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

by Kirill Klevanski

  [Warning! The computing module is overheating! Network features won’t be available until the reboot is completed. Estimated time until functionality is restored: 1754 days 9 months 2 weeks…]

  Hadjar blinked away the message. He wasn’t sure that he would dare to use the neuronet ever again after it had so thoroughly controlled his body, brain, and consciousness, even if it took twice as long to reboot.

  The General smiled. He smiled and laughed through the pain, trying to stem the flow of blood pouring from his wounds. If anyone had seen him in such a state, they would’ve realized that the nickname ‘Mad’ hadn’t been given to the General just because of his insane plans.

  He was alive.

  The Patriarch was dead.

  That’s what truly mattered. Everything else was just road dust on the long path of cultivation. He might’ve used someone else's power to win, but... He would have to justify that later... Right now, he just wanted to get to bed and sleep for a week. A worthy reward for the winner to enjoy, according to his soldiers.

  Hadjar, before getting up to leave the crumbling cave, noticed the ring that Grois had tried to reach for before his death.

  After barely managing to bend down and almost falling into the abyss (Damn my greed!), Hadjar lifted Grois’ severed hand and cut off his index finger. He pulled the ring off and felt the energy emanating from the object.

  It was a very strange energy, and he was certain that he’d never felt something similar in this world, even when he had dived deep into the river of energy in his quest to get to the Spirit of the Sword.

  Cutting off a strand of his hair, Hadjar tied the ring to the hilt of his sword and decided that he still had time to figure out what to do with this artifact. The General had no doubt that the ring was an artifact.

  Barely pulling himself up, he staggered toward the exit.

  ***

  Hadjar didn’t remember much of what happened next. He seemed to lose consciousness at times, but he kept going anyway. The corridor was as difficult for him to overcome as the test of the Shadow had been. The General thought he could hear the voice of his mentor urging him to keep walking. Hadjar didn’t know whether he was dreaming, hallucinating, or if he was actually hearing the voice.

  He just kept walking.

  ***

  He kept walking, clinging to the wall, and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

  Then someone must have picked him up. Someone he trusted implicitly...

  A familiar voice said:

  “I don’t care that you forbade everyone from entering the castle. Don’t you dare die here, Hadj! You owe me a thousand cores for my wedding!”

  Hadjar wanted to argue that his debt had just recently been only forty cores, but he no longer had the strength to do so.

  He occasionally regained consciousness, but more often than not, he was diving into the dark oblivion. He saw fragments of different scenes:

  An ancient castle was burning.

  The soldiers of the united army were rejoicing.

  The healers were flying over the battlefield like ghosts, taking the bodies of the groaning wounded with them.

  He saw the fields of dead bodies… There were hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of them. They’d been impaled on spears, dismembered, scattered across the ground.

  He thought he was being carried away on a hastily assembled stretcher. The same familiar voice said that those who tried to carry the General ‘on his shield’ would end up meeting their forefathers.

  He might’ve been saluted. Hadjar didn't understand why he couldn't immediately remember that he was… a General…

  Had he fought someone?

  Hadjar was losing consciousness… He saw a golden river. He dived into it, and for some reason, he immediately felt at home. And this new home was much better than his tent.

  The deeper he sank into that golden river, the more he realized that the water wasn’t liquid at all…It was hair. He was combing scented, golden hair with a jade comb.

  A little girl was sitting in front of him and babbling about something, completely carefree. He thought her name might be Elaine and that she was his sister.

  ***

  The most beautiful princess in all the nearby kingdoms sat in a gazebo in the garden by the pond. This girl’s sword had never failed her. She knew the art of discourse as well as the art of swordplay. The king was tired of apologizing to the ambassadors for the humiliation Elaine would always inflict on her prospective suitors.

  Along with the Princess, her favorite maid was in the gazebo. She was brushing her hair and talking about the Mad General who was waging a war against the invincible sect.

  Elaine, who usually listened attentively to stories about Hadjar, couldn’t grasp the meaning of the words.

  She felt like someone else was brushing her hair. He was someone close to her, but she couldn’t make out even a vague image of this man.

  She was afraid her dreams would stop.

  She felt much more comfortable in the gazebo opposite the lake than anywhere else in the whole castle.

  Chapter 182

  Wrapped in bandages, Hadjar stood on a hill, leaning on a crutch, and looked at the valley that stretched out at the foot of the Black Mountains. It was teeming with life.

  The villagers were slowly repairing their houses, warehouses, and barns. The soldiers of Balium and Lidus were working alongside them. They were chopping down huge trees, covering the tall, green grass in a sea of orange and gold chips.

  Some of the women worked alongside the men. The others brought everyone fresh and cold milk, along with loaves of hot, crispy bread.

  The wind was blowing, telling Hadjar more and more stories...

  A week after the Battle at the Cursed Castle, as the bards were calling it, the mourning and dirges that accompanied the souls of the dead on their last journey had been forgotten. People didn’t see those funeral pyres in their dreams any longer.

  The surviving soldiers weren’t playing the drums or the Ron’Jah, though. And how many had survived?

  Only nine hundred thousand soldiers of the army that had numbered almost three million at the beginning of the battle had been able to descend to the foot of the mountain on their own. About half that many had been carried down on stretchers.

  All the others had died, holding on for three days at most. The survivors had covered them with branches, moss, and rags in order to make their final beds softer.

  Hadjar heard that Nero had helped the healer gather up all the dead. The General had been lying unconscious in his tent at the time. He didn’t remember much from that period, but for some reason, he saw the golden river all the time.

  Anyway, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to help his friend carry the dead bodies. The last time, after the battle at the Blue Wind ridge, he’d been able to overcome his fatigue and wounds and return to the battlefield, or rather the sea of the dead and dying.

  He hadn't been a General back then.

  The silhouette standing near the stables distracted the General from his mournful thoughts. Hadjar thought things through for only a few moments.

  He didn't want it to end like this.

  He hobbled to his tent and climbed into the saddle of his horse. He could hardly put his foot in the stirrup, and only his crutch helped him push off the ground hard enough to actually manage it.

  Once he’d mounted his horse, the General grimaced in pain. A bloodstain spread over the bandages on his right side.

  The healer had warned him that it would be impossible to get out of bed for five more days. Hadjar would most likely have to endure a tirade in the near future…

  Pulling on the reins, he spurred his horse, though the action was more akin to him hugging the horse's sides gently with his feet. Thank heavens that the horse was well trained and that was enough for it to understand the command and move.

  He carried Moon Beam with him. Hadjar couldn't let anyone see him without a sword. No matter how b
adly he was wounded, if a warrior didn’t lower his weapon, then he was ready for battle.

  And the Mad General was always ready to fight.

  Putting on his cloak made from the skins of the White Apes, Hadjar went down to the foot of the cliffs. He felt pain shoot through his entire body with every step his horse took. He was also very dizzy.

  Hadjar led his horse to the forest in which the silhouette had disappeared.

  Surprisingly, the last time he’d been here was just last winter. And, despite the fact that the snowy forest was amazingly beautiful in its own right, its true magnificence was revealed only in the late spring.

  There was a riot of green colors and life. Birds were singing, animals were running about, and you could hear the crunch and crackle of ancient trunks swaying in the wind and the rustle of their treetops. All of this seemed to be defying the recent battle and the wounds that it had left in the survivors’ hearts.

  Nature itself seemed like it was trying to cure people. People, animals, and trees were all equal in nature’s eyes, on Heaven and Earth both. Hadjar had realized this only recently and still didn't know how to treat this new knowledge.

  The General had become not only an experienced commander but also a tracker and hunter as of late. He easily found signs of the rider’s passage and, ignoring the pain, let the horse run at a gallop.

  They flew over streams and the broken trees left after the invasion. They jumped over the black, lifeless gullies left behind by the Patriarch’s poison. This painful chase, reopening his wounds, was almost typical for Hadjar’s life.

  It seemed to him like he wasn’t catching up to someone, but running away from something instead, for example, from the medallion swinging on his chest.

  After all, the Patriarch had been right.

  Hadjar was a warrior. Nobody could change that. The sword was his life and he needed nothing but the sword. While the sharp steel hung on his belt, he felt that he was holding his fate in his own hands.

  But Hadjar wasn’t a soldier. He hadn’t fought for Lidus, though he’d thought about its people. He hadn't fought for king Primus or for Balium. He had come all this way, spending a few years wading through rivers of blood, for his own very selfish purposes.

  Hadjar had left all that behind, and he was getting closer to the silhouette trying to disappear into the thicket on its horse.

  Perhaps the General wouldn’t be able to catch up to her. So, he shouted:

  “You’ll kill me!”

  The silhouette stopped the chase after a while.

  She was walking barefoot across the grass when he caught up; Hadjar could see the most beautiful female feet striding across the cold morning dew. She’s…

  Nehen was beautiful. In every way... except one.

  She stopped in front of him and lowered her hood. Her long hair tumbled out across her shoulders and fell down to her waist...

  “What are you doing, you stupid General?” The witch sighed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  By the gods and demons… I can see the whole world in her eyes.

  “You chased me down,” her voice almost merged with the rustle of the leaves and Hadjar felt his heartbeat slowing down.

  “I just wanted to…”

  Hadjar didn't want to make excuses. A man didn’t have to justify himself to a woman in these kinds of moments. The man’s desires were important too…

  “You can't stop me.”

  There was silence. It was solemn and unusual in the cheerful forest.

  “You don't want to leave.”

  “Neither do you, stupid General.”

  Their eyes met. Hadjar would’ve liked to say “I do want to leave”, but that would’ve been a lie. What they’d come to feel for each other was not love in the conventional sense.

  It really wasn't love at all. Two people, or rather, one human being and one not-so-human entity, had met briefly on the winding path of life and found solace in each other's company.

  They weren’t like Serra and Nero. They respected each other, but there was no affection between them

  Perhaps they could’ve made a good married couple, whose relationship would not be complicated by unnecessary emotions, but…

  Neither of them wanted such a simulated love. Like any practitioner, they fought and risked it all to live a life that was as full, bright, and free as possible.

  They would have long lives and it would be stupid to spend them with someone for whom they felt nothing but genuine respect…

  “I see you've figured it out,” the witch smiled a little sadly. “Goodbye, Hadjar Traves.”

  The cloak slipped from her shoulders like a silk rain, and she was left naked. The General tried to memorize her perfect curves and exquisite beauty.

  She touched his horse's neck, and Hadjar was eager to cover her hand with his. He was also afraid he wouldn't be able to let her go if he did.

  Still, she wasn't exactly human either…

  There was a short flash and a white wolf was standing in the spot where the witch had just been. Blue, crystal horns blossomed on her head, and a blue fishtail appeared in place of a normal one.

  It was the Wolf of the Islands.

  She hadn’t deceived him. After all, if there were animals that could turn into people, so, too, must there be people who could turn into animals.

  She disappeared into the thicket and Hadjar took the reins of his horse and turned back.

  She might’ve allowed him to see her departure on purpose. She’d said goodbye in her characteristic wolfish manner.

  “I wish you good hunting, Nehen, Wolf of the Islands.”

  His heart was full of sorrow, but Hadjar knew he would soon feel better. For the first time in a long time, he’d done the right thing.

  He now felt brave enough to take off the General's medallion, which was growing heavier with each passing day.

  That stage of his life was over.

  He wanted to go back.

  The capital was waiting for him.

  Chapter 183

  Only Nero was in the tent besides the sleeping Azrea and Hadjar, who was shaving. Nero was eating his second portion of lamb. The Moon army in general was eating better than ever after winning their battle against the sect.

  The grateful villagers were making sure that the soldiers were so fat they wouldn’t be able to fit into their armor. Tuur, the only officer who’d survived, except for Lian (Nero doesn’t count, he’s as tough as a cockroach), was of the belief that a soldier shouldn’t overeat.

  Lian supported him, wisely remarking how a person that had been created for battles shouldn’t spend their time mindlessly feasting. Therefore, despite the rich lunches and dinners, the soldiers were training twice as much as before. Fortunately, the soldiers who had survived the battle with the sect saw the training as something wonderful. Moreover, both the Baliumians and the Moon soldiers treated the training as an easy warm-up and often kept training even after the regular sessions were done.

  Nero often joked that they’d deprived Balium of its shield in the form of “The Black Gates” and forged a sword for them instead, in the form of Lergon's men.

  “I don’t understand you, Hadj,” Nero hiccupped loudly and drank out of a cup of wine diluted with water. “How could you let a woman like Nehen go?”

  Hadjar calmly continued to shave. It was hard to manage while lying in bed and wrapped in bandages. Yesterday had been the first day he’d been able to move on his own without cutting off a piece of his nose or slashing an artery open. However, he still had his crutch, and he still couldn’t draw his sword.

  His fight against the true cultivator had left him with many injuries.

  “You must’ve asked me that a thousand times by now...”

  “And I’ll ask you another ten thousand times,” Nero was genuinely puzzled. “If I hadn’t met Serra, gods as my witnesses, I’d have challenged you to a duel for that woman.”

  Hadjar just shrugged. He’d lost intere
st in the subject after a month. He’d felt empty after they had parted, especially at night when his bed was suddenly much larger. But Hadjar was quickly returning to his natural state of being a bachelor.

  “Well, it’s all on you. Let the gods judge you.”

  The General ignored that phrase. He’d heard it as many times as he’d heard the question about Nehen. His friend simply couldn’t help mentioning the beautiful witch during the day, when Serra wasn’t nearby, of course.

  Serra, unlike her lover, was tactful enough not to talk about Nehen. But she was also glad to see her gone. Although… perhaps she was just satisfied that the Moon army had received some scrolls from the very rich sect library. Perhaps this knowledge had been insignificant to Grois, but it was very valuable to both Balium and Lidus...

  The soldiers that could not help out with the building efforts because of their wounds were rewriting the scrolls and making two copies of them.

  One copy was intended for Lergon and his men. The other one was meant for the Moon army’s library. This had made the Librarian very annoyed; hardly anyone visited his tent now.

  A soldier didn’t need Honor points to visit the army library. More precisely, they did, but they were awarded the points by the commanders, without any intermediaries and without needing to wait for the approval of the Generals. The representatives of the Generals hadn’t visited Hadjar for a year, so they couldn't take part in the distribution of Honor points. The use of this alternative system had made it so that the Mad General was even more respected. He was famous not only for his great victories but also because he offered his people an opportunity to advance along the path of cultivation without needing to rely on the Empire.

  The meditation Technique they’d managed to salvage from the sect's library was very sought after. Of course, it was weak and only allowed a practitioner to reach a level where they might be close to becoming a true cultivator, but that was enough for many of the soldiers.

  The Librarian had been furious when he’d found out that this Technique had become available to the common soldiers. No one, except Hadjar, understood the reason behind his discontent. The General knew that this went against Darnassus’ plans to control the Kingdom's strong practitioners.