Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2

by Kirill Klevanski

  “Yes, Commander,” Hadjar stood up and dusted himself off. “Is everybody here?”

  “We’re only waiting for you, my General.”

  Hadjar nodded and they entered the tent together.

  If there was anything constant in a General’s life, it was the military councils. Every day, Hadjar had to gather all the commanders to discuss current affairs, plans, and strategies. Otherwise, he would simply be unable to control the growing army.

  By the way, that’s why there was a new person sitting at the table/map. He wasn’t the best-looking man—he resembled a hamster that was always stuffing something behind its cheeks.

  His name was Simon.

  He was a mere mortal. Nobody knew how he had gotten into the army when it had camped at Spring Town. There were a lot of other mortals like him. But Simon had a belly. And not just any belly, but a huge paunch! Hadjar had no doubt that Simon could eat all of their Treasury and then trundle comfortably along to Lidus.

  Simon liked comfort, women (he’d found common ground with Nero there), wine, and beautiful clothes. However, the Governor of Spring Town didn’t like Simon, who’d cheated him out of five hundred gold. A fabulous sum, even by the standards of the capital.

  The savvy trader had been left with only two options:

  The first had been to try his luck in the court, where all the officials were in the Governor’s pocket. Or join the army.

  How the man had survived all the training, the battle at Garnuth, and the other hardships, Hadjar didn’t know. With the help of the Heavens or the gods themselves, most likely.

  “Report, Simon,” Hadjar ordered as he sat down in his chair.

  The fat man wasn’t a practitioner or a good warrior, but he knew how to make a good deal even when nobody else could manage it. So when this crook had been introduced to Hadjar and somebody had told him that he’d made a deal with one of the neighboring villages, which had enabled his army to eat excellent meat, the General had, without hesitation, made him a purchasing officer.

  Within a week, Simon had quickly solved several very serious problems that had been tormenting Hadjar for a long time. That’s what it meant to find the right person for the right job.

  “Yes, my General,” the obese man got up from his chair with difficulty. Everyone smiled inoffensively.

  The chair creaked, as it wasn’t designed for such a massive tushie, as well as Simon’s bones. Apparently, they hadn’t been ‘expected’ to support so much weight.

  Taking out a heavy scroll from the folds of his fur clothes, Simon unfolded it, muttered something, and began to read it, “My General, I’ve done all I could and even more, but not everyone can perform miracles, as you well know. If you’d let me use the treasury a little bit... Just a little bit, of course, I would’ve made a few very profitable deals and-”

  “Get to the point, Simon,” Hadjar sighed.

  He didn’t trust this Hamster enough to allow him to dip his paws into the treasury. Not yet, anyway.

  “All right, my General. So, after trading with the locals, I was able to restock our supplies. If we reduce the richness of our army porridge by a quarter, we’ll survive the winter.”

  “Even with all the new people constantly joining us?”

  “Well, I have to say,” Simon looked away from his scroll and frowned, “my General, that… it’s not warriors, but hungry beggars and useless vagabonds that are joining the army. I’ve had to give seventeen thousand fur blankets and clothes to them over the past three days. And I hasten to remind you that we don’t have enough supplies. The people have to cope with the weather themselves, which causes an unhealthy atmosphere in the camp.”

  Helion grunted and yanked the edge of Simon’s richly decorated fur jacket.

  “Well, you’ve managed quite well, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Officer Helion. I struck an honest bargain with the villagers for these clothes.”

  “Who later came to us with pitchforks and spears, claiming that you cheated them at cards.”

  Simon pouted and was about to answer, but Hadjar had neither the time nor the desire to listen to their squabbling.

  “Go on, Simon.”

  The Hamster cleared his throat and continued.

  “We have enough gunpowder and cannonballs for five or six shots. But that’s not the point. Each cannon, as you know, needs at least three people to crew it. But we have only 118 trained men for 246 cannons.”

  “I can send some of my people,” Lian said, “If they can use bows, they can use cannons.”

  “With all due respect, Lian,” Hadjar turned to the commander of his archers, “if you assign four hundred of your soldiers to the gunnery crews, we’ll lose four hundred of our best archers.”

  “Then we’ll just stare at the inactive cannons,” Lian spread her hands.

  “We have to consider-”

  The Hamster coughed again.

  “My General, may I speak?”

  “It’s the military council, Simon. Everyone can speak here.”

  Hadjar wasn’t a democratic leader, mainly because there wasn’t democracy in the army. Only his orders and their execution. But at the same time, he understood that, even with the neural network, he couldn’t know everything. Moreover, he couldn’t fathom everything. So he appreciated every bit of advice and all suggestions. Especially when they were given by professionals.

  “Let’s put the mortals on the cannons.”

  The brave and experienced commanders turned to Simon.

  “Have I said anything wrong?”

  “Damn it…” Hadjar didn’t finish his sentence. Because he’d been busy with a variety of problems, such a simple and profitable solution had never occurred to him. “Simon, you’re going to supervise the gunners today. Commanders, spread the word: the cleverest of the mortals must be sent to Simon and the gunners.”

  “Yes, my General.”

  “It’ll be done, my General.”

  After they’d discussed the supply problems, Simon left to carry out his orders. Only the ‘combat’ commanders and several of their assistants were left in the tent. Hadjar knew most of them by name—thanks to the neuronet.

  For some reason, when he addressed the soldiers and ordinary officers by name, they got excited.

  “My people inform me that more and more disciples of the sect have come to the pass,” the chief of intelligence began his report. “After you sent them the chief guard’s remains, the pavilion started preparing for battle.”

  “And we’ll give them one,” Hadjar said.

  The commanders fell silent, and Nero, who was smoking a pipe, blew out a cloud of smoke and asked, “How, exactly?”

  Instead of answering, Hadjar looked at his friend and smiled predatorily.

  “You’re crazy, General,” Nero rolled his eyes. “I’m already sick and tired of cursing the day I met you at the exam!”

  Chapter 106

  “Of course, it goes without saying that all of us are amazed by your ability, General, to communicate with Commander Nero without words,” Helion nodded toward the brave officer, a vague hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But all of us are also very interested in how exactly we’ll do this?”

  “Especially considering the fact that you’ve rejected all of my ideas so far.” The spymaster pointed to a pile of scrolls that littered the table.

  “With all due respect, Commander,” Hadjar pushed the scrolls away and grabbed his pointer, “your ideas will do nothing but lead to heavy losses for our army. We need to keep as many people as possible alive for a potential siege of the main pavilion.”

  “In other words, you want-”

  “That’s right, Lian,” Hadjar interrupted. “We don’t need a large army to take the sixth pavilion. Mostly because we won’t be fighting ordinary soldiers, but the sect’s disciples instead.”

  “Who don’t know what a military formation is. They have no officers and commanders as such,” He
lion enumerated with clear contempt. “They’re an unorganized herd, my General. In an open battle-”

  “In an open battle, they’ll annihilate us,” Nero interrupted him.

  “That’s right,” Hadjar agreed.

  He took a few pewter soldiers and placed them close to the pavilion. Most of the miniature warriors fell down, unable to stand on the numerous mountain peaks and ridges that surrounded it.

  “Okay, okay.” Lian raised her hands in surrender, “because of the mountains, we won’t be able to line up effectively. But still, there aren’t more than forty, maybe fifty thousand of them. And the flat land surrounding the pavilion is more than enough for half a million of our soldiers to get into formation. With such an overwhelming numerical advantage, we’ll-”

  “We’ll be destroyed regardless," Nero finished. “You, ladies and gentlemen, can hardly imagine what the sect and its disciples are capable of.”

  “Well, tell us then, Commander Nero,” the head engineer said. Tuur was trying to be sarcastic, but failed to convey it properly.

  “With pleasure. Each of the disciples, even though they have lived in the sect for only a few months, have already reached a level no lower than the twelfth stage of the Bodily Rivers. How many soldiers at that level do we have after the battle with the nomads? It’s a pity that Simon already left. He would’ve told you the exact number. I’ve been led to believe that we only have about seventy thousand.”

  “It’s still more than the sect has, Commander Nero.”

  “I haven’t finished speaking yet, Lian.” Nero frowned. He put down his pipe and folded his arms over his powerful chest. “How many of these seventy thousand soldiers know decent Techniques? How many of them have reached the level of ‘One with the Weapon’, not to mention ‘One with the World’? I’ll tell you. Judging by the extracts I have read from the imperial library, only around 23,000 of our soldiers have Mortal-level Techniques. Only about three and a half thousand of these are ‘One with the Weapon’. We have a paltry 216 ‘One with the World’ practitioners. That number includes the General here.”

  It took some time for the commanders to digest the information they had just received. While Nero addressed the other officers, Hadjar watched Azrea hunting for another piece of dried meat.

  Holding her belly against the floor, an almost comical frown crossed her face as she crawled toward one of the chests. Hadjar hadn’t closed it properly and it exuded a strong, meaty smell. This chest was where he kept the food supply for the kitten. And now, the white and fluffy thief was going to rob it before his very eyes.

  It looked funny, but as Hadjar struck the table with his pointer, Azrea straightened up, pretending that she had never intended to raid the contents of the General’s chest, and jumped back onto the bed.

  “Do you think the sectarians are in a much better position than us?” Lian no longer looked very confident.

  Helion also seemed unsure.

  “I’m not sure about the number of ‘Ones’ they might have in their ranks”, Nero shrugged, “but each disciple of the sect has several Techniques available to them. Don’t forget about the most trusted and senior disciples. Among them, there are most certainly those who are at the stage of Transformation of the Mortal Shell. Maybe even the Transformation of the Spirit.”

  “Still, they don’t have a clear command structure.”

  “But what they do have is more than enough individual strength.” Hadjar joined the discussion. “Each of the sect’s disciples is worth two or even three of our soldiers. They’ll easily sweep away any of our formations, simply because they are much stronger. And because, from their very first day in the sect, they have been hardened by the constant fighting and rivalry within their sect.”

  “What is your plan then, my General? I presume it’s a good one since Commander Nero is once again calling you a madman?”

  “If the shoe fits,” Nero chuckled and lit a cigarette. “I have no doubt that soon enough, the nickname of our commander will be ‘The Madman’. And our army will not be called the Moon Army, but rather, the Psychotic Army.”

  “Thank you for your input, Commander Nero.”

  In response, the white-haired swordsman only waved his hand—You’re welcome, buddy.

  “So…” Hadjar, still shaking his head at his friend, took the pointer and a single toy soldier, “where a thousand people wouldn’t be able to do anything, ten people could manage perfectly well. I’m not the first person to think of this, but the sayings that you hear are usually true.”

  “Thank you for the historical insight, General.” The head of intelligence stood and went over to the map. “But, as you always say, can we get down to business now?”

  Hadjar nodded. “This here is the sixth and weakest sect pavilion. But even it poses a significant threat to us. That leaves us with only one option.” Hadjar placed the toy soldier close to the pavilion. “We’ll do the same to it as we did to Garnuth.”

  The Commanders looked at each other, their mouths agape. Maybe their General really was insane.

  “Will we be throwing leaflets at it?” Tuur tried to guess.

  “No. Simply put, we’ll rob it.” Hadjar reclined in his chair, his fingers steepled over his chest. “Now, it’s likely that there are not, in fact, forty thousand disciples there. There’s probably a lot fewer of them right now.”

  “The tournament!” The spymaster nodded in understanding. “The main pavilion of the sect has organized a tournament among its disciples.”

  “It’s standard practice for these sects,” Hadjar confirmed. “We’re going to use that. Even if the news of the chief guard’s death has already reached the center of the sect, they won’t make it back to their pavilion anytime soon if they have to go through all this snow.”

  “Which means that the strongest disciples are away.”

  “That leaves us thirty thousand of their weaker disciples to contend with,” Hadjar continued, “and their Masters. They will clearly be on edge because of the chief guard’s death. All we have to do is take advantage of their fear.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “With the help of Serra’s sorcery,” Nero replied. “Our General is going to encourage the sect’s belief that their chief guard could only have been defeated by a true cultivator.”

  “Exactly, Commander Nero,” Hadjar smiled, “Serra will assist us by conjuring the illusion, which, in turn, will lead to the disciples and their Masters thinking that a Heaven Soldier is coming to fight them.”

  There was only silence as the commanders thought about this latest scheme.

  “But… I still don’t see how that would give us an advantage.” The head of intelligence eventually said.

  “Well, besides the disciples, the pavilion is also surrounded by a series of enchantments,” Hadjar threw Azrea a piece of meat, “so, to get inside, we’ll have to breach them. The breach that we’ll be able to create through these enchantments won’t be sufficient for one hundred thousand soldiers to pass through, but it will be enough for ten thousand.”

  “Ten thousand against thirty thousand?” Helion barked. “It’s a suicide mission!”

  “Ten thousand soldiers against thirty thousand disciples,” Hadjar corrected him. “As you’ve pointed out, Commander, these aren’t soldiers that we will be fighting. How many of them will be willing to sacrifice their lives for the sake of the sect? Plenty of them, of course, but not all of them. What we need to do is make them flinch. And as soon as they flinch, all their storehouses and their library will be ours. We’ll gain a foothold in their pavilion, just like you wanted to do when we took Garnuth. Then we’ll wait out the winter in it—we’ll train our soldiers, hide among the mountains, and when the spring floods start, we’ll hit the fifth pavilion. Then the fourth one and so on, until we reach the center.”

  Hadjar moved the toy soldiers along the mountains until they reached the spot where the sign for ‘The Black Gates’ had once been, but was now just the imprint of his palm.
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  “And that, my commanders, is the plan.”

  Chapter 107

  “This has already become a tradition,” Serra said through gritted teeth.

  The three of them—Nero, Serra, and Hadjar—lay behind a boulder near the border of the sect’s magically enhanced barriers. Three days had passed since the military council and it had snowed heavily throughout. It was useless to try and do any kind of reconnaissance in that kind of weather.

  The snow had finally stopped today. The cold wind was still blowing through, however, and the sky was overcast with heavy, gray clouds. It was the perfect weather for some spying: there were no unnecessary sun glares that could betray an inept scout, and no snowfall, which made everything invisible even if viewed through the best telescope.

  They lay on top of one of the mountain ridges, and for a while, they enjoyed a clear view of the rock-and-stone sea below, the majestic and endless mountain range. Compared to such a view, the Blue Wind ridge looked almost insignificant.

  Wherever they gazed, the snow-white mountain peaks stretched toward the sky. They looked like huge waves, merging into broad plateaus in some places, then descending to the ground where they were greedily caressed by the huge expanse of forest below. Some even seemed to ‘go’ toward distant clouds, which circled around them in a slow, misty dance.

  It was a majestic, calming spectacle—the mountains immersed in their winter sleep.

  Against the background of this sea of black stones and white snow, the bright orange color of the sect’s pavilion stood out clearly. As it was under the gigantic, ghostly hieroglyphs that circled the sky above it, it had remained untouched by the winter cold.

  Apparently, the flickering barrier of magic symbols protected the pavilion not just from their enemies, but also from any objectionable weather. The pavilion appeared to be experiencing nothing more than a late autumn while winter had already claimed everything around them.

  It sat on an artificial plateau, resting among the artificially grown trees and planted grass that was somehow growing out of the rocks. Hadjar didn’t understand how they’d managed it, but he felt that charms and mysteries unknown to him had been at work there. They weren’t a mystery to Serra, but she always refused to explain the intricacies of such magic to Hadjar and Nero.