What would he call his way?
Suddenly, music began to play in his mind. The song that he’d tried to capture and write down while he’d lived in that dream. He had heard it in the sounds of the city, in conversations, in the screeching of the wheels as cars drove past him, in the drumming of the raindrops hitting the windows, and even in the white noise of a TV. Music was everywhere. Like the wind. The music of the wind.
The wind called to him, trying to bypass the Sword Spirit’s seal. Like a loyal friend, it had never given up on trying to reach his magically imprisoned heart. It had followed him even into the dream. It had called to him through the music, which sounded like nothing more than a breeze caressing a listener’s ear.
He would name his way…
Pain struck him. A wave of numbing pain hit him and he saw the reflection of his ancestor and his goal for a moment. If it hadn’t been for the pain radiating from the Sword Spirit tattoo, he would’ve been able to grasp that reflection. However, even seeing just a glimpse of it resulted in something incredible. Every raindrop within a radius of fifteen feet turned into a copy of the Black Blade. Their combined power, merging to form a dragon’s fang, slammed into the black sphere.
Hadjar was using something that was beyond the capabilities of even the most brilliant Heaven Soldiers, despite still being one.
The black dragon’s fang failed to shatter Eon’s sphere, but it did cut it in half. Its halves collapsed to either side of Hadjar. Two explosions followed as they shattered to pieces, and then the rain started falling again. Hadjar stood on a mound of dirt and debris in the middle of a huge crater. The explosion had thrown Eon several feet away. Getting back up, he watched as blood seeped through the cuts in his armor. Hadjar, on the other hand, looked unharmed, save for the deep wound left behind by Eon’s previous attack.
“Raven Wing was right.” Eon spat out blood. “With you as a disciple, the sect could compete with the Palace of dra-”
He suddenly stopped, glancing somewhere behind Hadjar.
“It’s the fucking border patrol,” he grumbled and held out his arm. As if summoned, the raven immediately perched on it. “We’ll meet again soon, brother. This fight isn’t over yet.”
Hadjar turned around, toward the clopping of hooves. And when he turned back, Eon had disappeared, leaving only a couple of feathers behind.
“Everyone, stay right where you are!” A commanding voice boomed over the rising storm. “Using any kind of Technique will be considered a violation of the law!”
Hadjar didn’t care about the Border Legion. Covering his new wound with his hand, he turned his face up toward the rain. After all these years, he’d finally heard the voice of his faithful friend once more, even if it had been for just a brief moment. The wind was with him. No matter how difficult his path became, he would get rid of the Sword’s seal one day. He was sure of it.
Chapter 566
“Let me see if I got this right…” Dockantros narrowed his eyes and looked at Hadjar, who took another sip of tea. Sitting next to him and cursing under her breath, Alea was trying to bandage his wound.
“Couldn’t you have chosen a weaker opponent?” She hissed. “Steppe Fang could’ve handled him.”
The orc, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed Spirit Knights, looked even calmer than the sleeping Azrea. He seemed unconcerned about what was going on, as if he knew that he could take them all down on his own if he needed to.
“You’re telling me,” Dockantros started, “that you’re taking a captive orc back to their lands for an exchange.”
“That’s right.” Derek nodded.
Since they were negotiating with the Lascanian army, the position of leader had shifted from Hadjar to Derek, as he was the only one who knew how to properly talk to the military. Afraid of showing that he was a Darnassian to the soldiers who fought his people on a daily basis, Hadjar kept his mouth shut.
“He doesn’t look like a prisoner.”
Chewing a large piece of turkey, the orc raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
“Do you see the feathers in his hair?” Derek asked.
Dockantros nodded. “I have a whole box of them. The army pays a hundred Glory points for each feather. Quite a hefty sum, in case you didn’t know.”
The turkey in Steppe Fang’s hands shook a little, and Hadjar prayed to the High Heavens and the Evening Stars that the orc had enough common sense to know that attacking Dockantros would be a bad idea. Shooting him a glare, Steppe Fang returned to his meal, imagining that he was feasting on the Lascanian’s throat instead.
“You can see a similar feather in our friend’s hair,” Derek went on.
Dockantros turned to Hadjar. The look he gave him was both respectful and arrogant.
“And where did your friend get an amulet that contained the power of an elite Spirit Knight?” he asked, refusing to believe that a mere Heaven Soldier could make a crater in the ground all on his own.
“He isn’t very talkative,” Derek said. “My father hired him to help us.”
“Did he now?” Dockantros looked at Hadjar, tapping his fingers on the table. “And what’s this mercenary’s name?”
Derek turned pale, realizing that he’d said too much.
“I’m not a mercenary.” Hadjar shook his head. “I’m helping them for old times’ sake.”
“I wonder what you could’ve done to end up indebted to the Baron.”
Hadjar shrugged. The affairs of the nobles were never the concern of the military, no matter the Empire. Only the Imperial Guard cared about such things, as that was more or less their purpose.
Hadjar, though grateful for Derek’s help, regretted that he’d allowed him to act at his discretion.
“Interesting,” Dockantros drawled. “A group of disciples from the ‘Red Mule’ school, accompanied by a stranger and an orc, are heading for the steppes, and along the way, they come across an assassin from the Raven Sect.”
Derek smiled a bit awkwardly. The Legion inspired awe in all the inhabitants of the borderlands, who believed that they owed their continued survival solely to the military’s presence.
“How did you like your battle with the assassin?” Dockantros narrowed his eyes.
“A strong opponent,” Hadjar replied, and fell silent.
Over the course of this conversation, he’d begun to sympathize with Steppe Fang. Surrounded by enemies as he was, he didn’t really feel like talking, either.
“A strong opponent.” Dockantros laughed and turned to his men. “Did you hear that? A strong opponent!”
The guards guffawed. The senior officer laughed with them for a moment, then slammed his hand down on the table, causing it to crack.
“Stop trying to fool me!” He shouted. “Tell me what your connection to the Raven Sect is this instant!”
The senior officer was clearly an experienced interrogator. He knew how to ask questions without being misled. If Hadjar cut his hand right now and swore that he ‘had nothing to do with the sect’, he would die, burned alive. But he couldn’t tell the Lascanian the truth, either, as he didn’t want to end up in the local dungeon, left to die there. All he could do was remember what he’d learned about political scheming and intrigue in the Royal Palace of Lidus. May the rebirth of South Wind be a successful one!
Hadjar considered Dockantros’ words as he drew his dagger. A lot of thoughts ran through his mind.
Damn you, neural network! Where are you when I need you?
[…remaining until the update is completed…]
Hadjar waved the message away and cut his palm.
“I swear that I’m not a member of the Raven Sect. Our connection is that of mutual hatred.”
His blood flared, and the wound healed. Long, tension-filled seconds passed. Dockantros looked disappointed, and Hadjar hoped that the senior officer wouldn’t notice the loopholes in his oath. He and the sect were indeed connected via a mutual hatred, but they also shared a common ancestor, the Enemy. Hadjar hadn’
t offered the whole truth, which would’ve led to his immediate death. If the man had been a real interrogator, he would’ve grasped those nuances, but Dockantros was still just an ordinary soldier.
“Something’s not right here,” Dockantros said, which meant his intuition was quite sharp. “Damn it, I don’t have the time I need to deal with you! Weird things have been coming from the steppes and attacking our villages.”
“Sorry to have wasted your time, senior officer.” Derek bowed low.
Dockantros just waved his apology away.
“Adept!” He shouted and turned to Hadjar. “Swear that you’ll come to the Gatun military fort after you’ve completed your task.”
“I swear,” Hadjar replied and immediately cut his palm. Dockantros hadn’t exactly specified when he’d have to come. Satisfied with that oath, the Lascanian left, followed by his men, which left the tavern rather empty as most of the guests had scurried off after the guards had arrived.
“I meant well,” Derek said.
Hadjar decided not to comment.
“Hunter.”
Hadjar turned and looked into Steppe Fang’s eyes.
“I’ll be training in the morning,” the orc said thoughtfully, turned, and disappeared into the storm.
Hadjar grinned. He’d understood the hint.
Chapter 567
Hadjar still remembered the annual harvest festival in his distant homeland, held to mark the end of the old year and the beginning of the new one. Children would receive gifts and play a variety of games, and during this time, he and Elaine had been allowed to leave the Royal Palace and play with the other children. But what Hadjar had liked even more than that had been the gifts. He still remembered those hours and even days of longing and anticipation.
However, those feelings couldn’t compare to what he felt right now. Sitting on the yellow grass, he stared at the horizon. The moon had already sunk behind the vast ocean that no one had ever crossed. The stars gradually faded and disappeared into the emerging azure. The sun was still in no hurry to rise. Like a shy girl, it was taking its time, preening somewhere in the mountains of the borderlands between Darnassus and Lascan.
Hadjar wasn’t waiting for the scorching heat, however.
“May the Spirits light your path, hunter.”
Hadjar jumped to his feet and turned around, surprised at how quietly and suddenly the orc had appeared right behind him. He hadn’t moved through the shadows like Einen, either. Steppe Fang had simply managed to approach Hadjar unnoticed. And Hadjar considered himself capable of spotting even those individuals who were well-versed in stealth Techniques thanks to his connection to the wind and years of experience.
“How did you do that?”
Hadjar squinted at him, hands still shrouded in black fog. He’d been on edge since his fight with Eon, suspecting that both he and the sect wouldn’t just leave him alone and would soon try to take their revenge.
“It doesn’t matter.” Steppe Fang tied his hair back and exposed the axes tucked into his belt. “What matters is why you didn’t hear me. A hunter must trust their instincts, otherwise they offend their ancestors.”
Hadjar had had enough of being berated for insulting his ancestors. He still had no clue what the orcs meant by ‘ancestor’ and ‘Spirit’. Just a few days spent with the steppe people had been enough for him to realize that they followed a completely different path of cultivation than the humans or elves.
“I don’t know much about your path, Steppe Fang.” Hadjar shook his head.
The orc, who had felt contempt and even hatred for this man before, suddenly put his hand on Hadjar’s shoulder.
“I was wrong when I decided to judge you by our standards, runt,” he said, sounding oddly regretful. “You’re like a little orc who knows nothing of this world, and I asked you to turn into a free hunter overnight. Before the Spirits and forefathers, I ask for your forgiveness.”
He punched his chest.
Hadjar looked at him. Although there was something bestial about his appearance, Steppe Fang seemed more human than most humans he’d met.
“We’ll start your training today, runt,” he said and sat down.
The sun began to rise, coloring the sky in scarlet hues, as if suggesting that the Heavens would soon see a lot of blood.
“I’m ready, giant!” Hadjar smiled.
A cloud of black fog swirled in his hands, solidifying and forming the Black Blade, the weapon that neither Hadjar nor Dora’s aunt and father understood. Some claimed that it was a part of the Enemy, some said it was his Inheritance, and others figured that it must be a kind of Spirit weapon. Hadjar didn’t care. He knew that the Black Blade hadn’t obeyed the Enemy within his soul. That was enough for him to trust the Black Blade as much as he’d once trusted Mountain Wind.
Had he taken Eon’s life with it and fed the blade the fairy that Helmer had given him, the Black Blade could’ve been on the level of an Imperial artifact by now.
“Dismiss your black fang, little hunter.” Steppe Fang whirled his axes and drove them into the ground. “Just as it’s too early for a young cub to chase Azure Lynxes, it’s also too late for you to draw your weapon.”
“But you said we were going to train.”
Steppe Fang nodded.
“Your body is only a consequence of the Spirit.” He brought his fingers to his chest, then to his forehead, and finally, he made a gesture that looked as if he were sending a part of himself to the Heavens. “Your weapon is a consequence of your body. Before we get to the body, we must strengthen the Spirit, and before we get to the weapon, we must strengthen the body.”
Hadjar blinked a few times. Would he get a chance to find out why orc bodies were as strong as artifact armor? Even in the Empires, their knowledge about strengthening the flesh was considered one of the most valuable things they possessed, along with their Techniques of internal and external energy.
“Let’s start with your Spirit, little hunter.”
“Before we begin, giant,” Hadjar decided to ask about something that had been bothering him for a while now, “I don’t understand what you mean when you say Spirit or Spirits.”
Steppe Fang paused in untying a short leather strap from his belt. A look of disgust crossed his face.
“Orc, human, elf, dwarf,” Hadjar almost gasped but managed to restrain himself. By the High Heavens and the Evening Stars, dwarves are real too? “…It doesn’t matter what color your skin is, how strong your muscles are, or how long your fangs. The only difference between us and you is that we, the orcs, remember and honor our ancestors. And you, the humans and elves, have forgotten them in your pursuit of easy power.”
It was so difficult for Hadjar to resist the urge to ask more about the dwarves in this world, but he restrained himself and listened instead.
“When we say ‘Spirit’, that’s exactly what we mean. When you use it, you mean a weapon’s heart.” Steppe Fang spat on the ground. His disgust turned to outright disdain. “And the fact that you wear the mark of a Weapon on your back makes you no better than a slave.”
If Steppe Fang had called Hadjar a slave just seven or even six years ago, he would’ve paid for the insult with blood. These days, Hadjar was a lot more tolerant of many things.
“I’ll tell you a story, little hunter, and you’d be wise to remember it.”
Chapter 568
“In the beginning,” Steppe Fang spoke softly, “there was only darkness. The primordial kind that devoured everything in its path. But since nothing stood in its path, it devoured itself.”
During his many years of traveling, Hadjar had learned that most tales contained at least a few bits of embellished truth covered in a thick layer of time’s dust.
“When the darkness took a bite of itself,” Steppe Fang continued, “time appeared out of that piece. Don’t ask me how, my mind is too weak to grasp such knowledge. Even our great, wise shaman isn’t able to understand or explain this.”
Hadjar knew tha
t there was no difference between ‘strong’ and ‘wise’ in some parts of this world, like in the Land of the Immortals, for example, but he’d never understood why.
“After that, the darkness and time began their endless battle. For ages, they tormented each other, until they finally realized that neither of them could overpower the other. Anyone who has passed the Spirits’ test knows this.”
Hadjar absentmindedly rubbed his right arm, where his red Name tattoo was. Once, it had covered only his forearm, but now it stretched from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his shoulder joint. That test had made him realize that any action could lead to death. No matter how many obstacles he overcame or how many things he achieved, the world would eventually swallow him up.
That realization had only strengthened his resolve to reach his goal before death caught up to him.
“When they realized this, they decided to create something that could defeat them both. They combined their powers and gave birth to life. As a result, they dissolved into it.”
Yawning, Azrea wriggled out of Hadjar’s shirt and climbed up onto his head. The wind that played with his hair made the ornaments sing melodiously and the feather sway.
“For years, life existed on its own. Its only purpose was to exist. And then, suddenly, a flicker of light appeared in the center of it. A light of energy, dense and bright, and strong enough to destroy the entire universe.” Steppe Fang pointed at the ground first, then at the sky, and then at himself. The gesture must’ve meant something, but Hadjar didn’t know what. “And life, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of curiosity, touched this light.”
Azrea, balancing precariously atop Hadjar’s head, was trying to catch the feather.
“Like time and darkness before them, they merged their powers.” Steppe Fang scooped up a handful of dirt, raised it to his face, inhaled, and then scattered it to the wind. “And so all things came to be. Stars appeared — the lights of life itself. In their depths, life continues to be forged, so that at the moment of the stars’ deaths, it still spreads out through the universe.”
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 14
