“For the villains?”
“They’re stupid.” The old man nodded. “They fight against us now. But, if they defeat us, they will just move on to fighting against others.”
“What others?” Hadjar put on the straw hat.
“Who knows?” The old man laughed. “There are always others. Go on. It’s time for us to part ways. I wish you glory and women. Or whatever it is you want.”
The old man turned and drove on down the road. Hadjar stood there for a while, lost in thought, then headed toward Darigon, the walls of which were already visible on the horizon.
Chapter 630
Thousands of people — travelers, farmers, soldiers, villagers, and the residents of surrounding towns — passed through the central gates of Fort Darigon, which was located on the borders of Darnassus, every day. So, Darigon had long ago stopped being just a fort, and was now also the center of social life for everyone who lived in the area. People came to Darigon from thousands of miles away.
The guards who stood beneath the teeth of the never-descending wrought iron gates had long ago learned to discern who was trying to enter the fort on sight. This ability to identify everyone so well helped them get just enough money from travelers to ensure that they wouldn’t feel wronged even as they got fleeced.
“Where are you going?”
One of the four guards, each of whom was on the verge of becoming a true cultivator, lowered his halberd in front of a man entering the city, getting the blade right in his face. The stranger’s head was covered by a wide-brimmed peasant straw hat. He was wearing old rags and high, leaky cavalry boots. The man looked like a simple vagabond who moved from one fort to another, begged for alms, and after he received them, drank and had fun with cheap whores. Of course, the guards would still let his kind into the city if they were able to pay for it.
“Into the fort.” The stranger seemed to be about twenty years old.
“Into the fort?” The guard snorted. “Go away, you filthy hobo. There’s nothing for people like you in there.”
The guard who’d decided to ward off the vagabond had served at the gates of Darigon the longest. During that time, he’d learned that if a person didn’t have even the simplest weapon on their belt, they were the lowest of the low. There was no need to stand on ceremony with such people.
This one didn’t even have a homemade axe or a crude knife. The guard didn’t know how he’d managed to survive on the unfriendly roads of the borderlands. Maybe he wasn’t a man, but a girl instead? The guard saw no other way an unarmed person could’ve survived an encounter with the bandits.
“This will have to be enough.” The stranger held out an Imperial coin. With a slight bow, as was required by etiquette, he added: “Let me in, please, honorable guard.”
Enough? For one Imperial coin, the guard would be able to buy a small plot of land, three cows, and a chicken coop in the nearest village!
“That’s a fake!” The guard slapped the coin away and it landed on the ground. It rolled toward the queue. After standing in the sun for half a day, the people were glad to see a duel or a fight brewing. “Go away!”
A bright blue eye flashed from beneath the hat. The guard could’ve sworn it wasn’t a human eye, but the eye of some terrible predator.
“Someone bled for that coin. Show some respect.”
Each word was harsh, as if it had been spoken with a sword instead of a mouth. At the same time, everyone within a hundred yards felt as if the sharpest of blades were being pressed against their necks.
“Weapon’s Heart...” The whispers came.
“This is a sword master!”
“A real swordsman!”
“By the gods and demons, I’m glad I visited Darigon today!”
“I’ll tell my grandchildren about him!”
The guard, unable to withstand the pressure of the power, fell to his knees. Then he sprawled out on the ground, his right hand covering the coin. It was only when he touched it that the guard realized it wasn’t a fake. For the love of the gods! How blind was he to try and stand in the way of this monster?
“That’s enough!”
The pressure immediately disappeared, and there was a murmur in the queue. People quickly got down on one knee. On the other side of the gates, a hundred soldiers now stood at attention. They dug their expandable shields into the gravel and bared their long spears. Each of them was at the initial stage of the Heaven Soldier level. In front of them, clad in artifact armor, a tall, middle-aged man stood. Many people knew him on sight or had at least heard about the famous General of Darigon and the pride of all the border forces — Frederick Mancey. His huge battleax, called Magnificent Flower, was honored and respected even among the Lascanian warriors.
He drew this monstrous weapon. The axe easily shattered the Weapon’s Heart aura. After all, the Weapon Kingdom that Frederick, one of the greatest Generals in all of Darnassus, clearly possessed was far more powerful than the Weapon’s Heart level.
“Honorable General,” Hadjar bowed respectfully.
He’d heard about Lord Mancey. Everything he’d heard about this great man had only engendered a feeling of deep respect.
“Who are you, young man?” The Lord’s voice boomed. “And why are you stirring up trouble near my fort?”
“I beg your pardon, honorable General,” Hadjar bowed even lower. “The long trip here has thrown my nerves into disarray.”
Hadjar took the letter out of his spatial ring. As soon as the General saw the seal belonging to Mentor Orune, the expression on his face changed.
“Are you a disciple of his?” He asked.
“No,” Hadjar decided to add that he might soon become one, however.
“That’s good,” the General nodded. “If you’d told me you were, I would’ve killed you immediately.”
“Why?” Hadjar asked in surprise.
“Old Orune never takes anyone as a disciple,” the Lord snorted. “He refused even my own son! His sworn nephew! However, that doesn’t matter right now, come on in. We have a lot to discuss.”
Magnificent Flower disappeared into Frederick’s spatial artifact, he gave a brief order to his warriors, and then he started walking toward the castle. Hadjar stepped over the still cowering guard and entered the fort.
“I am happy to welcome a disciple from ‘The Holy Sky’ School to my home,” Frederick said. “I am truly honored to host one of the geniuses who will become the future of our country.”
“The honor is all mine,” Hadjar bowed.
Together, they headed to the castle towering above the walls and looking like an impregnable rock. Although, given the fact that no one had captured Darigon for tens of thousands of years, it really was one.
The guard, who was desperately clutching the coin, still couldn’t believe what had just happened. A disciple of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, where the geniuses other geniuses looked up to trained, a Heaven Soldier who had power equal to a Spirit Knight’s and had mastered the Weapon’s Heart, someone who knew the greatest swordsman of the Empire, Lord Orune... And he had mistaken him for a vagabond! The gods really didn’t like him today.
“Worn out clothes, nomad ornaments and orc feathers in his hair…” A pensive voice came from the queue. “I’ve heard of such a wanderer. I think his name is North Wind.”
“North Wind,” the guard repeated.
He would remember that name for the rest of his life.
Chapter 631
“Go right in.”
The General opened the door for Hadjar. It would’ve looked abnormal to any observer, as Frederick Mancey was one of the most powerful people in the Empire. There weren’t many aristocrats in Darnassus who could match his status, except for the other Generals. The Empire was still a very militant country, after all. And now, one of the greatest Generals was opening the door for a simple Heaven Soldier.
“Thank you,” Hadjar said.
The office he entered looked quite normal, though spacious — an ordi
nary castle room. Hadjar had seen a lot of them during his life. The only thing that stood out from the standard decorations, such as marble, thick rugs, and a huge fireplace, was the portrait of the Emperor hanging on the far wall. Though he’d never seen him before, Hadjar recognized him by the regalia on his chest — a medallion made from scarlet metal, in the center of which shone a jade hieroglyph that contained three concepts at once: ‘life’, above which was ‘power’, and below was ‘earth’. It was the motto of Darnassus: ‘Power over life on this earth’.
He sat down on a cushioned chair, took off his hat, and placed it next to him.
The General, after locking the door with a heavy bolt, sat down opposite him. Now they were separated by a massive, oak desk that could’ve supported the entire Treasury of Darigon.
“Hadjar Darkhan, North Wind,’ Frederick read, stroking his thick, brown beard. “Orune’s letter says that you’re a promising young man and a mid-stage Heaven Soldier.”
Putting down the letter, the General crossed his arms over his chest and just looked at him. Hadjar felt something incredibly strong touch his soul and disappear without a trace.
“Did you feel that?” The General looked surprised. “You really are promising. But don’t be too proud of that. I’ve seen thousands of cultivators who were much more promising than you. Do you know what happened to all of them?”
“I don’t, my General.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed.
“You were in the military, weren’t you? Anyway, they all died, failing to survive until the moment their genius blossomed. You, the prodigies, die much more often than mere warriors.”
“Thank you for the explanation, my General.”
Frederick waved his words away and leaned back in his chair. Turning slightly, he looked through the narrow hole that served as the single window in his office. The room was dimly lit by numerous torches and a fireplace.
“There’s no need to thank me.” He sighed. He took a scroll out of a drawer in the table. Hadjar recognized the type of parchment — it was an intelligence report. “This is a different letter. Not from Orune, but from my spies,” the General continued, confirming Hadjar’s suspicions. “It says that the orc tribes have left their encampments and gone into the steppes. It’s been thousands of years since that last happened.”
Hadjar stared at Frederick in silence. Or rather, he tried to, but when he looked at the Lord through the World River, something blocked his view. This hadn’t happened when he’d looked at Arkemeya. Apparently, Frederick was using some kind of Technique that prevented him from examining his power fully.
“I also have another report,” the General pulled out a second scroll. “It’s about a week old. It says that, along the northwestern borders of the Empire, in the mountains, there was some kind of anomaly. A day later, the orc tribes organized an unprecedented festival, which honored the hunters Steppe Fang and North Wind.”
Hadjar wasn’t surprised to learn that the General had all this information. On the contrary, if Frederick hadn’t been aware of what was happening in the borderlands, he would’ve been deeply disappointed.
“I see you have two feathers in your hair. If we compare our ranking systems, you’re orc nobility now.”
“The orcs don’t have nobles,” Hadjar retorted.
Frederick put the reports away and turned back to Hadjar.
“So, you aren’t denying it,’ he drawled, not threatening him, but sounding a little weary. “Will you tell me what happened out there?”
Hadjar stared into the General’s steely eyes for a moment. Then, well aware of the consequences of his answer, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry, my General, but that isn’t my secret to share.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for a while. By the Evening Stars, for the first time in his life, Hadjar almost looked away. The only thing that kept him from doing it was knowing that he was in the right. What would he be if he told everyone the secrets he shared with other humans and… nonhumans?
“I respect your principles,” Frederick finally nodded. “Now I see why Orune chose you.”
With that, the General rose and went over to the portrait of the Emperor. Standing in front of it, he bowed deeply, and then took out a golden medallion from beneath the collar of his rich robes. Whispering something and imbuing the artifact with his power, the General pressed it against the corner of the portrait’s frame. The picture burst into a multicolored flame, which soon disappeared. Beyond it was a niche that contained a very ancient scroll. He picked it up carefully and moved away from the wall. As soon as he did so, the picture returned to its original place, hiding the empty niche once more.
Hadjar was shocked. If the General had kept the scroll in a magic safe, not even trusting his own spatial artifact, the value of this treasure would be difficult to overestimate.
Returning to the table, Frederick took out a wide, knitted string comprised of hundreds of tiny threads. Coming to life, they snaked around the scroll and tied themselves into a complex knot, over which Frederick placed a wax seal. Without needing to look through the World River, Hadjar knew that, even if someone could survive an attempt to break the seal, doing so would destroy the scroll within.
“Take this,” the General handed the scroll to Hadjar. He accepted it carefully and put it into his spatial ring. “We expected you two weeks ago. You were supposed to deliver it to the capital by today, so you don’t have any time left. Hurry up.”
“When does the next brig leave?” Hadjar asked, getting to his feet.
“Right now,” Frederick said. “Whether by coincidence or luck, you arrived just two hours before the departure of a cargo brig heading to Dahanatan.”
“A cargo brig?”
“Yes.” The General nodded. “I won’t give you a military escort. You already know why.”
Hadjar did know. The more people guarded a thing, the more valuable it appeared to pirates and the Lascanian spies. The most valuable cargo was often transported on its own, on simple merchant ships. They were untraceable and undetectable.
“May I go?”
“Yes.”
Hadjar saluted and left. Frederick stared at the closed door for a moment, then took out an inkwell, stylus, and blank parchment from his spatial artifact. That damned Orune had managed to snag one of the most extraordinary swordsmen Frederick had ever seen! The General smiled. If that young man survived to the point where his powers reached their peak, the Empire would acquire another monster that would make it stronger.
“May the gods guide your path,” Frederick whispered as he finished writing a letter to his old friend.
Chapter 632
Standing at the prow of the ship, Hadjar watched a sky pirate ship he recognized approaching their brig.
“Black flag!” People on the deck shouted. “Black flag ahead! Sound the alarm!”
The brig, though a simple cargo ship, usually delivered goods to a military fort, so it had some weapons on it. Several sailors ran up to the ten cannons on each side. They didn’t know exactly what they had to do, but managed to get their weapons into position.
Hadjar held on to the rigging. Hanging over the side, he could touch the clouds. He’d recognized the pirate ship immediately. These were the same pirates who’d wrecked ‘Rukh’s Wings’ and killed the good people who’d crewed it.
“Fi-”
Before the captain could give the order to fire, something rocketed out from the prow of the ship, rocking the whole brig in the process. Turning into a dragon as it soared through the sky, it darted toward the pirate ship.
“What’s that?”
“Is he… flying?”
“Can North Wind fly?”
“That’s impossible! He’s a simple Heaven Soldier!”
“Holy shit!”
Hadjar didn’t hear their cries. Using the ‘Wind’ stance and his Call, he’d funneled most of the power to his legs. Energy had poured out of his fortified Core and into his chan
ging meridians. It had permeated every cell of his body, making them as powerful as a swing of his sword. For a moment, Hadjar had turned into a sword himself. The force his legs had unleashed as he’d kicked off had been so great that the prow, made of the best wood, had cracked in several places.
Wrapped in a plume of black fog, Hadjar cut through the blue sky. He could feel the wind rushing through him. With his entire being, during those few seconds of flight, he felt something that was closer to him than anything else had ever been.
And then it was over. The thunder of a dozen pirate cannons banished the feeling. His cloak spread out behind him like a pair of wings.
Drawing the Black Blade, Hadjar, while still in the air, made three strong and fast swings. Each of them turned into a wide crescent of darkness. The cannonballs collided with them and crumbled to dust.
Hadjar punched a hole in the pirate brig’s protective dome with another swing of his sword. It was only a few feet wide and quickly sealed back up, but not quickly enough.
Landing at the observation deck on the central mast, Hadjar plunged his sword into the startled cabin boy’s heart. He was about sixteen years old, but Hadjar didn’t hesitate at all. It was a small war they waged right now, and it was kill or be killed.
With a casual flick of his sword, he cut through the yard, and the huge sail, as it fell to the deck, covered a dozen pirates like a shroud. He grabbed a rope and pushed off from the falling deck, jumping down. During his rapid descent, several crossbow bolts shrouded in energy whizzed past his head. They bit hungrily into the creaking mast, but didn’t manage to touch Hadjar.
Several pirates were waiting for him on the deck. They were at the Heaven Soldier level or higher. Landing between them, Hadjar swung his cloak and spun on the heels of his ragged boots. His sword turned into a blur of impenetrable darkness that swirled around Hadjar. A dozen pirates who’d tried to use their defensive Techniques died without even understanding what had taken their lives. The black crescent of energy, easily passing through their Techniques, also cut into the deck, exposing the second and third decks, where people ran screaming from the rafters that were falling on their heads.
Dragon Heart: Land of Demons. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 7 Page 38
