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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar moved forward.

  He couldn’t catch the elusive image of the Sword, couldn’t get closer to it. He only managed one step. But even that single step was enough for him to feel a new power in his body.

  In the General’s tent, a warrior sitting in the lotus position opened his eyes. A steel glade was now visible within them, alongside the brilliant blue color and the dragon’s twining rings. The glade was so sharp it looked like it could cut all it saw.

  Hadjar looked at Moon Beam, which he had miraculously summoned from the sheath near his bed.

  A year ago, he’d become ‘One with the World’. He no longer had trouble using that power, and had accepted it completely. Now he was looking at his sword. The world hadn’t created the sword.

  The sword had been made by people. They’d given birth to the Sword spirit, as well as all the other Spirits, which had then become the quintessence of the countless paths of cultivation.

  Hadjar waved his hand, launching a strike with his blade.

  It cut through the canopy of the tent, crossed a distance of 52 steps and left behind a deep gouge in the black rock.

  He hadn’t become a ‘Wielder of the Sword’ yet, but even now his skills exceeded the limit of those who had fully mastered their weapons. Such practitioners and cultivators could hit a target at a distance of fifty paces. Hadjar had already left this limitation behind.

  He looked at the cut on the rock and returned to his meditation.

  He now understood the meaning of the ‘Spring Wind’ stance.

  Hadjar trained and meditated until morning. Just before dawn, Nehen came to look for him, having sensed that something was amiss. She was shocked to see, among the many scars left behind by whips and swords, that a silver tattoo had appeared on Hadjar’s back. At first glance, it looked like a beetle, but when she took a closer look, she saw it was actually hundreds of blades.

  [Irreversible changes in the host’s energy structure. Continuation of the analysis and metadata collection]

  The Spirit of the Sword had marked its follower.

  It had accepted him.

  Chapter 164

  Very few people could get close to Hadjar without being noticed. By him or by his neural network. After his visit to Traves’ ‘kingdom’, the General had feared that the computing chip was out of order, but it wasn’t. It was still perfectly okay (as far as such a thing could be called okay). It even told the time.

  Hadjar was washing away his sweat in the grotto and he thought that he was alone. Hearing the familiar female voice threw him for a moment. But the General still grabbed Moon Beam, turned around, and pointed it at the witch who had just entered the grotto.

  “It fits you,” Nehen’s voice sounded like the rustling of leaves.

  After sitting down on the edge of the stone bath, she lifted up her skirts slightly and lowered her feet into the shimmering blue water. The healer of the Bear squad had said that there were special plants in the grotto that emitted the light and helped speed up one’s recovery. Most of the officers knew about it and used the grotto as a way to deal with wounds and soreness after training.

  “I think I should trim that for you,” Hadjar pointed to the long hair that fell below her collarbones with a smirk.

  “That’s what you want to do right now?” She asked with a smile.

  Nehen ran her fingers invitingly over the water. She didn’t need to ask the General twice. A second later, he was standing next to her. Her legs were smooth and soft, but strong muscles could still be felt underneath that softness.

  The witch threw her arms around Hadjar’s neck, moving her fingers across his back. Upon touching the tattoo, she shuddered and tried to recoil, but Hadjar held on to her tightly.

  Even more tightly than usual.

  “What have you done, you stupid General?” Fear could be heard in Nehen’s usually dispassionate voice.

  “I’ve acquired power.”

  “Power? You’ve lost it!”

  Hadjar frowned but didn’t release his grip. She had every right to disagree with him. Just like he was free to disagree with her.

  “You could’ve been anything, you stupid General. Anything!”

  “I still can.”

  Nehen only shook her head sadly. She looked away. Hadjar noticed the mix of disappointment and regret in her eyes.

  “Now you’ll forever belong to the Spirit of the Sword. You’ll never be like the spring wind.”

  “I can still hear it whispering to me.”

  Hadjar’s lips traced Nehen’s skin, white as snow and as soft as the finest silk. She shuddered at his every touch and tried to calm the slight tremor in her thighs.

  “That’s all you’ll have now, you idiot. All your life you...” a loud moan escaped her throat, “will listen to its whispers, but won’t be able to…” she wriggled and Hadjar pulled the beauty into the water with him. He pulled off her numerous skirts and she helped him get rid of his leather pants, “…catch up to it. Stupid Gen-”

  Another moan prevented her from speaking further. He made love to her as if tomorrow would never come. His lips captured her moans, his hands caressed her soft body. She gave herself to him completely.

  Within the light coming from the water, their shadows merged into one repeatedly. They heard a polite cough coming from the entrance to the grotto, but they just kept lying there, leaning against the boards, and remained silent.

  “General, you’re needed,” the bodyguard reported, trying not to look at their naked bodies.

  Hadjar could often be seen naked, as he regularly trained on the parade ground. However, to an ordinary soldier, it was unusual to see the famous Mad General making… love. It didn’t fit with the aura of belligerence and defiance that Hadjar often projected.

  “Thank you,” Hadjar said and motioned for the soldier to leave.

  The man saluted and disappeared from the grotto as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Hadjar played with Nehen’s hair, admiring her ample, firm bosom. He now understood why Nero adored and idolized women.

  The General would’ve probably agreed to trade the whole world for a few more hours in this grotto. Alas, he couldn’t afford them. Neither could Nehen. They were both hostages of their own paths.

  “Go, stupid General,” the witch stood up, letting the water stream down all the curves of her body.

  Hadjar regretted that the water wasn’t his fingers and lips.

  She writhed seductively and put her skirts back on and fastened the straps with a deliberate slowness. After adjusting and drying her hair with a few flickering hieroglyphs, she left Hadjar alone with a desire that flared up again just below his waist.

  The General cursed, climbed out of the water, and went down the cliff where the entrance to the grotto was located.

  He couldn’t see Nehen anymore, just smell the scent of her body and perfume on the rocks. It was pleasant, almost intoxicating. Hadjar banished it from his thoughts and looked at the officers waiting for him. Nero was also there. Even Simon looked worried and ready for action.

  “I usually have to wait half an hour for you to arrive to the Military Council.”

  “It’s urgent, Sir,” Helion saluted.

  Hadjar nodded and took a small scroll from the cavalryman’s hands. At first, the General didn’t understand why Helion had held the scroll so squeamishly. After touching the material, however, he got it.

  The message was written on a piece of skin. Human skin.

  He unfolded and read it.

  Cursing several times, he almost threw the scroll away. Coming to his senses, he returned it to Helion and ordered that it be stored with the other important documents.

  The entire command staff went to the General’s tent and took their seats.

  For a long time, there was a heavy, pregnant silence in the tent. It was like a black hole that pulled everything into it. There was no escape to be had from it.

  Still silent, Hadjar looked at the map of the mountains and t
he imprint of his own hand which had replaced the first pavilion’s designation.

  “They are beasts, not men,” Simon’s hoarse voice ended the silence, “beasts…”

  Hadjar remembered the contents of the message. It had said that if Hadjar didn’t come to the Black Gorge (why was everything called Black Something in the Black mountains? That seemed tacky... Except for the entrance to the first pavilion, which was called the Snake Gates), the sect would do all it could to make the villagers’ lives a living hell. Anyone who didn’t have the sign of a sect disciple would be turned into one of their horses and be made to throw themselves off the rocks for the entertainment of the sectarians and to frighten their enemies.

  On the one hand, why would Hadjar worry about the fate of the Baliumians? On the other, there were two million Baliumians fighting under his banner. If they found out that their allied General had allowed this to happen, then the soldiers from Lidus wouldn’t have to worry about the sect. Lergon and his people would be the ones to kill them.

  “It’s a trap,” Lian gripped the hilt of her dagger tightly. “You mustn’t go there, my General.”

  “Not alone, anyway,” Nero agreed. “We’ll go together like always, Hadj, side by side. We’re used to fighting entire armies like that by now.”

  “You won’t be alone, Commander Nero,” Helion growled, “my people, Lian’s, Lergon’s, and Tuur’s as well, will spread across the trails of the Black Gorge. At your command, we’ll unleash our full might upon them.”

  Lergon just nodded. He was too furious to speak, fearing that he would only be able to growl.

  They kept talking, assuring Hadjar of their loyalty and readiness to fight alongside him.

  The quieted when the General raised his hand.

  “You’re right, Lian,” Hadjar said quietly. “It’s definitely a trap. They will most likely be waiting in ambush with everything they have.”

  “In that case-”

  “I’ll go alone.”

  “But General!” The commanders jumped up from their seats in perfect unison, almost like they’d rehearsed it. Their attempts to contradict him were stopped by the mad glare they saw in the blue eyes of their General.

  The commanders sat back down. They were ready to hear another one of Hadjar’s crazy plans.

  He didn’t keep them waiting.

  Chapter 165

  Despite the arrival of spring, gray clouds loomed above Hadjar. They blocked out the sun. Crows could sometimes be glimpsed flying through them.

  They would land on the black rocks and unleash an unholy cacophony, their red eyes glittering.

  “Caw caw... Caw...” Echoed through the gorge.

  Hadjar rode into it (it was more like a huge canyon than an actual gorge) on a white horse. Alas, the one he’d ridden before, while travelling through the villages, hadn’t survived the invasion of the beasts.

  At first, Helion had wanted to give the General the best horse, but Hadjar had refused. He trusted his legs more than he did its hooves. Carrying his sword on his back, he rode quietly along the sandy bottom of the gorge. Crows sat on the skulls of people and animals, looking at this fool.

  “Caw caw... Caw caw!” The sound of their disapproval was clearly heard.

  Hadjar stared into the distance. There, a few miles away, the horizon had become black. Tens of thousands of soldiers stood with their swords drawn and spears leveled. The archers had bows made of a white material which resembled bone a great deal. Ahead of them stood another force. Wearing ordinary clothes, these warriors held various weapons, mostly scythes and sickles.

  These were the sect disciples. As a group, they were little more than rabble, disorganized and undisciplined. However, they were the best practitioners in Balium. The sect made sure to select only the best of the best.

  They raised black, white and red standards with the image of the gate entwined with a snake on them—the symbol of their sect—into the sky.

  Their mounts stomped their hooves nervously. They were hybrids of bulls, horses, and goats that had several rows of sharp horns and impressive muscles.

  According to Lergon, one of those creatures could easily break through their shield wall.

  It wasn’t the thousands of troops that worried Hadjar, but the thing he’d mistaken for a cliff at first. However, he didn’t think a cliff could... move.

  The General’s horse neighed and backed away, but Hadjar held on to the reins tightly. He spurred it forward. The animal was nervous and noticeably terrified. It couldn’t see the danger because of the blinders restricting its vision, but it could feel the threat even better than Hadjar himself.

  Behind the sect’s troops was a huge bull. No, ‘huge’ wasn’t the right word to describe an animal that was larger than any of the mountain peaks Hadjar had seen.

  Just one of this beast’s hooves could crush the whole fort at the Blue Wind ridge. Using its horns, you could dig a channel that would connect the East and West seas. Its fur was as thick as an actual forest, and its eyes glowed with a dark, deadly power and malicious intent.

  The beast was probably at least a thousand feet tall and flocks of black crows circled around it. There was a wooden fortification on the monster’s neck from which dozens of eyes and twice as many bows and spears were pointed at Hadjar.

  After patting his horse on the neck soothingly, Hadjar jumped down. Instead of armor, he wore simple, frayed clothes that looked like rags even a poor man would hesitate to put on, but the General felt more comfortable that way. The only changes to his usual appearance were his disheveled hair and a red cloak.

  Ignoring the pressure of the huge monster and the enemy army, Hadjar approached the table in the middle of the gorge.

  A couple of years ago, he’d stood among the ranks of the army and watched Moon Leen get ready for similar negotiations. Unlike her, he didn’t have a large army behind him, and his back wasn’t being watched by officers loyal to him.

  Hadjar was walking toward the enemy army all alone.

  The Masters stood near the table and the different number of beads showed Hadjar who they were: the Masters of the second, third, and fourth pavilion. The Master of the first pavilion was sitting at the table itself. He was the second most powerful man in the sect, after the Patriarch himself.

  He was wearing gauntlets depicting the snarling visage of one of Derger’s dogs. His heavy mask, massive belt buckle that was more reminiscent of a small shield, and steel boots all showed the same thing as well. His muscular, scarred body was barely covered by blue and orange robes.

  “Hail, Famous General,” the Master raised his wine bowl, greeting Hadjar.

  The General sat down opposite him, poured himself some wine, and also greeted his enemy. He didn’t have to check the wine with his neural network to know it wasn’t poisoned.

  The sectarians couldn’t afford to violate the rules of politeness and hospitality.

  “I greet you, General, even though you treated our first ambassador poorly.”

  “I can only assure you that he’d chosen his fate himself,” Hadjar shrugged.

  The wine was so good that Simon would’ve sold his soul for only one jug of it. And possibly not just Simon.

  Large organizations always made sure to follow the unwritten rules and laws. Their reputation depended on it.

  “Like you, General,” green eyes flashed from beneath the mask. “Nobody has invited you to our lands. My sect hasn’t declared war on you. We haven’t fought Lidus in…”

  “Nine centuries and seventeen years.”

  The Master bowed his head to the side. It looked comical and terrifying at the same time.

  “You know your history well.”

  Hadjar sipped some more wine in silence.

  In his mind, he went back to a time when he could happily run through the Palace corridors, seeking out new adventures.

  ***

  Hadjar walked among the statues. Old and worn down, they were nevertheless a way to remember the past ruler
s. Those who’d died long before he’d been born. Hadjar’s small hands struggled to hold up a large torch. He almost dropped it on his feet but a strong hand helped him.

  “Father.”

  Haver stood near Hadjar. His father seemed to him like an impregnable mountain propping up the heavens themselves. Many others also saw him in such a light, not just the little Prince.

  The King could afford to give a warm, friendly smile only to his son and wife.

  Haver patted his son’s head. He took the torch from the child’s hands and held it up to the face of one of the sculptures. The face was powerful and vaguely resembled Haver’s own. Hadjar was still a child, but his mind was sharp.

  “That’s…”

  “My grandfather,” Haver nodded. “Your great-grandfather. Haver II the Defiant.”

  Hadjar looked at the sculpture again. The ancient King was holding his broadsword and staring into the distance with a determined look on his face.

  “I don’t remember him,” the King continued. “My father used to bring me and my brother here and tell us stories about his grandfather fighting against the sect of Balium. ‘The Black Gates’ was our greatest foe, once.”

  “Lidus lost that war.”

  "Yes,” Haver agreed. “My grandfather and your great-grandfather died fighting them. But, because he refused to bow to the Patriarch and because he managed to seriously injure him in a fight, Lidus resisted. While the sect was getting ready to continue their attack, we consolidated our forces and sent them back to the Black Mountains.”

  Haver stared at his ancestor’s stone visage for a long time. Hadjar tried to make out the inscription on the pedestal. The King’s last words were carved there:

  “I won’t kill you today... but look into my eyes, Patriarch, and remember. I’ll come for you. In another body, in another spirit, wielding another sword, but I’ll take your life. The last thing you’ll see will be my eyes. So remember them well!”

  Hadjar ran his fingers over the inscription.

  “He gave his life for us, son,” Haver squeezed Hadjar’s shoulder. “For me, for you, for all the people who’ve ever lived and will live in Lidus. Remember that. Remember that the people don’t serve the King, the King serves his people.”