ancestor was? Ah, I forgot... You sacks of flesh and bone call him the Black General.”

  Hadjar cursed up a storm. He really wasn’t surprised to
hear that his ancestor had somehow found a way to annoy the fae as well.

  Chapter 683

  D uring his imprisonment, he never saw Ana’Bree again. The sidhe of the Eternal Ice of Greven’Dor... Whatever that meant.

  He only knew about the fae from stories he’d heard back on Earth. Every time, they had been depicted in different ways, as the arrival of Christianity had strongly influenced, if not outright eradicated, the legends of ages past.

  As a result, ‘fae’ was an ambiguous term that applied to anything from forest spirits to the mythical inhabitants of Tír na nÓg, or even the fairies and the Tuatha Dé Danann. He didn’t know which of these myths to rely on, but all of them had one bit of advice in common: never trust a fae. Their deals were traps and their gifts bribes at best. Their price? Your soul and life. They couldn’t lie, but they could still deceive you better than any schemer.

  “Gods, do I ever hate intrigue and politics...”

  He’d been talking to himself a lot lately, more out of a need to keep himself occupied and warm than because of loneliness. The temperature in the room was constantly dropping. Neither his sheepskin coat nor meditation could help him stay warm.

  The reason Ana’Bree had spared him was obvious: she was using him as bait. After all, why would she bother to go around looking for the intruders when she could just lure them to her?

  The cage that she’d trapped him in, aside from being made from deathly cold ice, had other strange properties as well. For example, it prevented Hadjar from influencing his surroundings with energy. It also prevented him from summoning his Call and the Black Blade, both of which seemed to be hibernating in the depths of his soul. Their slumber was so deep that he presumed it would be impossible to wake them.

  In addition, none of his artifacts worked, not even his spatial ring. Even the communication amulet that Tom had given him was useless. The energy it radiated couldn’t get past the bars.