Hadjar jumped up, emerging from the waterfall like a carp from a river. And just like that carp, he’d fly through the sky gate and become a dragon.
He sat on a rock at the top of the waterfall, exposing his face to the wind and the rain that no longer cut his body. The cold no longer hurt him. Steam was rising from his bruised skin. Looking at the dark sky, Hadjar enjoyed the lightning’s crimson dance. He felt a great power stir inside him. He had a sudden urge to race Azrea, or challenge that personal disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School… What was his name again? Drunken Leaf? But most of all, he felt reborn, powerful, and strong.
He didn’t even notice that a new hieroglyph had been added to his Name tattoo. He closed his eyes, letting the rain fall on his face. The thunder rumbled furiously overhead and raged beneath him, where the dark clouds swirled, obscuring the land of the Dah’Khasses. Like all demons, they didn’t like having a clear sky above them, so they would ruin it with ash, smoke, and their foul magic.
“Hello, North Wind.”
Hadjar could already guess who this was. Opening his eyes, he looked at his right hand, which he’d held open to catch some of the rain. A pretty girl made of golden light and no taller than his index finger was standing on it. She was the strongest of all the fairies Hadjar had ever seen, and she was staring fearlessly up at him.
“Hello, messenger of the gods,” Hadjar said, sensing that she could destroy not just him, but the entire mountain range and the demons that inhabited it as well. Her golden glow resembled the light emitted by those who had destroyed the ancient Mage City so long ago.
“I was sent to tell you that your deeds are pleasing to the gods, North Wind.”
Hadjar’s eyes narrowed.
“The lower demons have violated the Magistrate’s Laws that normally stop the entities of the higher worlds from interfering in the affairs of the mortal one. Their destruction will be pleasing to the Seventh Heaven.”
“The Seventh Heaven didn’t care about demons before-”
“I’m not surprised to see that you’re offended, boy,” the fairy interrupted him. “What happened to your family was a tragic accident. One of the other messengers even offered you a chance to rewrite your fate and correct it. But you refused.”
“A chance to rewrite my fate.” Hadjar emphasized. “What about the countless millions of those who’ve suffered because of your masters. I-”
Hadjar didn’t understand what had just happened, but he suddenly couldn’t move his lips.
“Don’t presume that I’m the same as the messengers you’ve met before,” the fairy said mockingly. “And don’t think that the Lord of Nightmares will continue to keep an eye on you.”
What? Is Helmer really keeping an eye on me? Then again, we’ve already made two deals, so that would make sense. He probably wants to have control over his ‘investment’. But… I don’t remember him helping me. Ever.
“His darkness is nothing compared to my lord’s light,” the fairy continued. “From now on, it’ll be me, Freya, who’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
“And what do I owe this honor to?” Hadjar asked, able to speak again.
A flash of lightning tore through the sky.
“Don’t think you’re special. There are many in this world who dislike the Seventh Heaven. Those fools seek a way to destroy the world’s balance. They’re also being watched.”
“Do you keep an eye on them, too?” Hadjar asked. “Or will you only be keeping an eye on me?”
Another bolt of lightning flashed over his head.
“I came to deliver the message,” Freya said. “And to warn you, you mortal bastard. The moment you break one of the Magistrate’s Laws, I’ll destroy you and that filthy fragment of the Enemy that’s trapped within your soul.”
With another flash of lightning, Freya disappeared, leaving Hadjar alone to ponder her words. He didn’t care if he was doing the gods a favor or not. The Dah’Khasses threatened his homeland, so they had to be destroyed. The Mad General inside him thought so, and Hadjar agreed with him.
He walked to the edge of the waterfall and turned his back to it. Giving the middle finger to the sky, he stepped back.
A battle awaited him.
Chapter 591
Falling through the dark clouds, drenched in cold water, Hadjar plummeted toward the rocks. Falling from such a height, even though his body was now stronger than a Spirit level artifact, would still mean certain death. The wind whistled in his ears and cut into his flesh like a blade.
With a wave of his hand, Hadjar used his willpower and the mysteries of the Sword Spirit he’d mastered to create a ghostly blade under him, which threw a column of water high into the air upon impact and pierced the surface tension and the rocks. It was obvious that he’d become much stronger.
Standing back up, Hadjar walked over to Steppe Fang. The orc, sitting with his arms crossed, opened his eyes lazily. He seemed surprised.
“Didn’t expect to see me back so soon?” Hadjar smiled, wringing water from his pants.
“Your three days are almost up, actually,” the orc whispered.
“Really?” He asked in disbelief.
Hadjar looked at the waterfall. He could’ve sworn he’d spent maybe half a day climbing it.
“Then let’s head back,” he said, turning to the orc. “The Lascanians are waiting for us.”
“Of course.”
Without waiting for Steppe Fang, Hadjar headed back, thinking about what Freya had said. If the gods really wanted to get rid of the Dah’Khasses, why hadn’t they intervened earlier? Their messengers, divine heralds, and emissaries could, if necessary, interfere in the affairs of the mortal world. Why hadn’t one powerful fairy, like Freya, for example, already solved this problem? A few attacks, and all of the Dah’Khasses would be taken care of.
However, the gods remained neutral. Or maybe they had interfered. If that was the case, the orc shaman’s prophecy had been sent by…
Hadjar sensed danger behind him.
He didn’t have time to summon his Call or the Black Blade. Instinctively turning on his heel, he shielded himself with his left arm. The strength of the attack shattered the nearby rocks, leaving deep cracks in the massive boulders. The ground Hadjar stood on sank a few inches.
“About two-thirds,” Steppe Fang said, tucking the axe back in his belt. “Your body managed to absorb about two-thirds of the Wolf Broth.”
“Damn it,” Hadjar swore.
Hadjar lowered his numb arm. With his right, he wiped away the blood that was trickling down from the long but shallow cut. It was slowly healing already.
“I told you before,” the orc smiled, his fangs glistening, “the training would only end when you were able to withstand one blow of my axe.”
“You could’ve killed me.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to climb the waterfall if you were that weak,” Steppe Fang retorted. “But I’m glad to see that the training did you good. You’re stronger than when we first met. If the great ancestors allow it, I’d like to fight you again someday.”
Hadjar was also eager to find out just how much he had progressed thanks to Steppe Fang’s training, but now wasn’t the best time for duels.
“When we get back from our mission, that is,” the orc said and headed toward the camp. “I hope you won’t use your dirty human tricks this time. They aren’t worthy of a free hunter.”
Hadjar swore under his breath and hurried after him.
The oppressive atmosphere of the land of the Dah’Khasses pressed down on him.
“Steppe Fang,” he called. He wanted to talk.
They were crossing the high, rocky ridge that marked the border between the demon and human lands. Even the air seemed cleaner and less viscous here.
“You should speak less, hunter. Words get in the way of action.”
Even without the orc’s advice, Hadjar knew that words were unwanted when hunting.
“What does that strange gesture you keep doi
ng mean?”
Steppe Fang turned around.
“Which one?”
Hadjar clumsily repeated the gesture he’d seen the orc perform many times before. Steppe Fang grimaced slightly, but it was obvious that he was flattered that Hadjar remembered it as well as he did.
“When we touch our heart,” he put two fingers to his chest, “we welcome our Spirit. When we touch our head,” his fingers moved to his forehead, “we connect our Spirit with the memory of our ancestors and family. Then we share all of this, our most secret treasure,” he directed his fingers to the sky, “with the endless cycle of life that you humans call the World River.”
“Spirit. Memory. World River.” Hadjar repeated. He liked this greeting even more than the clenched fist and open palm of the Land of the Immortals, which symbolized the union of power and wisdom. “Do you mind if I borrow your gesture?”
Steppe Fang smiled.
“You aren’t an orc by birth, but you’ve passed all the trials that a free orc must pass. You’ve found your Spirit, and you were able to receive the power of the Wolf Broth. You aren’t an orc, but I sense a free hunter in you.”
Steppe Fang held out his hand to Hadjar and they gripped each other’s forearms.
“We’ll return to the steppes together.” The orc turned eastward. “I’ll introduce you to Purling Song. She cooks the best rabbit stew you’ve ever eaten.”
“That sounds good.” Hadjar smiled.
“Yeah. Good.”
A few hours later, they were back at the camp. While they’d been gone, Derek had filled in the remaining holes in the deck and the hold and the sisters had finished patching up the sail. It looked much better now.
“Hurry up!” Derek shouted instead of a greeting.
Alea and Irma just smiled and waved their greasy hands at them.
Hadjar climbed up the ladder and hugged Azrea. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s go!” The trio repeated enthusiastically.
Chapter 592
“Be careful!” Derek shouted.
“Shut up!”
The sisters, who were holding the ropes that connected the sail to the mast, were red in the face from the strain. Hadjar and Steppe Fang held the multiton artifact mast from different ends. Derek was resting, because after three days of nonstop carpentry, he wasn’t in the best condition.
“To the left!” He shouted, instructing Hadjar and the orc. “No, not to the left! To the right! A little bit to the left now!”
Hadjar tried to recall all the obscenities he knew in all the languages he’d ever used. He also remembered Nero, whose cursing would’ve made any longshoreman blush and then turn green with envy.
“Now put it down!”
Hadjar had dreamed about hearing those words more than he’d dreamed about a night with a woman back when he’d been a miserable cripple.
He and the orc worked together to place the mast in a previously hollowed-out slot. As soon as the two parts of the mast were joined, Derek fastened them together with three iron rings covered in special glue that had been prepared by the orc. Alea and Irma loosened the sails. Energy needles flashed in Alea’s hands, and she stitched the broken strands of the artifact vessel together.
Breathing heavily, Hadjar and Steppe Fang collapsed onto the cold planks.
“I want to tear him apart,” Steppe Fang croaked menacingly and loudly enough that Derek could hear him. Flinching, he reached for his daggers.
Even after all this time, the orc was still just a beast in Derek’s eyes.
“Not yet, we may still need him,” Hadjar said, playing along.
If he hadn’t drunk the Wolf Broth, he doubted that he would’ve been able to lift the mast at all. It looked light, but it was actually extremely heavy.
“Maybe... If we run out of supplies, I could…”
Steppe Fang didn’t finish his sentence, but it was clear what he would do with Derek. The orcs might be insanely strong, but they couldn’t last long without food and water. Hadjar didn’t know whether this was due to them being orcs or their cultivation. He sincerely hoped that, after taking the Wolf’s Broth, he wouldn’t need to go back to caring about nutrition. He liked eating and drinking for pleasure, but there were certain advantages to not needing food and water.
“Stop teasing him.”
After finally catching his breath, Hadjar got to his feet and held out his hand to the orc. Judging by the latter’s expression, he hadn’t been teasing. Hadjar hoped that the orc had brought enough food to avoid having to eat Derek. Hadjar had no special bond with the young man, but he would still prefer to avoid that.
By the time Hadjar took the helm, Alea and Irma had already finished patching up the power structure of the mast. Putting his hands on the old, rough wood of the helm, Hadjar felt a surge of childlike joy. Back when he’d been a child in the Royal Palace of Lidus, he had dreamed about standing at the helm of a pirate ship and sailing the vast ocean that was full of dangers and mysteries. And here he was now, decades later, at the helm of an old, battered schooner.
Running his fingers over the wood, Hadjar looked at his crew. Only one name came to his mind.
“Drunken Goose,” Hadjar said.
“What?” The trio shouted in unison. Steppe Fang didn’t say anything because he didn’t care about the name of the vessel.
“I’ve stayed in two taverns with that name.” Hadjar shrugged. “I think it’s a sign. And signs are worth heeding.”
Derek started to protest, but when he saw the orc’s hungry gaze, he just laughed nervously instead.
“Not a bad name.”
The sisters just shrugged.
Hadjar turned to the mountains and gripped the helm. There was only one pedal under it. Out of everyone there, he was the only one who’d ever traveled in an air vessel, so it made sense for him to steer.
“This is not how I imagined my first flight.” Hadjar sighed.
The ‘Path through the Clouds’ meditation Technique gave its cultivators a unique ability that couldn’t be obtained by using ordinary Techniques. The path of cultivation created by the dragon race allowed them to travel through the sky even in human form.
“To the High Heavens,” Hadjar said, and pressed down on the pedal. “That sounded kind of ambiguous,” he muttered.
As soon as the pedal touched the deck, the energy crystals in the hold lit up. According to the crew of ‘Rukh’s Wings’, they’d been created by the alchemists and artifactors and served as a sort of storage.
They’d filled almost the entire hold with crystals taken from other crashed ships. Unlike the magic hieroglyph, which was fueled by power, they only needed the energy of the World River, which, as far as Hadjar knew, flowed through everything in existence.
Energy from the crystals went into the hieroglyph, which then created its own unique magic and lifted the schooner into the air. Hadjar had no idea how. Both Empires kept the secrets of aeronautics as well as they kept the secrets of alchemy and artifactoring. These three industries were considered to be the foundation of their economies.
“I don’t think we’ll-”
Derek didn’t get to finish speaking, as the planks cracked and the bolts in the stern began to vibrate. Several of them, unable to withstand the strain, shot out like bullets.
“Damn it,” Hadjar hissed. “Hold on, baby. Don’t fall apart. Your time hasn’t come yet.”
The schooner, groaning in protest, swayed from side to side, forcing all of them to cling to the ropes and the stern. With great difficulty, it rose up a little, but the vibrations became even stronger as a result.
“It won’t hold!” Alea shouted over the noise. “We have to abandon ship!”
“Wait!” Hadjar shouted back. “It’ll hold!”
He believed that the schooner would take off. It had to.
When several more bolts flew out, Hadjar snarled and pulled the long lever that controlled the circulation of energy in the hieroglyph. Placing it in the upright position, he press
ed down on the pedal.
“Help me, old friend,” he whispered
Hearing something that sounded like the flapping of wings behind him, Hadjar suddenly realized that the wind had changed direction. The southwestern wind filled their sails and lifted the schooner into the air. The vibrations gradually subsided, and the humming disappeared. Protective spells flickered to life around the schooner. The rocks, the waterfall, and the clouds disappeared. They started gliding forward.
“It took off,” Hadjar breathed a sigh of relief. “Here we go, everyone!”
Pulling the lever all the way back, he spun the helm.
Chapter 593
The schooner’s speed was impressive. It would take them no more than four days to get from Darigon to Dahanatan. The schooner was like a gift from the heavens. Derek clearly wanted to claim the ‘Drunken Goose’ for himself, but Hadjar considered it his property, and in order to take the Mad General’s property, one had to be madder than he was.
Hadjar had been at the helm for an hour. Under them were dark clouds that hid them from the Dah’Khasses, and above them were storm clouds that obscured their view of the moon and the stars. Because of this, he wasn’t sure if they were flying in the right direction.
“You’re on the right course, hunter,” Steppe Fang assured him.
The orc moved around the deck, holding on to the railing with both hands. It turned out that he was afraid of flying. What’s more, he suffered from some strange kind of seasickness. His skin had turned from crimson to gray, and his blue tattoos had faded. He seemed to lose most of his power when he was off the ground.
If that was true, then the combat potential of their squad had been reduced by at least a third.
“What makes you say that?” Hadjar asked warily.
“Look over there, Darkhan.”
With a trembling finger, he pointed to the northeast. Derek, who’d heard their conversation, started worrying. In the spot where the winds merged, mixing the storm clouds and the black ash, was a furious vortex. Soaring above the anomaly was a group of unknown creatures that resembled a hybrid of a snake and a bird. Their scaly bodies were about thirty feet long, topped with three pairs of white wings. Their long feathers fluttered furiously in the wind, creating the strange sound that had been bothering Hadjar for the last quarter of an hour.
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 23
