“Have you advanced to a new stage?”
“Yes, I have.” Hadjar nodded.
Helion’s eyes widened slightly. How old was his General again? Twenty-two, maybe twenty-five, at the most. And, until recently, he’d only been at the level of the Bodily Rivers, and now he was at the Transformation level, at the Mortal Shell stage. Talent like that defied the very laws of heaven.
Most practitioners took decades to reach this stage. The General had managed it in just a few years.
If the Empire had been aware of his potential, perhaps some small border school or sect would’ve invited him as an outer disciple or unofficial disciple within the Empire.
“I see you had a good night, Officer.”
Hadjar leaned against the podium. He took out his pipe and filled it with fragrant tobacco. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he carefully buried the image of the dark-haired islander in the depths of his mind.
“Maybe it wasn’t as good as yours, my General.”
It was impossible to determine what he was hinting at—spending time with Nehen, or at his progress in the path of cultivation.
For a while, they calmly discussed the various differences between the women of the villages and the women of the cities. As a result, they agreed to disagree. Helion believed that a mortal woman in one’s bed was better than a practitioner. Hadjar thought otherwise.
They stopped their discussion when Lian appeared. She was calmer and even seemed a bit lighter than usual. After greeting Helion and the General, she said: “The level of cultivation doesn't matter in bed,” and then looked frankly at Helion’s groin. “And neither does one’s... intellect.”
“Woman, we can make do without your comments. Am I right, General?”
Hadjar felt that answering this question at all would not fit his rank. This didn’t mean that he was overly self-conscious, but the chain of command had to be observed within the army. After shooting the bickering officers a stern look, Hadjar went to the stables.
After such an eventful holiday, the villagers were still sleeping in their houses, and there was nobody on the streets. There was no groom, or even a servant, in the stables.
He had to untie the horses himself, and then he loaded them with saddles, bales, clothes, and a small number of provisions. The path to the pavilion was short, but anything could happen on the road. Hadjar made it a point to always go on almost any journey with a good supply of food and water.
Even when he’d used to go from the camp to Spring Town, he would take a flask of water and a couple of pieces of jerky with him.
They left quietly, locking the stable doors behind them. The horses, still sleepy, lazily swayed and rolled from one side to another. Hadjar wondered if they’d taken part in the festival as well.
Riding through the streets, Hadjar looked at the roofs rather than at the houses. He didn’t take his hand off the hilt of his sword, either, watching and waiting for the first sign of trouble. He didn’t know when the killer would strike next. The General was now confident he would triumph over his enemy, but the sectarian could try to use one of his tricks: a poisoned dart, a couple of mines laid down somewhere on the road, or something equally troublesome.
Apparently, the wound inflicted by Moon Beam had been severe. Hadjar didn’t feel any danger as they went through the village. The roofs were as deserted as the streets themselves. Wherever the killer was hiding, Hadjar felt that he wasn't going to show up anytime soon.
Hadjar wasn’t overly pleased with that. He wasn't planning to look over his shoulder for the sectarian every day, or sit behind Serra’s barrier like a dog in a kennel.
When they left the village, the General experienced a new feeling—the desire to turn around. He tried to convince himself that it was because of the sectarian. However, he couldn’t fool himself, and he once again tried to stop thinking about the black-haired beauty.
Helion didn’t notice Hadjar’s alertness, but Lian did. Once they were through the forest (where Hadjar had also been very cautious) and reached the mountain road, Lian decided to ask: “What happened last night, General?”
Helion, who was riding beside him, leaned forward and listened to the conversation, not because he was merely curious, but because he was just as concerned for his General, a man he respected immensely, as Lian was.
“Do you want a detailed retelling, Officer?”
Lian wasn’t fazed by such a response.
“I've seen a lot of men in my time, General, and I can spot the difference between them spending the night with a woman and fighting a battle.”
“Have you been in a fight?” His cavalry officer instinctively grabbed the hilt of his sword. “Did the villagers attack you, my General?"
“Nonsense, Helion,” Lian hissed. “If the villagers had attacked the General, you would’ve woken up in the ruins of the village, not in a warm, soft bed.”
“It was a hayloft,” the officer replied hesitantly.
He was about to say something to the commander of the archers, but Hadjar's commanding voice interrupted their arguing before he could.
“Calm down, you two,” he said and turned his mare away from the edge of the path.
The road had been hit by a blizzard, and they had to walk closer to the mountains just to keep their horses from slipping on the thick snow.
“It was a sectarian assassin,” Hadjar explained a while later.
“The Chief looked duplicitous, anyway,” Helion growled. “Allow me to resolve this issue, my General.”
“There is no issue, Helion. He came to the village of his own volition.”
“But how did he know that we…”
Lian didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she thought about it for a moment.
“The Baliumians...” she guessed.
“There are sect spies among them.” Hadjar nodded. “And they certainly they have their own methods of communication.”
“How can you discuss this so calmly?”
“There are spies everywhere.” Hadjar shrugged. “In the city hall, among the ranks of the Generals, even in the Royal Palace. It's inevitable.”
Lian and Helion looked at each other. They agreed that what the General had said was correct, but... any official that overheard him would immediately declare his words to be treason or an insult against the entitled nobles. He would get the death penalty for the former, and a lifetime in the mines for the latter.
Both officers straightened their backs and visibly tensed up. If Hadjar allowed himself to speak so calmly and openly in their presence, then he trusted them so much that he wasn’t afraid of what would happen.
They reached the camp in silence.
When Serra met them and opened the barrier for them, Hadjar entered last. According to the statute, he was supposed to enter first, but he couldn’t bring himself to spur his horse on and make it take that last step.
He wanted to turn around…
Hadjar wasn’t a dragon or an unfeeling machine of war.
He was a simple man.
He turned around.
And there, in the distance, almost lost in the snow, it seemed to him like he saw a girl surrounded by wolves. She was looking in his direction.
That was enough for him. He gently urged his horse forward and entered through the arch. The glittering golden canopy closed behind him. He felt better.
Chapter 144
“Only you, Hadj, can go to the ass end of the world and come back covered in gold, rather than shit.”
They were sitting in the General’s tent. The War Council was supposed to start soon, but it would take some time for all the officers to get back from their posts and for Lian and Helion to get some rest after their journey.
Nero, who had become a little severe after his recent brush with death, and Hadjar had decided to have a friendly chat.
They wished they had more opportunities to sit and talk lately, but each of them was responsible for so many people whose lives depended on their decisions and actions.
“Things sure have changed, haven’t they?” Hadjar smiled, stroking the purring Azrea.
She sniffed at her two-legged master, hissed with displeasure, and clawed at him a couple of times. Hadjar was stunned and didn’t even have time to shout at the kitten before she immediately began to lick the cuts she had inflicted. Apparently, she’d wanted to get rid of the unpleasant wolf smell.
“I’ll have to try and catch up to you now, and you know how I hate to work.”
“You have a good reason, at least.”
Nero snorted and lit his pipe. They smoked their pipes together, as usual. They avoided doing so in the presence of other officers because everyone immediately began to talk about clean lungs and a healthy body, making them both regret it every time.
All complaints and reproaches were addressed to Nero, but Hadjar couldn’t continue smoking if his friend had to put out his own tobacco. While it would be within his rights to keep smoking, rumors that the General was beginning to behave like an ordinary official would spread throughout the camp
“You could’ve taken Azrea with you.” Nero picked up a piece of dried meat with his knife and threw it to the kitten. She caught it in the air.
“She wouldn’t have wanted to go,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“But you didn’t ask her.”
“I knew that she wouldn’t agree, Nero. She has her own way of doing things, and it’s got nothing to do with mine.”
His friend ruffled his already tousled hair.
“I’m amazed at how little you know about women, buddy.” Nero sighed. “But this is idle talk. You need to tell me what you're going to do with this.”
He pointed at the little chest that stood beside the General's bed with his knife. Hadjar had forgotten all about the legacy left behind by Azrea’s mother after all his recent adventures. The core of the ancient being was still in there. Serra had created several seals to protect it. If not for those seals, all the strong practitioners within a twenty-mile radius would’ve felt its presence.
The money they’d earn for selling such an ingredient would be enough to buy a palace and a small garrison in the Empire, and any Heaven Soldier or Spirit Knight would’ve given their right hand for the opportunity to obtain such a core. The alchemical pills that could be made from it would not only be sufficient to get them to a new level, but would also increase their overall reserves of energy.
Hadjar understood that, at some point, the most important thing for a cultivator was not his body, but his energy. What was the point of endlessly reinforcing one’s flesh if a Spirit Knight could cut a mountain in half with one swing thanks to their energy?
“We could make a huge explosive with it?”
Nero choked on the smoke he’d inhaled and almost fell off his chair. He cleared his throat and looked at his friend like he was crazy. Admittedly, he had known for a long time that fate had made him friends with a psycho. He repeatedly cursed the fact, but, to be honest, he was mostly thankful for it.
“I know the answer to this question, but still… may the demons love you. Are you out of your mind? If you don't want it, why don’t you just give it to me?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, friend.” Hadjar smiled slyly. “You have a chest full of Alpha cores right there.”
“That’s just a small chest!” Nero countered. “There are only five cores in there. You're a wanderer, Hadjar, and I'll be the one to settle down someday. I’ll have to leave a legacy for my children and a dowry for my daughters. I'm as poor as a beggar on the street.”
“Do you really want to settle down?” Hadjar laughed. “When will that be? In three centuries?”
“If I could manage it, it would be in five centuries.” Nero nodded. “In any case, I need that core more than you do!”
“You want to deprive my favorite pet,” Hadjar embraced Azrea so hard that she squeaked and started to scratch him again, “of the last memory of her mother? Oh gods, you have truly created a most callous and soulless man.”
“I’m the callous and soulless one? You’re the one who’s going to take away my daughters’ dowries. They’ll all die as old maids now!”
When the other officers entered the tent, Nero and General Hadjar were still laughing loudly. It looked both unusual and wrong, and yet somehow very... comforting. The fact that the two most powerful warriors in the army were laughing at a time of crisis like this inspired confidence in everyone and gave them courage.
When they laughed despite the approaching horde of monsters, despite the endless blizzard, and despite the war against ‘The Black Gates’ sect, people understood that they still had the strength to fight on.
If the General and the commander could laugh in the face of death, why couldn't they at least try to do the same?
“My General.” Simon spoke as all the officers took their seats and another War Council began.
Hadjar had gotten used to War Councils more than training and meditation recently. He began to feel uncomfortable if he spent at least one whole day without such a meeting. He began to fear that the army had been disbanded and he was just engaged in unnecessary affairs. His feelings were understandable when one took into account the fact that he led several million people.
Simon, looking even more well-groomed than before, cleared his throat and continued, “We have expanded the cave and began to forge the armor. But ‘His Greatness’, Tuur, came to us and requested that we forge something according to his drawings. I hasten to note that we already lack metal as it is…
“What are you talking about, hamster!” Hadjar saw the chief engineer flipping out for the first time. “I noticed a great number of metal bars in your storage!”
“We need those for armor!”
“Will you throw armor at the beasts, Simon?” Tuur asked. “We need barriers, stakes, and high walls to protect ourselves.”
“And when we survive the attack, how much of this metal will be destroyed and unsuitable for forging? How long will it take to reforge it all? By the time we do so, the first pavilion will have beaten us a dozen times over!’
“If you don't give them to me, you won’t have to worry about the sectarian blades. The fangs of the beasts will kill you long before that ever happens"
“You know a lot about fangs, Tuur!”
Hadjar rapped his knuckles against his chair and the tent became quiet. Simon and Tuur, apologizing and bowing to him, took their seats again. Hadjar stood up and everybody looked at him.
The officers and commanders knew that when Hadjar rose from his seat it was time for another round of madness, which, in some unthinkable way, normally turned into a triumphant victory at the end.
“I agree with both of you, Officers.” The General took the pointer and bent down over the map.
“We won’t survive a monster invasion without a suitable barrier, and we won't survive a war with the sect without sufficient armor. Therefore, I have come up with a plan. One that can solve both of these problems.
Some of those present held their breath.
“When I was in the mountains, right around here,” Hadjar pointed at one of the areas on the Black Stone Ridge, “I saw several large packs of White Apes.”
“White Apes?” Nero asked. “Are they the ones that are fifteen feet tall, with claws, fangs, clubs, and icy breath?”
“Yes, they are indeed.” The General nodded, and the other officers remained silent.
“The inhabitants of the plains consider the White Apes to be nothing more than made up horrors from children’s stories. But the natives are sure that they are, in fact, a winter nightmare. One which they would do well to avoid. Their cores contain, besides their frosty breath, a huge amount of icy energy. Therefore, we’ll build an ice fortress using those, rather than fortifications made of metal.”
Simon made some calculations as Tuur mulled the General’s words over.
“We’ll need about-” the purchasing officer began.
“Three hundred of th
em,” the engineer finished.
“Three hundred?” The other officers sighed.
Even the weakest White Apes were still at the stage of Awakening of Power. The adults usually reached the Alpha stage. The leader of a pack was normally at a higher stage than even the Alpha one.
It was an absolutely crazy idea, but judging by the look in the General’s blue eyes, he didn't seem to care at all. It appeared like his talent wasn’t with a sword, but, in fact, it was the ability to make the impossible seem possible.
“When are you going to begin, my General?” the spymaster asked, rising from his seat. He would also be responsible for the hunt.
“We don’t have much time. The beasts will be here in around a month and a half. That means we should’ve started building our fortifications over a month ago. Therefore, we start work tomorrow.”
Chapter 145
Of course, they couldn’t go hunting the next day, nor the second, or the third. The weather got worse, producing a snowstorm that was so strong that it seemed as if the whole world around the sixth pavilion had turned into a cocoon made entirely out of snow.
It seemed to Hadjar that the huge hieroglyphs circling over the plateau cracked and sparkled whenever they collided with another strong gust of the north wind. The Baliumians claimed that anyone who spent time outside in this weather would instantly freeze to death and become food for the animals.
Lergon, sitting by the fire in the evenings, told old legends about the mountain people to all who would listen. He told the story of how Derger and the King of Demons had fought in a similar blizzard. The Lord of Nightmares—Helmer—had created the storm they’d fought in.
Nero and Hadjar always looked at each other when that came up.
Most people regarded these stories as ordinary fairytales, but Nero and Hadjar knew the truth about the Lord of Nightmares... In any case, Lergon was a great storyteller, and many of the listeners couldn't sleep after hearing his stories.
Sometimes, these stories about gods and demons made Hadjar think for a long time afterward. If there had been Immortals in the world who’d turned out to be ‘just’ very strong cultivators, then the demons had probably also been cultivators like them who’d chosen the energy of chaos and destruction as their path instead. What if the very gods existed, too? They were probably the oldest cultivators or spirits—not born from flesh, but from the river of energy itself.
Dragon Heart: Iron Will. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 2 Page 36
