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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling that he’d destroyed. He couldn’t see the azure sky or the stars through the gaps in the stone.

  How ironic. He was being mocked by a puppet. This golem was nothing more than a toy imbued with energy and the semblance of a mind. But even it seemed to understand things more clearly than he did.

  “You can start licking your wounds now,” the beast snorted, causing the ring in its nose to sway.

  “I don’t-”

  “Don’t lie,” it growled. “Don’t lie to yourself, at least. That’s what you do all the time, isn’t it? You comfort yourself with sweet little lies.”

  “You don’t know-”

  “I know you better than you know yourself,” the guardian interrupted him again. “I know your name, Hadjar Darkhan. I know the names of your parents. I know your Master’s name, your best friend’s name, the name of the first girl you ever wanted to kiss, the name of the first girl you thought you loved. I know all about you. I know your every thought. I saw your whole life. All your fears. And they’re just as simple and boring as everyone else’s.”

  Still lying on his back, Hadjar stared into the guardian’s eyes. They were like the eyes of a doll, but they still reflected emotions. He didn’t see any deceit in them.

  And then it dawned on him.

  “It was... you,” he whispered hoarsely. “The fog... It was you…”

  “Yes.” The guardian nodded. “Of all the 63 guardians that guard the entrance to the treasury, you were unlucky enough to come across me. You might have deceived the others, but not me. I saw your fears. I know you. I’ve taken your measure. And you’re nothing, just a spark that’s about to go out.”

  Hadjar remembered Elaine’s bloodied face. He remembered the blazing fire devouring Lidus. He remembered what his brother and his wife had told him. The cries of their unborn child.

  “You-”

  “You’re pathetic,” the guardian sneered. “You want to blame me for what you saw? Do it! Do what you always do — blame others.”

  Hadjar tried to get up, but all he could do was groan. The guardian crouched beside him. It was so close that he could feel its hot breath on his face.

  “Admit it, Hadjar Darkhan. Tell the truth for once.”

  “What?” He rasped.

  “Admit that no one but yourself is responsible for your troubles. If you’d been stronger, would your mother have died? Would Primus have ripped out her heart? You were too weak.”

  “I was a child!”

  “You were a warrior!” The guardian’s roar was so powerful that even the columns that had been lucky enough to survive Hadjar’s two attacks cracked. “A warrior isn’t a child! A warrior isn’t a man or a woman! It’s a way of life! A life you never led!”

  “I’ve... always...”

  “Never! Think back on your life, boy! When did you follow the path of the warrior? When you schemed your way into the Master’s parade ground? When you didn’t save your parents? When you watched Serra sacrifice her life for you? Or when you were too afraid of the truth that could’ve left you alone forever? You’re always running away. A warrior isn’t a coward! A warrior doesn’t run away! A warrior doesn’t bend! A warrior fights until their last breath! A warrior is in a constant struggle with their worst enemy ― themselves. After conquering themselves, a warrior continues following their path! That is what it means to be a warrior. You’re just a pathetic coward.”

  “I’m… not... a coward.”

  “More lies!” The guardian turned its head and spat on the floor next to Hadjar. “Your words aren’t worth shit. You blame everyone around you: Primus, the gods, me, Anise… You were even ready to blame Einen, the only person who would give his life for you because you don’t want to see your own weaknesses.”

  “I’m looking for power…”

  “Power isn’t sought! Power is nurtured! Every day, every hour, every second! Power isn’t something you can just come and take! You can only find it in yourself. And I don’t see it in you! So get out of here. Don’t defile this place with your presence any longer!”

  “I-”

  “OUT!”

  The guardian’s furious roar lifted Hadjar, spun him around like he was as light as a feather, and slammed him against the wall.

  The world around him was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter 722

  T he guardian looked at the young man lying in a pool of blood near the entrance. It had lied when it had said that Hadjar had been unlucky enough to come across it out of all 63 guardians of the treasury. They would’ve simply let him pass after that second attack, condemning him to an inglorious, inevitable death.

  “I remember your words, Master.” The guardian sat down and waited. It looked at the young man, hoping that what it had said and done would help him. “It’s better to live freely among the mortals than to be a servant among the gods. That was what you said so long ago, wasn’t it?”

  It recalled the years it had spent watching its Master attempt to comprehend something that was still a mystery to it. It was certain that its Master had been a warrior, and that he would’ve only wanted to reveal his secrets to another warrior. The Master had taught it that a warrior wasn’t someone who hit faster, killed more, or didn’t know fear. Those kinds of people weren’t warriors.

  The cook who made the best soup in the Kingdom and yet served it to both kings and slaves alike was a warrior. The woman whose husband had been killed in a war and who’d raised three daughters and two sons alone, all the while retaining her love for them and for herself, was a warrior.

  A warrior didn’t need a sword. A warrior didn’t need armor.

  A warrior only needed a soul and faith in themselves. Not in Techniques, mysteries, or weapons.

  At least that’s what the Master had said.

  The guardian hoped that it had been able to convey its Master’s words to the young man, because out of all the people who’d come to the hall, only he was close to being a true warrior. All he needed was a little push.

  The guardian had given him that push, and now it was all up to the young man.

  “Maybe today,” it sighed. “Maybe today.”

  ***

  Hadjar lay in darkness. Helpless and weak, as always. He’d become a cripple on the day when his father, the strongest warrior he’d ever known, had died before his very eyes; when his mother, who he’d believed could protect him from any threat, had died in his arms; when a man he’d thought was the most loyal person he’d ever meet, his Uncle Primus, had become a traitor.

  He’d become a cripple, but not because his legs had been cut off and the rest of his body stripped of strength, but because something more valuable had been taken from him — his faith. It had been replaced with a need to get revenge on anyone or anything he could.

  Hadjar finally understood that.

  He’d blamed Primus for the death of his parents, but… nobody was responsible for Haver’s death. Maybe if the gods hadn’t made a mistake in their Book of Thousands, and the demons hadn’t broken into the mortal world, Primus’ wife would’ve still been alive. And Hadjar would still have a brother…

  But Haver wouldn’t have stopped looking for power regardless. He would’ve put the whole country in danger. He would’ve led Lidus to the brink of destruction. And Primus would’ve done what he would’ve had to do. If Hadjar had been older, he would’ve prevented it and destroyed his homeland with his own two hands.

  That was the truth. The bitter, scary truth.

  What should he do now? He was afraid of anyone finding out about Lidus and Elaine. But had Traves taught him to be afraid? There was no place for fear on the path of cultivation.

  He’d never sought power, that much was true. But only because he was weak. Too weak to hold a proper sword in his hands. Not just any old piece of iron, either, but a real sword that could cut through everything in its way, pave the way to any goal, and bring him real freedom. Freedom to be himself.
To live for himself.

  He had no faith. He’d replaced it with determination to get… what? Revenge? Justice?

  If he was so worried about Lidus and Elaine, he had to become stronger. So strong that even the very thought of someone harming his sister and his Kingdom would make his enemies tremble in fear.

  Was he afraid of the Black General? Perhaps. He wasn’t sure. But what he was certain of was that he had to become so strong that the fragment within him wouldn’t dare utter another word ever again!

  Could he distinguish revenge from justice? No. But that was simply because he was too weak to accept the simple fact that he didn’t need both of them.

  He’d been looking for only one thing. Even after he’d come to this world, gotten his legs back, gained both friends and enemies, and spilled rivers of blood... He’d simply kept looking for a way to fill the growing void inside of him. Just as he’d done back on Earth.

  Only now did he understand the true meaning of what the orc shaman had shown him. None of it had been about his Name at all, but about the real him. Weak. Uncertain. Full of doubt. Without meaning or purpose.

  What did he live for? To kill the gods? To bring justice to the Seventh Heaven? No.

  Gods could always be replaced. The people didn’t know this, as they’d been too afraid to even try and tackle the divine forces. Even after they, just like him, had been robbed of their faith.

  And even if he, in spite of all the blood that had already been shed, all the pain he’d caused and felt, all the suffering and bitterness, and all the difficulties and fears, reached his goal and got to the Seventh Heaven, turned the Jasper Palace upside down, forced the gods to pay for all they’d done, and destroyed the Book of Thousands, someone else would realize that they, too, could do what he had done.

  And even then, at the end, he still wouldn’t fill the void inside him. He would meet his forefathers with honor, certainly. But when they asked him what he’d lived for, he’d tell them that he had lived to bring freedom. And then they’d chuckle and ask him about the people he’d tried to free and why he’d done it. Then he’d say that he had done so for himself because you could never be truly free while living in a world of slaves.

  And then they would let him in and they would sit together at the table. They would sing him old songs and treat him well because they would understand that he’d lived his life with honor. Like a true warrior. They’d know that he hadn’t turned away, let doubt stop him, or felt fear. That he hadn’t run away from his enemies or friends. That he’d kept walking for as long as he could. That was how he should live.

  If he encountered a barrier that he couldn’t break through, he’d become stronger and tear it down. If he came across an enemy that he couldn’t defeat, he’d become stronger and kill them. If someone came for his friends and family, he’d protect them. If someone led an army against his homeland, he’d destroy them.

  And no one would stand in his way: not the guardian, not the Emperor of Darnassus, not the Black General, not Helmer, not the gods, not even the laws of the Heavens and the Earth. None of them would make him lower his sword. What he held in his hands and carried in his heart wasn’t a sword made from steel, but one made of his life, his world, his way of filling the void ― his freedom.

  ***

  The guardian, who’d been sitting in silence for almost three hours, turned its head toward the sound of coughing.

  The young man regained consciousness and spat out blood. And although he didn’t have enough energy left to stand up, he still did so. And although he couldn’t summon his strange sword, he still did it.

  Then he bowed low to the guardian.

  “Draw your sword, honored guardian,” he said. “I, Hadjar Darkhan, have come here to fight you.”

  He rushed forward.

  The guardian smiled. It drew its sword and deflected its opponent’s attack.

  “You’ve passed the test, young warrior,” it thundered, smiling. “You can go and-”

  It fell silent, staring at azure eyes that were as clear as ice. For a moment, it was convinced that its own Master was standing before it — there was no doubt or fear in those blue eyes, only a certainty that had enough power to bend the Earth to its desires and burn the Heavens themselves down.

  A solid, unshakable foundation…

  “Our battle isn’t over yet!” The young man roared.

  Ducking under the massive sword, he pushed off from the guardian’s knee, soared into the air, and struck with his sword. The blade pierced the beast’s chest and knocked it down to the ground.

  Hadjar bowed to the guardian and then walked to the door that had just opened.

  Staring at the ceiling, the guardian was slowly losing the life force that had been placed inside of it so long ago. Its Master had once told it about the stars. It wondered if it would get to see them when it ceased to exist.

  “Finally,” it croaked. “The day has finally come… I can finally see you again, Master…”

  ***

  The guardian turned to stone and then disappeared in a cloud of dust. Pausing just before leaving the hall, Hadjar turned and knelt down, pressing his forehead to the floor.

  “I’ll never forget you, mighty guardian,” he whispered softly. “Of all the healers I’ve ever met, you were the only one who managed to heal me.”

  He got up and left the hall.

  His eyes were just as bright as they’d been in the past, when a six-year-old boy had tried to save his mother. It had taken him almost a quarter of a century to become his old self again. But he was back — the man whose march couldn’t be slowed and whose sword couldn’t be stopped.

  Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind!

  Chapter 723

  E xiting the passageway, Hadjar found himself in a room so huge that he froze in astonishment. It was easily as big as the Forest of Knowledge in ‘The Holy Sky’ School. He couldn’t even see where the walls ended and the ceiling began. All he saw were an infinite number of staircases that, spiraling like ivy, branched out in different directions, forming a floating maze of banisters and stairs.

  Hadjar didn’t even manage to let out a gasp of surprise before something or someone appeared behind him and, grabbing his mouth and shoulders, pulled him into the shadows. He watched the mesmerizing dance of darkness and light and then felt the cold ground touch his back. Whatever had been holding him let go and he inhaled greedily.

  “I beg you... stop dragging me... into... Your damned shadows!” He hissed at his friend.

  Sitting next to him, Einen tilted his head. Those purple eyes were observing him curiously.

  “Something’s changed about you, barbarian,” he said. “Or maybe you’ve become the old you…”

  Leaning on his friend’s shoulder, Hadjar got to his feet.

  As always, Einen’s eyes saw more than anyone else’s. Hadjar gave him an appraising look and chuckled. Whichever guardian the islander had encountered, it had done him a lot of good. Einen had also changed slightly. He seemed… more complete. It was as if he’d found something he’d been looking for. The shadows around him quivered constantly, like they were beckoning the former pirate into their cold embrace. No wonder Hadjar hadn’t been able to sense him in time. Such a thing hadn’t happened since the Sea of Sand.

  “I could say the same thing about you.” He took a few alchemy pills that Einen handed him and tossed them back. A torrent of borrowed energy spread through his body, but only a small part of it lingered in his Core. However, that was still enough to fill it to the brim.

  Before reaching the peak stage of the Heaven Soldier level, he hadn’t noticed that borrowed power harmed his energy body, leaving tiny wounds and injuries all over it, thus allowing the energy to slowly seep through it.

  “Disgusting.” Hadjar grimaced.

  “Those pills cost us a fortune.”

  Ten Bubbling Blood pills really did cost a ludicrous amount of money. They’d spent almost all the savings they’d been able to accumulate dur
ing their year spent in the capital on them. And Hadjar had just ingested three of these pills at once. In other words, he’d just eaten the annual earnings of a minor Imperial nobleman.

  “How many do we have left?”

  “Two,” Einen responded, handing him another pill. “You were gone for quite some time, barbarian.”

  Hadjar put the pill into his spatial ring. He rubbed his cheek and let the energy flow through his palm. There was a thick beard on his face again.

  “How long have you been here?”

  They were sitting under a stone canopy that looked like the cap of a poisonous mushroom.

  At first, Hadjar couldn’t really figure out where Einen had taken them because the ceiling had suddenly swapped places with the floor. They were standing on a parapet, but they were also... upside down. Or maybe the people Hadjar could see from under their shelter were wandering through the endless staircases upside down.

  “About a week and a half.” The islander peered out from beneath the ledge and instantly leaned back. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Hadjar didn’t thank him. He would’ve done the same for Einen.

  “What did you find out?”

  Hadjar took out a few energy crystals he’d obtained in the Dah’Khasses’ mountains from his spatial ring and began to make bombs out of them. His instincts, which he’d come to trust implicitly after years of relying on them, were telling him that the trials of the ancient treasury were far from over.

  “The laws of gravity don’t work here.”

  “I’ve already figured that much out myself.” Hadjar chuckled.

  Einen swore. His purple eyes shone with both excitement and tension.

  “To progress any further, you’ll need to shed blood,” Einen said. “You must kill someone to move on.”

  “Are you sure?” Hadjar asked.

  Einen just shrugged.

  “Everyone I’ve seen so far simply disappeared after they did that. Just like the bodies of their enemies. The first day I was here, there was a massacre.”