Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar didn’t understand what was going on. The orc had broken all the laws of cultivation that he’d been taught since childhood. The orc was clearly using the word ‘Spirits’ differently from human practitioners. As soon as he’d seen Hadjar’s Sword Spirit tattoo, he’d called it ‘the slave mark of a Weapon’. He’d said ‘Weapon’, not ‘Weapon Spirit’. Hadjar couldn’t grasp the difference.

  The ‘Black Wind’ Technique, after scattering the remnants of the orc’s Technique (although it wasn’t even a Technique in the usual sense), made a crack in the ground. It was deeper than it was wide, with smooth edges that looked as if someone had cut through the ground with a pair of scissors.

  “Not bad, runt,” came a voice from the opposite side of the circle.

  Suddenly, the wall of darkness broke apart. Its remnants were sent flying, and the ones that flew toward the orc army were stopped by Gurtan. Bear’s Rage spun his spear above him and leapt to meet the monstrous Technique. Plunging his weapon into the ground, he shouted something, and the silhouette of a huge, horned bear appeared in front of him. It lashed out with its claws and the darkness disappeared.

  The remnants that flew toward Boltoy failed to reach their goal, stopped by magic shields. The people on the wall shuddered as the hieroglyphics swirling above the fort quivered slightly. They couldn’t believe that someone like Hadjar could actually cause the protective hieroglyphs to waver, even slightly.

  However, his orc foe hadn’t budged. He now had a thin, long gash across his chest. Thick, unnaturally bright red blood trickled down his powerful muscles. One of his axes had been broken, but was still usable.

  Seeing the pitiful wounds inflicted by his best Technique, Hadjar frowned in both displeasure and puzzlement.

  “Are you surprised, runt?” The orc’s snarl taunted him. “I’ve already told you that the way you use the power of the Spirits offends your ancestors.”

  Assuming a stance unfamiliar to Hadjar, the orc raised his left axe behind him and held the right one out in front of him. Bending his knees, he shot a column of energy into the sky.

  “Kaged’khassie!” He shouted.

  Swinging his axes, he created a rapid stream of energy. Within its gray haze, the outlines of a dozen gigantic wolves could be seen. Leaving no prints in the sand, they raced toward their prey. As soon as Hadjar assumed a defensive stance, they divided into ten separate attacks.

  “Strong Wind!”

  Hadjar’s Technique caused the soldiers to gasp again and stirred up a wave of cutting wind, the top of which was a dragon claw. It swallowed and then tore apart three wolves. Judging by the vortex of energy around the orc, he was preparing another attack. Not intending to give him time to launch it, Hadjar used the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’.

  Turning into fog, he raced along the very edge of the circle. The wolves ran after him. Reinforcing his attack with the ‘Falling Leaf’, Hadjar sent blow after blow at the beasts. However, the orc deflected each and every one of them without even breaking a sweat.

  The spectators began to grow nervous. The orcs’ war drums faded. Boltoy’s defenders whispered among themselves. The battle was dragging on. The wolves couldn’t catch up to Hadjar, and he, unable to prepare another Technique, couldn’t break through the orc’s defenses, who, in turn, didn’t have time to counterattack.

  The fight had reached the stage where everything would be decided by the energy reserves of the fighters. Hadjar felt like he was close to running out. No matter how strong he was, no matter how monstrous his attacks looked, he was still just a Heaven Soldier. The orc, on the other hand, was a Spirit Knight, so he clearly had more energy than he did. Realizing that Hadjar was struggling, the orcs shouted in triumph, while the humans punched the wall in frustration.

  But none of them knew that one of the fighters was the Mad General.

  I don’t need to kill him! Hadjar suddenly thought.

  Halting abruptly, he let the nearest wolf hit him in the back. Using the momentum of the axe strike, which tore through his black cloak and left a deep gash across his back, Hadjar pushed himself off the ground. Like a flash, he flew across the circle and, taking advantage of the orc’s bewilderment, slammed his shoulder into the giant’s chest. If he’d used his sword, the orc’s axes would’ve struck him in turn.

  Both of them flew over the edge of the circle.

  Silence fell upon the field.

  Chapter 550

  “That was dishonorable, runt.” The orc jumped to his feet. “Arkhagar’bordox!”

  What he said caused his fellow orcs to feel disgust or extreme surprise. It wasn’t hard to guess that the orc had just sworn obscenely. For all Hadjar knew, he could’ve been cursing him and his forefathers.

  “As I understood it, my mission was to throw my opponent out of the circle.”

  “But you were thrown out with me!”

  Hadjar’s smile was wide and smug. Still lying on the ground in the giant orc’s shadow, he answered:

  “Yes, but I was the second one to hit the ground.”

  The orc glanced at the circle, then back at Hadjar, and said something that made the younger orcs cover their ears with their hands.

  “If not for the chief’s orders,” the orc growled, “I would’ve killed you right then and there. You’re a disgrace to your forefathers!”

  “Calm down, friend.” Hadjar frowned. “Who knows what I have in my spatial ring. Do you know what that is?”

  The orc, who was completely out of control right now, slapped his chest, opened his fanged mouth, and growled. He was about to take a swing at Hadjar when a white lightning bolt struck the ground between them. Azrea, lashing the ground with her tail, roared at him, making everyone’s blood run cold.

  “Stop!” A voice thundered.

  Chief Bear’s Rage approached them.

  “Chief.” The orc bowed his head.

  The two spoke in their snarling language for a while, and Hadjar was content to just lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath. By the Evening Stars, if this had been a fight to the death, he would’ve been killed. He wouldn’t have been able to defeat the orc without the help of additional amulets and artifacts.

  “Runt,” Gurtan’s voice lacked even a speck of respect, “you have proven that your tribe has no honor. What you call victory is simply malice and cowardice.”

  Having said that, he struck the ground twice with his spear. The orcs raised their weapons, and their wolves howled.

  “Wait, giant.” Hadjar waved his hands in protest. “First of all, no one explained the rules to me.”

  “One who has honor from birth doesn’t need to be told where it begins and where it ends,” the leader snapped and raised his clenched fist to the sky.

  However, the orcs were in no hurry to attack. Apparently, they still wanted to negotiate.

  “The prophecy said that I should join the campaign against the Dah’Khasses.”

  “The prophecy spoke about North Wind, a man who would become a free hunter.” Gurtan’s eyes glittered with the animalistic desire of a predator, one eager to sink its claws and fangs into its prey. “You don’t have the honor needed to become a hunter, and you’ve sold your freedom to a Weapon.”

  Hadjar didn’t try to explain that he had no idea what the orcs meant when they differentiated between ‘Spirits’ and ‘Weapons’. To human cultivators, they were one and the same.

  “Tell me, Bear’s Rage, do you want your people to die?”

  The orc he’d just fought tensed and said something. Hadjar presumed that he’d just told Gurtan to kill him.

  “If you can ask questions like that, then you don’t have a mind. Runts truly are like rabbits — all you can do is multiply. Nothing more.”

  Hadjar chose to ignore the insult. He was no diplomat, but he knew when to speak and when to remain silent.

  “Then tell me, wise chief, would you rather have your honor or the lives of the hundred thousand orcs behind you? Would you trade your honor for your child�
��s life?” He asked, hoping that he was right about this. He’d guessed a while ago that the Dah’Khasses had killed Gurtan’s child.

  Gurtan froze and just stared at him. Hadjar had seen a similar look before. Long ago, he’d observed a battle between two generals — Moon Leen and Dragon Tooth. They’d once been the center of each other’s universe. Separated by war, they’d been able to reunite in death. That time, honor had taken precedence over Dragon Tooth’s feelings. However, Hadjar had understood that the man had fought not for his country and army, but for his own principles.

  Gurtan was responsible for the fate of his whole race. Naturally, the weight of such a burden would grind any feelings and principles into dust.

  “Maybe that’s why the Spirits sent us to you, North Wind.” Gurtan sighed. “The orcs couldn’t defeat the Dah’Khasses. In order to win and survive, we might need your dishonorable ways.”

  Bear’s Rage struck the ground with his spear once again and the orcs lowered their weapons. Only the orc he’d fought against stood his ground. He and Gurtan argued in their own language for a while, until Bear’s Rage bared his fangs and struck his chest, challenging the former, forcing him to lower his head in submission. He dropped to his knees and raised his open palms.

  “Don’t forget who wears the Thunder Eagle’s feathers, Steppe Fang,” the chief said, turned around, and walked back to his warriors.

  Hadjar facepalmed as he observed the retreating figure. Steppe Fang gazed at him with hatred.

  And I’ll be going into the monsters’ lair with him. Yay.

  Hadjar looked up at the sky. The gods seemed to be trying to get rid of him. But even so, he would return alive and even stronger than before from this campaign. By the Evening Stars, he would acquire the root of a thousand-year-old fern and find out how Steppe Fang had used his Call in such a way. Maybe the orcs would even help him remove the seal of the Sword Spirit, or whatever it was.

  Steppe Fang was dying to smack the grin of satisfaction off Hadjar’s face.

  Chapter 551

  That evening, after Boltoy’s defenders became convinced that Hadjar wasn’t coming back, three cloaked figures left the fort on horseback.

  Hadjar was playing with Azrea. He’d pick up a huge stick and throw it several hundred yards away. The tigress would run after it, catch it while it was still in the air, and then return it to him. Suddenly, she turned toward Boltoy and smiled, letting the stick fly over her head and fall to the ground. To a stranger, her grin might’ve looked unnerving, but Irma knew better. She jumped off her horse and hugged her four-legged friend, sinking into the fluffy whiteness of her fur. Azrea started purring and rubbing her head against her affectionately.

  “Why don’t you lick her?” Hadjar muttered, took out his pipe, and filled it with tobacco.

  Derek and Alea soon dismounted nearby. Neither of them looked as friendly as Irma, who was now lying on the belly of the Ancient Beast. Azrea was lightly tapping Irma’s back with her paws without letting her claws pop out.

  “What about the orcs?” Derek asked, trying to look calm, but failing.

  Hadjar looked at the orc camp. They’d set up something like tents, but they were cone-shaped and with a hole in the ‘ceiling’. Some of the orcs were lighting giant bonfires; others were scratching, washing, and feeding the wolves. They were clearly preparing for some kind of celebration. Looking at the silvery light of the moon, Hadjar guessed that it would most likely be the festival of the Full Moon. He wondered if they would howl at it like wolves.

  “They told me to wait.” Hadjar shrugged. “They’re going to make me a hunter at the festival. After that, at dawn, we’ll go to fight the Dah’Khasses.”

  “The Dah’Khasses?” Alea and Derek exchanged glances. “Do you know what those are?”

  Hadjar looked at the two of them. They were holding their hands close to their weapons. It would be useless to continue pretending to be a Lascanian.

  “I’m not from Lascan, so I know only what the orcs have told me.”

  “Darnassus?” Derek asked.

  Irma stopped scratching the tigress’ belly. Azrea tried to pull the girl back, but she dodged her paws and stood up. They must’ve come here with a plan, or at least some sort of backup. If they attacked him, they would instantly lose their lives. And, if he rode Azrea, Hadjar would easily be able to run away from the fort’s commander, but if he did so, he would lose his chance to get the fern and find out more about the orcs and their secrets.

  “I’m not from Lascan or Darnassus.” Hadjar decided to try his luck. “I belong only to the sky,” he said, playing on the fact that they thought he was a pirate. And technically speaking, he wasn’t even lying. Traves had called him his descendant, and where did dragons live? In the sky, of course. Sometimes. Maybe.

  “So you’re a pirate.” Derek moved his hands off his weapons.

  The conversation would’ve continued if one of the orcs hadn’t appeared just then. Judging by his height and relatively scrawny build, he was still a teenager.

  “Our shaman… calls you. The festival starts,” he said in broken Lascanian. “Others stay. Runts not go together.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Hadjar spread his arms out apologetically. He was actually glad that he couldn’t speak to the trio. It might end up saving their lives. “Azrea, follow me.”

  The tigress, after poking Irma’s back with her snout, followed. The orc ran away, leaving the two of them alone. Or maybe not…

  “I approve, North Wind,” a laugh came from the darkness. “Your ancestor would’ve been proud of you. You deceived that stupid orc pretty well.”

  Helmer came out of the darkness, still holding the glowing red sphere in his hands, once again missing his entourage of nightmares.

  “Did you want to tell me something, demon?”

  “Don’t sulk!” Helmer went to ruffle Hadjar’s hair, but the man dodged away. “All right, enough with the games.” The demon laughed. Hadjar quickened his pace, leaving the creature behind, but Helmer soon caught up with him.

  “I’m upset that you left the capital, Hadjar. We had a deal involving you, the Tarez clan, and the Tournament of Twelve, you know.”

  “That’s still a few years away,” Hadjar retorted. “Besides, I didn’t leave the capital on a whim. Mentor Orune gave me a task.”

  He still had to get to Darigon, pick up the ancient scroll, and bring it back to ‘The Holy Sky’ School.

  “That’s just an excuse,” Helmer said and waved his hand dismissively. “But I’m not angry at you. It’s just that, since you decided to deviate from the terms of our deal, I think it would only be fair to charge you a small fee.”

  “A fee?”

  “Don’t fret!” Helmer’s smile could’ve stopped Hadjar’s heart once, but now it only made him feel disgusted at how repulsive it was. “Let’s call it a mutually beneficial exchange.”

  Hadjar looked the demon up and down.

  “You won’t give up until I agree, will you?”

  Helmer just smiled more broadly.

  “What do you want, demon?” Hadjar asked with a sigh.

  “Well, I need you to get me a trinket from the leader of the Dah’Khasses.”

  “What kind of trinket, exactly?”

  Helmer began to vanish into the darkness.

  “You’ll know it as soon as you see it.”

  “And what will I get in return?” Hadjar asked.

  “You’ll know when you get it,” the wind whispered.

  Hadjar and Azrea entered the orc camp. Helmer, leaving a nasty impression in his wake, disappeared.

  “Runt.” Gurtan greeted him. “Come with me to the shaman. He’s already prepared the hunter’s potion for you.”

  Hadjar nodded and motioned for Azrea to sit down somewhere.

  She did, scaring the orcs in the process.

  Gurtan gave the beast a respectful look, then turned back to Hadjar.

  “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you,” he sa
id coolly. “No one but the orcs has ever survived the rite.”

  “Lovely.” Hadjar muttered and followed him.

  Chapter 552

  When Hadjar entered the shaman’s tent, he took a step back in surprise, unable to believe what he was seeing. From the outside, it had looked like an ordinary tent, but on the inside… It was as if a piece of the starry night, along with the moon, had been torn from the sky and woven into the cloth.

  In the center, near the fire, sat orcs wrapped in animal skins. Their heads were decorated with even more feathers than Bear’s Rage had. The orc chief stood on the threshold. He looked at Hadjar with that same look of mild superiority and contempt he’d given him before.

  “Don’t act so surprised, runt.”

  Hadjar wasn’t exactly surprised, just puzzled. He’d seen something similar in Dahanatan before, when Dora had taken him to one of the best artifact shops in the Empire, which had turned out to be much bigger on the inside than it had looked from the outside, same as this tent.

  He just couldn’t figure out how the orcs, who knew close to nothing about artifacts, had been able to do this. Hadjar didn’t want to admit it, but their knowledge of alchemy and their so-called Spirits were truly intimidating.

  “Go on in, the shaman is waiting for you.”

  Hadjar somehow entered the tent a second time. His feet immediately sank into the tall, lush grass that the floor had turned into. A cool breeze caressed his face. This wasn’t an illusion, he was certain of it, the wind and the grass were too real.

  Cautiously, Hadjar approached the fire, accompanied by Bear’s Rage. It radiated waves of heat that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Hadjar had spent so many nights huddling by various fires that he could distinguish a real hearth from any illusion, no matter how powerful it was.

  The four orcs inside the tent didn’t look like they were mirages, either. The closer Hadjar got to them, the faster his heartbeat became. He couldn’t explain what he was seeing. The first orc that drew his attention was very young. Five feet tall, he was about eight years old, but even so, he was sitting on a plaid blanket embroidered with intricate patterns, his head sporting dozens of white feathers.