The assassin’s long, strong legs could be seen through a narrow slit in her lengthy silk clothing, and she approached barefoot, without making the slightest sound. She didn’t smell like perfume or have any natural fragrance, for obvious reasons, and a moment later, the emanations of her aura also disappeared.
If he were to cover his eyes, it would be like no one was standing before him.
“Why have you shown yourself?” Hadjar asked. “Your colleagues all attacked me from the shadows.”
“I wished to look upon the legendary Officer Hadjar.” Even her voice was light and strangely unmemorable. Like the gentle murmur of water as it lapped against the shore.
As she spoke, her clothes slid slightly down her left shoulder, exposing the tempting curve of her shoulder and a tattoo. There was also a jagged, red line that ran from her plump, lower lip down to her neckline.
“Have you finished looking at me?” the assassin asked, lowering her daggers and stopping when she was eighty feet from Hadjar. Apparently, word had gotten around and she knew about his ability to strike at a distance of nineteen steps.
“Don’t be angry with me, Officer. I feel nothing toward you, except perhaps gratitude and respect,” she continued.
“Gratitude?” Hadjar was surprised. This was rapidly turning out to be the strangest assassination experience of his life.
Never before had the assassins sent by General Larvie thanked him.
“My family used to live in one of the villages looted by the nomads. My father, mother, and my brother with his wife and children…”
Hadjar also lowered his blade. Now he understood why she’d felt the need to talk before attempting to take his life.
“Then go away. Leave,” he implored. She’d already suffered enough loss. Her life seemed to be the only thing she had left to lose.
The assassin laughed despondently.
“You know that I can’t do that, Officer. I am from the Ax clan. We are paid money. We do the work we’re paid for.”
“I’ll pay twice as much for you to go,” he offered, though he feared he already knew her answer.
The assassin’s gaze became angry.
“Don’t insult me, Officer. You warriors have your own notions of honor. We have them, too. If I am paid, I’ll execute the order or I’ll die trying.”
For a while, they stood and silently looked at one another. Then they both put their right hand, clenched in a fist, against their open left palm. They bowed, paying their respects to each other’s honor and valor.
This time, not an assassin, but rather, a warrior, had come to take Hadjar’s life — no matter what she claimed to be — and Hadjar had respect for any warrior. He knew that it wasn’t easy to put one’s life on the line time and time again.
She took her fighting stance, holding the right dagger in front of her and the left one behind her back. The wide, red ribbon fluttered faster, circling around her like a cocoon.
Hadjar seemed relaxed, lowering his blade and enjoying the east wind as it ruffled his long hair.
The woman’s movements appeared to be simple, and yet, at the same time, they remained somewhat elusive. She seemed to effortlessly disappear from one place, only to emerge from the darkness in another. There was a brief pause, and then the two daggers flashed, deflected at the last second by Hadjar’s now upraised sword. But as soon as he tried to retaliate, the lady disappeared into the darkness once again.
She once more appeared eighty feet away from him, her clothes swaying in the wind as she seemed to exude darkness itself. It might have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but it appeared to Hadjar as if she were wearing the night itself, not mere silk.
Hadjar dashed toward her and swung his sword, launching a ghostly slash. It was as thick as his palm and as tall as a sapling, leaving a deep furrow in the ground before slamming into the assassin. Such a strike could’ve cut an ordinary cultivator in half. However, it was now unable to free itself from the bonds of the red ribbon, vibrating helplessly as it sought to end her life.
Message to host:
The attack was stopped by an unknown object.
“Artifact,” Hadjar said, realizing what had happened.
In the next instant, the ribbon artifact directed the ghostly strike skyward, where it scattered.
Becoming a cloud of darkness again, the assassin slid across the grass. She didn’t move in a straight line, constantly changing her trajectory instead, avoiding more than a dozen of those same attacks that Hadjar kept throwing at her. Apparently, her ribbon couldn’t protect her from all of the strikes, but then again, it didn’t really need to since she had such skill to fall back on.
Her speed was much greater than Hadjar’s, and her movements were also smoother than his.
Everything in her Technique was clearly geared toward only landing a single, insanely strong and accurate strike, killing her target in one blow.
Finally, she emerged from the darkness, poised above Hadjar. The assassin’s daggers blazed in the moonlight. Like two thin, deadly rays, they rushed toward Hadjar’s head and chest.
He ‘floated’ back and immediately swung his sword, utilizing the second stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique. The ‘Calm Wind’ swirled around him, but the stance, normally capable of stopping the impact of a battering ram, merely slowed down the thin blades.
They broke through his shield and left two deep, red lines on his body, and the first drops of blood that had been spilled in the fight fell to the ground.
The assassin descended, making sure she was eighty feet away, as before, her daggers still sparkling in her hands as the hint of a smile appeared on her face.
“You deserve to have the bards sing about you, Officer. The ‘Moon Flower’ Technique usually means certain death even for practitioners at the Transformation of Spirit stage.”
“I’m flattered.” Hadjar smiled broadly.
He felt no fear, no desire to escape or call on his friends for help. No, he was only glad that he had the chance to face such a strong opponent. Full of passion, his heart beating rapidly, he met this new, deadly battle head-on. Only by facing such skilled and lethal opponents and fighting them to the death could a person without great talent progress in this world.
Hadjar set his sword in front of him and swung it abruptly. “Strong wind!” he roared.
Chapter 76
The first stance of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique was an attack stance. It used to merely invoke an almost invisible, cutting whirlwind, but since Hadjar had trained in it every day, fighting against groups of invisible opponents, his sword had become both faster and sharper. His understanding of the Way of the Sword had deepened and, in turn, had opened up new horizons for him in battle.
That was why something that had previously been invisible had now assumed the form of a blue whirlwind. It swept through the air, cutting deep furrows into the earth as it moved. It crashed into the red ribbon with tremendous force, but, same as with Hadjar’s previous attack, the ribbon held fast.
However, just like with the ghostly strikes, it could only protect against the first attack. When more ethereal swords emerged from the whirlwind, the assassin had to contend with them herself.
She was able to deflect the first two blades with her daggers, but the third one left a long, scarlet cut across her bare left shoulder.
The girl spun like a top and disappeared into the darkness, and the whirlwind went off into the forest, cutting down several trees along the way and then fading away into an indistinct haze.
“I deem you worthy,” the lady said, appearing near him once more, plainly visible. “My name is Delaha.”
“Hadjar Traves,” the officer introduced himself.
Such an exchange of names was a long-standing tradition that meant one was recognizing their opponent’s abilities.
A moment later, Delaha moved. Her daggers flashed and whirled as they fought up close. Their movements were more like the dance of a swan, despite the desperate
struggle they were engaged in. Every strike was beautiful and elegant, carrying not only death with it, but an element of mystery as well.
They were so fast that even Nero found it difficult to follow the warriors’ movements. At times, he only saw flashes of steel, blue whirlwinds, or the moon rays that the assassin’s blades projected.
Aiming a vicious thrust at his throat using her right dagger, Delaha didn’t follow through on the deadly movement. Instead, she turned and redirected her other dagger at Hadjar’s stomach. He deflected the strike aimed at his neck with his blade and then twisted aside with a supernatural grace. The dagger sang through the air, cutting his clothes, but not breaking his skin.
Using the inertia of his dodge, Hadjar swung his sword in retaliation. Like a falling dragon, the strike bore down at Delaha’s head with grim finality. She immediately dissolved into the darkness, appearing once again behind Hadjar.
They kept performing their graceful dance of death. They fought near the ground, floating over the grass like the ghosts of past practitioners.
They fought in the air, trading light but still undoubtedly dangerous strikes.
Hadjar braced himself and assumed the first stance of the Technique, sending a cutting whirlwind toward his foe. But once again, it ran into the assassin’s red ribbon barrier. Taught by bitter experience, Delaha defended against the ghostly blades that followed more easily this time around.
She moved like a shadow and launched five moon rays at once. Each of them was strong enough to make a hole in a fortress wall. Hadjar was able to repel four of them with the ‘Calm Wind’, but the fifth one cut into his thigh after successfully evading his defenses.
Hadjar’s dance slowed down a bit, and his movements became careless.
And yet, he continued to battle.
He swung his blade at his opponent’s chest. When she deflected it with her right dagger, Hadjar twisted his body and turned around. He caught her left wrist and then jerked her hand with all the force he could muster, cutting her side with her own blade.
This sent Delaha into a rage. Disappearing in a cloud of darkness, she appeared a few feet above Hadjar. Her dagger-flowers flashed, and with a hawkish cry, she attacked the officer with a dozen more moon rays.
Hadjar waited for the deadly yet beautiful waterfall of moonlight to get as close to him as he dared risk, holding his blade with both hands and focusing as he closed his eyes.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t awaken that feeling he had tapped into during the battle with Colin. But still, he could feel that he was closer to it. So close that it only took him one strike...
Battle wasn’t just about swinging one’s weapon, it was a clash of wits as well. Delaha had lost the very moment she’d fallen into Hadjar’s trap.
After each ‘Moon Flower’ Technique, she would use a cloud of darkness. Not because she wanted to get some distance between them, but, Hadjar had realized, because she couldn’t fight for a brief period of time.
Now, stuck in the air after using her best assassination Technique, she was completely defenseless.
To Nero and Serra, it looked as if Hadjar had just accepted his fate. He was calmly greeting the cascade of moon rays. Just before the collision, though, when Nero was already swinging his blade and Serra was taking out a talisman, Hadjar made a single movement with his sword.
It was utterly simple and elegant, but still so strong that the nearby tents fluttered, a fire went out, and powerful waves spread across the grass, like the ripples that followed after a large stone being thrown into a lake.
It was as if a dragon had roared. The ghostly strike turned into a fang, rushing upward. The fang never left the blade, and Hadjar soared with it into the air. He flew through the moon rain, and as each ray clashed against his sword, it exploded into vibrant splashes of moon petals.
The warriors fell to the ground together.
Hadjar, wounded by the petals, and Delaha, run through by his sword.
Hadjar lifted the dying woman’s head.
Message to host…
Message to host…
Message to host…
Message to host…
He mentally brushed aside all the neuronet messages.
“The songs don’t lie,” she whispered hoarsely, as blood trickled down the corners of her mouth.
“You fought well, Ax clan assassin,” Hadjar replied.
She smiled and took out a bloodied scroll from her clothes, her hand trembling with the effort.
“Your movements…” The blood at the side of her mouth began to foam. Her time was running out. “They are slower than your sword. Take it. Take it, Officer. It’s my way of thanking you.”
Hadjar looked into the eyes of his most recent opponent. There was no anger or hatred in them. Only respect and gratitude. Perhaps she’d planned this from the start. She’d intended to execute her orders with honor if she’d been the one to win. And if she perished, she would repay her debt to Hadjar and make him stronger.
“This is the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique. It’ll make you... faster.”
“Thank you, Delaha.” Hadjar cautiously took the scroll from her hand.
“Now…” Suddenly, a gleam appeared in the darkness of her eyes. “…kiss me, Officer. As if you loved me.”
She died there, in his arms. Hadjar stood up and, clenching his fist and covering it with his palm, he bowed low out of respect. This was the first time he had fought against someone who wasn’t an enemy, but rather, a worthy adversary—a fellow practitioner. A person that had held the same beliefs as him.
A while later, as he made her funeral pyre, he could still taste her lips.
They’d tasted like a newly bloomed flower.
***
The next morning, before going to training, Hadjar had a visitor. A broad-shouldered man accompanied Nero into his tent. In his hands, the man carried two long objects, both wrapped in several thick furs.
He placed them on the table and threw the furs aside.
The friends beheld two swords. One was long and heavy, with a broad tip and a narrowed upper and lower end. To Hadjar, it resembled the claw of a hawk or another bird of prey. It was certainly a high-quality blade.
Nero took it in his hands and made two small sweeps. Each of them caused papers to fly into the air and the mats on the ground to shake.
Hadjar took the second sword. It was a classic, double-edged, rectangular blade with a long tip, almost without a guard. It looked like any other classic sword, but, at the same time, it felt like something completely different. There was something about it that seemed to push his swordsmanship toward a new level.
Hadjar made only one lunge, and the power coming off the blade made a hole in his tent. Not finished, it then rushed toward the forest and cut into the nearest tree. A tree standing twenty-one steps away.
“The rumors about your mastery are true,” the Imperial Artifactor snorted. “Now you just need to give them names. Any spiritual blade must have its own name.”
“Spiritual!” Nero almost screeched with joy.
They had thought that only a Mortal level artifact could be made from the tigresses’ fangs. Certainly not a Spiritual one. It seemed like lady luck was truly on their side, this time.
Hadjar looked at the clean, mirrored blade, and the crescent-shaped guard that he held in his hands.
“The Moon Beam,” he said, smiling.
The blade flashed, accepting its new name.
Chapter 77
It was strange that, for the next three days, General Larvie didn’t bother to send another assassin or spy. This concerned Nero and Hadjar greatly as they prepared for their foray. They had intended on going to the General’s castle alone, but then they’d taken the time to heed Serra’s words.
In the sky, around the ‘nest’ of Colin’s father, there were a lot of barely noticeable, translucent hieroglyphs. They might be some kind of protective enchantment, an alarm, or something to that effect. The friends didn’t want to fail
because they’d rushed in without thinking everything through carefully.
Moreover, the only bridge to the castle was located above the mighty waterfall. Several soldiers were constantly on duty at this bridge, and in case of danger, there was a wooden section that folded away into one part of the huge, stone building. The castle was located on a hill, the northern part of which was inaccessible due to the absolutely smooth rock surface that led up to it.
“Don’t look at me like that, Hadjar,” Serra said when Nero handed her the telescope.
“It seems like all your spells are under the seal of your blood oath, Serra.”
“Most of them.” She shrugged. “And those that aren’t—well, they’re useless to you. Without a base to work from, you’ll just get confused or even harm yourself.”
Hadjar sighed heavily but didn’t argue. For several months, he had repeatedly asked Serra to teach him at least a few spells, but she’d always refused. As it turned out, the Master of the Underworld City demanded a blood oath from his disciples. This oath was in place to insure that they would never teach anyone without his permission being granted first.
“The protection is weak here,” the caster whispered quietly. The three of them were hiding in the bushes not far from the castle. “It appears to have been done by a rather inexperienced scholar. Even from here, I can see a few holes and areas that are almost as fragile as Nero’s self-esteem.”
“My self-esteem is okay,” Nero whispered back indignantly.
Nobody paid him any attention.
“How long will it take you to remove it?” Hadjar asked.
“If I do some dirty work and make plenty of noise, it’ll just take a couple of seconds. If I do the work neatly…” Serra thought and frowned slightly, her graceful eyebrows lowering as she did so. Even lying in the grass, she looked like a graceful cat. Hadjar understood why his friend had fallen in love so quickly. “It’ll take me no less than half an hour. After that, you’ll have fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Nero repeated, taking the telescope from his lover. “During which we’ll have to climb the steep hill, enter the castle, and kill a practitioner who is on the verge of reaching the level of Heaven Soldier.”
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 2
