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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Dammit all!

  Hadjar had never been good at intrigue. He didn’t like it one bit.

  For such machinations, he had his chief of intelligence—who was able to unravel even the most convoluted tangle of conspiracies and intrigues.

  “Does she have… well... a husband?”

  “A husband? Are you asking if she has a lover or if she’s married?”

  Dubar was slightly surprised, then he huffed a little judgmentally at the General.

  “I’ve heard that morals are lax in the Valley, but not this much.”

  “Don’t girls around here have sex before marriage?”

  Dubar looked ruffled, like a sparrow before the rain.

  “Gods forbid! A worthy husband and wife don’t sleep together until their union is fastened by Heaven and Earth.”

  Hadjar barely held back a chuckle. If Nero had been here, he would’ve immediately said that any gods that tried to forbid him from making love to someone before marriage would have to go. It should be noted that Hadjar fully supported his friend’s opinion on the matter.

  Fictional gods couldn’t dictate rules for him to live by or forbid him from doing something. He had his sword in his hand and his mighty heart beating in his chest. He was his own God and his own King. He didn’t need anyone’s permission to live his life how he wanted to.

  “No, giant. She’s single. In every sense of the w-”

  Hadjar couldn’t finish his sentence. He found himself wondering whether the gods really did exist after all because the woman standing before him now could only be a goddess.

  Chapter 135

  Despite the cold and wind, she was dressed in a simple gray dress that was almost floor-length, with wide sleeves and a long belt around her waist. Her attire was like a maid’s, but she looked better than a noblewoman from the palace dressed in the finest clothes. Hadjar had seen many noblewomen in his childhood, though none could’ve compared to this vision of beauty before him.

  She was also wearing a simple cloak embroidered with patterns at the shoulders over her dress. It was the color of wet ice, and Hadjar noticed that it was slightly stained at the hem.

  She removed her hood. Long, thick black hair that fell almost to her knees became visible. Her red lips burned on her pale face like a fire, and the fluttering of her long eyelashes could cause a real storm out at sea. The stars of the night sky glowed in her eyes, and her small, snub nose sniffed the air as a pack of wolves came out of the bushes and lay down at her feet. Among the six wolves, Hadjar noticed two that stood out: a large, gray wolf that was obviously not weaker than the level of an Alpha, and a small, white wolf, perhaps only the size of a fox, which turned out to be even stronger than its much larger sibling.

  [Object is defined. Analysis of meta-data is started]

  “Go home, Dubar,” the witch said.

  Her voice resembled the rustling of autumn leaves. It was just as soothing and somnolent.

  “Are you sure, Nehen?

  The witch simply nodded and waved her hand in the direction of the village.

  Looking at the General, or rather, at his sword, one last time, Dubar ground his teeth but obeyed the witch’s order. Lightly holding the handle of his ax, he turned around and went back the way they’d come. Apparently, the prospect of being around the wolf pack did not appeal to him. He‘d asked the question more to be polite than altruistic.

  Hadjar wasn’t bothered by the proximity of these two specimens of the Alpha Stage. He was confident in his ability to, if not kill them, then at least escape from them.

  “You’re not afraid of my brothers,” the witch, Nehen, claimed rather than asked.

  It was a strange name—Nehen. Certainly wasn’t a native one. The name brought to mind the sea and sand, as did the lady herself. Her appearance was... unusual. Hadjar had never met anyone like her. She looked good, like a young spruce, and was indomitable, like a river in the springtime. Hadjar felt power and freedom in her.

  She differed from Stepha. Her power was cool and calm, not hot and hungry for the flame. It was icy, but harboring life in the cold, still resembling a protective veil.

  “I’m not,” the General confirmed.

  They looked at each other thoughtfully. Hadjar couldn’t read minds, and therefore, he did not know what this woman from the distant islands was thinking. Who was she? The islands were as far from Balium as the capital of the Empire was from Lidus. I wonder what kind of winds and waves brought her to a place so far from home.

  The silence was interrupted by a growl from the white wolf, and the rest of the wolves quickly joined her.

  Hadjar grabbed his sword instinctively, rather than because of any semblance of fear.

  “Calm down,” Nehen said softly, and they stopped growling in an instant.

  Hadjar’s mouth almost dropped open in surprise.

  “Do you control them?”

  “Me?” The witch replied, surprised. “No, I’m just talking to them. They hear me, I hear them.”

  The wolf growled again, but the witch lowered her hand to the wolf’s nape, and the animal immediately calmed down.

  “Then tell them to stop growling.” Hadjar never took his hands off the handle of his sword. “It’s irritating.”

  “You smell like a cat. It annoys them.”

  Hadjar sniffed but didn’t notice anything. And then he remembered Azrea. She traveled with him so often, that, apparently, she’d left her scent all over the General’s clothes.

  The witch sniffed the air again and then winced slightly.

  “You smell like something else, too. We don’t recognize the smell, but it’s much deeper than a cat’s. It's your smell and yet… not yours at the same time.”

  Is she ‘smelling’ the dragon's heart?

  Hadjar didn’t like the idea of talking to this witch. Despite her unearthly beauty, she did not inspire much confidence in him. And Hadjar was used to trusting his reason more than his sex drive. Doing so reduced the number of problems he had to deal with and increased his chances of staying alive.

  Nero, of course, would’ve argued against doing so. Maybe Helion and a good half of the soldiers would’ve also supported Nero’s viewpoint.

  “You’re a strange man, General,” the girl talking to the animals said as she smiled slightly.

  Demons.

  Despite everything, Hadjar suddenly found it harder to breathe for a moment. However, he managed to pull himself together quite quickly.

  “You should try it, General. It’s often better to communicate with animals than people.”

  The dim light of a deeply hidden wound flickered briefly behind her eyes. Any other person, except Hadjar, would’ve sympathized with the lady and started to speculate... but not the General.

  He’d spent ten years as a cripple and a slave. He’d seen and experienced things that many would be afraid to even contemplate. He had seen the darkest side of humanity, and the best one, too.

  The fact that someone else had also experienced some kind of heartache didn’t move Hadjar at all. Nobody knew or could understand what the human, Hadjar, and the dragon, Traves, had been able to overcome.

  “Why are you here, General?”

  “Darius told you that I would come.”

  “I knew you’d come,” Nehen agreed. “But I don’t know why you’ve come, General.”

  Hadjar looked at her one more time. He made no effort to conceal his very platonic interest but, contrary to his expectations, he didn’t hurt or bother the witch with it at all.

  Her attitude was completely neutral.

  “I’ve come for answers.”

  “That’s a good reason, General... I'll try to give you some answers, but only some, however…”

  She turned and literally swam through the snow into the depths of the forest.

  Hadjar followed her. He still kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, and the wolves reciprocated by circling around their mistress (or relative, or friend... or… god knows what), turning
around, and then growling softly but very clearly.

  It was like they were saying, “If you dare bare your claws, we’ll tear you apart.”

  Although the General wasn’t afraid of the animals, he didn’t want to find out who would be the winner of their bout. Especially when there was no need for it to happen.

  After about a quarter of an hour, spent in absolute silence, they reached the edge of a small forest. A small but very sturdy hut was here—in addition to a frozen pond and well.

  The hut had a beautiful, carved porch with sloping steps and several windows with real glass. The latter was rare even for the capital. Hadjar didn’t know how this glass had turned up in the middle of nowhere, and he wasn’t sure she would tell him even if he asked.

  Although, if a witch from the islands can live here, why not glass, as well?

  Nehen went up to the front door and opened it.

  “Come in,” she said, pointing to the spacious hall beyond.

  As Hadjar followed her inside, he felt the wolves staring at him with hatred-filled eyes.

  Damn meals on legs.

  We could make a fine soldier's stew from them!

  Chapter 136

  Hadjar was led along a dark corridor, but the General quickly noticed that there were only two rooms in the hut: a spacious room and some kind of kitchen. He sat at a table made from a felled tree and covered with a knitted tablecloth. The tablecloth looked out of place—it was clear that the witch rarely used her kitchen.

  There was no ice in the ice chest, which meant she didn’t keep any food, and there was no ash in the fireplace, which meant that either Nehen was obsessed with cleanliness, or she didn’t use the fireplace.

  The strange thing was that she had somehow boiled the kettle for him by placing the tin kettle on a small, metal square. An unknown hieroglyph immediately started flashing on it, and five minutes later, Hadjar was enjoying a fragrant herbal tea.

  He hadn’t seen such artifacts before—even in the Royal Palace. Admittedly, he had never visited the palace kitchen. Perhaps there was something similar there.

  “Nehen.” Hadjar put his cup on the table.

  “Yes, General?” She asked as she sat in front of him. Cross-legged, paying no attention to her dress that had ridden up her leg, she calmly drank her tea. It took some effort for Hadjar to look away from her long, slender legs.

  “Are you a human being?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Hadjar gripped the hilt of his sword. “Are you a human being or a beast in human form?”

  At first, Nehen stayed silent, then she burst out laughing.

  Gods and demons, her laughter sounds no worse than the Ron’Jah.

  The General hadn’t played an instrument for several years.

  “Many people are often animals who’ve taken the form of a man. But appearance and soul are two different things. You mustn’t forget that,” she said.

  “That’s very philosophical,” Hadjar agreed. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Quite a significant one,” the General insisted. “If you're a beast, I'll apologize for disturbing you and leave. If you’re a human, we'll get down to business.”

  Nehen looked into Hadjar’s eyes. She looked deeper than anyone ever had before. She saw what she’d smelled in the forest in their endless blue depths. She saw the dragon curled up and ready to strike, the furious Lord of the Heavens, whose anger could melt rocks and burn the clouds.

  “And what about you, General, are you a man?” The witch asked.

  She took a curved dagger from the folds of her dress and cut her palm with it.

  “I’m human,” she said.

  The blood flared, and the wound immediately healed. A few seconds passed, but the witch didn’t start burning from the inside. The universe, the gods, or whatever did so, had accepted her oath. What Nehen had said was true.

  A real human was sitting in front of him, although she was certainly more than a little strange.

  Suddenly, she placed the dagger in front of him on the table.

  “Can you do the same, General?” The witch squinted. “Can you swear on your blood that you’re human?”

  Hadjar took the dagger and raised the blade over his palm.

  One heartbeat passed. A second. A third…

  The blade, without touching his skin, fell back onto the knitted tablecloth. He didn’t dare play such games with the universe.

  “I wonder, General, how you can walk under the boundless sky, not knowing whether you are human or not.”

  Good question.

  He sometimes asked himself that very same thing.

  “I know what I’m living for, at least for now.”

  “Revenge.” Nehen nodded. “I used to live for it, too, General. Don’t act so surprised. Birds of a feather flock together. It’s how we are.”

  “I'm not interested in revenge,” Hadjar objected stonily. “Only justice.”

  “You’re lying…”

  Hadjar slapped his palm on the table and the dragon stirred in the depths of his eyes.

  “With all due respect, Nehen, it’s none of your business. I came to you for answers. You said you’d give them to me. Either we go back to that arrangement, or I leave.”

  The witch sighed sadly.

  “If you want me to give you the answers you’re looking for, you have to trust me, General.”

  “I do trust you,” Hadjar nodded. “As long as my sword is within reach.”

  Nehen looked at his scabbard and the hilt of Moon Beam protruding from it. Doubt was clear in her eyes.

  “Six of my brothers are outside the door. They will tear you to such small pieces that even your beloved will not recognize you.”

  “Good thing I don’t have one,” Hadjar shrugged. “And you're out of luck. I’ll cut out your tongue and throw your head in the fireplace faster than you can call for them.”

  They looked at each other appraisingly and... Smiled. This didn’t mean that they had found a soul mate, but rather that neither of them was weak or cowardly. And to a strong and courageous woman, there was nothing more despicable than a cowardly, weak man.

  While some men perceived weak women differently, Hadjar had no love for them. He had no interest in mere mortal women.

  “The trust I speak of, General, is deeper than the trust between lovers or between a mother and her children. I'm asking you to trust me with your soul.”

  “Soul? Do I look crazy enough, Nehen, to trust you with my very soul?”

  [Analysis completed! Anomaly threat level: lethal!]

  “No.” The witch shook her head. “That’s why I had to poison you. I’m sorry, General.”

  She quickly put her hands on his temples. Hadjar didn’t even have time to draw his sword. He felt like he was falling... but if before, he’d flown through the darkness on such an occasion, now he was falling toward a light, into a cold, icy light. At the same time, the light was life-giving, like a blanket that preserved warmth and granted one sweet oblivion during the harsh winter nights.

  Hadjar felt odd. He was hungry and wanted to run. He could smell strange things in the air—a myriad of peculiar smells, in fact. He wasn’t alone. The female was with him. She stood there. He wanted her; she wanted him.

  But this isn’t the time.

  Danger.

  Fear.

  I should run.

  He looked down at his paws. He knew he could escape. He could also run the enemy through with his mighty horns.

  His pack had already gathered at the foot of the hill. His female was beside him. He wanted her. But it wasn’t the right time.

  The sky above his head no longer burned with cold lights. Instead, multicolored circles swept over him. They were brighter than the stars on a clear and frosty night. They came from the mountains where the great beasts fought.

  Fear.

  I should run…

  ***<
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  “Drink! Drink, dammit, if you want to live.”

  Hadjar could barely swallow the viscous drink, his throat was so incredibly numb. Fortunately, the liquid was delicious.

  Only after some time passed did Hadjar realize that he was lying on the kitchen floor of the witch’s hut. He’d barely regained consciousness, only now beginning to feel like he had hands and feet instead of paws; and he had long hair, tied in a ponytail, instead of horns atop his head.

  He had no fangs, only a sword at his hip. He wanted to draw his sword and kill the witch, but he couldn’t even move.

  “What did you... do?”

  He could hardly speak. He wanted to hum or growl, or both.

  The witch was sitting right next to him and gave him some potion.

  The damned neuronet had kept quiet. It hadn’t warned him about the poison or the antidote.

  Useless piece of iron.

  “I transferred your consciousness into an animal.”

  “What?”

  “It’s my talent, General. Your talent is with swordsmanship, and mine is to understand the souls of living beings. But I’m fonder of the spirits of beasts than I am of human ones.”

  Damn... damn it!

  Nehen wasn’t just a witch... a demonic beast was sitting in front of him. If she could so easily control the souls (or consciousnesses) of the creatures, then Hadjar would personally lead the villagers, wielding pitchforks and torches, against her.

  “Did you see the battle of those beasts, General?”

  Hadjar remembered the burning sky and that feeling of overwhelming, instinctive terror.

  “I saw it,” he nodded with difficulty. “The damned horde of beasts is approaching.”

  Nehen nodded and continued to pour water down Hadjar’s throat.

  In his mind, he’d already snapped her neck and stabbed her with his sword.

  I’ll do it later.

  Right now, he needed to find a way to save his army from total destruction.