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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Hadjar took another sip from the bowl.

  “And given the number of ships that have crashed on these rocks, the Lascanian Emperor must be aware of the situation.”

  Helmer’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent.

  “I figured out your motive.” Hadjar crossed his arms over his chest. “As well as the Emperor’s. The ships didn’t fly here for the demons, but for the winged serpents. It wasn’t winds that broke them, but the beasts.”

  “Go on, please.” Helmer waved his hand. “You haven’t told me about my motive yet.”

  “I hadn’t guessed it for a long time, either,” Hadjar said. “But then I looked at the situation from a different perspective.”

  Chapter 622

  “I asked myself: why would the Emperor allow the continued existence of a tumor that could infect the entire body of his country?” With difficulty, Hadjar got to his feet and hobbled over to the cliff. Picking up a fragment of the ship along the way, he leaned on it like a crutch. “I realized that it holds back another disease — the orcs. While they fight the demons, who are stuck in the gorge, there is a certain balance of forces on the border. The balance that you broke using my hands.”

  “I still don’t see what I get out of this,” Helmer shook his head.

  The demon played with one of his black lumps: he moved it between his fingers, rolling it around like an experienced con artist would a coin.

  “To be honest, I’m not completely sure about your motive, demon. Hastening the war between Darnassus and Lascan… I suppose that the orcs, who now don’t have to fight against the Dah’Khasses, will go on to conquer more than just Lascan.”

  “Alright, and how will their raids on the borders of Darnassus hasten the start of the war?”

  “As far as the Emperor of Darnassus is concerned, they are subjects of Lascan. Their large-scale attack on the border forts will be the very excuse that the Darnassian military leadership is looking for.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re blaming me for what happened?”

  Hadjar looked at the calm Helmer and the black shapes running around him.

  “I don’t think a war between Empires is a common occurrence,” Hadjar kicked one of the creatures away from him. The critter, its beady eyes flashing menacingly, ran back to its companions. “And I’m sure it’s a horrific experience. Millions of beings will be plunged into a living nightmare. I have no idea how creatures like you get stronger, but something tells me that a huge helping of fresh nightmares will be extremely useful to you.”

  The demon smiled again.

  “That’s only a theory, my young friend,” Helmer lowered his hand and the lump of fear which he’d been playing with rushed back over to the swarm. “Maybe you’re even right. But the war would’ve started sooner or later anyway. Why would I bother playing games with you and the laws of the Heavens and the Earth?”

  “Arkemeya.” Hadjar replied. “I don’t know why you need her, but she’s the reason you did all of this.”

  “How do you figure that?” Helmer leaned back in his chair.

  “You sent a nightmare to the orc shaman. He thought he saw a prophecy. You also whispered something to Bear’s Rage, who’d already lost one son in the battle against the Dah’Khasses and wasn’t thinking rationally.”

  Helmer nodded.

  “Parenthood,” the demon snorted, “it makes warriors weaker and their enemies stronger.”

  “I don’t agree, but that’s not the point. That’s when you brought me into this story. I don’t understand why. You sent us to the lands of the Dah’Khasses. No one, especially the gods, ever cared about them. Although, I will admit that you almost tricked me by mentioning them.”

  “By mentioning the gods? I’m a demon, remember? We don’t like each other… very much.”

  Hadjar rolled his eyes. He was growing weary of this charade.

  “Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares. They say a person should never make deals with you because a bargain with you will saddle them with a debt that they won’t ever be able to pay back.”

  “Sounds good.” The demon tipped his hat slightly. “And what of it?”

  “Freya,” Hadjar explained. “She’s the only fairy who ever mentioned you. The others, when you killed them, looked shocked by your presence. Besides, the gods surely don’t care about a pack of weak demons that even the human Emperor, whose territory they occupied until recently, didn’t pay attention to. They were a bit of dust in his eye, nothing more.”

  “Have you ever had a speck of dust in your eye, Darkhan? It causes a lot of inconvenience. Especially when this speck somehow finds a way to bypass the laws of the Heavens and the Earth.”

  “The laws of the Heavens and the Earth.” Hadjar repeated. “I’ve heard so much about them lately that I’ve grown tired of them. I’m ready to bet my life that the King of the Dah’Khasses learned of a way to circumvent these laws from the great and terrible Helmer.”

  “You still haven’t told me why I did all of this…”

  “To create a half-breed,” Hadjar said firmly. “I don’t know a lot about these laws, but if they were so easy to circumvent, our world would’ve been inhabited by demons and gods long ago, who would’ve done whatever they wanted, instead of plotting and using others as they do now.”

  They looked at each other for a while. Then came the applause. Helmer, getting to his feet so suddenly he startled his swarm of nightmares, was clapping and smiling broadly.

  “If you hadn’t figured it out, Darkhan, I would’ve been very disappointed in you.”

  “I still can’t understand why you need Arkemeya. Why is she so valuable that you used so many connections and forces to destroy the Dah’Khasses and pull her out into the world?”

  Helmer shrugged. Behind him, the horde of nightmares formed a kind of door.

  “Let me keep at least one little secret.”

  “As you wish,” Hadjar shrugged. “You didn’t succeeded anyway. She was killed in the explosion.”

  Helmer’s smile widened.

  “Did you see her body?” The demon was about to disappear into the swarm of nightmares when he remembered something and stopped. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bundle, tossing it at Hadjar’s feet. “This is my payment for our deal.”

  The demon took a step back and disappeared among the nightmares. Those nightmares then faded into a light haze, and when everything disappeared, Hadjar heard a distant voice:

  “Don’t forget about House Tarez.”

  Hadjar shuddered. Only now did he remember that he and Helmer had another deal — something about the merchant clan and the upcoming Tournament of the Twelve. Damn it all to hell and back... He hated intrigue!

  When Hadjar reached the bundle, he first looked at it through the World River. Who knew what the insidious demon might’ve thrown at him. Although, if he’d wanted to kill Hadjar, he would’ve done it long ago.

  The bundle was nothing more than simple parchment.

  After reading its contents, Hadjar laughed at himself and his naivety. By the High Heavens! He really hated intrigue!

  Standing in the rain, he looked up at the huge swarm of giant serpents and smiled. The parchment had said:

  Hello, North Wind. I hope that my healing skills were good enough and you haven’t succumbed to your wounds. I’m sorry that I don’t have enough knowledge to do more.

  May the Evening Stars light your way, North Wind.

  P.S. Don’t forget that I pulled you out of the rubble and carried you to the cliff, so you owe me your life. We’ll meet again, stupid human.

  Raindrops fell on the parchment, washing away the ink. Hadjar peered into the gorge, wishing the half-breed good luck. He knew exactly where Arkemeya had gone. He hoped she would manage to find the way to Kurkhadan and…

  The flash of danger made Hadjar stagger to the side.

  Chapter 623

  Hadjar dodged just in time to avoid the curved blade of the dagger. Derek
almost fell into the gorge full of huge serpents. At the last second, Hadjar managed to catch the Lascanian by his bandages. He hung over the abyss. His feet dragged along the cliff, Hadjar’s grip the only thing saving him from certain death.

  “Put me down, you stinking Darnassian!”

  Hadjar almost did, not because he was offended by Derek’s words, but because they’d contained so much hatred that it shocked him.

  “If I let you go, you’ll die.”

  Surprisingly, Derek didn’t freeze up, but kept trying to pull away from the hands that were saving his life. Hadjar noted that if the boy could move, at least one day had passed since the explosion.

  “It’s better to die than be rescued by you! Fuck! Go to hell! I hate Darnassus!”

  Hadjar was hurt. Their adventures had brought them closer together, surely. They’d risked their lives and relied on each other. Had it really not meant anything?

  “Derek, I-”

  “Shut up!” The boy shouted. Even while hovering over the gorge full of the swarming serpents, he didn’t radiate fear, but rather, hatred. “Shut up! It was you! It’s all your doing, you damned spy! I wish I’d killed you when I’d had the chance!”

  “I-”

  “It’s your fault! Alea and Irma are dead because of you!” The rain was drenching them. Derek was crying like a child. “Gods! You even killed her with your own two hands! You killed Irma!”

  When the bonds that had once connected people broke, the absence of them hurt everyone.

  Hadjar yanked Derek up onto the plateau and threw him on the rocks. He leaned over and looked at the boy. He was so young…

  “Admit it, that was your plan all along!” The Lascanian’s eyes radiated hatred because he understood that he couldn’t beat Hadjar. “You planned to sacrifice Alea!”

  Hadjar would never sacrifice anyone, especially someone to whom he owed his life, someone who’d treated him with warmth and kindness.

  “Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “That was my plan all along.”

  Derek’s eyes flashed even more fiercely. A flame of true hatred now burned in the depths of his soul.

  “And Irma… You traded her life away like she was a pawn on a board.”

  Irma... Little Irma… Hadjar had had no idea that she would lose her humanity as a result of the ritual. As soon as the wings of the cocoon had opened back up, he’d looked at the girl through the World River. What had been forming in her womb had changed the structure of Irma’s energy body. Irma had ceased to exist. She’d turned into some kind of monster that hadn’t even been a half-breed. She had become a dreadful thing that would soon give birth to another, even more dreadful thing. He didn’t understand how Arkemeya’s mother had avoided that same fate.

  By the Evening Stars and the High Heavens, Hadjar could feel the scar left by his own sword on his soul. The scar caused by the realization that he hadn’t been able to save the girl who’d become Azrea’s friend. The girl who had saved his life. She had saved his life and he had taken hers.

  “Stupid boy,” Hadjar snorted. “Did you really think I cared about you? You’re only breathing now because I have no reason to take the life of a Baron’s son. And as for those two filthy commoners, there are many more just like them in Lascan. Enough for my Darnassian army to have a lot of fun after we conquer you.”

  Derek grabbed his dagger.

  Please, don’t! Hadjar mentally begged, but it was already too late. The boy slashed his palm.

  “I swear that I’ll take your life one day, Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind!”

  His blood flared with a golden flame and the cut instantly healed up, leaving a wide scar behind. The boy spat at Hadjar’s feet, got up, and hobbled off somewhere toward the west. Hadjar watched him go until Derek disappeared behind a tall rock.

  “Fuck!” Hadjar swore, lamenting what had come to pass.

  He looked up. How he wished that the cold rain could wash away not just their dirt and sweat, but everything else that clung to any cultivator as well. Alas, it was an impossible dream.

  Nevertheless, Hadjar still loved the rain… He tried to forget about what had just happened.

  “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

  Steppe Fang was propped up on his right elbow, looking in the direction Derek had gone.

  “How long have you been awake?” Hadjar asked warily.

  “Since he attacked you.”

  Hadjar let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to explain to the orc what Helmer had done here.

  “I don’t know,” Hadjar shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

  “He blames you for everything.”

  Hadjar remained silent for a while, then tilted his head back toward the rain.

  “He does,” Hadjar agreed. “But as long as he has that scar on his hand, he’ll live. And he’ll grow stronger. It’s better than dying from soul wounds.”

  “No. It’s not. You only delayed his death. You’ll be his end instead.”

  Hadjar ran a hand over his face and brushed water out of his hair.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But let’s discuss that later. Right now, I wonder how we’ll even get out of here.”

  Steppe Fang looked at Hadjar, then at his feet.

  “I would rather die by your sword than-”

  “Shut up!” Hadjar took some rope out of his spatial ring and began to weave it into a sort of shoulder harness. “You told me that I’d get to try your wife’s rabbit stew, didn’t you? Keep your word. Or are you no longer a free hunter?

  The orc bared his lower fangs at him.

  A quarter of an hour later, Hadjar, gritting his teeth in pain, hoisted the orc… No, his friend, onto his back. Together, they set off in the same direction Derek had gone in.

  Chapter 624

  Holding his red-skinned friend by the shoulder, Hadjar gazed out at the vast steppes of the borderlands. Wherever he looked, the ground was covered in golden waves of grass swaying in time to the gusts of wind. Their crests glistened in the bright, midday sun.

  Atop the hill, among the flowing golden waves, stood a short, green-skinned female orc. Her thick, black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, showing her long ears. They were even longer and more pointed than an elf’s. She had a slim waist, an ample bosom and hips, a small nose, and high, delicate cheekbones. If not for her green skin and fangs, she would’ve been considered beautiful even amongst humans. A tall, red-eyed wolf stood beside her. Hadjar immediately recognized the animal —Steppe Fang’s loyal friend. The female orc held a kind of glaive, except this one had a very short shaft and an incredibly huge, monstrous blade.

  “How do I look, North Wind?”

  Hadjar examined the orc. His left arm had become a stump, his right leg had been severed at the knee, and he had a patch of gray skin where his left eye had once been. It was difficult to find a spot on the orc’s body that wasn’t marked by fresh, terrible scars. Hadjar suspected that Steppe Fang had shielded him with his body when the Dah’Khasses’ Palace had blown up. It was the only explanation for how Hadjar had come away from the explosion with only a few scars on his back.

  “Like a hero,” Hadjar smiled.

  The orc bared his lower fangs.

  “I’ll go to them by myself.”

  The orc took a hastily carved wooden crutch out of his bag. Strapping it to his stump, he straightened up and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes and savoring the moment, he put his hand to his mouth and let out a high, drawn-out cry. Purling Song let out the same cry in response.

  “Thank you, North Wind,” the orc whispered softly, and hobbled forward, “for bringing me home.”

  Steppe Fang walked toward his wife like a broken puppet, but his eyes were steady and clear. Purling Song stood still. She waited. She waited for her husband to return from the hunt. And he did. They hugged each other as tightly as only lovers who hadn’t seen each other for a long time could. He buried his face in her hair, then pulled back and looked into her eyes. Gently, as if afraid that the huge, po
werful, scarred warrior might crumble at her touch, she pressed the tip of her nose to his. They stood there with their eyes closed, smiling stupidly, and hugged each other in silence.

  “Good luck, Steppe Fang.”

  Hadjar turned away. He didn’t like goodbyes. In the life of a traveler, such things were often inevitable. And the more often they occurred, the less he wanted to leave a place where he was welcome to stay.

  However, Hadjar failed to leave quietly and unnoticed. As soon as he turned around, he faced a huge orc.

  “I’m glad to see you again, little hunter.”

  “Bear’s Rage.” Hadjar touched his heart with two fingers, then his forehead, and then he made a gesture as if he were sending something skyward.

  The orc chief looked surprised.

  “I see Steppe Fang has taught you well.”

  “He did.” Hadjar agreed.

  Like any traveler, he knew that when a person left, they should never look back. Not because it would be a bad omen, but because leaving became much more difficult and painful that way. However, by the High Heavens, at that moment, he wanted to admire Steppe Fang’s happiness once again more than anything else in the world.

  “Are you leaving?” The chief asked.

  “Yep.” Hadjar said. “They’ve been waiting for me for a long time now. I must deliver a letter that I don’t even have yet.”

  “Will a few extra days make this letter disappear?”

  Hadjar looked at Bear’s Rage, who towered over him. His warm, brown eyes radiated kindness and cordiality. He bared his fangs. Hadjar now knew what that gesture meant.

  “They won’t,” Hadjar answered hesitantly. “I hope.”

  “Then stay for our festival,” Bear’s Rage went to slap him on the back, but, after looking at his paw, changed his mind. “Besides, I’m sure you have a few questions for the shaman.”

  Hadjar did want to question the orc shaman. Steppe Fang had taught him well, but he was a talented warrior, and not exactly a capable teacher. For all his other virtues, that was one that Steppe Fang didn’t possess. If he were completely honest with himself, Hadjar also expected to get the root of a thousand-year-old fern.