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

by Kirill Klevanski

  On the battlements, golems kept watch. They were soulless creatures that had a human form, the strength of an average practitioner, and were the size of a white ape. They didn’t feel fatigue, fear, or hunger, and they would keep fighting until their cores were broken.

  Such constructs could only be created by artifactors from the Empire. Hadjar had no idea where a provincial sect, by the standards of Darnassus and Laskan anyway, had gotten them. Admittedly, over the course of its thousand years of existence, the sect could’ve bought or made almost anything. Or acquired them in hundreds of other ways that the General could think of.

  But neither the height of the walls, nor the unusual material they‘d been made from, the giant sickles, or even the golems were the most surprising thing.

  Guarding the gates, shackled by heavy, thick chains, two snakes slept. Each of them was as wide as a small boat and as long as a river. They were twined around the gates and blue flame occasionally flared out of their mouths.

  “Demons,” Nero gasped after he took the telescope and was able to see the reptiles for himself, “one of those beasts could easily devour half our army in one go.”

  “And then turn the other half into ashes,” Serra nodded. She turned to Hadjar and asked with a slight sneer, “Will your islander be able to handle them?”

  Hadjar didn’t comment on the tone of the question. South Wind had taught the Prince early on: never, under any circumstances, should he get between two quarreling women. It was harder to get out of such a situation than escape a bear trap that had clamped down on your genitals.

  “She isn’t very good with reptiles.”

  Nero shot a quick glance at Hadjar, but said nothing. He’d never revealed his beloved friend’s secret, the fact that an inhuman heart beat in Hadjar’s chest. He felt that Serra didn’t really need to know. The less people knew, the better.

  Hadjar did notice the amusement in his friend’s eyes at his inadvertent joke.

  “I knew it,” Serra almost snorted.

  They returned to the camp after nightfall. The bodies of the dead soldiers had been piled up on the fires. Serra left her friends and went to patch up the cracked dome. Hadjar was surprised to find he thought of it as home as he entered his tent.

  It had unsettled him at first. It'd been a long time since he’d even thought of the word ‘home’. But he felt at home now, looking around at the old chests left over from Moon Leen’s time; at the bed and the skins lying on it; at the sleeping, funny Azrea; at the creaking boards that served as a floor; at the cracked table/map.

  The General’s tent was really the only place that had ever felt like ‘home’ to him. At least in the last twenty years. The ‘Innocent Meadow’ brothel where he’d played the Ron’Jah for bloated, greedy officials hadn’t. Nor had the wagon of the traveling freak show. Not even the prison of the Palace where he’d been born.

  Maybe the old, rundown house of Hunter Robin could’ve been home. But he’d spent too little time there. Sometimes, when melancholy took hold of him(despite his strong will, Hadjar was still a man, not a machine blindly wandering along the path of cultivation), he returned to the hunters’ village in his thoughts, to the Valley of Streams, and wondered if he’d done the right thing by leaving.

  After all, he’d done all of this for his sister’s sake, with the goal of going back to the capital and meeting Elaine. But it seemed like the more effort he put in, the farther life took him from the Palace and his sister.

  “My General.”

  His train of thought was interrupted by Helion entering his tent. He hadn’t lost his other eye in the battle, but he looked even more fearsome now with a bandage across his left cheekbone.

  Following the Commander of the cavalry, the rest of the first officers came into the tent. Lian looked the worst out of all of them. She now wore a wide-brimmed hat and half her face was covered by bandages. A weapon had exploded near her, dangerously close to her face.

  The healers claimed that it was a miracle she hadn’t lost her eyes and that the shrapnel hadn’t cut through her skull. But she still had burns, left behind by gunpowder and molten steel... The healers assured her that they’d be able to minimize the damage to just some small scars. Judging by how glum the usually cheerful and energetic Lian looked, she didn’t believe them. Serra’s comforting words hadn’t helped, either.

  The last one to arrive was the spymaster. As he always did during these sorts of things, he looked a little tense. He’d never supported the idea of the General, one of the first officers, and the witch going off to independently investigate things before a large-scale battles.

  Only Hadjar’s assertion that he needed to see everything with his own eyes in order to make a new plan kept the man from complaining about it constantly.

  “Officers,” the General began quietly as they all sat down, “We’ve won the battle. Now it’s time to win the war!”

  Chapter 171

  Hadjar stood in front of a dull, cracked mirror. Nehen fussed around him. Male bodyguards had once helped Moon Leen fasten her own armor. When it came to things like chauvinism or sexism, this world was truly advanced. Your sex didn’t matter, at least in the army.

  The General saw people bathing in public bathhouses together and no one had even thought to spy on someone else. Well, except for Nero, of course. But he’d been stopped by Serra’s temper.

  Hadjar had never worn armor before. It hindered his movements and prevented him from feeling the call of the wind. He longed for those days. For a chance to defeat the Patriarch, he’d given up his faithful friend and completely devoted himself to the Spirit of the Sword.

  He still could hear the call and whispers of the wind. But what had once sounded like a dog’s friendly barking now seemed like the lonely howl of a stray dog that had lost its owner. The wind called out to him, beckoned him, and wondered why it could no longer hear his reply.

  This fact had changed Hadjar’s fighting style, making it much rougher and more brutal, making many soldiers believe that their General had begun to study new sword Techniques. Only the Librarian knew that the General never actually bought the full versions of the scrolls. He would come in for an hour, rent a copy, then leave, seemingly trying to go through all the Imperial scrolls that interested him.

  “Stay still,” Nehen said, clearly annoyed as she tried to tighten the strap that fastened the two chest plates together.

  Hadjar looked in the mirror and tried to recognize the person looking back at him—his long hair was now in a bun. He was also wearing his simple gray clothes that he loved so much.

  He’d decided to use them as lining for his armor. This had made both Simon and the blacksmiths very angry. They’d prepared a real, waterproof lining made from animal skins for the General. The lining was better than the armor of most ordinary soldiers. But Hadjar had ordered for it to be given as a reward to the warrior who had the most Honor points.

  They’d managed to persuade Hadjar to at least wear the armor after demonstrating all its advantages. Despite its bulky appearance and weight, each plate was elastic enough to not hinder a swordsman’s movements, even one as powerful as the Mad General. Moreover, thanks to the numerous beast cores that had been left over after the animal invasion, the armor was at the level of a Mortal Artifact.

  Of course, it was a very basic one, eliciting condescending laughter from both the Librarian and Serra, but still an artifact. The full armor was red, both to draw the eye and conceal any blood, creating the image of an invincible General.

  The left shoulder pad had been forged in the shape of a sleeping dragon, and the right one looked like a screaming demon with a nose ring. The high collar protected Hadjar’s neck and the back of his head. It was attached to the breastplate with wide straps, of which there were a lot of on the armor. They’d been made from the skins of the dead monsters and were the reason behind the elasticity of the armor. They allowed the plates to fit snugly around the general but also not hinder him.

  There
were also heavy gauntlets and boots that looked like dragon claws. With all the straps and various attachments they had, they looked fragile, but a practitioner at a level lower than the Transformation of the Mortal Shell would’ve been hard pressed to do any real damage to them, let alone break them.

  The whole armor weighed at least 400 pounds, but Hadjar didn’t find it heavy. Of course, his movements were slower, but that was more a matter of habit. In battle, he would be able to adjust to the new weight and use it to his advantage.

  “Status,” the General said after Nehen tightened the last strap and hid it under the steel plate.

  Name

  Hadjar

  Level of cultivation

  Transformation (Mortal Shell)

  Strength

  3

  Dexterity

  3.27

  Physique

  2.7

  Energy points

  9.5

  Hadjar was still at the stage of the Mortal Shell, but his stat points were shockingly high. If the Librarian found out about them, he would first become green with envy, and then probably try to take Hadjar’s body to the Empire and sell it as a valuable ingredient or a guinea pig to be used in experiments.

  “You look more like a general now than when we first met.”

  Nehen kissed the corner of Hadjar’s mouth. She pulled a jade hairpin, made in the image of herons soaring toward the sky, out of her long hair and stuck it into Hadjar’s bun. With one last look at her reflection, she left the tent.

  Both witches had their own tasks in the upcoming battle, and Nehen couldn’t afford to waste any more time with her lover. If they survived, they would be able to spend some alone time without their clothes.

  The heavy curtain rustled, letting the scarlet shafts of the dawn light inside.

  Hadjar turned abruptly, expecting to see the tall, pale Islander, but it was the tall, broad-shouldered warrior instead. Nero also had new armor, thanks to the blacksmiths and Simon, that was no worse than Hadjar’s. It was silver and giants fighting spirits falling from the Heavens had been engraved on the breastplate—a very pompous drawing, which, without a doubt, had been put there on Nero’s orders.

  “You look tough,” the officer said.

  He stood beside his friend and peered into the mirror. They saw two mighty warriors there, the best officers of one of the most famous armies from Lidus. In the depths of that dull surface, behind the ‘heroes’, were two laughing boys, trying their hand at the army exam.

  It felt like something that had happened a lifetime ago.

  “It’s time, buddy,” Nero patted his friend on the shoulder and headed for the exit.

  He was stopped by Hadjar calling out to him as he pulled off the glove on his right hand, slashed his palm with a dagger, and extended it.

  Nero stopped and gazed at the General. He knew what the gesture meant. Once upon a time, they’d become friends. They’d survived hundreds of battles together, standing side by side against armies and hordes of monsters. They’d saved each other’s lives and kept each other’s secrets.

  “Not a good time, but…”

  “Hurry,” Hadjar said. “I have to give a speech to the army.”

  Nero smiled and undid the straps of his gauntlet. A blade flashed and they shook two bloodied hands.

  “I have to say something pathetic now,” Nero proclaimed.

  “Until death do us part?” Hadjar suggested with a snort.

  Nero pulled his hand back, wiped it on the wall of the tent, and grimaced.

  “I always knew you were… strange.”

  Laughing, they left the tent. They’d been acquaintances, then comrades, then friends. And now they were brothers.

  They stood in front of the army. The golden dome of the sixth pavilion was behind them. Millions of warriors waited. A vast sea of armor, spears, shields, and horses. The dawn painted their silver armor a golden hue. They should think about renaming the army into something with ‘Gold’ in it.

  Hadjar looked at his warriors.

  At the Baliumians and Lidusians alike. They were here for different reasons, but now stood under the same red banners and waited for the orders of the Mad General.

  Perhaps Hadjar should’ve come up with some kind of inspirational speech, but he hadn’t. Some soldiers were fighting to go back home, others to keep their homeland safe and end the sect’s tyranny.

  Everyone who held a weapon knew why they were here.

  They didn’t need words of encouragement.

  They needed their General.

  Hadjar raised his fist and two million soldiers did the same. Then the roar of a dragon came from Hadjar’s throat and was drowned out by the howl of hundreds of thousands of warriors that were ready to die.

  The Moon army began its march.

  Chapter 172

  “Ready!” Lian commanded. “Fire!”

  Hundreds of catapults, trebuchets, and mortars exploded with a thunderous roar. The cannonballs flew through the sky with a whoosh, then chipped away at the gray material of the Snake Gates upon impact.

  Hadjar stood on a hill, watching the cannoneers and archers trying to break through the barrier. Alas, none of the charges could so much as touch the bodies of the snakes. They were out of range, as if shrouded.

  Below, at the foot of the hill, the infantry bustled about. They fought the sectarians who appeared from secret passages in the walls which would open for a split second, hundreds of disciples pouring out each time. Some of the Moon soldiers tried to use the passages, but were attacked by well-aimed projectiles from the golems. Standing on the parapets, they kept throwing multiton boulders at the attackers. Sometimes they would work together to send a particularly heavy boulder at the attacking forces. The Moon army kept losing siege weapons because of them.

  Hadjar used the telescope to look at the opposite hill. 170,000 of Helion’s horsemen stood there. The commander, together with his officers, was at the front of the formation, eager for a fight. However, since the General hadn’t given them any orders yet and because they understood that without a gap in the gates for them to charge through the golems would turn them into mincemeat, they kept waiting.

  “Ready!”

  Lian, armed with a halberd, rode on a white horse in front of the ranks of archers and cannoneers. There were also some units of spearmen positioned there, whose task was to protect the ranged fighters from any surprise attacks. Alas, the tips of their spears wouldn’t be colored by blood any time soon.

  The vast army crashed like a flood against the impregnable gates.

  “Fire!” The sky was once again filled with the black clouds of arrows, cannonballs, and burning rocks.

  The soldiers rammed into the gates, breaking off small, insignificant pieces of the strange stone. Most of them completely disappeared after being covered in blue fire or torn apart by the huge serpents’ fangs.

  One of the beasts looked at the sky and the other greedily bit into the ranks of infantry fighting below it. Not bothering to distinguish between friend and foe, it swallowed at least a dozen soldiers and disciples of the sect each time.

  “At this rate, we should start building a fort,” Nero said, pacing the hill nervously, “the siege will last a year.”

  Hadjar didn’t have a year. Damn it, he didn’t even have a month to spare. Besides, who knew why the sect wasn’t trying to strike back.

  “Something’s-”

  “Shut up!” Nero shouted, but it was too late.

  “Wrong here,” Hadjar said.

  At that very same moment, he heard a piercing shriek. It sounded like someone had stepped on the tail of a very large cat.

  From behind the gates, or rather, over the gates, a dozen strange wyverns flew out. They were different from the ones that Nero and Hadjar had ridden once. They were bigger than the trebuchets. Soaring across the sky, they opened their jaws wide. The smell of sulfur and burnt meat spread across the battlefield.

  “Air!” Lian cried.

&
nbsp; The archers began to shoot at the creatures, but they were protected by the sea of blue fire splashing across the sky. Then lumps of some odd, green substance began to fall out of the fire. They exploded upon impact and covered the people and weapons, corroding flesh, wood, and metal alike.

  The people’s screams merged with the wyverns’ cries.

  “Dammit,” Nero sighed.

  The engineers had been ordered to build a siege tower. It was now being carried to the gates while the archers and cannoneers protected the soldiers. They shot arrows, cannonballs, and stones, trying to knock down the golems and break the mechanism that rotated the sickles.

  Despite their best efforts, they didn’t succeed.

  A few minutes later, the entire construction collapsed on the soldiers’ heads. The sickles had easily cut through the top of the tower, rendering it nearly useless in the siege.

  The soldiers fled in a panic. The disciples of the sect, standing with their backs against the gates, saw them off with laughter and hooting.

  No wonder the Snake Gates were considered to be impregnable. The sect had spent hundreds of years strengthening them.

  “It’s impossible, Hadj,” Nero got closer to the General and pointed at the disheartened Moon soldiers. “For each disciple of the sect that dies, we lose fifty of our own warriors. We haven’t even scratched the damn gates, but the army is already demoralized. We’ve already lost almost ten thousand people and twice as many are wounded.”

  “I know.”