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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Einen had given longer speeches before, but this one was certainly the ‘most touching and personal’ one he’d ever made.

  “This is all very dramatic and everything,” Tom said, “But let’s focus on what we came here for. The Core!”

  Hadjar looked at him. As far as he was concerned, the nobles had no right to claim the Core. And although he hated politics and schemes, he hated being played even more. By the High Heavens, he hadn’t earned the nickname Mad General because of his insanity, but because of his plans that had worked even when the most imaginative of his supporters had doubted them.

  Chapter 688

  “T here’s nothing to talk about, Tom,” Hadjar said. “The Core is ours. End of discussion.”

  “Are you blind or just plain stupid? You’re outnumbered!”

  Hadjar raised an eyebrow. True, there were more of them, but he was certain that Tom, an aristocrat, had a better ace up his sleeve and that he was just hiding it behind the most banal of arguments. Hadjar may have been a commoner, but South Wind had taught him how to negotiate and barter. Much as he hated to use that knowledge, they were useful skills. Even so, everything that South Wind had managed to teach him during the time they’d spent together was but a drop in a vast ocean of politics and plots.

  By the High Heavens, how he hated schemes...

  Of course, one could negotiate in many different ways. Hadjar had learned the more ‘upfront’ approaches in practice. Anyone who thought that being a General was a job unrelated to politics had never been more wrong about anything in their life.

  “Kill me and the contents of my spatial ring will self-destruct,” he said.

  “Such a thing isn’t possible!” Dora argued.

  Without a shred of hesitation, Hadjar cut his palm open.

  “I swear that what I just said is true.”

  His blood burned orange and the wound instantly healed. Hadjar remained still, eyes focused on Dora. The World River had accepted his vow. The first thing he’d done after he’d received the ring from the elf was to take it to the black market to have it checked inside and out. The artifact had turned out to be the most mundane type of spatial item. Even so, adding a self-destruct rune to it had drained almost all of his hard-earned funds.

  “There are other ways of persuading people besides simply threatening to kill them,” Tom said. He sheathed his sword and tapped its hilt with his finger. “Trust me, commoner, you don’t want to get acquainted with the dungeons of Dahanatan.”

  “I don’t plan to.” Hadjar shrugged. “In all honesty, you three are stronger than the two of us. Strong enough to kill us, in fact. But not strong enough to capture us. Besides, you can’t do anything to us regardless.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The oath,” Anise interjected. “We all swore an oath that as long as we’re in the Wastelands, we wouldn’t harm each other.”

  Tom cursed. He’d hoped to scare them off with threats, but he seemed to be completely out of options now.

  Once again, Hadjar had his clothes to thank for reminding him of what truly mattered. As South Wind had once told him: “If you can count to ten, stop at three. And remember, at a royal ball, the most dangerous person is the one who’s dressed the poorest.” After all, how had a poor person managed to get an invitation to such an important event? Not by legal means, that was for sure. In addition, only those who had true power could afford to not care about their attire and appearance.

  The ideal warrior, in Hadjar’s opinion, had always been General Atikus, the strongest man in the Kingdom of Lidus and one of King Haver’s retainers. He’d always used to wear whatever he’d felt most comfortable in. And when it came to the uptight nobles, he’d always said that they needed fancy clothes to show who they were. “I,” he’d once told Hadjar, “have a sword for that.”

  Hadjar remembered taking Atikus’ life with his sword. These weren’t his happiest memories, but right now, they were his most useful ones.

  “We saved your life, Hadjar,” Tom continued, calming down. “We used two very rare artifacts to aid you.”

  “Speaking of which... How did you three blow up that wall?” He had no clue what they’d used in order to break through Ana’Bree’s insanely powerful barrier. “With the arrow?”

  “The Fire Visage Seal,” Tom said with such pride that one might’ve thought he’d done it all on his own. “You would’ve been dead had it not been for us.”

  “I beg to differ.” Hadjar shrugged. If it were up to him, he would get up and walk away right now, but something told him that he wouldn’t get to see the start of next week if he did that. “All your precious artifacts are mere toys.”

  “How dare you, you filthy beggar? Their combined value is more than you’ve ever seen in your miserable life!”

  “I’m sure it is. But if I remember correctly, it was my artifact that killed Ana’Bree, not yours. And as it turns out, it’s worth more than all of yours combined. Therefore, the Core belongs to me,” he said and passed Einen the slingshot.

  The islander responded with a ferocious grin and stretched out his hand. The slingshot immediately disappeared into his spatial artifact.

  Lost in thought, Tom chewed his lower lip. After a couple of minutes of pondering, he realized that there was no point in trying to browbeat them anymore.

  “By the way, how did you find me?” Hadjar asked Einen in his native language before Tom got the chance to say anything.

  Einen snapped his fingers. The object that he’d given to his friend at the gates of Greven’Dor flew out of Hadjar’s pocket. It wasn’t an amulet, but a fossilized scale.

  “The path of the ancestors,” Hadjar guessed. “That’s why the cage couldn’t block it.”

  Einen nodded.

  “I’m trying to help you, you mongrel,” Tom said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  He’d almost ended up a cripple because of them and they had the audacity to talk about saving his life?

  “Once again, since you seem to be hard of hearing, this was an order. We had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” Hadjar argued. “I know that we aren’t on the best of terms, Tom, but if someone had told me that I had to cripple you, and not in a fair fight, might I add, you would’ve been the first to know.”

  By now, Hadjar didn’t have many virtues left, but he’d always been a man of his word and an honorable foe. He didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon.

  Tom, shocked by his honesty, fell silent.

  Anise leaned forward. Ah, the former senior heiress. Since childhood, she’d been trained to become the Head of the Predatory Blades clan. And, as the High Heavens knew well, her training had been nothing compared to what Hadjar had managed to achieve in the few years he’d spent as the Prince of Lidus.

  “The Core is of great importance to the Empire, Hadjar.”

  “You’ve already said that. I’m also sure that you’ve already informed them that their toy is on its way.”

  “No, we-” Dora began, but was interrupted.

  “Whatever you were doing, I didn’t see it,” Hadjar reassured her. “Just applying a little bit of logic and experience, that’s all.”

  “Then you must understand how important this is,” Anise said, coming a little closer to him. “You must understand that, even if you manage to escape, you’ll be killed the moment you step foot out of the Wastelands.”

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

  “You’ll never be allowed to keep the Core.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Then what do you plan to do with it if you know that you can’t have it?”

  He did have a plan. One couldn’t be called the Mad General if they hadn’t done something worthy of a heroic ballad. However, he’d rather not have that same ballad be used as his eulogy.

  “There are rumors going around the capital about an upcoming auction, one held by the Imperial family and the upper nobility. I’ll sell it ther
e. Whoever offers me the most can have it.”

  “You’re either naïve or stupid if you think that’s going to work.”

  “Perhaps I’m both. Perhaps I’m just crazy.”

  Silence descended upon the hall once again. It was clear to everyone that Hadjar wasn’t going to back down. Not because of the damned Core, or even the fact that it was going to be used by the Empire, but because these were the rules of their world. The strong ruled, the weak followed. It had always been like that, and no one saw the need to change it. If you didn’t like it, you had the option of growing stronger. Taking offense at this fact or holding a grudge was just plain stupid.

  “You promised,” Anise said suddenly and very slowly. “You promised me a duel.”

  “I did.” Hadjar nodded. “But you do realize that I can just turn around and leave? You made a vow, Anise. You can’t touch me.”

  “I won’t have to if you fight me fairly.”

  “And what makes you think I’ll do that?”

  Anise looked into his eyes. The intensity in her jade green eyes spoke more than words ever could.

  “I’ve heard that the Mad General always keeps his word.”

  Einen stepped aside.

  “Mad General?” Dora and Tom asked almost in unison.

  Hadjar held out his hand. The Black Blade materialized in his grip.

  “We’ll fight like we did at the gates of Greven’Dor,” Anise said and assumed a fighting stance. “Using only our swordsmanship. Without any energy or mysteries of the Sword Spirit.”

  “I agree.”

  “Whoever wins gets to keep the Core.”

  “I agree.”

  They dashed forward at the same time.

  Chapter 689

  A nise moved with the same elegance and ferocity she’d displayed during their battle against the Spirit-golems. Her steps were neither short nor long, as if to avoid any unnecessary movements, but also smooth and light at the same time. Her fighting style looked almost otherworldly.

  She was like a dancing mirage. As ephemeral as a dream, she embodied the deadly qualities of a snake with beautiful scales and long fangs full of venom.

  Hadjar was able to see the trajectory of her sword even before Anise began to swing her blade. In this, he was aided by his combat experience, gained through hundreds of battles that he’d fought not for the approval of a teacher or tutor, but for a chance to see the dawn of the next day.

  Despite the fact that he’d gotten ready to block her attack, Anise still managed to wound him. Her sword skirted the Black Blade like the branch of a weeping willow tree. He gripped his shoulder and struck back, but Anise, angling her sword behind her back, performed an elegant spin. She bent down so low that her forehead almost touched her foot. At the same time, she raised her right leg and kicked Hadjar in the back of the head with her heel, making him lose his balance. He staggered forward and rolled to the side, but not even that helped him. Anise had managed to inflict another wound. He now had a long gash running down his back.

  If this were a real battle and if they weren’t holding back, Hadjar would’ve died twice already. Anise was aware of that, as were their three spectators.

  “No matter how talented Hadjar is, Anise has simply had more training. She was, after all, the senior heiress. They wouldn’t have gone easy on her. Her style of sword fighting has long been considered the best in our generation.” Dora said.

  “What’s your style called?” Hadjar asked.

  He assumed a neutral stance and stared at Anise. With her sword angled behind her back so that the tip protruded just slightly above her head, she looked as relaxed as one could be during a duel.

  “The Leopard’s Claw,”

  “The Leopard’s Claw...” Hadjar nodded, then bowed slightly. “It’s the best style I’ve ever had the honor of fighting against.”

  “Thank you.”

  What he failed to mention was that this was his first time encountering a style purposefully made to look beautiful when used. It wasn’t embellished by fancy Techniques, but by its firm, well studied base.

  And Dora was right — he’d never really learned such a thing.

  But even so, that didn’t mean that, over the course of hundreds, or even thousands of battles, he hadn’t had the time to create something of his own. Something special. Something that had kept him alive all these years.

  As he unleashed a wild, almost animalistic slash, he released the Black Blade. A moment later, he struck the hilt with his thumb and turned it around in a reverse grip.

  The blade cut diagonally, aiming to carve a line from Anise’s collarbone down to her groin. Without wasting time and energy on fancy pirouettes, she simply jumped back, dodging the Black Blade by a couple of inches. The obsidian sword slashed through the air, taking a couple of her hairs with it.

  However, that wasn’t the end of his attack. As a seasoned warrior, he was aware of the fact that even a novice could dodge such a strike if they knew how.

  And Anise wasn’t a novice. Her biggest strength was her education. However, due to an absence of real world experience, it was also her biggest weakness.

  Noticing that Hadjar had left his neck wide open, she wasted no time and counterattacked with a wide slash. Her blade flashed out from behind her, leaving a silvery arc of its afterimages behind in the air (without using any energy or mysteries, just her sheer speed and strength). Her blade was drawing nearer, but all Hadjar did was grin.

  Ducking beneath it, he put his left hand on the floor and used the momentum of his dive to turn his body around. Once he was next to Anise’s blade, he bent at the waist and charged her like a battering ram. No sophisticated warrior would ever think of using their body instead of their sword in a battle.

  Anise let go of her sword and caught it with her left hand, swinging it in a backhand slash. Hadjar, to avoid losing his legs, twisted and fell back down. Getting back up, he lifted his left hand off the ground. Curling his open palm into a fist, he punched Anise in the face. It was a dirty trick used on the streets, but he didn’t care. After all, all was fair in love and war.

  Anise’s right hand wrapped a piece of thin silk around Hadjar’s wrist. With a yank, she pulled him to the side. Once again, she used no mysteries or energy in her moves, just sheer power.

  Hadjar rolled across the ground and jumped up, avoiding a possible counterattack. However, the moment he straightened up, Anise was in front of him. With a smooth and quick swing, she brought her sword down across his chest. Blood gushed out of three different wounds.

  “Give up, barbarian,” Tom snorted. “With your style, you can only wrestle pigs in the mud.”

  Once again holding her sword behind her back, Anise stood calmly in front of her opponent.

  Hadjar tore a wide strip of cloth from his sleeve with his teeth and tied it around his chest. Shifting his grip higher on his blade’s hilt, he got up and took a step forward.

  Anise instantly closed the distance between them.

  “You fought well,” she said. “But we both know how this fight is going to end.”

  “I’m not giving up.”

  There was a glint of sadness in her green eyes. Sadness, and an awareness of the fact that her words were meaningless. However, she couldn’t stop herself from trying.

  “You could die.”

  “I know.”

  “And for what? The Core? If you’re so desperate for coin, I’ll take you to our Head. He’ll give you a decent reward.”

  Her words caused him more pain than any wound he’d received so far. Did she really think that he was after coin? He didn’t give a damn about the clans and their empty promises!

  “The Core will bring you nothing but trouble. But for the Empire... It’s an opportunity to gain an advantage in the upcoming war...” Realizing what she’d just said, she lowered her gaze. “Hadjar, I’m sorry... I...”

  His azure eyes flashed with such a bright light that the glint of the ice was a dull shimmer in comparison. �
�You could die, too.”

  Like a ravenous animal, he launched himself at her. Anise swayed slightly to one side and held her sword out in front of her. Anyone else would’ve dodged or tried to counter, but not Hadjar.

  Crimson stains sullied the shimmering ice.

  “Fucking madman...” Einen sighed wearily, taking healing potions out of his spatial artifact.

  Anise’s sword had pierced Hadjar’s chest. Blood was trickling down the blade and dripping onto the ground. Dumbfounded, she tried to yank her blade free, but Hadjar, flashing her a mad grin, his eyes full of rage, spat blood in her face. Using the opening, he hit her in the mouth, grabbing her wrist as he did so to prevent her from drawing her blade.

  Slashing at her knees, he knocked her over. Landing atop her, he placed his blade against her throat.

  “If this were a real fight, you’d be dead right now,” he rasped in her ear. “Next time you decide to take someone’s life for the sake of your precious little Empire, remember this moment.”

  With a growl, he got off Anise, shocking both Dora and Tom. He staggered, but Einen caught him and patted his shoulder. Hadjar looked at him and nodded. He truly could go against the world itself with him by his side.

  “Where to now, my friend?” Einen asked as he applied a medicinal salve to Hadjar’s wounds. Throwing his arm over his shoulders, he helped Hadjar up and led him toward the exit.

  “...an opportunity to gain an advantage in the upcoming war...”

  What had Ana’Bree done wrong? She’d lived a peaceful life in her ice palace for so many years...

  “Don’t… Trust… Anyone...”

  For purely selfish reasons, the Emperor had signed her death warrant. All for the sake of gaining the upper hand in the upcoming war. What, then, was the difference between her Core and the Solar Ore of Lidus? For the sake of a minor advantage, Hadjar’s homeland had been drowned in blood and his family killed.

  Fucking politics.

  “To find Decater’s tomb,” he responded with great difficulty.

  “But-”

  “We won’t run away like whipped dogs, with our tails tucked between our legs.”