The deadly dance continued.
A cloud of black smoke shot forward, launching a wave of lethal, precise daggers, aiming to disable or outright kill the General in one clean hit.
Hadjar was now able to hit a target more than thirty paces away. Unlike with Techniques, his swordsmanship didn’t require him to spend any energy.
With each swing, a sword silhouette appeared in the air. The attacks dug up the ground, leaving deep furrows behind, but they couldn’t touch the assassin. Fighting up close was what Hadjar did best. He was strongest in the thick of the melee.
The assassin clearly felt the same, doing his best to avoid coming too close.
At some point, the raven and the smoke turned back into people. They stood opposite each other, breathing heavily, surrounded by steam and whirlwinds of energy. A moment later, metal rang once again, and the ground exploded where they were standing.
Hadjar flicked his wrist suddenly, slashing his blade out in a wide arc. He’d aimed the attack at his foe’s neck, but such a strike could’ve only sent an inexperienced enemy to the afterlife—one who had grown strong thanks to herbs and special potions, not through battle and bloodshed.
The assassin lightly deflected his enemy’s blade with his dagger and began to attack. The tip of the needle hit Hadjar in the shoulder. It pierced his skin, but didn't damage the bones or the flesh beneath.
Having mostly avoided the strike, Hadjar didn’t pay much attention to how the blade that had touched his shoulder had continued on behind him in a long and thin pillar of steely light. The General was capable of doing that, too. That just meant that the enemy was also ‘One with the World.’
Turning on his heel, Hadjar kneed the warrior in the side. His opponent had no time to avoid the strike, and was lifted off the ground. He flew at least twelve feet and crashed into the rock again, slamming his back into it. He wasn’t given any time to compose himself, and the next moment, he was trying to save himself, rolling away from another dragon silhouette. The killer plunged into the rock once more, leaving another hole behind.
“Not bad,” he said as spat blood.
He bent his knees, crossed his sword and dagger, shouted, “Blooming Sun!”, and moved his weapons sideways.
[Threat is detected. Energy capacity: 2,3 points]
Hadjar, sensing the danger, immediately got some distance between them. Whirling in the air, lotus buds in the colors of the dawn were flying in his direction. They cut through the air, leaving behind a trail of scarlet clouds.
Moon Beam, slashing through the air with incredible speed, glittered in the dim light. Hadjar broke lotus after lotus with each strike. There were so many flowers that they merged into a single deadly, yet beautiful canvas.
They managed to reach his legs and arms, leaving deep cuts all over his body. The lotuses that he hadn’t been able to hit turned what had been a quiet mountain area into a plowed field. Finally, after getting some breathing room, Hadjar was able to assume his defensive stance.
He was now in the center of a cocoon of wind, and the buds, as if led by an invisible hand, swirled around him and disappeared somewhere into the sky.
The warriors stood across from each other. This time, Hadjar looked much worse than his opponent. Blood was flowing freely down his arms and legs, and his breathing was heavy and shallow.
Hadjar was talented, but his talents couldn’t stand up to dozens of years of training and the same number of techniques. Hadjar had trained by himself, and that gave him an advantage during battles. But his skills were incomparable to those given by teachers who had drilled knowledge into his opponent's head and sharped his body.
The killer took another stance. He put the hilt of his sword to his chest and lowered the blade to the tip of his dagger.
“Snake Tongue,” he said and straightened his arm.
This technique was very similar to the ‘Spring Wind’ stance—it was fast and pierced defenses. A white ribbon of incredible speed and brightness drove into the cocoon of wind. It punched through it as easily as an arrow going through a thin sheet of paper.
Only thanks to his own speed and strength did Hadjar manage to use the Moon Beam to defend himself. The force of the assassin's strike was so great that Hadjar wasn't just lifted off the ground, he was launched thirty feet through the air and thrown toward the edge of the cliff.
Even as Hadjar was flying through the air, he didn’t take his eyes off the killer who had leapt at him like a hungry predator. They both fell from the cliff and landed on the roofs of the houses below. But they didn't care.
The white ribbon had melted; the daggers being thrown by the enemy became moon feathers and flew in Hadjar’s direction.
After deflecting two of them, Hadjar growled when the third dagger sank into his left shoulder.
The pain made him stagger for a second, but he still jumped off the roof to the ground below.
Pulling the dagger out of his body, he immediately threw it back. His throw was much less skillful than the assassin’s had been, but it would’ve still been enough to break through the wall of a house.
The sectarian casually blocked the throw with a thankful smile. He caught the dagger in the air with just two fingers and put it back in the bag at his hip.
He landed in front of Hadjar gracefully and silently.
“Have you decided to hide behind ordinary villagers?” the sectarian asked, looking around. “Apparently, what I’ve heard is true and you have no honor.”
Hadjar didn’t say anything. He merely bent his knees and, gathering his energy, moved his hand over the hilt of his sheathed sword. The killer tensed and held his weapon out in front of him. He didn’t have time to use his own Technique, but he was ready to deal with the dragon silhouette.
However, Hadjar wasn’t planning to use the ‘Spring Wind’, and a dragon didn’t come out of his blade.
The General directed all his strength into his legs, roaring like an animal. The ground beneath his feet turned into a fountain of mud, snow, and rocks. This time, the enemy was only able to perceive the shadow of a crow hovering over the land.
Then he heard a whistle, a clap, and saw a flashing, steely glow.
“Damn it,” the killer swore as he fell to his right knee.
He held his side—dark blood was flowing from it. Hadjar, unable to handle his own speed, stumbled and rolled across the snowy ground. When he finally got the inertia under control and was able to get to his feet, the assassin was gone.
The only remnants of the battle were a puddle of blood in the snow and a few scarlet prints on the nearest walls.
“Damn,” Hadjar mumbled.
He shambled over to a wall and leaned back against it, trying to catch his breath.
This was the first enemy he’d faced that he hadn’t been able to kill, and the first who’d still been breathing after the battle. Realizing his weakness, Hadjar felt a bestial rage and an overwhelming desire to become stronger. This could not happen again.
Chapter 142
Hadjar was eventually able to hobble back to the guest house, where he expected to find anything from an empty, cold room to an angry witch. The General had heard something about women not liking waking up alone after they’d fallen asleep with a man.
But, contrary to all his expectations, Nehen, dressed in a simple outfit, was sitting in front of a copper disc that served as a mirror for the natives and quietly combing her hair. The disc was marred by black streaks and could hardly reflect anything, but he supposed it was better than nothing…
A variety of jars full of potions, powders, and ointments stood on the bedside table next to the witch. A huge gray wolf, his head resting on some empty bags, lay beside them. Apparently, he’d brought her these drugs.
“How could you-”
“Know?” Without turning around, the witch finished his sentence for him. “You are a General, a warrior, and a man. As children, future men hit each other with fists, and when they grow up, they move on to swords. An
y woman, if she wants to save a man's life, has to be able to put up with it.”
Hadjar rolled his eyes inwardly. He would’ve preferred not to listen to these philosophical ramblings. A wounded sect assassin was wandering through the village right at that moment. Hadjar had no doubt that the man would come for his life a second time. Maybe it would happen in a week, even a month, but he was certain that he would return.
“Besides,” Nehen said, turning to face him, “I felt the echo of your battle.”
“You could’ve led with that.”
Hadjar sat down on the bed and took off his clothes, baring his wounded torso.
“I'm a witch, Hadjar. I have to appear wise and mysterious at all times.”
Picking up one of the jars, she scooped out a yellow, fragrant mixture with her fingers. When the substance touched Hadjar’s wounds, he nearly howled from the pain. It seemed to him like a salamander had licked his skin or salt and lemon juice had been sprinkled on the wound.
“Stop being a baby.” The witch pinched his shoulder. “It’ll remove the poison from your blood... if there’s any poison to remove.”
“His blades weren’t poisoned,” Hadjar replied confidently.
Nehen looked straight into the General’s eyes as she applied salve to the wounds. She didn’t see an angry dragon in them, but instead, a slumbering one. She didn’t dare let her guard down. The beast could wake up at any minute and then…
She didn’t want to think about it.
“Did you fight an assassin from the sect?”
Hadjar nodded.
“Then, with the gods as my witnesses, the blades were poisoned.” She scooped up another green mixture.
Hadjar didn't know why he was so sure of what he’d said, but he was.
“He wasn’t sent by the sect,” he explained.
Nehen raised her eyebrows skeptically, and then she stroked the wolf as it licked the remains of the mixture from her fingers. With her other hand, she held up something resembling bandages, but they were made of a porous, white fabric. According to the neuronet, they were made from spider webs. Magic…
“I killed his brother during the siege on the sixth pavilion,” Hadjar continued.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yeah.”
She tightened the bandage and sat down on the floor. With deft movements, she cut away his pant leg—which had stuck to the hairs on his leg because of the mix of blood and sweat. It was unpleasant, but Hadjar remained silent. He didn’t like to complain, and he certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of the woman he’d just spent the night with.
“He could’ve been lying,” the witch said. She didn’t smear anything on the cuts on his feet. Instead, she poured potions and sprinkled powders on them.
“Assassins often lie,” she continued. “It’s a part of their path. If you fight with a sword, they try to deceive you. Such is their way.”
Nehen knew too much about a warrior’s honor for a witch; after all, she wasn’t a practitioner. Hadjar didn’t dwell on it. And yet…
“He could have,” the General agreed. “But why? He’d been planning to kill me by stabbing me in the back, hoping to end it all in one strike... No, I’m sure of it. I definitely killed that man’s brother.”
Once she’d healed his legs, she rinsed her hands in the barrel that stood in the corner and sat down. She stroked the wolf with her toes, and it purred like a big cat. It was odd. But Hadjar had already witnessed many stranger scenes in this world.
“Are you going back to the camp today?” she asked.
Hadjar simply nodded.
They sat in silence. The General didn't want her to come with him, and she hoped that he wouldn't ask. Their paths had converged for a few days, but they were destined to go in different directions. Everyone had their own goals in life, and their own destinies to fulfill.
If that hadn’t been the case, they wouldn’t have been so attracted to each other. Neither of them was interested in shallow people who wandered the roads of life like ghosts.
Hadjar stood up, looked at Nehen’s beautiful face for the last time, and walked to the exit. He didn't kiss the witch as they parted because he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to leave. She didn't expect the kiss because she was afraid that if the General stayed, she wouldn't be able to bear his presence.
Hadjar looked to the east outside. Gold and scarlet colored the sky, and the rosy morning sun was slowly replacing the moon, the lady of the night. The moon was going west, where the sky met it with open arms.
Hadjar cleared his mind of all the memories of the previous night and left only the memory of the last battle behind.
Once again, he climbed the stairs cut into the rock. With each step, he got closer to the statue of the God of War. Derger looked at him without judgment, regret, or pity. Instead, a belligerent and rebellious look, forever captured in stone, stared down at him.
Who had carved this fearsome visage? How many thousands of years had passed since those distant times when the chisel of the unknown sculptor had first touched this rock?
Hadjar came closer until he reached the statue. Touching the rocky surface with the palm of his hand, he heard the drums of the nomads again, like they were right there with him. He was once more standing among the ranks of the soldiers behind the shield wall as the cavalry broke through.
Cannons fired somewhere in the distance, and cannonballs whistled overhead. Monsters growled, and the battle cry of the Spirit Knight could be clearly heard.
Hadjar realized that the fight had left its mark on him. He’d left something important behind on the battlefield. Something that had been holding him back all this time.
Closing his eyes and touching the face of the God of War, he listened to his heart, trying to understand what he had lost at the Blue Wind Ridge. What had his enemies’ blades taken from him? What heavy burden still lay on his shoulders, slowing his cultivation?
Hadjar explored deeper and deeper into his very soul.
He’d never reached so far down with meditation before.
Hadjar found an emptiness deep inside himself. The wind had filled it before. It had been a wind that had beckoned him to a distant and beautiful future, to new adventures, mysteries, and discoveries, and to the heights of cultivation, where even the most profound secrets of existence would’ve been revealed and where the answers to all his questions would’ve been waiting for him.
The face of the god seemed to flinch, and Hadjar felt the east wind playing with his hair again.
He must’ve imagined it. The rock could not move, and the east wind didn’t blow during these winter months.
The void was gradually filled, and his freedom slowly returned.
He had found it in the dragon’s cave and lost it in the battle against the nomads. And to understand this, he’d had to spend a whole year with the Shadow of the deceased cultivator. Maybe that's what his mentor had been trying to tell him. He had been teaching him not the way of the sword, but rather, trying to restore the young warrior.
He had tried to give Hadjar some semblance of peace, but the General had needed to survive a deadly battle to understand this.
Removing his hand from the rock, Hadjar turned back to Derger’s face and sat in the lotus position before it. He steadied his breathing, floating on the surface of the boundless river of energy that flowed through everything. He felt new horizons revealing themselves to him…
A few hours later, his neuronet clicked once and issued a new message:
Name
Hadjar
Level of Cultivation
Transformation (Mortal Shell stage)
Strength
2.9
Dexterity
3.1
Physique
2.6
Energy Points
8
The General opened his eyes and two blades were reflected in them for a moment. Let the gods bear witness, the great Derger had blessed this mortal.
&nb
sp; Hadjar put his hand on the hilt of his sword and only thought about drawing it. At the same time, prompted only by his intention to draw the blade, a cut appeared in the earth, two steps away from him. It seemed like the cut had been left by a strong attack.
It was a thousand times weaker than what the Spirit Knight had been capable of, but Hadjar felt that he could become stronger and achieve better results like this, if he just practiced enough.
At long last, he’d applied the knowledge he’d gained during the year spent in the tomb. He was finally able to understand some of the wisdom that the long-dead cultivator had been trying to impart on him.
The General rose, nodded to the god’s statue, and headed back to the village.
Chapter 143
Hadjar stopped at the village’s central square. It was paved with wooden planks, rather than stones, and had a tribune in the center. It was here that the villagers learned the news or punished someone publicly. The officers of the Moon Army had agreed to meet him here.
Helion was happily sitting on the tribune, his legs dangling off the side of it. Despite all his shortcomings, the cavalryman had truly amazing punctuality. He preferred to arrive half an hour (or more) early, and was never late. His appearance, which according to the statute, should have always been perfect, sometimes suffered due to this habit, but he always did his best to be presentable, even if he didn’t always succeed.
Noticing the General, the officer, as usual, began to clean up. Cursing, he fastened his belt and tucked his shirt in since it had been hanging loose from his pants.
“My General.” Helion leaped from the tribune and thumped himself on the chest. “Do you…”
Trailing off, the officer looked more closely at his General. Something had changed about him. Something elusive and mystical, but he was still different from the man who’d left with the beautiful witch.
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 35
