He’d been happy whenever he’d come to his parents’ room in the evening, hugged them tightly, and listened to his mother talk till he fell asleep. When he’d looked into his mother’s kind and warm eyes and touched his father’s strong hand. He’d been happy when he had run around the field with his sister. When he’d tickled her and then jokingly run away from her. How many years had it been since he’d last seen her? How many years since he’d hugged her? Held her to his chest? How many years had it been since he’d last talked to her? When had they last reminisced about their parents together, their childhood, their games…
He had been happy when he’d drunk wine with Nero and Serra, when they’d joked and laughed so hard that their stomachs had ached and tears had flowed from their eyes, when his brother had taught him how to make smoke rings, all the while staring at the girls passing by.
He remembered Serra hitting Nero upside the head. He recalled laughing at the sight. He remembered being happy.
“Good choice, little warrior,” the skeleton whispered. “What’s the use of power if you’re still destined to die one day? Don’t even think about it. You’d better go home…”
He’d been happy when he and Einen had stared at the clouds moving sedately across the sky. Each of them had silently thought about his own woes, but Hadjar had felt like he wasn’t alone, like he had someone nearby who would come to his aid in his time of need.
“...go home to your parents and siblings. Find a woman you can love. She’ll warm your bed, cook you a delicious dinner, and give you children. Raise them, little warrior. Raise decent men and women. And live. Just live. Because we all die in the end, little warrior. So what’s the point-”
Hadjar remembered what the previous guardian had shown him: Lidus burning, Nero and Serra dying, his unborn nephew, Elaine reaching for him…
But somewhere out there, in the middle of the maze, stood Einen, covered in someone else’s blood. He hadn’t managed to help him, just like he hadn’t helped his parents. Or Senta. Or Eina. Or Dogar. Or Leen. Or Ilmena. Or Kharad. Or Price. Or Alea. Or Irma…
Their faces flashed before his eyes. All of them had already gone to their forefathers. And their blood had permanently stained Hadjar’s soul. He hadn’t helped them because... because... because…
“Go home, little warrior.” Decater’s sword was almost touching Hadjar’s head.
“Please,” the voice of his dying mother sounded in his head. “Don’t become... a practitioner... that road… only brings misfortune.”
Perhaps she’d known all along what Decater seemed to grasp as well.
“Forgive me, mother,” Hadjar pleaded. “I can’t go back…”
The Wailing of Cities stopped less than an inch from Hadjar’s head. His eyes flashed with an azure light that could rend the Earth and sunder the Heavens.
All the people he’d remembered... If only he’d been stronger, they would’ve been alive right now.
“I’m not ready to leave just yet, Decater,” Hadjar said softly, but his voice roared through the hall like thunder. “I’m not ready to throw away my sword.”
With that, he disappeared.
In the middle of the empty throne room, only a skeleton remained. It stared at nothing.
“Maybe today... Maybe today is the day I finally die,” it whispered hopefully and walked back to its throne.
Born the son of a wharf wench, Decater had dreamed of a throne and a crown since early childhood. These days, he would trade them and everything else he’d once had for just one sunny day of peace and quiet.
“Fool,” the skeleton whispered, then entered a deep slumber that would remain undisturbed until another naïve fool arrived.
Unfortunately, it couldn’t dream…
Chapter 729
H adjar was standing on a cliff. Ahead of him, a huge rock reached for the black sky, dense smoke loomed over his head, and at his feet, ribbons of white mist slithered around like snakes. He shivered. It was like the morning after a fierce battle, with the sun obscured by the smoke from the funeral pyres. It was if he were a soldier again, looking for survivors on the blood-soaked battlefield, knowing full well that he’d have to bury his brothers-in-arms and bring the news of their passing to their loved ones.
Somewhere nearby, a sea was raging, or maybe even an ocean. Surprisingly, despite all his travels, he hadn’t seen either before.
He turned toward the sound, but there was no sea, only a field covered in discarded blades of all shapes and sizes. Some were so strange that he couldn’t imagine what kind of warrior could even hold them properly, let alone wield them in battle.
Not far from the towering mountain was a hill, and a winding, rocky path led up to it. Across from it, flames burned, making the rune that had been expertly carved into the rocky hill glimmer orange.
He’d probably seen it before, but he couldn’t remember where. The neural network was silent, as were the Sword’s mysteries and the World River.
Nothing had changed since his encounter with Decater.
“Fuck this shit!” He hissed under his breath.
Taking another look around, he realized that what he’d at first thought to be three columns standing next to the hill were actually gigantic swords, all of them more than ninety feet tall and twenty feet wide. Each of them must’ve weighed as much as the hill they’d been plunged into. He couldn’t imagine a creature capable of wielding them.
“What is this place?” He whispered.
“A graveyard,” said a voice behind him, “The Graveyard of Swords.”
Hadjar turned around. An old man stood before him. His hair was white and tangled, falling in wispy waves over his shoulders. His crooked fingers, covered with parchment-thin skin, clutched a crooked staff. A long, black robe hid his hunched figure. Brushing along the rocky ground, it spread out, turning into the white mist that swirled around their feet. From his shoulders rose dense smoke that turned into the black clouds that hid the sky from view.
“Who are you?”
He couldn’t get a read on the old man’s power. More than that, he couldn’t even sense his presence. It was unsettling, frightening even. Back when he’d been just a simple practitioner, he’d still been able to sense the power of the Immortal Swordsman’s Shadow. Now, as a peak-stage Heaven Soldier, he couldn’t sense an old man’s presence. Was he that much stronger than the Immortal’s Shadow had been…
“I’m the one who owns this graveyard.”
His face hidden by the hood of his robe, the old man hobbled past Hadjar. He slumped down onto a rock and leaned heavily on his staff. With a trembling hand, he cleaned away the dust and rocks from a patch of ground.
Only then did Hadjar notice that the swords hadn’t been stabbed into the ground, but into bones, and that he wasn’t standing on a rock, but on someone’s skeletal remains.
“This is the path you are following, little warrior,” the old man whispered. Getting back up, he went on. “The path we’re all following.”
The old man was a Shadow. A small fraction of the power of someone who’d once walked this world. And a powerful fraction at that. If not for the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, he could’ve probably destroyed Darnassus on his own.
“What am I doing here?” Hadjar shouted as he ran after the man, trying to drown out the sound of the raging sea.
“Can you not use your head, little warrior?”
The old man suddenly appeared 300 feet away from the young man and leaned over one of the graves. Hadjar hadn’t even noticed him move.
“Are you Decater’s Master?”
“Decater?” The old man looked thoughtful. “Ah... You mean one of the guardians of the Wandering Will trial... No, I’ve never taught him.”
“But he-”
“-talks too much,” the old man interrupted him. Then, moving to another grave, he chuckled. “He talked too much, that is. But it doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
The old man straig
htened up with great difficulty and looked at Hadjar.
“Don’t you know where you are going?” He asked, surprised.
Hadjar shook his head.
“Then you’re either stupid or fearless. I don’t know which is worse.”
“What’s so wrong with being fearless?”
The old man gave him an unpleasant, yellow-toothed grin.
“Look around, boy. You stand on the bones of the fearless.”
Hadjar tried to touch one of the swords, but couldn’t. It was as if someone’s power was stopping him.
“That isn’t yours,” the old man grunted. “Your reward isn’t that paltry sword, that meager Divine level Technique.”
Hadjar looked around again and finally realized what kind of treasure Decater had found in here. The weapons around him weren’t artifacts, but representations of Techniques, knowledge, and Inheritances that had been collected by this ancient creature over the ages.
Hadjar’s heart started beating faster. He looked at the old man again.
“What’s your name, Shadow?” Hadjar took an involuntary step back.
“I don’t mind when young cultivators come here. If someone is strong enough, I give them an appropriate reward. Everyone gets an artifact from my collection after passing the Wandering Will-”
“What’s your name?”
The old man didn’t appear to be listening to him.
“-if a cultivator demonstrates sufficient talent, I offer them a Technique. They can choose any one they like, but almost no one ever chooses meditation Techniques, only combat ones. A stupid mistake, but what can I do? I don’t interfere-”
“What’s your name?” Hadjar yelled at the top of his lungs.
“-I only give my own Techniques to a select few. Only two people ever earned them before today... One of them is dead, and the other is in an eternal slumber… But no one ever showed me what you did, Hadjar. No one has ever seemed worthy of my Inheritance. Until today…”
The waves that had been surging against the shore all this time suddenly rose above the mountain of bones. That wasn’t water. It was blood.
The old man threw back his hood.
“You already know my name, my descendant.”
“The Enemy.” Hadjar said through gritted teeth. “The Black General.”
Chapter 730
T he Black General looked up at the sky.
“I love my raven form,” he said. “The raven is such a noble bird. So wise and strong.”
“What’s going on here?”
“Calm down, boy,” he said, still looking up at the sky. “I already told you that I wouldn’t try to devour your soul.”
“Yeah, but that was a few months ago,” Hadjar said, remembering the conversation they’d had on the edge of the Wastelands.
“A few months... A day... A hundred years... A thousand years... At some point, Hadjar, you stop noticing the difference. The only time that truly matters is today. This, of course, has its advantages, but it also-”
“Stop yammering. I hate philosophy,” Hadjar growled. “Einen is one philosopher too many as it is. Since you aren’t going to devour my soul, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on here?”
“What don’t you understand?”
“Everything!” Hadjar shouted. “I had a conversation with the fragment trapped inside my soul and now I’m facing a Shadow that has that same knowledge... That shouldn’t be possible!”
“It shouldn’t.” Leaning heavily on his staff, the old man slowly sat down on one of the skeletons. “When you entered the Stone of Faith, the fragment from your soul merged with this Shadow. To be honest, the process wasn’t pleasant. The Shadow was much older than the fragment. I still don’t understand how it happened myself, if I’m honest…”
“You planned this,” Hadjar said. He didn’t understand it either. “From the very moment you showed me that vision of Erhard.”
“Sometimes, you should consider using your head instead of your muscles, Hadjar.” The creepy, yellow-toothed smile flashed again. “Unless, of course, you actually want to die prematurely. And ruin me in the process.”
“If it comes to that, I’ll throw myself on my own sword to ensure that you don’t get to see the light of the next day.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, my glorious descendant, I really don’t.” The old man set down his staff and rubbed his feet as if they were aching. “Still, try to think with your head. It’s a useful skill.”
Hadjar swore.
“Why did you do this?”
The old man shrugged and stared at the sky again.
“I already offered to teach you before, Hadjar. You refused.”
“And I will refuse again if need be.”
“You’re stubborn... Just like me. We really are similar, you and I.”
“We really aren’t. I am Hadjar Darkhan, and you’re the Black General.”
The old man didn’t respond to that. Maybe he was imagining things, but Hadjar could’ve sworn that whenever the old man heard that nickname, he got angry. He wondered what had happened to ‘his’ fragment when it had merged with the ancient Shadow.
“I know that you’ll refuse my Inheritance, Hadjar. And that you’ll die because of your stupidity and stubbornness one day. And that I’ll die along with you. I’ll lose the biggest fragment of my soul if that happens. I’ve already lost too many of them. If this continues, my imprisonment on the Mountain of Skulls will indeed be permanent.”
Hadjar stared at him. Somehow, he’d forgotten that his ancestor was actually still alive. The gods had divided his soul into many pieces and scattered them all around the world. And the bit they hadn’t been able to cut away, they’d imprisoned in a dungeon on the Mountain of Skulls, plunging it into a kind of forced slumber.
“And how’s that supposed to change my mind?” Hadjar snorted. “Why should I accept your Inheritance? I can leave here with any of these Techniques. Or even without them. You can’t. You’ll be stuck here forever.”
The old man’s smile widened.
“I’m attached to you now, my descendant. When you leave this place, I’ll leave it with you. And after it loses its Shadow, the Palace of Space,” he said, gesturing to the world around them, “will collapse.”
“What is this Palace of Space?”
“I’m afraid that it’s far too complicated for your mortal brain to comprehend.”
Hadjar grumbled.
“Then I’ll just choose the first Technique I see,” he said and pointed a finger at the blade next to him.
“The ‘Steel Light’ Technique. Not the best choice.”
“I don’t care.”
Lifting his staff back up, the old man took it in both hands and rested his cheek on his wrist. For a moment, he looked like an ordinary, tired old man sitting on a bench, lost in thought.
“You’re so predictable, my descendant.” With a trembling hand, he pointed at an object stuck in the ground.
Hadjar followed that finger with his gaze and felt a cold shiver run down his spine — he was looking at a spear-staff.
“You’re bluffing,” he said slowly. “It’s just a copy and-”
“You brought your friend right to me. Along with his beloved. Dora Marnil, was it? A lovely elf and a descendant of the Great Forest...”
“He doesn’t love her, and she doesn’t love him either…”
“If you really believe that, Hadjar, you’re both stupid and blind. She was ready to give her life for him. What is that, if not love? You wouldn’t do the same for Anise. She wouldn’t do it for you, either.”
Hadjar felt his heartbeat quicken.
“Was ready? She’s still alive?”
“She is. You know what, if you refuse my Inheritance, I won’t kill Einen. Instead, I’ll take the life of his beloved. And before you and I leave the Palace of Space, I’ll show him this conversation. I think he’d deserve to know that his dear friend chose his own pride and safety over the life of his best friend�
��s beloved. Ah, not just his best friend’s… His only friend’s.”
Hadjar was silent.
“And he would’ve sacrificed himself not only for you, but also for Anise as well, if he’d thought that she was truly your beloved. Also-”
“Shut up!” Hadjar snapped. “Just get it over with! Give me your Inheritance.”
The old man instantly appeared close to him. He looked deep into Hadjar’s eyes. It felt like the universe itself was staring at him.
“Do you know what an Inheritance is, my descendant?”
“All the knowledge and skills you’ve accumulated over the course of your life.”
The old man touched Hadjar’s chest with his finger.
“It won’t all open up to you right away, little one. The weight of my knowledge would destroy not only you, but everything in a ten-mile radius. Take it, it’s yours.”
Hadjar felt the power of the whole universe flow into him.
“Through your own idiocy, you’ve brought the hour when I’ll destroy your soul and take this body for myself so much closer. This body that I’ll make sure is strong for when I start using it.” Every word the old man uttered imprinted itself on Hadjar’s soul and mind. “All you needed to do to protect yourself was to sacrifice a single life. One life for the sake of many, my descendant. And if you think you can replace my Inheritance with someone else’s, you’re sorely mistaken. My Inheritance will simply overpower any other, lesser Inheritance and-”
“Except my own.” Hadjar’s eyes flashed with a fierce, blue light that made even the Shadow of the Black General step back in fear. “My Inheritance will defeat your own,” he repeated. “Our battle, my ancestor, has only just begun. And I, Hadjar Darkhan, will destroy you with your own weapon.”
The world around him began to crumble. Left alone in the Graveyard of Swords, Hadjar noticed that the flaming rune had disappeared as he listened to the disembodied laughter that gradually turned into croaking.
Chapter 731
Dragon Heart: Land of The Enemy. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 8 Page 38
