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

by Kirill Klevanski

  “I don’t have time for you, Darkhan.” Hadjar raised his hand and concentrated all the will he had into it.

  “One day, my descendant-”

  A bright blue light silenced the Black General. Hadjar drained his soul, each memory of his battles, his grief, every moment of joy, each fleeting moment of life. He gathered up the power that he’d earned himself. The one that was his and no one else’s.

  “...one day we’ll meet and your life-”

  Hadjar’s eyes flashed with a light so bright that its radiance could destroy the heavens and shatter the earth. Nothing and no one, not even the soul of the strongest swordsman to ever live, would stop him.

  “…will be mine.”

  A bright light burst forth from Hadjar’s palm and washed over the endless darkness like a wave, cleansing it until it revealed a cocoon that had a sleeping baby bird inside it, one that burned with bright energy. Hadjar recognized himself in this baby bird ― recognized his Spirit.

  ***

  “It’s over, hunter.” Hadjar’s cheeks felt like someone was slapping them. “Come to your senses. Come back.”

  Hadjar opened his eyes and greedily drank the tart and hot liquid that was poured into his mouth. His energy restored, he finally came to his senses. He was back on the deck of the nearly repaired schooner. Steppe Fang was sitting next to him. Lifting his gaze up to the sky, Hadjar realized that only one hour had passed since he’d swallowed the root.

  “Giant,” he croaked. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, hunter.”

  Hadjar shook his head to shake off the remnants of his dream.

  “You used to call me something else.”

  “You used to be something else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Instead of answering him, Steppe Fang pointed behind Hadjar. He turned around and saw a blue baby bird lying on the railing of the schooner. Defenseless and weak, it had tucked its beak under its wing and was snoring peacefully. The wind blew and it disappeared.

  “It… it… it’s…”

  “Your Spirit.” The orc nodded. “You’ve won your Spirit in a glorious hunt. The path of your ancestors is open to you now.”

  “Holy fuck!”

  According to the laws of cultivation, only a Spirit Knight could summon their Spirit. However, by some miracle, Hadjar, a simple Heaven Soldier at the middle stage, had summoned his.

  “Holy fuck,” he repeated softly. “What now?”

  “Now that your Spirit is strong, we’ll make your body strong as well, to make sure that you can hold a weapon properly.”

  Judging by the gleam of anticipation in Steppe Fang’s eyes, training with Dogar from the Bear squad would soon seem like a walk in the park by comparison.

  Chapter 585

  “Let’s go.” Steppe Fang stood up and headed toward the ramp attached to the deck.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Training.”

  Despite the fact that he was looking forward to strengthening his body without using any Techniques, Hadjar remained where he was.

  “I don’t think it’s the best time for this, giant,” he said and shook his head.

  The orc frowned.

  “The best time to train your body is right after you’ve captured your Spirit,” Steppe Fang explained. “If you don’t train right now, you’ll be weaker.”

  Hadjar looked back. On the deck, behind the toppled mast, Irma and Alea were still repairing the sail. The way Alea worked with dozens of energy needles dancing in her delicate fingers was fascinating. Obeying her will, the needles were slowly restoring the complex pattern of power.

  To the right of the stern, Derek, wiping sweat from his forehead, was still cutting logs with his daggers. Everyone was eager to have their very own military schooner (Hadjar had long-term plans for the vessel), so they worked tirelessly.

  All of them wanted to get in the air as quickly as possible. After all, who knew how quickly the news that one of the Dah’Khasses had died would spread?

  “But-”

  “The Dah’Khasses have lived in these mountains for thousands of years,” the orc interrupted him. “But they haven’t been able to reach the steppes. By the Great Ancestors, three days won’t change that.”

  Hadjar looked at Steppe Fang. He’d been so eager to get to the demon lands, but now it felt like he was looking for any excuse to delay their journey.

  However, he was too busy trying to figure out how it would be possible to master a Technique for Strengthening the Body in just three days, and so he didn’t have time to think too much about the orc and his motives. Even if the Technique was weak and only made one’s body equal to a Spirit level artifact, and even if the cultivator had all the necessary resources, it would still take them anywhere from a month to five years to master it, depending on their talent. Hadjar, unfortunately, wasn’t particularly talented. His rapid progress so far was due to his constant balancing act on the edge of life and death. He constantly exposed himself to dangers that forced him to push himself beyond his limits. Over the past twenty years, he’d fought in more battles, encountered more obstacles, and had far more adventures than most of the thousand-year-old Spirit Knights. However, Hadjar had never heard of someone mastering a Technique in just three days!

  “You sure about that?” He asked, thinking he might’ve misunderstood the orc.

  “Your little body won’t be as strong as ours, but it’ll be strong enough to withstand a blow from one of my axes.”

  Steppe Fang clearly meant all orcs when he said ‘ours’.

  Hadjar, though skeptical of Steppe Fang’s words, rose to his feet. If he became strong enough to stop an attack equal to a Spirit Knight’s power with his bare hands, it’d be worth it. It looked as if fate itself didn’t want him to wear armor.

  He hadn’t worn armor ever since he’d turned in his General’s medallion. He had traded steel for worn, mended clothes. The ones that had been given to him in the Valley of Streams.

  Hadjar nodded and followed him. “It can wait three days.”

  When they reached the ramp, Steppe Fang stopped abruptly.

  “Tell the other humans not to follow us. We don’t need them interfering.”

  Hadjar felt bad that Steppe Fang was the one who’d remembered the trio and not him. He didn’t want to tell them about the training. Not because they were potential foes, but because Hadjar felt that leaving them behind was unfair.

  “Steppe Fang and I will be gone for three days!” He shouted to the sisters.

  There was a scuffle, after which Irma’s head poked out from behind a piece of the sail.

  “Do you need our help?”

  They didn’t ask about why they’d be absent, they just wondered if he needed their help. Their confidence in him made Hadjar feel even worse.

  “No.”

  He took the sleeping Azrea out of his shirt and tickled the cub as she tried to bite his finger.

  “Take care of them,” he whispered.

  Immediately turning serious, Azrea jumped out of his arms and onto the deck. After giving Hadjar a final glance, she headed toward the sisters. They weren’t in the demons’ territory just yet, but Hadjar felt better leaving the tigress with the Lascanians, as there was nothing here that she couldn’t defeat or run away from.

  “Every moment we delay takes its toll on your power.”

  He understood Steppe Fang about as well as he understood... Oh, right, he’d already said that.

  Descending the stairs, they went deep into the mountain range. Skirting high rocks, sometimes climbing sharp ridges, they moved toward the Dah’Khasses’ lands. Hadjar was honestly more intimidated by the prospect of what Steppe Fang was planning than the possibility of facing another demon.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Training,” Steppe Fang said dryly, nipping the conversation in the bud.

  Cutting through the black sky, lightning crackled and thunder roared as they
climbed the rocks. Hadjar pulled his clothes tighter around himself and gritted his teeth. He watched the steam that rose from the orc’s exposed torso with envy. It was as if Steppe Fang had a stove under his skin that kept him warm at all times.

  Catching his breath, Hadjar stopped and looked behind him. From this height, the world that stretched out below them resembled the canvas of a mad artist. Only now did he understand how ruthless time was to all countries. The land was overgrown with low grass that covered the ancient ruins like a shroud. Perhaps, once upon a time, it had resembled a mighty kingdom like Balium or Lidus.

  Scarlet lightning flashed in the sky. Hadjar hurried after Steppe Fang.

  About two hours later, after they’d climbed so high that Hadjar could practically smell the dark clouds, they came to a waterfall, the source of which was lost behind the clouds. The thunder that tore through the sky made the rocks shake and the small stones vibrate. The heat of the lightning was as intense as that of the midday sun.

  “Let’s start.”

  Chapter 586

  Sitting down on the stones, Steppe Fang placed various roots, herbs, and bags full of powders and other alchemical ingredients in front of him. Unlike human alchemists, who processed natural resources using fire and water, the orcs just used a mortar and pestle. The ingredients immediately flew into the mortar that Steppe Fang took out from his bag.

  He worked on his concoction in utter silence, one broken only by the furious thunder that made the mountains shake.

  “Can we talk, giant?”

  The orc, not letting go of the pestle, raised his head and looked at Hadjar. Illuminated by the lightning that cut through the darkness, his eyes looked human.

  “You won’t ask me about training?”

  “I won’t.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Hadjar watched as Steppe Fang turned the ingredients into a fine, silky mush. He ground the roots to dust, crushed the herbs and squeezed the juice out of them, then added pinches of colored powders. It looked like a ritual, but one glance through the World River was enough for Hadjar to realize that Steppe Fang wasn’t manipulating the energy currents like a human alchemist would. A ball of power was nonetheless burning in the mortar, so bright and intense that it threatened to melt through the stone.

  “I can’t promise I’ll answer all of your questions, hunter.” Steppe Fang’s voice was like thunder.

  Hadjar was grateful for his honesty.

  “Your wife…”

  Steppe Fang’s eyes flashed dangerously even before Hadjar finished speaking, but the orc remained silent. Hadjar was well aware that he wouldn’t speak about his wife too much if asked directly, so he decided to beat around the bush for a bit.

  “...how did you meet her?”

  Steppe Fang calmed down a bit. Hadjar no longer felt the pressure of his aura.

  “Young orcs ask their parents such questions when the call of nature takes hold of them.”

  “Well, I’m not a young orc and my parents didn’t live to see me experience the ‘call of nature’,” Hadjar retorted, unsuccessfully trying to imitate the orc’s voice. However, he did manage to make Steppe Fang bare his fangs.

  “What happened to them?” The orc asked.

  “Hey!” Hadjar warned. “This isn’t about me, don’t change the subject.”

  Steppe Fang shrugged, making Hadjar realize that he was just teasing him.

  A few moments later, they both laughed. Hadjar, probably relieving his pent-up stress, rolled on the rocks, holding his stomach. Steppe Fang’s laughter was more subdued. His shoulders shook a little, and his fangs glistened. His deep laugh sounded like the thunder that was roaring above them.

  “They died when I was seven years old,” Hadjar replied, wiping away tears.

  After all these years, talking about those events no longer reopened his old wounds. His hand tried to find the wallet with the two wedding bracelets made of leather, but failed. He’d placed Nero’s and Serra’s bracelets in the spatial ring. They were safer there.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, hunter.” Steppe Fang said and performed the familiar gesture. “How did it happen?”

  He’d been wrong. These old wounds still ached.

  “My uncle-” Hadjar began.

  “Your what? Ankle? What about it? Is it broken? No way to fix it?”

  Hadjar blinked a couple of times, then laughed.

  “No. My uncle, as in ‘my father’s brother.’”

  “Ah.” Steppe Fang nodded. He reached over to the lake at the foot of the waterfall, scooped up some water, and poured it into the mortar. This was the first time he’d added anything other than herbs, roots, and powders to his concoction. “You humans have big families, so you often get lost in them.”

  “Don’t orcs have families as well?”

  Steppe Fang shook his head and set the mortar aside.

  “Father.” He held out his right hand. “Mother.” He held out his left. “Children.” He pointed to his heart. “A family doesn’t need anything else. More than that is a tribe. And in a tribe ― we’re all relatives in the Great Ancestors’ eyes.”

  Hadjar nodded.

  “My father’s brother killed them.”

  “Why? Didn’t they share your mother?”

  “No, thank the High Heavens, no. Rather, the problem was that they didn’t share the Kingdom.”

  “Power.” The orc nodded. “Once upon a time, before the Dah’Khasses, when the human Empire was still young and weak, the tribes also fought for power. Those were bad times.”

  “Why don’t they fight for it now?”

  “If we fight each other, who will hunt the Dah’Khasses?”

  It was a difficult point to argue against.

  “So, you’re a leader’s son.”

  “I was a leader’s son,” Hadjar corrected him. “Now I’m just a wanderer. And by the Evening Stars, I like it that way.”

  Steppe Fang showed his upper fangs again.

  “A hunter is always a wanderer. That’s why we orcs never settle down. We never build stone houses. We never exchange metals and shiny stones for food. We follow the call of our hearts and the places they lead us to become our home.”

  “What if someone else already lives there?”

  “Then we fight them with honor,” the orc shrugged. “If they’re stronger, we leave. If they’re weaker, we stay. That is the law of nature and life, and we orcs don’t go against it.”

  Perhaps someone else would’ve considered such logic brutish and animalistic, but Hadjar, after spending some time with Steppe Fang, understood it. The orcs didn’t see war as a slaughter. Moreover, the kind of ‘war’ humans knew didn’t exist for them. They fought for their lives and didn’t see anything wrong with it.

  “So, tell me how you met your wife.”

  Steppe Fang sighed heavily. Apparently, he’d tried to avoid this conversation.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because she’s a half-breed,” Hadjar said. “And you weren’t very fond of humans when we first met.”

  Steppe Fang’s eyes flashed and Hadjar realized that he should’ve been more careful with his words.

  Chapter 587

  “That word you just said…” Steppe Fang struggled to repeat it. “A half-breed,” he growled in disgust. “Never again. Do you hear me? Never say it again if you want me to continue thinking of you as a part of the tribe.”

  Hadjar shuddered, not because of the seething rage in the orc’s voice, but because Steppe Fang looked like someone ready to kill even if it cost him his life.

  “I’m sorry,” Hadjar said sincerely.

  Steppe Fang stared at him for a moment, then relaxed his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry too, hunter. I can’t really expect you to know our customs. You haven’t lived in the tribe.”

  Calling him a part of the tribe meant that Steppe Fang had recognized him as part of his family.

  “Orcs like my wife are called Dah’Gakhages,” Steppe Fang said qui
etly. “It means ‘those who belong to the free’.”

  Hadjar decided to remain silent. In his experience, the fewer questions you asked, the more answers you got sometimes.

  “Humans are strong opponents.” The orc pressed down on the mortar with such force that Hadjar was afraid that it would crack, causing the energy within it to explode all over them. “When they came to this land, we fought them with honor, but... Some humans have forgotten the ways of their ancestors, as well as what honor and dignity truly mean. They attacked our smallest tribes and took our youngsters with them.”

  Hadjar knew why his kind would’ve done something as cruel as that. Adult orcs, even if they hadn’t been raised in a tribe and lacked the usual power and strength of the adult hunters that freely roamed the steppes, would be the centerpiece of any slave auction and excellent workers. One adult orc could easily replace a dozen humans in the field.

  “Purling Song, my wife... Well, her father was one such unfortunate orc.” Steppe Fang’s tender tone made Hadjar’s eyes sting, even though he’d never been very sentimental. “Humans took him as a cub, branded him, and sold him to a mine.”

  Hadjar knew all too well that the slave trade was one of the most profitable businesses in both Empires. Everyone needed slaves — mortals, practitioners, and cultivators alike. The latter two needed them to do their grunt work for them: gather herbs, resources, and ingredients, or to work in the mines. The mortals needed them to work in the fields. Considering the fact that more than seventy percent of the population in Lascan and Darnassus were either mortals or very weak practitioners, the amount of food they needed was simply enormous.

  While traveling and fighting, living in capitals, and risking their lives in ‘special’ lands, a cultivator could easily forget about the existence of mortals, but there were still hundreds of thousands of them in Darnassus alone.