“We can. And you are.” Arkemeya’s smile became even wider. “The King knows nothing about artifacts. If he did, he would’ve realized that a true artifact weapon wouldn’t have broken in his hands, but rather cut them off.”
The bone dagger appeared on the floor, right where the axes had just been.
“I managed to switch it with a fake while you were busy healing the Lascanians, orc. Fortunately, Hadjar’s oath said nothing about ‘borrowing’ things.”
Hadjar didn’t know whether to curse himself for this or not.
“Damn me! Damn me!” He decided to do it. Better safe than sorry, right?
Hadjar straightened up, dispelled the Black Blade, and held his hand out to Arkemeya.
“I still don’t trust you, half-breed.”
“And rightly so, North Wind.”
Chapter 609
Steppe Fang kept a firm hold on Derek. The Lascanian was clutching the hilts of his daggers, which he’d aimed at Arkemeya’s chest. The demoness stood up, dusted off her torn dress, and gave Hadjar a predatory look.
“Do you have any idea how expensive this dress was?” She hissed.
Hadjar shrugged. “You’ll get another one.”
Arkemeya shook her head and rolled her eyes. The annoyance in her brilliant, sapphire orbs was almost palpable.
“Do you think there are looms on every corner around here? Have you seen fields of cotton or sheep anywhere?”
Hadjar was about to respond when Steppe Fang interrupted him.
“Are we going to argue, or are we going to try and save the world?”
Hadjar cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Arkemeya, who didn’t seem interested in continuing their argument either. Her dream was finally coming true. As for Hadjar, he’d come here seeking power, knowledge, and to earn the right to receive valuable resources from the orcs. So valuable, in fact, that he had to risk his life for them. Even if the Dah’Khasses carried out their plan, it wouldn’t affect the world much. Well, Lascan and Darnassus would lose a part of their lands and another race would appear, but who cared? The strongest cultivators of the Empires, those at the level of Lords and higher, wouldn’t be affected by this at all.
“Save the world.” Hadjar sighed, realizing that he’d probably been tricked again. However, the demoness wasn’t the one to blame this time. “What’s your plan, Arkemeya?”
“Aren’t you the genius with all the plans here?” She said, then arched her eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Steppe Fang!”
“Yes, North Wind?”
“Break her neck, please.”
The orc looked at him in puzzlement at first, but then he bared his lower fangs in a wide grin.
“With pleasure.”
He threw Derek aside — by some miracle, the boy managed not to hit his head on a crystal torch — and reached forward to grab Arkemeya. As Hadjar had suspected, the demoness immediately moved back.
“Okay, okay,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’ll cooperate. You can call off your giant ape now.”
“Steppe Fang.”
“North Wind?”
“Leave her be. We’ll kill her later.”
The orc grabbed Derek, put his hand over his mouth again, and gave Hadjar a very subtle and roguish wink. Steppe Fang kept surprising him with his sharp wit.
“We’re not the only ones whose powers grow weaker in this place, are we?” Hadjar narrowed his eyes at the demoness.
“There’s a vein of Revelation Ore nearby,” Arkemeya explained. “The torches and the lamps in the Palace are made out of it.”
“Revelation Ore?”
“Yes. We use it to protect ourselves. You’ve already felt how heavy the atmosphere is, haven’t you?”
All three of them nodded.
“It isn’t the veil that makes it so potent, but this vein. It’s a natural anomaly. A few hundred tons of it can turn a weak cultivator into a mortal.”
A few hundred tons… Hadjar realized then why neither Lascan nor Darnassus had any weapons made from this metal. It was hard to imagine a sword or spear that weighed several hundred tons, but…
“What’s your plan?” Hadjar asked. He didn’t trust Arkemeya, but he’d hear her out.
The demoness, crouching down, pulled a yellowed sheet of paper out of her spatial artifact. There were several blueprints on it. Hadjar recognized the Royal Palace and its immediate surroundings.
The drawings were clumsy, but had been done with great care and diligence. Nevertheless, had a head of intelligence submitted something like this to a military council of any serious army, they would’ve immediately been punished. Apparently, his skepticism was reflected in his expression because Arkemeya became offended.
“I’ve been drawing this for nine years now,” she said in a low, mournful voice. “I couldn’t find any of your famous Imperial Schools around here to teach me how to do it. So shut up and listen.” She pointed at the map of the Palace. “Right now, we’re here, in the southern section, in the cells.”
“We’re aware of that,” Hadjar said.
Arkemeya glared at him for interrupting, but didn’t respond.
“I had you brought here for a reason,” the half-breed continued. “Here, near this wall,” she pointed at the spot on her map, “is a secret passage that no one except for me and a few Dah’Khasses who have mysteriously disappeared know about.” She grinned.
“They disappeared… Why?”
She looked at him, surprised by how stupid his question was.
“Why does no one else know about this tunnel?” Hadjar clarified. “Don’t look at me like that, Arkemeya. You’ve already betrayed us-”
“Only those who are loyal or close to you can betray you,” she interrupted him. “And I made it clear from the start that I wasn’t your ally. We’re temporarily united by a common goal. That’s all.”
“For the sake of that common goal, answer my question.”
“By the Evening Stars!” Arkemeya whispered something in a strange, sibilant language. “The Dah’Khasses know nothing about architecture. There used to be a small Kingdom of mortals here. They destroyed it, but are mimicking their habits and even using some of their knowledge to this day.”
Well, that explains the similarity between their lifestyle and that of humans.
“The passages are a remnant from those times,” Arkemeya continued. “When I was a little girl, I had to find and memorize all the hidden corners of the Palace so that I wouldn’t-”
The demoness shook her head. It wasn’t hard to guess that these memories were unpleasant for her to recall. It was unlikely that a half-breed who’d lost her mother and was shunned by her biological father had had an easy life in a Palace full of demons.
“We’ll use this passageway to get here…” She pointed at the spire of one of the towers, then moved her finger to the side. “Here, between the west wing and the north tower, in the middle of the eve of the Black Star, the King will try to conceive a child.”
“Try to?” Hadjar asked.
“In order for him to succeed, your friend must be in a special state between life and death. During the… process, the King, focused on producing an offspring, will be as vulnerable as a mortal.”
“How long will it take?” Hadjar asked.
“Don’t you already know?” The half-breed asked sarcastically, but her jibe was completely ignored. “It’ll be a normal sexual act that he won’t draw out. So, about a quarter of an hour to prepare for the ritual… Then anywhere from 20 to 45 minutes for the act itself.”
“We’ll aim to be there 15 minutes into the ritual, then,” Hadjar said. “Better to be too early than too late.”
“That’s right,” Arkemeya agreed. “However, there’s one problem-”
“Of course there is…”
“The King will have a squad of his personal guards with him. A dozen Dah’Khasses equal to human Spirit Knights and even Lords at the initial stage.”
<
br /> Hadjar swore.
“How long do we have before the ritual begins?”
“A day and a half.”
A day and a half… A day and a half to get ready for the wildest adventure Hadjar had ever embarked on.
“I need to think,” he said.
Arkemeya folded the blueprints and put them back into her spatial artifact.
“No one will be coming down here,” she said. “I sealed the entrance, and none of the Dah’Khasses will risk losing their power, even if it’s temporary. The Revelation Ore affects them as well.”
Hadjar lay down on the stone floor, closed his eyes, and folded his arms over his chest.
“I need to consult someone.”
“Who?”
He barely heard her question, like she was standing a mile away.
“A distant ancestor of mine,” he replied, sinking into the abyss of his own consciousness.
He could hear a raven croaking and flapping its wings. The Black General was waiting for him.
Chapter 610
After falling through the darkness, Hadjar found himself in a place he’d visited many times before. He even missed it sometimes. He felt free here. He’d missed the rustling of the tall grass that stretched out as far as the eye could see. He’d missed the blue sky and the white clouds, the hill in the center of the vast valley, and the stone upon which his Master and ancestor had once sat.
“Master.” Hadjar knelt and touched his forehead to the ground in front of the stone.
Traves may have advanced along the path of life and thus no longer resided in the world of Hadjar’s soul, but this didn’t mean that Hadjar had forgotten about him or the respect he’d felt for the ancient dragon.
Standing up, he mechanically dusted off his clothes, although there was no need to do so in here, and noticed a slight change: there was now a little tree on the hill next to the stone. It was so small that it could easily be mistaken for a bush. Atop this tree, the little Quetzal slept. To the orcs, this bird represented the wind and freedom. It was also the guide to the abode of one’s forefathers.
“Hello, my new friend.” Hadjar leaned forward and stroked the bird’s plumage with his index finger.
When he looked at the tiny creature, he felt an unprecedented kinship and warmth. It was as if he were looking at something that he’d finally found after having missed it for a very long time. The bird opened its beak and crooned sleepily. Straightening his back, Hadjar looked at the horizon. As wonderful as it was, he hadn’t come here to reminisce.
“Well, it’s worth a try,” he said to himself, held out his hand, and focused.
He hadn’t been able to get here on his own before. After the shaman’s test and everything that had followed it, he’d begun to understand this place better. The green valley used to be nothing more than an illusion in which his Master had once lived. But he now realized that this world was as much a part of him as his heart, or his meridians and nodes. This world existed within him, so he had absolute power over it.
“Appear!” He ordered, clenching his fists.
The space in front of him twisted and shrank, and then a cage appeared out of thin air. Each bar of this small prison looked like a spiral made of iridescent light. The bottom of it was the night sky full of bright stars, and the top was the sky at noon. Inside the cage was a large raven sitting on a perch. Even behind bars, it emanated a monstrous power that could, without exaggeration, destroy a dozen Freyas. And this was only a fragment of the first Darkhan’s soul! It was a Shadow of the Black General’s Shadow.
“Finally!” The raven spoke with some difficulty. The bars flashed with every word it uttered. “Why do you keep tainting yourself with these elven poisons?”
“So that you don’t take over my body, Darkhan.”
The raven croaked amusedly.
“It’ll still be mine, little one,” it said. “Whatever you do, after six years and eleven months, this body will be mine.”
“If I don’t become a Lord.”
“A Lord?” The raven pondered this. “Hmm, yes… If you manage that, it will delay my takeover of this sack of flesh and bones, but not for long. Maybe a century, maybe even two, but, sooner or later, you’ll disappear, and this body will be mine.”
Hadjar tried to remain calm, but he couldn’t deceive the ancient Spirit.
“Are you surprised? Did you really think that that elf could save you? What naivety… It’s worthy of a newborn. Then again, you are still just a child.”
“I’ll get rid of you one day,” Hadjar said firmly.
“Only if you get rid of your soul first,” the bird replied. “You and I are one, descendant. You’ll understand that when we switch places and you’re the one stuck in this cage.”
Hadjar sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Arguing with the Spirit was useless.
“Can you tell me about the laws of the Heavens and the Earth?” Hadjar finally asked.
The raven cocked its head to one side and stretched out its wings.
“You’re right, descendant. Like all demons and gods, the Dah’Khasses aren’t immune to the laws.”
“You-”
“I see everything that happens to you,” it interrupted him. “I’ve already told you that we’re one and the same. I’ve been watching from the moment you were born. I’m always nearby. I know all your plans. All of them.”
“So what? I play with my cards facing you. That doesn’t matter. Will you tell me or not?”
The raven croaked in amusement.
“Not long ago, I offered you the power to deal with any enemy that crosses your path, but you refused. And now that you’ve come across something really dangerous, you come crawling back to me…”
Hadjar’s gaze became steel.
“I don’t remember asking you for power.”
“Knowledge is power, little one. If you’d managed to become an Immortal, you would’ve understood that. Alas, before you get to know your Spirit and become its Knight, I’ll send you to your eternal rest.”
Hadjar smiled broadly.
“But if the Dah’Khasses devour me, it’ll mean eternal slumber for you too.”
“It would, normally.” The raven turned away and looked at the horizon. “But out here, where there are no such laws, my Spirit might be able to free itself and-”
Hadjar unclenched his fists and the cage with the Enemy’s soul trapped inside of it disappeared into the folds of space. The Black General may have been one of the oldest creatures in this world, but he clearly lacked communication skills.
“That’s all I needed, anyway.” Hadjar looked up at the sky. “Long ago, in order to stay alive, I turned my back on a part of myself. That won’t happen again. I’ll take back what I once lost.”
Hadjar looked at the sleeping Quetzal, and then raised his right arm, where his Name tattoo shone. While his Name sounded the same as the Enemy’s, that didn’t mean that it united them. His Name belonged to him alone and no one else. He had almost gotten lost in the abyss while trying to earn it.
Hadjar closed his eyes.
“I respect you, but I refuse to be your slave,” he whispered softly.
When he opened his eyes, there was a hieroglyph that looked like a beetle in front of him. Floating in endless darkness, it shone with a silver light. It looked like the darkness itself had been cut with a blade to write it.
In his battle with Tom Dinos, he had just barely managed to withstand the hieroglyph’s pressure. But things were different now. Quetzal sat perched on his right shoulder, observing the crimson light that emerged from Hadjar’s arm and wrapped around him like armor, or a shield.
“Today, I’ll wound you so gravely that you won’t be able to recover any time soon,” he growled. In this place ungoverned by the laws of the Heavens and the Earth, in this prison where mysterious ore blocked energy, Hadjar was no stronger than a mortal. However, this meant that the mark of the Sword was weaker as well. Arkemeya had said that a slave would remai
n a slave forever, but Hadjar begged to differ. As long as one’s spirit was free, they could never become a slave. By the Evening Stars and the High Heavens, Hadjar Darkhan had been free even when he’d been looking at the world around him from his hospital bed, unable to move!
A crushing attack slammed into the hieroglyph.
Chapter 611
A fist made of crimson energy struck its target. Hadjar felt a ruthless backlash wash over him in turn. As soon as the fist touched the thinnest line of the hieroglyph, the one that he’d destroyed during his fight with Tom Dinos, a wave of energy hit Hadjar. Like a tsunami, it threw him back, threatening to drown him. His soul shook like an autumn leaf ready to break off from the dry branch of reality.
“No,” he whispered defiantly.
He sat down in the lotus position and gathered more willpower. The fist broke apart and formed a sharp sword; it was a perfect copy of the Black Blade. The moment it touched the hieroglyph, it was also enveloped in the silver glow.
The beetle resisted. Hadjar couldn’t do anything but endure the increasing pressure.
***
Steppe Fang and Derek sat to Hadjar’s left and Arkemeya to his right. They all waited with bated breath.
“By the Great Ancestors,” Steppe Fang whispered and then added something in his mother tongue. He whistled softly, summoning the blurry shape of a wolf. He could do no more at the moment.
A ball of silvery light gradually rose from Hadjar’s feet all the way up to his throat. He twitched slightly; streams of blue-black energy flowed through his body.
“What’s going on?” Derek asked, a little startled.
Only now did the orc understand what Hadjar had meant when he’d said that he had to talk to his ancestor. He knew that the human had the right to do as he pleased, but he didn’t approve of his decision.
“Soul wounds,” Arkemeya murmured.
She moved away warily, looking as if Hadjar might somehow harm her. One of the greatest fears of any cultivator were soul wounds. No potion, artifact, or Technique could save you from them. Only a strong heart and an incredible will to live.
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 30
