“Who’s that?” A young cabin boy asked his officer.
His ship was currently hidden in the forests of the borderlands and this was his first time venturing outside of Darnassus. Since childhood, the boy, who craved adventure, had engaged in sky piracy. Despite his bloody life thus far, he still retained a spark of childlike curiosity.
“Who?” The officer, after noisily placing his mug down on the table, belched and looked around the room.
After letting his gaze linger on a young, beautiful serving girl, the pirate finally noticed who the cabin boy was pointing at.
A few weeks ago, in this very tavern, he and his friends had been having a little fun, lightening their purses that had grown heavy after several successful raids on merchant vessels. Celebrating the glorious battles had been the perfect reason to indulge in such entertainment. But, alas, that night had turned sour for them. As soon as they’d started having fun, strangers had come to the tavern. Three disciples of the Lascanian ‘Red Mule’ border school, no less. Of course, each of the pirate ship’s officers was no weaker than the initial stage of the Spirit Knight level, but, even if they all fought together, they would still be no match for a single disciple of the inner circle from that school. They’d also had an orc with them. The officer had once witnessed another crew enslaving a family of orcs. The beasts had fought with such ferocity and power that the officer had had nightmares for many nights afterward.
And to top it off, a mysterious person had entered the tavern along with them. A swordsman who’d looked like he was no older than 22. He’d only been at the middle stage of the Heaven Soldier level, but had still wielded a frightening amount of power. Not in terms of the amount of energy he could use, but in terms of the depth of his understanding of the Way of the Sword Spirit. The pirate had heard stories claiming that the capitals were full of monsters who’d mastered the Weapon’s Heart level, but he hadn’t believed them. That night a few weeks ago, everything had changed.
“Fuck!” The pirate saw that same stranger again. Noticing another familiar, cloaked figure enter the tavern, he started panicking, “Shit! Shit!”
Slowly and quietly, the pirate lifted his mug off the table. He carefully moved under it.
“Sir?” The cabin boy asked in surprise.
The pirate, suddenly looking very sober, put a finger to his lips.
“Shhh,” he hissed, and waved his hand frantically. “If you want to live to see the dawn, get down here.”
The cabin boy, looking around, took his mug as well and disappeared beneath the table. Fortunately, they were at the far end of the first floor, and all their fellow patrons were too busy drinking alcohol or diddling women to notice the two pirates hiding under the table.
“Look closely, boy,” the pirate whispered, “And you’ll see real monsters.”
The cabin boy, startled by the awed terror he’d heard in the older pirate’s voice, became extremely curious.
The man who entered the tavern sat down opposite the one with the feathers and ornaments in his hair. The newcomer had two sets of scabbards and swords under his clothes. The boy had heard of ambidextrous swordsmen, but had never seen one until now. It was widely believed that one such swordsman was worth eight ordinary ones in a battle.
“Hello, brother North Wind.”
Brother? The cabin boy thought. These two don’t look like brothers…
The name North Wind etched itself in the cabin boy’s mind.
***
Hadjar looked up from his beer and gazed at the speaker. He wasn’t surprised to see Eon Mrax in front of him. The sectarian hadn’t really changed since the last time he’d seen him, apart from the new, long scar on his frowning face.
“Hello,” Hadjar said.
Eon, like before, picked up a jug from a passing serving girl’s tray. The girl started to say something to the impudent man, but then stopped. She could feel the pressure of the Spirit Knight’s aura. In these backwater places, he was like a Lord in the capital — someone a person didn’t want to argue with. With a stuttering, apologetic whisper, the girl darted away, fleeing between the other tables.
“You’ve gotten stronger.” Mrax took a sip from the jug. Then, with a grimace, he set it aside. “Shall we go outside or do it right here?”
Hadjar drained his beer in one gulp. Wiping his lips, he looked into Eon’s eyes. During his adventures, Hadjar had forgotten that the sect that worshipped the Enemy had been added to his long list of problems.
“Let’s go outside.”
Mrax, his armor clanking, headed for the exit. Hadjar followed after him with a heavy sigh, recalling how he’d parted with his friend. Steppe Fang, holding on to Purling Song, had watched Hadjar leave. They’d said their farewells according to the orcs’ customs — they hadn’t drawn it out. The free, nomadic orc tribes believed that the roads of the living sometimes diverged, and if it was fated, they would meet again. Touching the feathers in his hair, Hadjar smiled a little sadly. He hoped that he and Steppe Fang would never meet again…
“Are you ready?” Mrax asked, smiling.
Instead of answering, Hadjar summoned his inner dragon.
Chapter 628
The cloak of black fog covered Hadjar’s shoulders, the light armor materializing around his arms, the black belt wrapped around his waist, and a new, soft plate now protected the left side of his chest. The Call’s armor had grown stronger as a result of his advancement, Hadjar realized. The Black Blade shone in his hands. It had a blue, mystical hieroglyph instead of a crossguard.
“You’re definitely stronger,” Mrax said with a nod. He threw off his cloak. With a slight squelch, it landed in the mud of the road. “Well, that just means I’ll get more glory.”
Hadjar didn’t understand if Mrax meant Glory points or simple glory. Recent events had made him neglect the tasks of ‘The Holy Sky’ School’s Hall of Fame. Without Glory points, entering the Treasure Tower was a complete waste of time.
“I warned you, brother,” a pillar of black energy flared to life behind Mrax. It had once made Hadjar tighten his grip on his blade, but now he didn’t react at all, “that our fight wasn’t over. Or are you so drunk on your little bit of progress along the path of cultivation that you think you’ll actually defeat me?”
The pillar disappeared and a Spirit spread its wings behind Eon. It looked like a huge raven that was feeding power to its master, the Spirit Knight.
Hadjar felt many eyes on his back. The patrons of the ‘Drunken Goose’, just like last time, had come out into the yard. For each of them, a battle between two powerful cultivators was an opportunity to deepen their understanding of the Sword Spirit’s mysteries and the path of cultivation in general, which could serve as a kind of training.
“Let’s get started!”
Eon’s Imperial armor suddenly covered him and he spread his bladelike wings. “Raven’s Flight!”
To the spectators, the Spirit Knight’s movements were almost instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, he appeared next to Hadjar. His two swords struck in a crossed X pattern. It was impossible to dodge or avoid such an attack, you could only block it.
The cabin boy couldn’t understand why the warrior with feathers in his hair looked so calm and relaxed. Such a strike had power that could be compared to the simultaneous attack of four mighty warriors.
“Have you finally learned humility?” Eon shouted.
Hadjar sighed. Compared to the Dah’Khasses’ King, Mrax moved so slowly that his every movement could be examined in detail. The energy that spread out like wings behind him looked sluggish and flimsy. Hadjar thought it was a bit bold to call this Technique the ‘Raven’s Flight’. Rather, the ‘Mayfly’s Fluttering’ might’ve been more apt. An insect that could die if caught by a strong gust of wind… Fitting. The crossed blades struck the line of darkness above his head. Their collision sent out a terrifying wave of power.
A sphere of energy that was barely visible to the naked eye tore out huge chunks of e
arth and threw them in the air. They landed on the fence of the tavern, smashing the massive logs to splinters. The tavern’s owner almost cried. Just recently, he’d had to repair his tavern because of these two inconsiderate monsters.
“He killed him with a single attack,” the cabin boy gasped.
“Keep looking,” the older pirate grunted.
The dust kicked up by the clash of weapons settled down. Two men came into view. One was calm and the other was panting.
“How-”
Everything the cabin boy knew about the path of cultivation told him that no Heaven Soldier should be able to withstand an attack made by a Spirit Knight. However, the dark swordsman’s body didn’t have a single scratch on it, but the Spirit Knight was leaning on one of his blades. A trickle of blood ran down his left thigh, visible through the cut in his cuisse. That meant that the dark swordsman had managed to not only repel the swings of two swords, but to also attack with his own sword afterward. It was impossible!
The Black Blade now looked like the deadly fang of some mythical creature.
Hadjar shook out his right arm. It was a little tingly after their exchange, as Mrax wasn’t just a simple Spirit Knight, but a descendant of the Enemy trained by the Raven Sect.
“Your body-” Mrax took out some pills from his spatial artifact, which looked like a chain around his neck. After swallowing them, he shuddered, and the wound on his leg instantly healed up. “Is now as strong as a Spirit level artifact, isn’t it?”
Hadjar didn’t answer him. His body had actually left the Spirit level behind at that waterfall in the land of the Dah’Khasses. After training with the essence of a three-thousand-year-old fern root, he’d also strengthened his physical heart and his energy Core. His body hadn’t quite reached the Earth level yet, but it had definitely surpassed the Spirit level.
“So,” Mrax spat and a spray of pink and scarlet fell to the ground, “all this time, you’ve been strengthening your body? Did you decide to hide in your shell like a turtle? It doesn’t matter. It won’t do you any good!”
Eon brought his blades together, forming a single whole. A black sphere flashed in front of their joined tips. Its pull was so strong that the layers of earth that had been scattered everywhere by their first clash rose and flew toward the sphere of darkness. As soon as they touched it, they were reduced to dust, feeding the Spirit Knight’s Technique. Behind him, his Spirit screamed furiously. It fed its power to Mrax, making his Technique several times stronger.
The cabin boy almost passed out when he sensed the Technique’s power. Without a doubt, this Spirit Knight would be able to destroy their entire ship and crew with just this one attack.
“Monsters...” the boy whispered. “They really do exist.”
“Just keep looking,” the pirate officer repeated with a snort.
They continued to watch the two swordsmen fight in stunned silence.
When the sphere reached a diameter of several feet, the Spirit Knight launched it at his foe with a roar of rage. It tore off his blades and flew with incredible speed toward the relaxed Heaven Soldier. Without losing any power, it left a wide, deep furrow in the ground behind it. The swordsman who wielded that strange, black sword, moved. He swung as if he were putting his blade back in its scabbard. Crouching slightly, he shouted:
“Sixth stance: Wind!”
The cabin boy started. He clearly heard the kind of roar that his childhood friends had used to make when playing ‘Knights and Dragons’, when they’d wanted to parody the roar of a Lord of the Heavens. He also saw a dragon’s distinct features in the plume of black fog that the swordsman had turned into. It danced across the sphere, breaking it in half. Then came the two explosions, leaving craters behind in their wake. Finally, there was a short, sharp cry, and all was still. When the dust settled, a corpse lay on the ground with wide, glassy eyes, looking up at the night sky. Blood spurted from the body, coming out of a single stab wound. The swords and chain artifact were gone. And so was the swordsman in the black cloak.
“North Wind,” the cabin boy whispered.
Now he knew a real monster’s name.
Chapter 629
Hadjar sat in a simple wooden cart. With his back to the road, he watched the steppes of the Lascanian borderlands gradually give way to the mountainous, uneven ground of Darnassus.
“Where are you from?” An old man wearing a broad straw hat asked him.
He sat in the back of an old, shabby cart. Pulled by a thin nag, it rolled over the potholes in the road. This particular road wasn’t paved with stone or granite slabs, but had been trampled into place by thousands of peasants traversing it every day.
“From Lidus,” Hadjar replied.
He toyed with Eon Mrax’s chain in his hands. It actually was a spatial artifact, and he’d found several hundred Imperial coins and a variety of potions inside it — fairly standard stuff. It had been stupid of him to hope that the sectarian would carry all the treasures he’d acquired over hundreds of years with him.
“Lidus... Lidus... No, I’ve never heard of such a place.” The old man spoke with a strange accent and chuckled constantly. “Why are you going to Fort Darigon?”
Hadjar smiled. He had forgotten what it was like to talk to a fellow traveler. Moreover, he had forgotten what it was like to talk to a mortal. The old man was stuck on the third stage of the Bodily Nodes level and was a typical representative of the two Empires’ people.
About ninety percent of the population of Darnassus and Lascan were the same. It was easy to forget that fact while living in capitals and traveling through dangerous lands inhabited by true cultivators.
“I have a mission," Hadjar answered honestly. He saw no reason to lie to his benefactor, who’d decided to give him a ride.
“Mi-i-i-ssio-o-on.” The old man drawled. “That sounds serious. Are you in the military?”
The simple question baffled Hadjar.
“You’re in the military.” The villager answered his own question. He snapped the reins. His horse snorted in disdain and began walking even more slowly. “Stupid nag! You won’t get any grub tonight!”
The horse neighed in fright and picked up speed. Hadjar laughed. Leaning down, his body halfway out of the cart loaded with various vegetables, he plucked a roadside blade of grass and put it in his mouth. It was bitter.
“What makes you say that?” Hadjar asked.
“Your eyes.”
“But you can’t even see my eyes,” Hadjar laughed again.
“I saw your eyes when you were standing on the side of the road. You were inspecting it carefully, like only a military man would. So, I decided to help you. It isn’t right for a sovereign man to wander around with holes in his boots.”
Hadjar looked down at his boots. He and Einen had bought them in Dahanatan. The salesman had praised them up and down: ‘Real snakeskin boots! You won’t find sturdier ones anywhere!’ Sadly, the boots hadn’t survived his adventure. Now Hadjar could stick his toes out of the tips of his boots. He didn’t care. He now had enough money to buy at least ten pairs. However, that money could be spent on something far more useful. He really didn’t care what kind of clothes or what kind of boots he wore.
“My son, one of my grandsons, and one of my great-grandsons, all at once, joined the military. They wanted power, glory, and money.”
“Did any of them ever come back?”
“Nope.” The old man adjusted his straw hat and spurred on the nag. “None of them have ever come back to their father’s house. They don’t want to settle down, cultivate the land, and raise cattle. No. They want to have a saber and women.”
He chuckled. Hadjar joined him.
“They just brought their sons to us, left them behind, and then didn’t return. Now we have lots of land and small children.”
Hadjar looked at the fields. Ploughed and sown, they’d obviously produced a rich harvest.
“It must be hard.”
“Well, we’ve already gotten used to
it. I honestly feel sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“You’re living your life wrong.” The villager let go of the reins and picked up a jug. After uncorking it, he first offered it to Hadjar, and when the warrior refused, he shrugged and drank two large gulps of milk. “You’re looking for death instead of enjoying the sun and wind. We, on the other hand, have got everything we need: the earth, the sun, and the rain. We can live and be happy. We can work in the fields and admire the fruits of our labor.”
Hadjar toyed with Eon Mrax’s chain again.
“And if evil people come?”
“Yes!” The old man held up a finger. “That’s why I’m helping you. Only people like you can protect us from evil. That’s why I’m glad to help you. You might be the one to die in order to save my field one day.”
Hadjar smiled again. He liked this simple logic.
“Whoa! Whoa, you stupid nag!”
He pulled on the reins and stopped his horse in the middle of the fork in the road. It began to nibble at the grass growing there.
“That’s all, traveler. I can’t take you any farther. I have to go to the village market.”
Hadjar nodded and jumped down from the cart. He’d left a leather wallet among the vegetables. It contained a hundred Imperial coins. With that amount, the old man could buy a herd of horses and twenty excellent, new carts. Although, Hadjar figured he would probably give the money away instead, to the other villagers who also needed something. When it came to mortals, the only way for them to survive was to help and support each other. By the Evening Stars, the world of martial arts lacked that sort of wonderful unity.
“Thank you,” Hadjar said.
Out of habit, he first touched his heart, then his forehead, and finally, he sent something toward the sky. The old man laughed vaguely and took off his straw hat.
“Take it,” he handed it to Hadjar. “You might damage your head in this sun. Who will beat the villains then? I certainly won’t. My body and eyes are weak now. And I kind of feel sorry for them.”
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 37
