“Exactly.” The guard nodded. “Leave your sword here or you can wait for the Chief on the street.”
Helion leaned forward to remind the man that he was speaking to a General. Hadjar raised his fist slowly in the air, and the cavalryman froze. The General put his hand on the hilt of his sword and everyone tensed. Despite their ostentatious bravado, the villagers were well aware of who their Chief was meeting with.
The fame of the mighty General preceded him.
Hadjar easily undid the buckle and removed his sword belt. Under it was the same rope that had once replaced his belt. Hadjar was so used to it that he hadn’t taken it off, just like his simple, worn clothes. Serra was tired of complaining that the General used her as a tailor because of his constant requests for her to mend his shabby clothes.
Hadjar could do it himself, but he sometimes had an urge to use his power. This urge would encourage him to eagerly use the free labor he had at his disposal. Maybe he’d gotten that part of his character from his grandfather.
“General,” Lian whispered in his ear, “don’t you think that, if this is a trap, it’s unwise to enter unarmed?”
“I have a dagger.” Hadjar shrugged. “By the way, it’s obviously not a trap.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” The officer asked, taking her bow and quiver of arrows from her shoulder.
Hadjar didn’t know how to answer the question. He just... felt that this had nothing to do with the sectarians. They most likely wouldn’t be leaving their pavilions till the end of the season. They would gather their forces together for a decisive attack, hoping to completely destroy the enemy troops.
They wouldn’t waste their time on this game in a local village.
“Just trust me, Officer. They’re not our enemies. At least for now.”
After verifying that the visitors had left their weapons at the door, the guards let them in.
It really was a tower. From outside, it seemed like it had several floors, but it turned out to have only one. It was a spacious, hexagonal room, with walls so high that Hadjar could barely make out the ceiling. Absolutely useless stairs, disappearing somewhere beneath the distant vault, curled up against the walls. Well, Hadjar mused, every nation had its own architecture. And sometimes it was particularly strange.
In the center of the room, there were tables which were being set by numerous maids. Most of them were very pretty, bursting with health. Hadjar liked another type of shape and, therefore, temperament. But Helion clearly didn’t object to them at all, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.
Strewn around the tables were a lot of skins and carpets. Apparently, this was where the main event of the festival would be held. For the village elite, at least.
A man came forward. He had been hidden behind the maids until that point. Hadjar’s mind refused to call him ‘old’. He was a tall, handsome man, with gray hair and lots of wrinkles, but he still had a direct and sharp gaze.
“Greetings, glorious General.” The Chief bowed.
“Greetings, respected Chief.” Hadjar nodded.
They looked at each other in silence for a while, until the Chief pointed to one of the tables.
“Shall we sit down and talk?” he offered.
“Yes, let’s talk,” Hadjar agreed.
The Chief called his son over, telling him to entertain the two officers while they talked. Actually, neither Helion nor Lian were hard to persuade. The girl clearly didn’t mind spending time in the company of the herculean warrior, and the cavalryman was entranced by the multitude of young maids in close proximity to him.
After a couple of minutes, they disappeared from sight, and Hadjar was left ‘alone’ with the Chief. They sat across from each other as a girl of about thirteen rushed over to them and poured a fragrant liquid into their glasses.
“Live long…” The Chief raised his glass.
“And die quickly,” Hadjar replied.
They clinked glasses, drank, and started to negotiate.
Chapter 133
Hadjar followed the officers who were disappearing into the crowd with his gaze. Frankly, without his sword at his belt, he felt a little uncomfortable. As if he was walking through the central city square naked.
“Please forgive my people.” The Chief put his glass on the table and leaned heavily on his hands. He seemed to be feeling his age. “They’re on edge.”
“Because of the sect?”
“Pretty much.” The local ruler nodded, “after your victory over the sixth pavilion, we expected the anger of ‘The Black Gates’ to rain down upon us.”
Hadjar now understood why the villagers had greeted him with such wariness. Certainly, to most of them, the forces of the Moon Army weren’t their savior. They had come in and turned their once bad situation into an even worse one. Because, most likely, none of the villagers truly believed that the sect could ever be defeated.
However, they wholeheartedly believed that when the army ended up beaten, the angry disciples would descend upon them from the mountains to take revenge.
“But they haven’t come, have they?”
“That just worries me even more,” the Chief admitted as he called a girl over with a gesture, and she poured him some more alcohol.
Hadjar covered his glass with his palm, refusing another drink. He preferred tobacco to alcohol, and he’d only had the first glass due to tradition. The Chief drank the second glass in one gulp. Hadjar assumed that he had gotten used to knocking them back during a turbulent youth.
“Apologies. I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Darius, by the way, General.”
“Hadjar.”
Darius merely twitched the corners of his lips. Of course, he already knew the name of the General. He’d headed out to bring him the news that most people wouldn’t believe or didn’t want to believe. After all, the upcoming potential invasion was much more terrible than news of any war.
In a war, you could surrender, negotiate, or even desert. But how did one get away from an invasion of wild beasts? You couldn’t surrender—the animals would just eat you. You couldn’t negotiate—the animals wouldn’t understand you, even if they were at the Alpha Stage. Their minds weren’t developed enough to understand such complex concepts as the enemy giving up. You could escape, Hadjar supposed, dooming your family and loved ones to the fate of becoming a living pasture.
Of course, there were those who would choose this option. But they were always a minority. The people here were mostly used to fighting. They absorbed the awareness that they had to fight for a place under the sun along with their first taste of mother’s milk.
“That was the first sign,” the Chief was twirling the glass in his hands. It was well-made, and Hadjar imagined that it must’ve cost a pretty penny. “The sect has never missed a chance to visit us before. The most innocuous of their ‘pranks’ is to take someone away by force or to eat and drink and then leave without paying.”
“I’ve heard they use people as a means of transport.”
“Have you now?” Darius smiled a little sadly. “We’ve heard that as well, General. We heard that you saw this type of transport and cut the Chief guard of the sixth pavilion down with a single strike of your sword. I admit that I didn’t believe the story when I first heard it.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it either,” Hadjar replied with a nod.
Even now, he couldn’t understand why the Chief guard had relaxed so much in the presence of his foe. However, history didn’t know the subjunctive mood, and so, that’s all there was to it. The Chief guard had met his end; Hadjar had captured the sixth pavilion and organized a hospital there. That was all just history now.
“They don’t usually enslave our people,” Darius continued.
It was quite logical. While they dominated the region, a swarm of locusts could bring down even the strongest of bulls. If all the deprived, offended, and destitute villages began to bite at the sect from all sides, sooner or later, it would fall. Its gates
would be trampled into the ground, its legacy soon forgotten.
The Patriarch surely understood this as well as Hadjar did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been a Patriarch.
“But, surprisingly, they never came. We waited a few days to receive the worst of their punishments, but nothing happened.”
“Their worst punishment?” Hadjar asked.
The Chief called the girl over again, took the jug from her, and began to pour himself another drink. It was clear how much he was worried about the well-being of his people and the future of his village. He really believed an animal invasion was coming, but Hadjar still had some doubts.
“They sometimes send a black fog. Anyone who inhales it is then covered in terrible blisters, and their veins turn black. A day or two later, delirium and fever set in, and eventually, they die in terrible agony. There is no cure for this infection, so we kill every person afflicted by it. That way, they don’t have to suffer.”
Hadjar looked at Darius’ sad face. He immediately understood why Dubar’s mother had never come to greet them alongside everyone else.
“I’ve seen it.” Hadjar nodded. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Then you understand what I’m talking about.”
Hadjar didn’t just understand, he also made sure that the neural network had recorded everything the Chief had said. If the sect was able to send this demonic plague against entire settlements, then it could most likely be used against his army in battle. If not for this conversation, Hadjar would definitely have sent his troops to their doom. They could’ve all died in that bloody, dark fog.
Now he had a new problem—how was he supposed to protect his army against this black fog? That was an issue he’d have to carefully consider and solve later…
“The fact that the sect didn’t come to harass you doesn’t mean that they’re afraid of an upcoming invasion of monsters. The reason could be something totally unrelated.”
Darius looked at Hadjar’s clear, blue eyes. In their depths, he saw a steely, unshakable will and also something that he couldn’t look at for long. For a moment, the Chief thought that he was seeing a beast sitting in front of him, ready to pounce.
Although this feeling was unnerving, it didn’t frighten the Chief.
The beast was ready to devour its prey, but that wasn’t him...
Yet, inside those strange eyes, he also found what he was looking for. The answer to his unspoken question.
“You don’t believe me,” Darius stated, and it was clearly not a question.
“No, I don’t.” Hadjar shook his head. “Or rather, I believe that you think it’s true. But that’s not enough for me to launch a full-scale operation.”
“When will you be convinced, General? When the enraged beasts are all here, it will be too late. We will all be dead. The mountains of the sixth pavilion aren’t high enough to protect you from the approaching invasion.”
Hadjar looked at the Chief. He understood now that the old man had known in advance how their conversation would end. He’d never expected Hadjar to believe him. He hadn’t expected it, but he’d still insisted on this meeting. Which meant he had some kind of trump card up his sleeve. This realization didn’t inspire a single optimistic thought in Hadjar’s mind.
“Not when, dear Darius, but if.”
The Chief drank some more.
“I didn’t believe it at first, either,” he said quietly, almost too low for Hadjar to hear.
“What changed your mind?”
“It wasn’t a what, but a who,” Darius looked around as if he feared they might be overheard. “Our witch. She’s shown them to me, General. Thanks to her, I saw that those two beasts are going to fight soon.”
Hadjar was now more than skeptical. He was about to stand up and leave when the Chief’s long, dry fingers grabbed his wrist. They were old but still strong.
“You’ve come a long way, General,” Darius said without pleading, but the request in his tone was clear. “Stay another hour. Talk to the witch. If she doesn’t convince you, then, when we all go to our forefathers, I won’t blame you for the deaths of my family and the villagers.”
[Warning! Previously detected anomaly defies analysis. Lack of data]
Hadjar looked at Darius, cursed inwardly, and nodded his head in agreement.
He was still a little doubtful, but more curious than anything.
Chapter 134
Dubar was their guide again. Judging by how the ordinary people looked at him, he was almost as respected as his father, the Chief.
It was quite rare for villagers to show so much respect to the child of an insignificant ruler. Usually, they grew up to be spoiled ‘princes’. But Dubar had decided to go against these stereotypes—or he was cleverly hiding his real nature.
Asking the herculean warrior to wait, Hadjar located Lian and Helion. Contrary to his expectations, they hadn’t made any new acquaintances. The officers stood in the corner, arguing about something and picking at food from someone else’s tray. Hadjar’s belly rumbled as the smell of freshly prepared food assaulted him. Luckily, no one heard the noise.
“My General,” the cavalryman said first.
“That was fast,” Lian said thoughtfully. “Are we leaving already?”
“Not yet,” Hadjar said. “I’ll go and talk to the local witch, and then we’ll decide.”
Despite the fact that Lian and Helion had been standing in very relaxed poses and eating snacks a moment ago, upon hearing the news, they immediately straightened up. Their faces became serious, their eyes resolute.
“We’re going with you, General.”
Hadjar only shook his head.
“There’s no need,” he said. “I need you both here.”
The commanders looked at each other in confusion.
“What’re our orders?”
Hadjar turned and looked at Darius again. He continued to drink one glass after another. Something was wrong here.
“I don’t like this,” Hadjar whispered quietly. “Keep your eyes peeled, and if anything happens, you have my permission to act as you see fit.”
The officers immediately braced themselves. Their glances became wary.
“You think it’s a trap?”
Hadjar remained silent, listening to his gut.
Silence.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t like the Chief and the way he’s acting. Maybe he wants to sit on two chairs at once.”
“In what way?” Helion asked, wiping his fingers on the wall.
“He really believes in the monster invasion, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to curry favor with the sect. So, there might be several assassins from ‘The Black Gates’ or the Ax clan around here.”
The commanders cursed synchronously, but they did it quietly enough to avoid being heard by the maids at the nearby tables.
“Maybe we should go with you in that case?”
“The village witch and some men with sticks?” Hadjar smiled. “I think I can handle them, Lian.”
Having given his orders, Hadjar nodded to Darius and went over to the exit. When he got his sword back from the guards, he noticed that one of them was hiding a bloody hand behind his back. They really weren’t warriors at all.
Only an idiot would unsheathe someone else’s sword. If you weren’t strong enough, you could end up severely injured. The warrior was lucky that Hadjar hadn’t wielded Moon Beam long enough for the artifact to truly soak up his power. Otherwise, the curious villager could’ve lost his hand, or even his whole arm.
Feeling somehow whole again after getting his sword back, Hadjar turned and followed Dubar.
As he set foot outside, the frosty morning air rushed into his lungs. Despite the cold, breathing it in was relatively easy and pleasant. For some time, they walked in silence, getting farther from the village with each step. In this regard, apparently, all the usual witch stereotypes applied.
Rural witches never lived among people. Not because they immediately to
ok up pitchforks and torches against them. On the contrary, they were greatly appreciated. Just as much as practitioners who were able to run faster than a horse or kill a bear with just their hands.
On the other hand, witches weren’t exactly practitioners. For example, Serra. Hadjar couldn’t even begin to understand her skillset. The desert caster refused to teach him, citing the blood oath that she’d taken.
Like Hadjar (and maybe Nero sometimes) bothered Serra with his questions, the local witch was surely pestered a lot by the local boys and girls. That’s why witches, healers, and scholars tended to live as far as possible from the hustle and bustle of a settlement.
That’s also why sacred knowledge was sacred. It inspired awe, respect, and a desire to even begin to comprehend it. What skill could remain sacred if everyone was able to easily get to the witch and ask her to pass on all her knowledge?
“May I ask you a question, General?” Dubar said as they walked.
The houses had now been left behind, and they were in the snowy forest again. The snow crunched underfoot, the sleeping trees cracked under the weight of their white covers, and the occasional icicles rang slightly.
“Yes, giant.”
The young man was obviously flattered by such a comparison. Hadjar was in a fighting mood, and therefore generous with his compliments. Especially when they cost him nothing.
“The woman with the fiery hair, does she…”
Hadjar almost choked on air. He realized that one of the reasons why the villagers had goggled at them so much was Lian’s hair. All the villagers had hair as black as pitch. Red hair, freckles, and pale skin were something exotic to them.
In Lidus, red hair was one of the most common features and hardly something that would make a person stand out.
“Does she have a name?”
Hadjar kept his cool, but inside, he was crouched down, like a cat ready to pounce. “Lian. To you, however, it’s Officer Lian.”
Dubar nodded, then paused briefly. Apparently, he was mustering his courage.
At that moment, Hadjar was pondering a very vital question. Had the giant asked about Lian because he knew that an assassin sent by ‘The Black Gates’ was lurking in the village? Or maybe he’d asked because he didn’t know about the killer—it was possible his father hadn’t let him in on his plans. If he even had any.
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 31
