The Saga:

Dragon Heart

IRON Will

Book II

By Kirill Klevanski

Text Copyright © 2019 Kirill Klevanski

All rights reserved.

No part of this book can be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko.

Translated by J. Kharkova, R. Mansurova, E. Kornilova

Edited by Damir Isovic

Cover designed by Vitaly Lepestkov

Illustrations by Valery Spitsyn

He made a deal with a dragon and received its heart. He fought monsters in order to defeat the monster within himself. He won a bloody war, razing one of the most powerful local sects to the ground, and earned the highest military rank. 

Now his path leads him to the very heart of the country — the capital — to receive his title and well-deserved honors. Or is that merely how he justifies it to himself? After all, at the end of this difficult journey, two people await Hadjar: his sister, the one person he cares most about in the world and the only true family he has left; and his uncle — his mortal enemy, the man who murdered his parents in cold blood for wealth and power.

FIRST BOOK: STONE WILL

SECOND BOOK: IRON WILL

Chapter 185

The journey to the capital was rather peaceful. Well, apart from the four times bandits attacked their small squad. They were former soldiers, deserters that had gotten fed up with not being paid. Considering that no one except the Moon Army had fought any wars in the past ten years, they had most likely been ‘downsized’.

The friends had also had to save their horses from a monster at the King of Beasts Stage, which had used up almost all of their meat.

A bit after that, Serra was captured by slave traders. It was a mystery how the witch had managed to fall into a trap set by simple practitioners, inhaling the fumes of a poisonous flower that blocked the flow of energy in her body. In the end, Serra was rescued. Nero, in his rage, reduced the slave trader population of the Kingdom by a whole cartel. Fortunately, they found a small box full of gold in their lair, so their sortie didn’t end up just being ‘charity’ work.

They’d also had to save a village from raiders. Then, together with the villagers, they’d built a dam to redirect a river that had flooded the area. The villagers believed that an underwater serpent had settled in the mountain lake that was the river’s source and the huge waves had been caused by the serpent waking up.

In general, the journey was rather uneventful by the standards of the former officers of the Moon Army. It was a little dreary, but quite comfortable overall. When they arrived at the gates of the capital, they had to explain to the guards why arrowheads were sticking out of their cart, why one wheel was made from animal bones, and why they had a huge lizard pulling the cart instead of a horse (it was because the horse had been eaten. Not by a beast, mind you, but by the travelers themselves — they had been short on food).

Only the medallion of the Generals that Ralpie had on hand prevented an incident. Upon seeing the emblem — a crane on a shield — the guards immediately let the cart through without so much as a second glance.

The capital looked almost the same as Hadjar remembered it. In that distant, bygone time, he would often sit on a random balcony of the tall tower and look at the city that spread out below — at the red roofs of the central district, where, among the many houses made from gray brick, there were also fragrant gardens, ponds, and the palaces of the richest nobles as well.

Farther out, behind the first ring of the fortress walls, was the largest of the districts — the trade district — full of yellow roofs. It was full of shops, markets, fairs, street performances, taverns, and restaurants. Of course, the most prestigious and best institutions, such as the pavilion of the ‘Six Flowers’ (the best restaurant in the city) or the Auction House, were located in the central district, but the trade district was still home to many impressive businesses, even by the standards of the nobility.

Otherwise, their pompous children wouldn’t have been regular guests in the ‘area of yellow roofs’, where they had fun, often taking advantage of the fact that they were immune to the threat of the local guards. That’s how things had been in the time of Haver, and that’s how they remained in the time of Primus. If even Haver, who’d held all the power in his country, hadn’t been able to handle the nobles, then the current King had no chance. He was a puppet that danced to the imperial tune, which played mainly for benefit of the officials and nobles.

Farther still, beyond the second ring of fortress walls, was the poor or ‘outer’ district with its green roofs. It was always dirty, stuffy, and overcrowded. Street vendors shouted at each other, messy signboards squeaked in the wind, and no one had done any maintenance on the roads for a long time.

It was difficult to even see the pavement underneath the layer of dust, dirt, and garbage, which people dumped right on the sidewalk. Their waste should’ve been thrown into the drains, but they had gotten clogged long ago, during the rule of Hadjar’s father.

“I told you that we should’ve gone through the central gate,” Nero said, gritting his teeth. “That way, we would’ve entered the trade district immediately.”

The former Commander of the Bear squad was pressing Serra’s hand to his nose. It looked as if he couldn’t tear his lips away from the girl’s skin. In fact, he was just breathing in her perfume.

“There’s a long queue at the central gate. We would’ve wasted several days there,” Ralpie replied immediately. “We’d have been late for the celebration.”

That was the ‘reason’ they had come to the capital — the masquerade ball in honor of the Princess’ birthday. She was already twenty years old and the ‘oldest’ unwed Princess in the surrounding area.

The city had been decorated and cleaned in every way for the occasion. Even the poor district stunk a little less than usual.

“You should’ve shown them your medallion,” Serra sniffed, holding a silk scarf up to her nose.

“That would be an abuse of power!”

Despite his talent with a sword, Ralpie was a very naive young man with an oddly innocent worldview. Perhaps that’s why he had been sent to deliver a message to the Mad General. The headquarters had probably hoped that Hadjar, known for being hostile to people sent by them, would end up killing him.

“That didn’t stop you from shoving your medallion in the face of that guard half an hour ago,” Nero continued to grumble.

Around them, people with clothes as shabby as Hadjar’s own were buzzing about. The former General didn’t care. He was also the only one who wasn’t pinching his nose with anything and had remained calm.

Sometimes, Hadjar would thrust his hand into his pocket, take out a silver coin, and throw it to the dirty children.

To these people, a silver coin was like the moon itself — distant and mystical. Three silver coins a year were the average earnings of the poor farmers and street vendors.

That’s why, when they approached the gate that led to the trade district, the friends were slightly taken aback when the guard said: “Entry fee is two silver coins.”

Hadjar was shocked. South Wind had once told him that such a sum was the cost of entering the central district. Not the trade one!

However, for Nero and Ralpie, who had recently been to the capital, it didn’t come as much of a surprise. Nero just grumbled a little about the added cost. Five years ago, the guards had asked for a silver coin and 25 copper coins.

After handing the money over to the guards who wore armor the color of a dull emerald, the group entered the trade district. For a moment, Hadjar thought that they had somehow ended up in a different city. They saw clean streets, wide enough for four carts or carriages to go down side by side.

The neat houses had been built in straight rows and the people walking along the street were clean, wearing expensive clothes, and smiling. It looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world and were quite confident that their future was bright.

Even the signboards swaying in the wind weren’t squeaking at all. Moreover, some cafes, taking advantage of the pleasant spring weather, had erected wooden tables on the street. Various customers were occupying them. They were drinking wine, or something stronger, and eating delicious food that a simple soldier could only dream of.

The friends’ stomachs started growling at the sight of a baked duck.

“I know a good local tavern,” Nero said suddenly. “We stayed there when I was here with my father.”

Taking the reins, Nero directed the cart toward the next street.

Chapter 186

The capital, where almost seventeen million people lived, was a huge but well-designed city. All the streets were straight, and the houses were built in a uniform, square shape. Each of these ‘blocks’ had a patio as well.

Well, that was true for the trade and central districts. In the slums, a person could get lost even with a compass, a map, and a guide.

The residents of the capital, though afraid of the lizard, tried not to show it. Apparently, they were accustomed to just how vast and diverse the world was. The noble children, using their connections in the Empire to obtain them, would often flaunt such ‘miraculous’ possessions.

Nero brought them to the ‘Drunk Goose’ tavern. It was four stories tall and almost leaning against the wall separating the trade district from the central district. It was quite expensive, especially when you considered the annual income of the peasants — renting three rooms for just three days had cost them one gold and forty silver coins.

The receptionist smiled at Hadjar sweetly. Nero was off limits, Serra’s menacing look made that abundantly clear. Ralpie... Well, Ralpie was constantly overshadowed by his fellows. The receptionist hadn’t even noticed him.

It was rather crowded on the first two floors tonight. The guests were drinking, eating, laughing, engaging in loud discussions, and listening to the music coming from the stage where the bards sat, playing and singing.

The employees of the tavern helped them take their luggage up to their rooms on the top floor. Perhaps the price had been so high because Nero had asked for the best accommodations.

Entering his room — a very spacious one that even had its own wardrobe — Hadjar went to the window and looked at the fortress wall. It was right across from the tavern. Guards in golden armor paced along the wall above the high gate. They exuded the energy of practitioners at the Formation stage. In Haver’s time, they would’ve surely been Senior Officers or even Commanders.

Well, he had to hand it to Primus. He kissed the ass of the Empire skillfully.

Hadjar’s belongings had been left by the door — two little trunks and a spare sheath. After hanging the sheath above the headboard, Hadjar touched the handle of Moon Beam. The injuries he’d sustained in his fight against the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ were almost healed, but he still didn’t want to risk unsheathing the blade.

He didn’t want to possibly aggravate the situation and do further damage to his body or, even worse, the core of his power that was forming inside his soul. It had suffered most of the damage that came from him… Channeling the Sword Spirit. Apparently, Hadjar was far from ready for this level of swordsmanship.

No wonder Serra had said that the mysteries of the Sword Spirit were usually only accessible to Spirit Knights and higher. Even Heaven Soldiers wouldn’t be able to delve into the intricate truths of the universe and use them at their discretion.

Nevertheless, the Technique Traves had created really clashed with the laws of the Heavens and Earth. It was probably one of the reasons why the dragon had spent several hundred millennia in that underwater cave.

A white, furry muzzle popped out from under his shirt. Azrea yawned and bit Hadjar slightly. She always did that when she was hungry. Smiling, Hadjar looked around at his temporary home and walked out the door.

The servants had given him a very plain, heavy, iron key, which Hadjar used to lock the door. He could bust through the door easily. However, there were very few practitioners of his level in the Kingdom. Usually, these practitioners didn’t really need to break into someone’s rooms.

Hadjar went over to Serra and Nero’s room, but, judging by the sounds coming from it, he was sure that they didn’t want to be disturbed. So, he left them to it and went down the stairs quickly.

Expensive oil lamps hung on the walls. He had rarely seen so many in one place, even in the Palace, but a simple tavern had an abundance of them. It was quite a shocking contrast when compared to the poor neighborhoods. Ruled by the Empire, the poor had only gotten poorer, and the rich had gotten richer.

Hadjar went down to the dining hall and, showing the emblem on his room key, went to sit at a table on the second floor. There were much fewer people here than on the first floor. In order to sit at a table on this floor, a person had to either pay a substantial amount of money or be a guest at their best rooms.

Hadjar sat down at a table and a waitress rushed over to him immediately. He noticed the similarities between the barmaid and the waitress: they had the same sparkling, bright green eyes and rich, fiery hair. The tavern was a family business.

“Today we have a rich selection of game,” she began amiably. “Goose stuffed with apples, steamed turkey, fried and baked duck, and...”

Out of habit, Hadjar raised his palm imperiously. He realized too late that he was no longer a General, and here in the city, such a gesture was boorish.

“Sorry,” Hadjar apologized immediately and lowered his hand. However, the waitress wasn’t insulted at all. “Can I have an animal eating alongside me?”

“Of course,” the girl nodded.

Hadjar pulled Azrea out from underneath his clothes and put her on the table. The kitten sniffed the white tablecloth and then politely sat down right in the center of the table. The girl was amazed. If Hadjar hadn’t been there, she would’ve already started hugging and petting the adorable little ball of fluff.

“Please bring a cup of boiling water for me and a bowl of warm milk for her.”

Azrea hissed with displeasure at her master, which made the waitress fight to muffle her laughter. The pretty red-haired girl was a little surprised at the strange order. Nodding and writing something down in her notebook (it was surprising that a simple waitress knew how to write), she went downstairs quickly and got lost in the crowd.

Hadjar was left with only his fluffy girlfriend for company. While he listened to the bards’ song, Azrea licked her fur indifferently. She wasn’t one to abide idle chatter.

Down on the small stage, the bards were singing the most popular song in Lidus — the song of the Mad General’s fight against ‘The Black Gates’ sect. It was a bit strange for Hadjar to sit there and listen to a song about his ‘exploits’. As they always did, the bards embellished reality, just slightly, but still enough for people to listen to the song with bated breath.

Some of the guests couldn’t even keep eating, seemingly frozen as they became completely enthralled by the scenes of battle evoked in their imaginations. In the whole tavern, only two tables paid little attention to the bards. At one of them sat a young man in plain, old clothes. He was waiting for his order and stroking the white kitten. At the other, a group consisting of seven children of the officials were having a feast. The girls wore rich jewelry while the boys wore hairpins made from jade and jasper, their clean hair gathered up in buns.

The unkempt Hadjar looked like a peasant surrounded by scholars. Their light, silk outfits, embroidered with gold and silver threads most likely cost more than the annual salary of a general.

The weapons that they’d placed on the edge of the table were worth as much as half of the northern province of Lidus. Just a single ruby from one of those scabbards could’ve been exchanged for a decent palace in the central district.

The Empire really tried their best to ensure that the nobles didn’t even think about raising a rebellion against them.

“They’re singing about that damned General as well,” one of the young men declared irritably.

He was sipping a fairly strong alcoholic drink from a jug. It was the color of a ripe apple, and most of it had ended up on his silk clothes. None of the nobles cared. All of them were too drunk to worry about their appearance.

“Damn it!” the boy snapped, throwing the jug down with all his strength. The clay fragments scattered in all directions. They even seemed to cut someone. However, the nobles still didn’t care. “If only I could meet this General, I’d wrap his intestines around his neck!”

Chapter 187

“Come on, Ribon,” one of the girls laughed. “You’re just mad that Her Highness, Princess Elaine, rejected your father’s proposal for you to marry her.”

“It was the eleventh time,” the young man sitting next to him said.

Ribon just growled furiously and grabbed the next jug.

“She knows that my swordplay isn’t inferior to hers.”

“Well, maybe she wants her future husband to surpass her,” the same lady from before shook her head. “Girls love men who are like rocks we can cling to.”

This statement elicited chuckles from the female part of the group. All of them, despite being highborn, were practitioners, and every practitioner valued their own strength and freedom. Especially the women.

That’s why, the farther along the path of cultivation one got, the less common loving marriages were. Not the ones where people spent a couple of decades or centuries together, but the true unions, where people would go through their entire lives and face all of the challenges before them as one.

“Thank you,” Hadjar told the waitress when she put a cup and a bowl in front of him.

Handing her several copper coins, Hadjar took a simple rag bundle out of his pocket. While Azrea drank her milk, Hadjar put some special powders and herbs into the hot water to make his favorite aromatic herbal tea.

“Just look at that bastard,” the drunken young man hissed. “I’m sure he’s been saving up all his life to spend a couple of days on the second floor of this wretched tavern.”

Hadjar ignored the insult and continued to calmly drink his tea.

“He’s even dressed up like that demon of a General. Damn it. Soon enough, all the servants will be bowing to him! Someone needs to rein in that accursed Princess.”

“Well, go do it then, Ribon.”

The nobles laughed, and the young man broke a second jug. Alas, at that very moment, the pretty waitress had been leaning over to pick up the pieces of the previous one. She didn’t have time to dodge the shard that was flying right at her throat. The entire second floor froze in anticipation of the ‘accident’, but...

Hadjar put the shard that he’d caught down on his table and continued to blow on his tea.

No one had even seen him move.

They could only see that the shard that had been about to kill the waitress was now on the table in front of the vagabond.

“Hey, you!” The young man shouted. Swaying, he rose and headed for Hadjar. “Who do you think you are, bastard? Who gave you permission to touch the trash of Ribon Gorey? Even my refuse has a higher status than your rotten hands!”

Hadjar only sighed wearily in response. Apparently, he was destined to have problems with upstart noblemen. The young man stood next to Hadjar, looming over him like a menacing stone. A swaying, foul-smelling, insolent stone.

Ribon was holding a large, heavy sword.

It was hard to imagine this slender man even lifting the gigantic, 7ft long weapon. However, in the world of martial arts, one could never judge a person by their appearance.

Hadjar could wield heavy blades quite well, but preferred to use the classic ones. They were more suitable for his fighting style, which relied on speed, and the dragon’s Techniques compensated for the lack of strength.

“Do you hear me, bastard?”

The young man tried to grab the hobo’s shoulder, but failed. To the tavern’s guests, it looked like the nobleman was too drunk to catch the beggar. Only a few practitioners noticed how smoothly and easily the vagabond had dodged. These people realized that there was far more to this man than met the eye, and so they grabbed their glasses of wine and prepared to enjoy the show.

“Sir,” Hadjar said in a casual tone. “Why are you so angry? Please, do forgive my transgression. If it will help settle our differences, I am ready to treat you to any dish on the menu.”

The young man swayed drunkenly and then roared like a wounded bison.

“You? Order? For me? I’ll teach you a lesson! Know your place!”

The nobleman grabbed the hilt of his sword and tried to pull the blade out of its huge scabbard. He succeeded, but didn’t hit Hadjar, as he had already moved to the other side of the table somehow. He was still blowing on his cup as he stood aside, keeping his foot on the tip of Ribon’s scabbard. It was because of this extra weight that the nobleman lost his balance and slammed his nose into the floor.

A wave of giggles rippled across the second floor, and even the table where the nobleman’s ‘friends’ were sitting was no exception.

“Motherfucker!” Ribon growled, rising to his feet and moving his disheveled hair away from his face. “I’ll crush you, bastard! I’ll tear you apart!”

He swung his blade and a cutting wave smashed the nearest tables to bits and turned the chairs into splinters. It swept toward the hobo like a deadly gust of wind. Most of the guests were certain that the beggar would soon die, but, to their surprise, the wave didn’t even reach the edges of his clothes.

The man thrust the cup of tea forward. The wave that had come from the nobleman’s heavy sword rushed into it. As a result, the beggar, his table, the cat, and the waitress standing behind him were all uninjured.

However, the wave did destroy a good bit of the second floor, which ended up collapsing after being damaged so heavily. People screamed as the heavy pieces of wood fell on their heads. The music coming from the stage fell silent, and some of the guests took out their weapons.

At that very moment, Ribon, who had sobered up somewhat due to adrenaline, lunged at the vagabond. The lunge of a heavy blade was always a dangerous and powerful Technique. Even without any energy behind it, it was as dangerous as if a giant had thrown a huge piece of a mountain. If such a strike hit a person, all of their bones would immediately be pulverized, and their internal organs would burst like balloons.

That’s why, when the heavy blade slammed into the hobo, the guests once again presumed he was a goner. And once again, only a few of the practitioners managed to spot the same cup from before appearing between the blade and the beggar’s chest.

The vagrant and the nobleman fell down from the second floor together. They flew through the air and fell onto the stage. The unharmed Hadjar was still calmly blowing on his cup of tea, and refusing to unsheathe the sword tied to his rope that served as a belt. The nobleman, sweaty and drunk, growled with rage and anger.

Everyone in the tavern stilled. Two more spectators joined the already large audience. A half-dressed Nero and Serra had come down after hearing the noise, and were now watching their friend’s antics with wide smiles.

“I’ll kill you!” Ribon shouted.

Ignoring the nobleman rushing toward him, Hadjar sipped his herbal tea. It had finally reached what he considered to be the ideal temperature — it still burned his lips and throat, but through the heat, it was possible to discern the taste of the herbs and berries. Hadjar had gotten used to drinking this tea during the long winter he’d spent in the Black Mountains.

Perhaps he could’ve continued to ignore the nobleman’s attacks and drink his tea calmly. But he didn’t want to disturb the other guests. It would be impolite. A practitioner without manners was just an animal, blindly wandering along the path of cultivation, just like the nobleman rushing toward him now.

Chapter 188

Ribon swung his heavy blade and said a few words. The sword was enveloped in a black cloud filled with red lightning. The nobles jumped up from their seats and asked everyone to leave the tavern immediately. Apparently, the Technique was destructive.

The people felt death approaching and ran for the exit.

Only a few guests remained seated — they wanted to see how the fight would end.

The strength of the nobleman’s Technique meant that he was a practitioner at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage. His attack would easily be able to kill most people and level the tavern to the ground in the process.

Some of the spectators had expected to witness the hobo’s death, while others had been convinced that he would unsheathe his sword. None of them could’ve imagined that the beggar, still holding his cup in his left hand, would end up grasping Ribon’s blade with his right hand and stopping it cold.

A black cloud came down, a crushing wave that knocked the tables over and threw some visitors to the floor. Only the patrons that had bared their weapons stayed upright. Dishes shattered, drinks ended up staining the floor, and someone howled in pain.

The vagabond drank his tea calmly, holding the heavy blade in his outstretched hand. Ribon flushed from the strain, but wasn’t able to pull his sword out of the man’s grip.

“What the fuck…”

“I asked you to forgive me, my lord,” Hadjar sighed.

He was about to clench his fist and shatter the blade when the doors swung open and three dozen warriors, wearing armor that had the emblem of the crane and the shield on it, entered the room.

The people in the tavern clung to the walls, letting the Generals’ ‘greyhounds’ pass by. Everyone knew who actually ruled the country. It was controlled by the people who followed after the warriors — the gentlemen wearing the medallions of the Generals.

Or ladies, in this case.

Hadjar released the blade, and the nobleman almost fell over.

The warriors of the Generals, the gold and amber colors of their armor flashing, ran onto the stage and encircled the nobleman. He was taken aback at first, then was completely shocked when the warriors didn’t bare their blades against him. On the contrary, they turned their backs toward him, put their shields up, and aimed their weapons at the pitiful beggar. All thirty of them. The best warriors of the Generals. They were all looking in the man’s direction and it was clear that they were... afraid of him. Terrified, in fact. The smell of their fear was almost overwhelming and their swords trembled slightly.

The woman following them didn’t seem to care that her rich, red clothes would get soiled by the wine and food scattered across the floor.

Hadjar recognized her.

Not so long ago, she had delivered the message to Moon Leen that their army was being sent to the border they shared with Balium. Ralpie followed her. Apparently, he had run after the authorities at the beginning of the fight. It had been a very clever, albeit naive move, but Hadjar couldn’t blame him.

In the absolute silence, her words sounded like thunder: “General Hadjar Traves, I’m happy to welcome you to the capital.”

The people began glancing around, looking for the famous Mad General, but couldn’t find him. They’d imagined him to be a kind of a mythical hero in glittering armor and astride a mighty horse, not the young hobo who had been quietly drinking his tea.

The beggar answered, “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

The people finally realized that he was, in fact, the most powerful and famous General of Lidus. The man whose praises were sung in every city of every nearby kingdom. The man who had become a legend during his lifetime, immortalized in song. He was who boys aspired to be, and the ideal man young girls dreamed of.

The Mad General had really come to the capital. He was really standing in front of them, on that stage. He really did look like a wild beast wearing a human’s skin.

It wasn’t just the warriors of the Generals who were afraid of him now, but the nobleman as well. He immediately regretted all the words he’d said and hoped that the General wouldn’t notice him.

“Please sheathe your sword, General Hadjar.”

“Hmm,” Hadjar mumbled, defiantly indicating that he hadn’t even used his blade at all, let alone unsheathed it.

At that moment, two people came down from the second floor: a white-haired warrior with a sword in his hands and a beautiful, bronze-skinned girl.

They walked calmly past the Generals’ soldiers and stood alongside the vagabond. Their appearance didn’t improve the situation. If anything, it only made the soldiers and the official from headquarters even more afraid.

The people immediately recognized the well-known Commander Nero and the witch known as Serra. Ribon, who had, until recently, perceived Hadjar as nothing more than a beggar, was shivering with fear and praying to the Heavens that the Generals’ soldiers wouldn’t run away and leave him to be murdered.

“Why are you here?” Nero asked, putting his palm down on the hilt of his blade.

This gesture alone was enough to make everyone recoil and whirling energy sprang up around the nervous soldiers.

“I was ordered to meet you, dear Commander,” the official answered politely. She was speaking far more cordially than during their last meeting.

“We didn’t see anyone.”

“We were waiting for you at the central gates.”

All three of them, including Hadjar, looked at Ralpie reproachfully. Because of him, they’d gone to the western gates and had missed the people that had been expecting them. The young man lowered his gaze.

“Let’s calm down a bit,” the official continued. “I think the fact that you’ve attacked a nobleman, General Hadjar, can only be attributed to your recent return to civilized society.”

Nero started to say something, but Hadjar put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was well aware that the main goal of the Generals was not to escort him to the celebration. Quite the opposite, actually. They would certainly want to provoke him, frame him, or do something else despicable.

“Thank you for your understanding,” Hadjar nodded.

The official exhaled with relief and even smiled triumphantly.

A moment later, Hadjar put his palm on the handle of Moon Beam. As soon as he did so, the man disappeared and an angry dragon appeared in his place. The soldiers of the Generals couldn’t do anything as they were swept aside with ease. Their shields and blades ended up cut into small pieces. Deep gouges, left by invisible blades, appeared on the floor around the official.

Ribon cried out with fear as his own sword turned into little more than iron shavings, leaving only the handle, richly decorated with precious stones.

Hadjar moved his palm away and the vortex of power disappeared. The air in the tavern stopped being heavy and oppressive.

“I beg your pardon,” Hadjar said calmly, continuing to drink his tea. “Old habits.”

The pale official was able to maintain her image of an arrogant and confident officer. She even managed to nod to the General.

“We invite you to-”

“I think,” Hadjar interjected, causing a new wave of whispers — few people could interrupt an official of the Generals and stay alive, “that we’ll be quite comfortable at this tavern.”

“But-”

“When it’s time to visit the celebration, send a messenger. I would advise that you send Ralpie. Not that I’m selective in such matters, but, like you, dear lady, have already said, I haven’t been in civilized society for long. I might confuse a different messenger with a sect assassin.”

The official didn’t have time to argue. Hadjar turned and headed for the stairs, indicating that the conversation was over. He was still drinking his tea, and not a single cut or speck of dirt could be seen on his clothes after all that had happened.

By nightfall, the entire capital was already aware of the fact that the Mad General was in the city. Everyone now knew that the songs about him weren’t exaggerated at all.

Chapter 189

The news that the Mad General, Commander Nero and Serra lived in the ‘Drunk Goose’ spread quickly. The tavern was overcrowded. As a result, the owner of the tavern offered them a chance to live there for free and even wanted to pay the friends three gold coins for each day they stayed there.

Nero happily basked in the glory and adoration. Sometimes, however, his carefree life was marred by Serra’s presence. Or, rather, by her skilful hissing at all those young and beautiful girls who were swarming around the eligible bachelor.

Hadjar rarely left the room because as soon as he did, numerous unknown people would sit down at his table. They behaved as if they were the rulers of the known world and the former General was obliged to know who they were. Most of them invited him to their homes with a not so subtle hint about the tender age of their daughters. Others offered their various services in exchange for a few pleasant words that Hadjar would ‘accidentally’ say during the celebration. It was all as wrong as if they were playing with a ball on a military parade ground. Suddenly, Hadjar realized that he had become a typical disciplinarian and that the civilian world was alien to him now.

Over the course of his life, he hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to socialize. The months he’d spent in the dungeon, his years of slavery, and the myriads of long evenings in the brothel hadn’t done much for his social life. All of these memories, once suppressed by the incessant war, returned to Hadjar.

Nero and Serra noticed that their friend had become gloomy, unsociable, and would sometimes put his hand on the hilt of his sword. At those times, they would lead the uninvited guests away from the former General. Not for the sake of Hadjar’s safety, but for the sake of the people who were unaware of just how deeply they’d stuck their heads into a tiger’s mouth.

On the eve of the celebration, Hadjar decided to take a walk around the city. Just to unwind a bit and pull himself together. He couldn’t allow for any missteps to happen and spoil his plan.

In the late evening, as the atmosphere of an endless and incessant celebration of life filled the busy streets of the capital, Hadjar set off. Leaving some food out for Azrea, he took off his favorite old clothes and put on a tunic.

This instrument of torture that people called clothing by mistake had been delivered by Ralpie. The Generals had wanted to dress the General up for the celebration. In response to this, Hadjar had just waved his hand dismissively and the young man had left the outfit on the bed.

Having buttoned up, put on some boots, and a red cloak, Hadjar hid Moon Beam behind his back. After examining himself in the mirror, he skillfully applied face powder, mascara and other makeup. During the time he’d spent in the brothel, he had learned to change his appearance with the help of ‘women’s paints’, and he could do so with an almost professional touch.

Adjusting the sheath, the former General grimaced involuntarily. His wounds had already healed, but for some reason, he still believed that he shouldn’t draw the blade. It was a kind of otherworldly, inexplicable knowledge that he couldn’t justify. He just... felt it.

Wrapping his cloak around himself, Hadjar put on a wide-brimmed hat and went out the door. As always, it was noisy in the next room. Serra never really cared about whether her nightly moans and cries might cause inconvenience to anyone.

Downstairs, Hadjar blended in with the crowd of guests who were drinking, eating, and listening to the bards. They stopped for a moment, but when they saw that it wasn’t the General coming down the stairs, they resumed their merriment.

Convinced that his disguise was working, Hadjar left the tavern. Once he was outside, he breathed in the fresh night air and... Coughed immediately. It smelled like horse droppings, hard liquor, coffee, wet dust, tea, and sour wine. All the things he’d learned to go without in the Black Mountains.

Smiling at his own disgust, Hadjar continued on. He wandered aimlessly, barely paying attention to the road, occasionally stopping near a small pub or café to listen to people’s conversations or to look at young men dancing in the squares, throwing small coins into the bards’ hats. He would sometimes watch the lanterns and their light for a long time, especially when detachments of the city guards were passing by.

The soldiers scurried among the people almost as often as birds flew across the sky. So, despite the festive atmosphere, the air smelled of iron.

Turning away from the main streets, Hadjar headed toward the distant areas of the trade district. This was where the not so very rich people lived, or rather survived, trying not to end up behind the second ring of walls if they fail.

There was no celebration to be seen here. The heavy atmosphere of the night slightly pressed down on one’s shoulders. The few rare people wandering at such a late hour about their business were constantly looking around, afraid of the numerous robbers that plagued the city. The guards would often assist with the robbery. They’d stand nearby and chase their honest colleagues away.

After walking for a few blocks, Hadjar realized that he had come across neither guards nor passers-by. The streets were empty and quiet. The dim light of the cheap torches mounted on the walls of the houses revealed occasional squares with pedestals on them. Anywhere from one to five pillars could be found on these pedestals. Covered in a bloody crust, they sometimes emitted an iron ringing — the sound of the wind rocking the shackles and pads attached to them.

Hadjar remembered the almost forgotten scene from what felt like a past life. It had been one of the last days of his life as a brothel musician. He’d walked through the market and witnessed the guards beating a poor old man and his grandson to death…

“Stop! Please!”

At first, Hadjar didn’t realize that these pleas weren’t the ghosts of the past haunting him. Three guards were dragging a half-naked man by his hair across the pavement and toward the pillars. He was shouting something, trying to fight back, and tearing the skin off his hands as he helplessly struck the guards’ gauntlets.

Two more guards held a battered girl covered in bruises and abrasions by her hands. At first, it might’ve seemed like it was the man who had beaten her, but... judging by the thin trickles of blood running down the inside of her thighs, her torn nightgown, the demolished house behind them, and the guards’ absolutely inhuman eyes, it became abundantly clear why Hadjar hadn’t met any robbers in the city. The most dangerous criminals wore armor with the royal coat of arms.

The man was tied to a post and one of the guards unrolled a whip. Immediately, the shutters and windows of the neighboring house slammed shut and the street became even quieter.

The whip whistled, but the man’s cry never came. A strong hand had stopped the blow.

Hadjar stood in the distance and couldn’t understand why he hadn’t moved. Why hadn’t he helped the man? Or the woman, for that matter? He was also grateful to the Heavens for sending a savior.

Chapter 190

n the platform, covered in the same dried blood as the posts, a tall girl stood. Her azure cloak fluttered in the wind. Her thick, bright golden hair could be seen peeking out from under the same type of wide-brimmed hat that Hadjar wore.

Her odd outfit, a mixture of military and civilian garb, and leather pants couldn’t hide her feminine and alluring shape. It was impossible to see her face, but the stranger’s figure alone could’ve driven any man crazy. But not Hadjar. After the time he’d spent with Nehen, he’d lost interest in most other women. Her body still awakened some animal instincts in him, but he was able to overcome them easily enough.

“What the hell are you-?”

The guard didn’t get to finish speaking before the girl’s fist punched into his helmet. Despite the lack of mass behind her strike, she easily crushed the iron plates covering the guard’s mouth. A fountain of blood shot out, an unpleasant crunch was heard, splinters of yellow teeth fell to the floor, and the guard was launched four yards away. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed against the wall separating one city block from another. The two guards who were still holding the unfortunate girl stood in a daze. They watched as their companion got beaten to a pulp.

The savior abruptly turned on the heel of her high boots and kicked the next guard in the chest with her right foot, also sending him flying. The kick was so powerful that the wall he crashed into cracked. The guard bent over. Dark blood gushed through the slits of his helmet and the man fell without breathing. The girl froze. She turned to the dead body and didn’t move for a long time.

Hadjar couldn’t believe his eyes. The girl’s Techniques were so strong and she had so much power that it was impossible for her to be anything less than a practitioner on the verge of becoming a true cultivator. However, her behavior showed that she... had never been in a real fight.

Her shock had given the third guard enough time to recover. He snatched his blade from its scabbard and swung it in a wide arc through the air. A lilac-colored line of sword energy rushed toward the girl. She didn’t have enough time to unsheathe her own blade. Actually, she didn’t need to.

She snapped out of it and, picking up her cloak, spun around. It looked as if the guard’s strike had gotten tangled in the girl’s clothes and then disappeared into them. A moment later, she appeared from a completely unexpected side and cut the guard’s legs off. He fell, screaming and choking on saliva and blood. His sword rolled across the ground, and the guard tried to grab the bleeding stumps his legs had become. The final two guards, who were still holding the girl, looked at each other, threw her to the ground, and rushed away.

The heroine walked over to the posts and squeezed the chains that bound the man. They cracked and almost disintegrated in her grasp.

“Thank you!” the man bowed, and then, stumbling and falling into the dirt, went to the girl’s side. After whispering something to her, he picked her up carefully and carried her into the house. After no more than ten seconds, they heard shouts and the noise of iron boots approaching from the next street over.

“Hurry up!” Hadjar was grabbed by the wrist and dragged off somewhere to the side.

Together, they ran toward the dark alleyways and yards. Away from the scene of the ‘crime’ and from the trade district. Like experienced thieves, they avoided the illuminated streets, hiding silently and wrapping themselves in a cloak of night. They helped each other climb rooftops and continued on their way along the second tier of the city.

Tiles sometimes cracked under their heels. When that happened, they would jump, flying across the streets to another building. Half an hour later, Hadjar realized that he was in a completely unfamiliar part of the city. Judging by the girl’s worried glances, she had gotten lost as well.

Without saying a word, they both went back down to the street and turned a corner, finding themselves in a small park. A creek was murmuring quietly; a stray dog was sleeping under a stone arch; the rare bushes of flowers were hiding from the moonlight, and tall, green bamboo swayed slightly in the breeze.

A normal man would’ve definitely tried to start up a conversation with the girl. Hadjar, however, after bowing to her gallantly and tipping his hat slightly, headed off without saying a word. He just wanted to return to the tavern. He didn’t want to see anything else in this city. He’d had enough.

Amid the moonlight caressing the park enveloped in darkness, the blade of her thin sword flashed noiselessly. Small drops of scarlet fell to the grass. Hadjar froze in place. The cold blade pressed against his neck.

“Milady?” Hadjar asked.

There were only a few practitioners in the nearby kingdoms who could hurt Hadjar like this. The only woman among them was the head of the ‘White Sail’ school in the Kingdom of Onesk. As far as Hadjar remembered his geography, that particular Kingdom was about a five years’ journey away, and the head of the school had never left it.

“Why didn’t you help them?” the girl’s voice sounded accusatory.

For the past half hour, Hadjar had also been searching for the answer to that question. He’d found it in the depths of his heart but didn’t like it. There was nothing ambiguous about it.

“I just didn’t want to…”

The pressure on the sword increased and the blade licked his skin a bit more greedily. The drops merged into a thin stream. Hadjar really hadn’t wanted to help that man and woman. Regardless of whether she was his daughter, sister, or wife.

During all those years he’d spent in the body of a freak and a slave, very few people had helped him. Hadjar felt like he had managed to repay them fully for their kindness. He’d shed blood in the name of Lidus for years. He had often risked his life for the sake of his people. But what had those same people been doing all this time? They’d been putting up with the yoke of the Empire and King Primus.

After all, what had prevented that man, as he’d been setting up his shop, from spending some time and money on his cultivation? He’d had enough money and influence for it, but was still lower than the initial steps of the Bodily Nodes.

Well, Hadjar simply hadn’t wanted to help that stranger. He was too tired of it all. He was also rather fed up with the senseless war that had brought neither joy nor peace to his Kingdom. He had only the ring of the Patriarch and hundreds of scars on his body to show for all his efforts.

Without drawing his sword, Hadjar swung to the right and hit the girl’s blade with his open palm.

Chapter 191

Hadjar didn’t see the girl’s face, but she was probably very surprised. She dodged away and nearly lost her balance. That was enough for Hadjar to get close to her. His feet seemed not to touch the grass as he all but flew over it.

Appearing behind the girl’s right shoulder, Hadjar took advantage of a swordsman’s natural blind spot and swept the girl’s legs out from under her. She fell to the ground and tried to spring back up instantly, but wasn’t able to because of his foot, which was pressing her to the ground.

“That Technique seems familiar,” Hadjar whispered, trying to remember where he had seen the girl’s fighting style before.

She didn’t let him reminisce for long. She screamed and twisted away like a snake. Her blade flashed like lightning, but instead of hitting her enemy’s knee, it whistled through the air. Hadjar was standing a few yards away with his hands behind his back.

The girl, growling in annoyance and anger, jumped to her feet. She assumed a somewhat familiar stance. For the first time in the past month and a half after his fight against the Patriarch, Hadjar felt just how significant the loss of his neural network was. Alas, it would be unavailable for at least another five years.

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The girl swung her blade. It conjured an oval shape in the air, which, after filling with power, acquired a three-dimensional form. A ring of fire flew in Hadjar’s direction. It burnt the grass in its wake, and was easily hot enough to kill practitioners below the Transformation level.

An ordinary warrior would’ve tried to dodge it and died without noticing that the ring wasn’t moving in a straight line, but following every movement of its target. An experienced warrior would stop it cold, break the Technique, and then counterattack.

Hadjar didn’t choose either of those options. He thrust his palm forward. A ghostly whirlwind of sword energy coalesced around his forearms and a transparent blade, which was barely perceptible, surged toward the ring.

It wasn’t a Technique or even, strictly speaking, a strike from one who had managed to reach the stage of ‘Wielder of the Sword’. It was simply energy that Hadjar had chosen to give such a familiar form.

The two Techniques collided at the halfway point between the fighters and blew up, erupting in a shower of red and silver sparks. Hadjar continued to stand there, looking calm, but the girl, shouting a battle cry, rushed in with a swift lunge.

She burst out of the cloud of sparks and fell upon him with a series of rapid-fire strikes. Her movements were fast enough to blur together and become a ghostly dance of barely perceptible shadows. And yet, Hadjar was faster.

Rather, he was much calmer and had kept a cool head. Instead of three unnecessary movements, he made only a single one. He always let the blade pass dangerously close to his body to conserve energy.

No matter how hard the girl tried, her simple strikes, which made it look as if they were just sparring, couldn’t hurt Hadjar. He easily anticipated her actions. It felt similar to when the neuronet had assisted him during the battle against Grois.

He didn’t even have to move his legs. He stood calmly on the grass, swaying his body to the rhythm of his opponent’s movements. She puffed, screamed, sent out one fiery ring after another, but couldn’t even touch Hadjar.

“Why...” she began finally, after realizing the futility of her attempts. “If you’re so strong, why didn’t you intervene?”

The girl bent forward, trying to catch her breath after the violent assault she’d just unleashed. Hadjar was calm. He still stood on the edge of the stream. His hands were behind his back, and the wind made his cloak flutter slightly.

“Who taught you how to fight?” Hadjar asked.

The girl took a few more deep breaths, straightened, and flipped him off.

“Your mother!” She swore and, turning around, disappeared into the darkness.

Hadjar was left alone with his thoughts. At that moment, he wasn’t thinking about what had just transpired, but rather, about how to get back to the tavern.

It ended up being quite a challenge. Hadjar was able to find the ‘Drunk Goose’ only after searching for it for the rest of the evening. Along the way, he gave his cloak to a homeless man, lost a few gold coins to some crooks in a card game, and got turned around several times.

As a result, Nero and Serra witnessed an unenviable sight that morning — their friend, smelling of blood, sweat, and iron, climbing in through the window of his own room while smeared with women’s makeup.

“How do you even manage to find so many adventures, Hadj?” Nero sighed bitterly, helping his friend climb into the room.

“I was just doing a little scouting,” Hadjar replied flippantly, then eagerly grabbed a jug of water.

Not embarrassed at all by the witch’s presence, he threw off his clothes and poured the remnants of the cold water on himself. After pulling a sheet out from under Azrea, who hissed angrily, Hadjar wiped his face and body.

A few minutes later, he put on his own clothes and went out into the corridor with his friends. Thanks to the owners of the tavern, they now had a separate room where, if they so desired, they could have breakfast without causing a stir among the visitors.

“Isn’t scouting traditionally an adventure we do together?” Serra asked after the waitress brought them some ale and a light snack. Over the past few days, the girl had learned not to pay attention to the well-known and powerful guests.

“I’m more interested in where you got that cut on your neck…”

Serra’s eyes widened in surprise and she examined her friend more closely. Indeed, she could see a red line under Hadjar’s collar.

“I got hurt.”

“Hurt?” The witch barely choked out. “Who could hurt you? Did a Thunderbird dive down from the sky? Or was a tiger at the King Stage walking around the city last night?”

“Seriously, Hadj, that isn’t funny. You’re the strongest swordsman in the region. Only Primus and the Imperial Governor can keep up with you.”

Hadjar drank some ale, put a piece of meat in his mouth, and wasn’t surprised by the mewling that came from the floor. Azrea always came and left unnoticed and ignored any locks and obstacles that got in her way.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Well, try us.”

Hadjar looked at his friends, sighed, and described the battle. Surprisingly, they believed him. They didn’t even blame him for not helping that man. On the contrary, Hadjar saw the same emotions that were tormenting his own soul in Nero’s and Serra’s eyes.

They were also tired of fighting. This wasn’t about their progress on the path of cultivation. War was just... Very different from ‘simple’ cultivation.

If two practitioners fought in a duel, they always knew why they were trying to kill each other. However, in the war, each of these three ‘heroes’ had managed to snuff out thousands of lives. The lives of people who had perhaps been a little happier or guiltier than that same man Hadjar had refused to help. They didn’t think they had a right to consider themselves judges and arbiters, as their hands had been drenched in too much blood.

“Forget it,” Nero waved his hand and poured them all more ale. “As for the girl, I think one of the nobles hired a sectarian or an Imperial practitioner to train his daughter. That’s why her style seemed so familiar to you.”

“Maybe ...” Hadjar agreed.

They drank, ate, and laughed, forgetting about their pain and doubt. This lasted until the door opened and a familiar face showed itself.

“The celebration has been postponed until this evening,” Ralpie reported. “A coach will arrive to take you there tonight. You and Lady Rowena. She wants to instruct you on the way there.”

Rowena was the name of that female official that had schemed against the Moon Army and personally caused Hadjar a lot of pain.

The friends looked at each other again, and Nero held out his bowl.

“Shall we toast to the Princess’ health?”

“To the Princess’ health!” Serra and Hadjar shouted together.

Chapter 192

one of them got too drunk because there simply wasn’t enough alcohol in the tavern to get three retired military officers at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage to get drunk. Ralpie, having decided that his duties as the messenger of the Generals had been fulfilled, joined his friends.

They enjoyed themselves and told Ralpie stories from their past. The young man was glad to listen to the heroes’ recollections. He especially liked the story where Dogar (may the forefathers be kind to him) had made Nero run along the parade ground while Hadjar was busy trying to fix a dummy that kept hitting his head the entire time.

These were good stories, amusing, harmless, and with a slight touch of sadness. Right then, the trio looked very ordinary, like any other group of friends returning from a war that never truly ended.

“I remember you saying that you can play the Ron’Jah,” Nero proclaimed suddenly, turning to his best friend.

Hadjar looked at the stage. It had already been repaired and the bards were now playing on it. The ‘Drunk Goose’ had become so popular that its doors no longer closed at night.

“Yeah,” Hadjar nodded.

Surprising his friends with his calm acceptance, he rose and walked out the door. His faithful companions followed after him. Together, greeted by a growing silence, they descended to the first floor.

The shouting and laughter subsided, replaced by an all-consuming attention directed toward the famous heroes. Leaving his friends at one of the tables which had been immediately been offered to them by some courteous guests, Hadjar climbed onto the stage.

He came up to one of the bards.

“May I?” He stretched his hand out. “I swear on the graves of my ancestors, I’ll be careful with it.”

“Y-yes, of course, please.”

The bard gave him the dearest and most valuable possession of any musician — their instrument — without hesitation. Hadjar nodded and sat down in the empty chair. He stretched his legs and laid the instrument more comfortably across them. He caressed the strings, enjoying the clear sound of the high-quality and well-maintained musical instrument.

Hadjar closed his eyes and set off on a mental journey to those distant, almost epic times when he’d had only music. It had been his homeland, his friend, his means of survival, and a place where his body and soul could find comfort.

He started playing. For the first time, after three and a half years of the endless war, he played his favorite childhood songs. They were simple, fun, and catchy. He played and, through the songs, spoke about the wind running through the treetops; how deeply and passionately people could love each other; about friendship and joy.

The strings burned with passion, then they laughed childishly. Hadjar played and felt his sword come to life. Moon Beam shed its defiled outer layer, all the bloody stains acquired during the years of war. Along with this layer, with the help of the music, the Mad General disappeared into the past.

But not because he’d been dismissed by the corrupt Generals. Just then, at that moment, Hadjar finally and truly returned from the war. He was once again the same person who had woken up in the village of the Valley of Streams, in Robin’s house. He played as if the granddaughter of the old hunter was standing in front of him. She was clapping and dancing while Hadjar kept smiling.

He hadn’t smiled like that for a very long time.

He knew he could draw his sword again. There was only one difference —he’d remembered why he had done so previously.

When Rowena, accompanied by a detachment of the Generals’ warriors, had entered the tavern, she’d been prepared for almost anything: from hundreds of other soldiers of the Moon Army, ready to rebel, to a bunch of retired warriors who were too drunk to stand. She’d even halfway expected a mythical beast. But what she saw instead defied all logic and even the laws of the Heavens and Earth.

The tavern was in a frenzy. The people were shouting, laughing, and dancing with bowls full of ale in their hands. They hugged each other, sang various songs together, and shook the floor and walls with their irrepressible joy. At the center of this storm of human emotions, the famous couple were somehow making the biggest spectacle of all — the white-haired warrior and dark-skinned witch were dancing as if today was their last day on this godforsaken world.

The cause of this raucous atmosphere was the Mad General. Or rather, Baron Hadjar Traves. Well, he was going to be a baron. The title hadn’t been officially granted to him yet, for only the King himself could do so. That meant that the most beloved man in the country and the most hated one would meet today.

It was Rowena’s worst administrative nightmare.

To make the situation worse, the future Baron was playing an obscene song on the stage, and the crowd of bards around him were supporting him.

Rowena motioned with her hand and the detachment of the Generals’ soldiers began to slowly move into the room. Their sudden appearance calmed the general madness down slightly. When the people saw the emblems on the warriors’ armor, the dancing, shouting, and music began to fade gradually. They slowly cut off until the Baron’s lonely melody was the only one left.

“Honorable Hadjar Traves,” Rowena had omitted the title on purpose, enjoying these few remaining moments when her rank was still higher than the former General’s.

“Milady Rowena,” Hadjar opened his eyes, finished the melody, and, getting up from his chair, handed the instrument back to the bard. He accepted it as if a god had given him the most valuable treasure in the whole world.

“The carriage is waiting for you and you haven’t even changed yet.”

Hadjar inspected his patched, plain clothes.

“I think I’m dressed very appropriately.”

Hadjar jumped off the stage and, crossing his arms behind his back, walked calmly toward the exit. He was followed by Nero and Serra. The latter, despite her friend’s stubbornness, had put on a white dress, earrings with sapphires in them, and a wreath. Nero was wearing his now famous armor. As a bit of decoration, he had put on a red cloak and an iron helmet that resembled a pot.

Not paying attention to the Generals’ soldiers, who had drawn their weapons, the trio left the tavern. At the entrance, a coach was indeed waiting for them — a gigantic monstrosity that screamed opulence, decorated with gold and amber, at least sixteen feet tall, and twice as long. It was being pulled by twelve pedigree horses.

“I have to say, that is impressive,” Nero admitted, offering his hand to Serra.

The couple went in first. After standing for a bit on the footboard, Hadjar waved to the patrons of the tavern and followed his friends inside. Rowena sat down on the velvet sofas soon after, accompanied by several soldiers.

The rest followed after the carriage as it trundled on, frightening the residents of the city.

They rode toward the gates leading to the central district. Rowena was telling them something about the laws of hospitality (in other words, she was hinting at the warriors’ barbaric nature), about the rules of decency in the Palace, how and to whom they were supposed to bow, and other such nonsense.

Hadjar didn’t listen to her. He chose to look out the window instead. At the marvelous, beautiful Palace, the entrance to which was guarded by two giant lions.

It had taken him almost sixteen years to come back.

He gripped the hilt of his sword.

Chapter 193

The sight of the guards outside the central gates brought Hadjar out of his stupor. They were Imperial legionnaires dressed in emerald-green armor. Each one of the thousand or so warriors was at the Formation level at least. They gallantly helped the wives of nobles and aristocrats descend from their fancy coaches. Some of them patrolled while others carried the standards of Lidus and Darnassus.

It looked quite civilized and peaceful, but Hadjar felt uncomfortable, as if he were in enemy territory. Even the nobles, upon seeing the green armor, would avert their eyes and try to get back to their own guards as soon as possible. That wasn’t how the rulers of a free country behaved.

After waiting in line for about half an hour, they finally drove up to the main Palace stairs. Nero came down first and, after giving the imperial soldier who’d come up to help them a mocking glance, helped Serra, and then Rowena, who was surprised by his behavior, out of their carriage.

Hadjar was left alone in the coach. He looked at the Palace. The tall castle spires pierced the night sky like sharp daggers. The black clouds were illuminated by the golden light exuded by the exquisite stained glassed windows. The wide marble staircase that the Prince and Princess had once explored together was covered with a heavy red carpet. The guards stood in a line on each side of the staircase, holding halberds. Their green cloaks swayed slightly.

Enemies were standing near Hadjar’s house. Their presence forced the heart of the former General to beat harder, and his hand squeezed his blade tighter. The night’s chill brought back the memory of the smell of his mother’s blood, her tears, and the cold embrace she held him in as she died.

Hadjar feared that if he went in, he would immediately draw his sword.

“Well, I understand your feelings, my friend, but, please, leave your hole.”

The sight of the smiling Nero pulling his red collar over his face and pushing the iron pot/helmet down to his eyebrows brought Hadjar back to his senses. His friend, like always, was able to turn any situation into a joke. Serra grumbled, dissatisfied with her companions’ appearance.

“You’re right,” Hadjar nodded.

He adjusted the sheath behind his back and stepped outside. He walked forward boldly and the ghosts of the past didn’t haunt him anymore. This wasn’t the Palace where he‘d spent his cheerful and carefree childhood. No, not at all. It was another enemy fortress that he had to conquer. No more, no less.

Climbing the stairs, Hadjar didn’t pay any attention to the imperial guards. Sixteen years ago, they had seemed to him like Atlas holding the Heavens up. Now he could send hundreds of them to their ancestors with one swing of his sword.

It wasn’t yet time to spill blood. That time would come, but later. Hadjar had developed a very detailed plan and didn’t want to ruin it on the very first night.

However, this didn’t mean Hadjar would conceal his power. He let the energy circulate around him. To the onlookers, it felt as if a wild beast was climbing the stairs, ready to tear them apart at any moment. The guards simultaneously put their halberds forward and unsheathed their blades. Hadjar didn’t slow down, and not a single muscle twitched on his face. He calmly kept going until he reached the central Palace gates. They looked the same as ever — tall and covered with golden bas-reliefs depicting the great Kings of the past.

Hadjar looked at the lower right corner and barely restrained himself from letting out an angry roar: the face of his father, King Haver, had been broken and removed from the artwork. Instead of him, Primus, holding his huge broadsword, had been depicted there.

“Impressive.” Nero said, also looking at the bas-reliefs.

Hadjar was about to take a step forward when a pair of crossed halberds blocked his path. He heard the stomping of heavy boots and the imperial guards, ready for battle, surrounded Hadjar.

“What’s going on here?” Nero snapped, clutching the handle of his blade. He’d almost drawn his sword, but had been stopped by his friend’s calm gaze.

“Milady Rowena?” Hadjar turned to the official.

“It seems that you weren’t listening to me very well, honorable Hadjar Traves. I told you that entering the Palace with a weapon is prohibited.”

Hadjar looked at the nearby stained glass window. There, in the main throne room, the nobles were dancing. Women were wearing beautiful and rich dresses and the men — traditional clothes or tunics. However, one feature united all of them: they were carrying weapons. The scabbards and handles looked more like decorations, but they were still weapons.

“Don’t look over there, Hadjar,” Rowena shook her head. Surrounded by the Imperial soldiers, she felt quite comfortable. “These rules apply to...” she smiled arrogantly, “the commoners. Nobles and aristocrats are allowed to carry weapons.”

“But you yourself said that Hadjar is going to be granted the title of Baron!” Serra exclaimed. “Besides, the rank of General is considered equal to being a nobleman!”

“Alas,” Rowena shrugged. “Hadjar Traves, while still a citizen of Lidus, is no longer the General of the Moon Army. Moreover, the title hasn’t been granted to him yet. So, with all due respect, you are just a simple commoner.”

Moon Leen, for example, would’ve been infuriated by such words. Not because of the fact she didn’t have a high rank, but simply because of the arrogance and humiliation inflicted by the officials, accustomed to risking other people’s lives without ever endangering their own.

Nero stood with his friend. Thanks to the songs of the bards, this made the imperial guards wary and they finally unsheathed their blades and released their energy. They were ready for a fight.

They were fearless and very stupid. Here, in Lidus, they’d gotten accustomed to thinking of themselves as gods, despite being the weakest in their homeland. Only the most pathetic cultivators were ever sent to the Kingdom.

“I’ve always thought about what it would be like to conquer the royal Palace,” Nero said with a cheeky smile.

Without showing any emotion, Hadjar turned his back on the gate and took a step toward the stairs. At that moment, one of the Imperials, the youngest and least experienced among them, lost his temper and swung his sword.

Their eyes met and the young man’s sword froze in the air. The guard’s whole body shook and he almost fell to his knees. It seemed to him like it wasn’t a man looking at him, but a furious and hungry dragon. His blue eyes pierced the man’s soul, gripping his heart in icy claws of fear.

“I’ll enter the palace with my sword, or-” Hadjar began quietly.

He didn’t finish his threat. Maybe it was fate, maybe a fluke, or maybe part of someone’s grand plan, but a moment later, the gates opened and a man with a valet’s medallion ran out.

“Milady Rowena, there’s no need for any more formalities. All of us are waiting for our honored guest,” the valet’s voice was soft. “Please, General Hadjar. Come in, please. You can keep your sword with you. The King and the Governor are strong enough not to feel threatened by our guests.”

Hadjar turned around and climbed back toward the gates.

Long ago, back at the village, he had agreed to the request of the villagers because he had entered a house where the laws of hospitality had been respected. Only an animal wouldn’t comply with those laws.

But right now... Hadjar knew that no one in the Palace remembered these laws. They were violated every single day. From the moment Primus had raised his weapon against the man who had invited him to the celebration of his son’s birthday, they had ceased to matter in this place.

Behind Hadjar, the heavy doors of the gates slammed shut, and the valet, after clearing his throat, loudly announced: “Please welcome our guest of honor, General Hadjar Traves!”

The music stopped, the dancing couples froze, and conversations subsided. The people looked at the hobo standing at the door. However, they didn’t see a beggar there, but a wild beast, pawing the ground in anticipation, ready to pounce. It clashed with the atmosphere of the upcoming celebration.

“The bards weren’t wrong about your peculiar nature, General,” a voice sounded from the depths of the hall.

Everyone immediately turned to King Primus, who was sitting on the high throne.

Chapter 194

The throne, which was now on a high pedestal, looked nothing like Hadjar remembered it. Neither did the person sitting on.

The still fit but completely gray-haired man rose slowly. Deep wrinkles covered his face, but his hands still held the hilt of his huge broadsword firmly. He descended the stairs leading from the pedestal to the hall. With each step he made, a booming echo sounded. His black, silk clothes rustled and flowed like a waterfall.

Gold and silver threads sparkled in the light of the bright lamps. Hundreds of gems, built into the heavy crown, gleamed on his head. This was the crown that Haver had almost never worn. Moreover, it had once looked more like a headband, but now it was a massive, golden monstrosity.

As Primus walked toward the former General, people bowed to him, not daring to look up at their ruler. However, Hadjar kept staring into the usurper’s eyes. There, in the depths of the King’s blue eyes, almost as bright as his own, he saw scenes from the distant past.

He was a small, four-year-old boy and had just asked his Uncle Primus to find him a horse. Primus had laughed, teased his brother, and then put the Prince on his own shoulders so that the boy could see the hundreds of thousands of roofs in the capital.

Another memory came to him. The three of them: Hadjar, his uncle and his father, walking through the park. The brothers had been telling the Prince stories from their turbulent youth. They’d even promised Hadjar that they would take him to the eastern border of the Kingdom, to see the beginning of the Great Valleys. They’d said that there was nothing more beautiful than those vast expanses that stretched out toward the horizon and got lost in the Sea of Sand, which was many thousands of miles to the east.

They’d told him that, in their youth, their father, his grandfather, had taken them there to plant a tree. It had probably already grown. The time would come for Hadjar to plant his own tree next to it. Their royal family would eventually be able to plant a whole forest there.

Primus walked toward the General, nodding to the grandees and the nobles, greeting the most important among them. The musicians weren’t playing anything on the improvised stage, but Hadjar heard music from the distant past.

It had been Hadjar’s birthday. He’d had to wear frilly, pretentious clothes and a black steel crown. He’d been introduced to his future bride, the daughter of an influential person with whom Haver had planned to form an alliance.

Hadjar had been extremely dissatisfied with this, which had prompted Primus to make fun of him that evening. Then, in tandem, they had begun to poke fun at the nobles, which had almost ruined the celebration. Hadjar’s parents had reprimanded them both for it severely.

Primus stood in front of Hadjar. Once, long ago, he had towered over his nephew like an impregnable rock. Hadjar had thought him to be almost as amazing as his father. Now, Hadjar suddenly realized, he was nearly a head taller than the usurper.

A heavy silence filled the hall. Everyone was looking at the center, where the Mad General wasn’t bowing to the King. They looked into each other’s eyes, their palms on the handles of their blades.

Hadjar couldn’t lie to himself — he had loved his cheerful and courageous uncle when he’d been a child. That’s why the memory of his betrayal had dug its claws so sharply into his heart. With a swing of his sword, Primus had taken his father’s life. With his own hands, he had torn the heart out of his mother’s chest. Primus had thrown him into the eternal darkness of a cramped dungeon, turning him into a helpless freak.

The man in front of Hadjar wasn’t the uncle who had carried him on his shoulders and shown him how to untie the ribbons on women’s corsets with just one hand.

No.

A murderer stood in front of him.

The man who’d taken his mother and father away from him.

A usurper.

He was so close that Hadjar could grab him by the throat. He could unsheathe Moon Beam and try to bring peace to his parents’ spirits. At that moment, such a rage was smoldering in Hadjar’s heart that if it spilled out, it would burn down the entire capital. It would awaken the ancient gods themselves and they would launch another attack on the Heavens to regain their former power.

“Greetings, my King,” spread throughout the hall.

Everyone present at the celebration breathed a sigh of relief when the Mad General bowed to the King.

It wasn’t yet time for Hadjar to spill the usurper’s blood. It wasn’t the right time to draw his blade. For thousands of nights, he had dreamed of this moment. For hundreds of days, he had reflected on his plan. He could be patient. His father and mother could wait a little more.

“My King,” Nero bowed, holding the iron pot that served as his helmet.

“Your Majesty,” Serra performed a curtsy. She wasn’t a subject of Lidus and Primus wasn’t her king.

“Stand up, glorious heroes,” Primus laughed.

He put his hands on Hadjar’s shoulders, and the young man was eager to shake them off and draw his blade. The former General had to repeatedly tell himself that he had come here for a different purpose tonight.

No matter how deep and all-consuming his hatred and rage were, they nevertheless succumbed to the feelings he had for his sister. The happy memory he had of her had been a guiding star on his endless journey through the abyss. It had kept him sane through many battles with demons. Both real and imaginary.

“The songs don’t lie, Honorable General,” Primus’ voice, despite the sensational merriment all around them, sounded weary. “You know nothing of fear, manners, or respect.”

The courtiers looked at each other. As far as they could remember, the King had never treated someone with respect. However, after seeing the laughter in the man’s blue eyes, they soon realized that, even now, Primus wasn’t showing any appreciation to the General. Rather, he was arrogantly mocking him.

“Alas, my King,” Hadjar straightened and met the King’s gaze boldly. “I haven’t heard any songs about you. In my mountain village, people are afraid of and respect only the wind and snow. That’s how I was raised.”

“Where is this village? The village that knows neither my charity, nor my generosity, the good life that I guarantee to the whole of Lidus?”

What generosity was he referring to, exactly? The slave yoke, the lashes of a whip upon a prisoner’s back, the dusty air of the mine they toiled in, or the slow death from suffocation that awaited most? Hadjar wanted to say all of that, spit these questions right in the face of his parents’ murderer, but he couldn’t do so yet.

“Where it once was, my King, now there are only stones and silence. An avalanche swept it all away. I’m the only one who survived.”

Nero and Serra looked at their friend. They’d never heard this part of his story.

“Well, Heavens as my witness, I grieve for your loss,” Primus patted the young man in front of him on the shoulder. “But we must all obey the same laws and violating them, sometimes, brings about a terrible punishment.”

Everyone in the room understood what the King was hinting at. That the village, by its attitude toward the crown, had brought about such a terrible misfortune on itself.

“It’s hard to argue with that, my King,” Hadjar bowed. “One day, everyone will get the punishment they deserve for their sins.”

A wave of whispers swept through the hall, and the palm on Hadjar’s shoulder gripped it tighter. Primus’ grasp hadn’t weakened over the years. In fact, it had become stronger. Primus could’ve easily shattered his bones if not for Hadjar’s Techniques.

“I’m glad to hear that we understand each other, Mad General,” the King’s voice remained calm, but only a deaf person wouldn’t have heard the threat in it.

There was silence again. Heavy, almost palpable. Like the hush before a battle between two armies. Who knows what could’ve happened next, if not for a soft and melodious voice calling out…

“Father,” came from the secret door behind the throne, “it seems you’ve forgotten that this is my celebration, and not one of your work meetings.”

Everyone immediately turned to the star of the occasion. Princess Elaine had finally arrived to the ball.

Chapter 195

As the Princess walked down the hall, the gasps of amazement grew louder and louder. From male and female guests alike. Wearing golden clothes, with a wreath atop her head that looked kind of like a crown, and ivy wrapped around her golden hair, she looked like a goddess descending from the Heavens. Her figure was amazing, with perfect proportions, her features almost otherworldly in their beauty. The sensual, scarlet lips and the piercing, clear blue eyes completed the devastating effect.

Her boots made a rhythmic noise as she walked across the marble. The subtle scent of her perfume spread across the room — the smell of a meadow full of flowers, a spring breeze, and a cold stream. She nodded to the musicians, who swallowed simultaneously and seemed to wake up from a trance. They began to play. Cheerful and light dance music floated over the heads of the people who stopped pretending to be stone sculptures. The people bowed to her, the King retreated to the side, and some couples were soon dancing once again. Elaine was like a spirit of spring, bringing life back to a frozen room.

The Princess looked at the General about whom she had heard so many songs and stories. To be honest, she’d always believed that the artists embellished his attractiveness in the portraits. Elaine now understood that, on the contrary, they hadn’t been able to convey what the Mad General actually looked like.

She’d always imagined him as a middle-aged man, with a lot of scars, tired eyes, and a slight half-smile. Sculptors and artists had portrayed the great Generals of the past this way. Elaine had presumed that Hadjar was the same.

In reality, standing in front of her was a young man who wasn’t older than twenty-five. He had clear skin, smooth features, and a figure that wasn’t associated with great power. Maybe with a great mind, the humility of a scholar, or possibly the slender beauty of a spoiled son of aristocrats, but not with a mighty general.

Only the feeling that had arisen in Elaine’s chest as she’d approached the General allowed her to claim with confidence that he was a dangerous person. Hadjar radiated the aura of a merciless beast. Elaine had felt that same kind of aura when, in her childhood, she’d been taken along on a tiger hunt.

She still remembered it to this day. A white tiger with black horns, clinging to a rock, had fought off 40 horsemen. None of them had dared to approach the enraged beast. They’d tried to kill it from afar, using their best Techniques and attacks, but they’d all proven useless against the fangs, claws, and fury of the beast.

This had lasted until her father had ordered the archers to fill the tiger with arrows. Even then, the wounded and bleeding tiger had continued to fight for its life. In its last moments, it had been able to take the leg of the Duke of Tevron to the grave with it. He still stood off to the side during a ball, leaning on a wooden crutch.

The Mad General was the same. Despite his harmless appearance, he radiated an aura of not just power, but danger. A wild, primal rage. A sheer willingness to, at any time, unsheathe the blade that served as his claws.

“Honorable General,” the Princess curtsied, and the King stepped aside slightly.

While the crowd of aristocrats was eagerly devouring the beautiful Princess with their eyes, Hadjar was seeing a ghost from the past.

It had been a lovely, warm spring morning. Their mother and father had sat in the gazebo and embraced each other in silence. It had been one of those rare few times when they’d been able to afford such a luxury.

“Catch me, Hadjar!” The little girl had laughed, running across a field of daisies. She’d worn a red dress; her plump cheeks had glowed with joy. Hadjar had chased her, pretending to be a dangerous beast, a tiger, as far as he could recall. He had just liked to hear his little sister’s laughter.

Finally, he had caught up with her and thrown her into the grass. She’d stood up, laughing, but instead of a little girl, she was now a beautiful young woman. She looked so much like his mother that a lump appeared in his throat when Hadjar remembered that the Queen had died a long time ago.

“My Princess,” Hadjar bowed, trying to hide his reddened eyes. “It’s an honor for me to wish you a happy birthday.”

When the General straightened up, no one could say that he looked any different from a few moments ago. Of all the men present, only three weren’t affected by the charms of the Princess: her father, who had returned to the throne, where several nobles had already gathered; the Mad General, still holding his hand on the hilt of his blade; and, as strange as it might sound, Commander Nero. But the latter was, most likely, somehow influenced by Serra’s nails, which she had buried in her lover’s palm.

When the King had departed to discuss some of the Kingdom’s issues, it had  immediately become easier for Hadjar to breathe. No matter how hardened he was by his decade spent as a slave, it was too hard to stay calm in the presence of his parents’ murderer. Especially if he had to wear a mask of submission.

As he looked at the smiling Elaine, he felt calmer with each breath he took.

She was all right. Maybe she didn’t remember her childhood, and considered Primus to be her father. Nevertheless, she hadn’t been subjected to all the sorrows and deprivations that Hadjar had.

The former General couldn’t even imagine the whirlpool of insanity into which he would’ve been plunged by the realization that his sister had been treated the same way as he’d been. He could endure any torture and humiliation as long as Elaine was all right.

“My Princess?” Hadjar turned to the beauty.

He had been sure that nobody in the Palace could identify him as the Prince, the rightful heir to the throne. The heart given to him by Traves had changed Hadjar greatly, and then continued to modify him even further. Therefore, he couldn’t understand why Elaine was examining him so carefully.

“Invite her to dance, you fool,” Nero whispered in his ear.

The atmosphere had calmed down a bit and the hall was once more full of dancing couples. There was still a decent amount of time left before the feast, and the valet kept announcing the arrival of new guests.

Hadjar turned to his friend, but he and Serra had already disappeared among the dancers. The former General and the fairest of the Princesses had been left alone. As much as it was possible to be alone among several thousand people, anyway.

“May I have this dance, my Princess?” Hadjar bowed and extended his right palm. Elaine’s hand in his own kindled a warmth that enveloped Hadjar’s heart.

“I was afraid you’d never ask, General.”

‘General’. For some reason, it sounded more pleasant coming from her than when millions of his soldiers had shouted the same.

Chapter 196

They glided among the other dancers. Hadjar held Elaine as carefully as if he were holding a fragile, thousand-year-old vase in his hands. He was gentle with her, but tried not to look into her eyes. He couldn’t do it. He was sure that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself from crying out: “Sister, it’s me!” Then he would certainly have unsheathed his blade and gone to war against the whole world. However, he was sure that the first person who would stab him through the heart would be Elaine. The fact that, after a decade of wandering, after surviving hundreds of battles, he had been able to find his sister calmed his heart. His heart ached, however, at the realization that she would never be able to recognize him and that, to her, he was a stranger.

They danced, lost in the melody flowing from the stage. Elaine couldn’t understand why the General hid his eyes from her. But in his embrace, she felt more confident than ever before. Held by him, the Princess felt herself protected from all threats, and hidden away from the world. She felt at home. Yes, in the hands of the Mad General, she suddenly felt like she belonged. She wanted to cuddle up to him, hug him tightly, lay her head on his shoulder, and fall asleep. Elaine was sure that her dreams would be calm and pleasant, and she would wake up with her hair combed.

The Princess’ mind was playing a cruel joke on her — she was convinced that this had already happened. That she’d already danced with this man, had fallen asleep in his arms, and he had combed her hair. But they hadn’t even met before. The Princess and the simple peasant who had become a living legend.

“You are beautiful, my Princess,” the General whispered, letting go of Elaine. She immediately felt lonely and cold. “But I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Why?” Elaine was surprised. “The feast hasn’t even started yet. And you haven’t been awarded your title. And... You are my guest of honor, General. You can’t leave before the celebration.”

Hadjar couldn’t answer that he hadn’t been planning to leave. But being around her... The way she danced, the way she moved, they made him...

“Primus, my old friend!”

Once again, a heavy, even oppressive silence filled the hall. The doors flew open, throwing aside the valet and letting in the cool night air. The wind blew in, playing with the heavy curtains and the fires burning in the lamps.

Surrounded by a dozen soldiers in green armor, the Governor entered the hall. He looked exactly like Hadjar remembered him: haughty, with black hair, a sharp nose, and a mocking look on his face. He looked at the people around him as if they were nothing more than ants under his feet.

The people stepped aside and bowed much lower than they had to the King or Princess.

With each one of the Governor’s steps, his power echoed through the hall. It forced the people there to struggle and fight for every breath. The Imperial didn’t even think about restraining his energy of a Heaven Soldier, allowing it to bear down on the aristocrats.

He looked like a master in a slave pen.

When one of the pages accidentally touched the edge of his emerald clothes, the Governor didn’t even look in his direction. The soldiers of the Empire dragged the weeping page away, and everyone else pretended that nothing unusual had just happened.

Mechanically, without even realizing he was doing it, Hadjar stood in front of the Governor and blocked the way to the Princess. It was so natural for him to protect his sister that he hadn’t remembered that he was just a guest. A retired General. No more.

“Lithium, I’d begun to fear that you wouldn’t be coming!” Primus rose from his throne.

However, the Governor didn’t look in his direction. He looked at Hadjar with interest and contempt.

“I would’ve thought that I hadn’t been informed about this being a masquerade,” Lithium said mockingly. “But according to the stories that people in Lidus indulge in, I dare say that you are the Mad General, yes?”

The Governor pronounced the legendary nickname with contempt, as if it was the dirtiest of curse words.

“I would say that I haven’t had the honor of making your acquaintance,” this time, Hadjar was so angry that he wasn’t able to hold his rage back. “But I’m afraid that that’s precisely why I can call myself honorable.”

Silence enveloped the world. Everything froze: the wind, the people, their breath, and their hearts. It seemed like even the chaotic dance of the fire in the lamps died for a few moments.

No one had ever even dared to look at the Governor or bar his way. It was unheard of. But what Hadjar had just said... Even the thought that someone might insult Lithium inspired horror in people completely unrelated to the incident.

“How dare you-” Primus shouted, but was interrupted by the heavy Governor’s loud laugh. He threw back his head, holding his stomach while his warriors held their weapons at the ready. Hadjar stood tall. He looked ready for battle. As always.

Primus was only a weapon in the hands of the Empire. A weapon that he would break. The Governor was the one who’d given the order, who had destroyed his family.

“Stop, my old friend,” Lithium said, wiping away tears of laughter. “I would have been disappointed if the great General had swallowed my insult. I expected no less from the man who defeated the Patriarch of that detestable sect.”

Despite the flattering words, poison spewed from the Governor’s mouth. Each of those present heard the blatant mockery in his tone. A ridicule far more obvious than Primus’ had been. Lithium walked around Hadjar, examining him like one would a cheap horse or dog.

“You’re so scrawny and yet you’ve attained such glory as a swordsman,” the Imperial laughed. “Maybe you had others fight for you or you’re rich enough to pay the bards off.”

There was no greater insult to a swordsman than being accused of falsifying his accomplishments.

“You dare say this only because you came unarmed, Governor?” Hadjar’s tone of voice made some, especially the weak-willed, nobles turn pale. They were convinced that they hadn’t heard a human speaking, but an animal roaring.

Lithium had actually come without a weapon, and the code didn’t allow Hadjar to challenge him to a duel. Furthermore, he wouldn’t be able to do so because of the laws of hospitality and sanity. Hadjar reminded himself that the time for a bloody harvest hadn’t yet come.

“Alas,” Lithium spread his arms. “My new sword hasn’t arrived from the Empire yet, and my pride doesn’t allow me to use my old one. But perhaps one of my warriors would be interested in-”

“Father, let me test the General’s rumored mastery of the sword.”

It was like a mountain was pressing down on Hadjar’s shoulders. He turned to the Princess. The respect and interest had disappeared from her expression, and only contempt remained. She wasn’t looking into his eyes, but at his neck.

Elaine couldn’t believe that the glorious General, the staunch protector of the common folk, had left that innocent man to die while trying to protect his daughter who had been raped by the guards.

Hadjar tried to hide the red line that had been hidden underneath his collar, but it was too late.

That night, when he’d met the heroic stranger, he had recognized her Technique. It was the same style that the Palace Master had taught Hadjar.

Without waiting for her father’s permission, Elaine snatched a thin blade from the scabbard of the nobleman standing next to her. She swung it and a fire falcon flew at Hadjar. Burning feathers fell from the wide wings to the floor. The people hurried to move away. The Governor’s eyes widened in surprise and he took a few steps back.

Elaine’s attack was able to incinerate a dozen practitioners at the Formation Stage. She was considered not only the most beautiful, but also the strongest Princess.

Hadjar remained motionless. Moon Beam didn’t come out of its scabbard in a flash. Energy didn’t spring up around the General.

Even if demons and gods had taken his mind over, even if the Heavens had ordered it, even if the fate of the whole world depended on it, he would never raise his sword against his sister.

“Elaine,” Hadjar whispered, but his whisper was drowned out by an angry roar.

“Stop it!”

A black shadow flickered and the fire falcon struck a heavy sword. The bird exploded in a rain of sparks, and Nero brought his blade back behind him.

Once again, Primus was furious. “Commander, you-”

“I’m doing what I feel is necessary.”

A wave of displeasure swept through the hall. Even if the people could forgive the Mad General for taking liberties, because of his loyal service, a simple officer was a different matter entirely…

“I don’t believe it,” Elaine breathed, lowering her blade.

Nero had pulled the helmet off his head. It rolled along the floor with a ringing sound, drowning out the whispers that had begun to quiet down. The Commander moved his red collar away from his face and smiled broadly. Elaine dropped her sword. She covered her mouth with her hands and started crying.

Primus collapsed onto the throne.

“Father, sister, did you really think that I would miss this celebration?”

“Eren!” The Princess exclaimed and rushed into the arms of her laughing brother.

Eren...

Nero...

While the people applauded and whispered, Hadjar felt like he was falling into a bottomless, icy abyss.

Years of planning. Thousands of hours of anticipating every possible issue. Hundreds of days of preparation. All of it had turned out to be worthless before Fate and the fact that his most loyal friend, his blood brother… was in fact his cousin.

Crown Prince Eren, Primus’ son, Elaine’s brother, was Nero. His Nero.

The man who’d fought side by side with Hadjar in hundreds of battles...

The man he’d once dreamed of killing.

Chapter 197

Hadjar stood on the balcony, smoking strong, fragrant tobacco. He had found the small bag full of fragrant, dried leaves in the treasury of ‘The Black Gates’ sect. He had taken only the tobacco, a pair of old scrolls, and hundreds of small, emerald-green coins out of the sect’s vault. He didn’t need much from life to be happy: comfortable shoes, clothes to keep him from getting cold, his sword and its scabbard. The rest would follow naturally.

Once, back in his childhood, he’d wanted to sit on the high throne, like his father. Alas, Primus had managed to take that dream away from him too. Over the five years he’d spent in the traveling freak show, Hadjar had become accustomed to the life of traveling to a new city every month.

It had been easy to move from place to place, not making any friends or acquaintances, just wandering through the endless expanses of the world.

“Honestly, I never even imagined that you would end up fighting my sister.”

Nero had materialized beside him silently. Or was he Eren... Hadjar didn’t know how to address his friend, brother... enemy? For some reason, Fate liked making his life harder and harder with each passing day.

Right now, Hadjar missed his days of being a wanderer more than ever. The slave collar had weighed him down far less than his connection to others and his past.

“I couldn’t have even imagined you having a sister.”

Hadjar took the tobacco out of his pocket and handed it to his friend... or his future foe?

Nero... Eren took the tobacco, put it in his pipe, and stood next to the former General. He rested on the side of the balcony and directed his gaze toward the Mountain of Kings hidden in the darkness. Haver’s castle had stood there, once upon a time. Hadjar had been taken there by his father only a few times and banned from visiting it alone.

However, that hadn’t prevented Hadjar from doing so anyway. During one of those visits, he had broken his arm, knocked out four of his teeth, but had been able to catch the wind... He missed his faithful companion. He missed their enlightening ‘conversations’.

“I swore a blood oath to my father,” the Prince breathed out a puff of smoke in the shape of a fox’s snout.

Hadjar had never understood how he did it.

“Serra didn’t look surprised at all.”

Without saying a word, they turned around in unison. The celebration was in full swing. The people sang and drank at the long, wide tables. Off in one corner, Lithium, Primus, and some aristocrats were discussing something.

Fools, jugglers, acrobats, and circus performers roamed between the tables. Bards played, young people danced, and old men filled their bellies. Wine flowed like a river as people discussed the recent fireworks.

Serra and Elaine sat nearby, chatting about something. Unlike with Nehen, the witch of the desert had quickly found a common language with the Princess. At this point, Hadjar was done trying to understand women...

“I found a loophole,” Eren shrugged... or Nero did. “Father had formulated the oath in a way that made it so that I couldn’t tell anyone except family members about it.”

Hadjar choked on the smoke he’d inhaled and looked at the other man in surprise. He looked like he always did: cheerful, daring, and benevolent. He looked more like a loyal friend and a brave officer than a prince. He didn’t look like the man who had witnessed Hadjar’s parents’ murder.

“Did you marry her?”

“The same evening that Leen died,” the Prince nodded. “I immediately realized that you would lead us into Balium. Sorry, buddy, but knowing you and your nutty plans, it felt like only a matter of time before we died. I didn’t want to go to the house of my forefathers unmarried.”

“Does the King know about this?”

Hadjar exhaled a column of smoke that broke up Nero’s smoky fox’s face. Soon, the gray smoke mixed with distant black clouds, which seemed to caress the glittering moon and the stars dancing around it joyously. It was a truly beautiful evening.

“He might’ve guessed.” Eren... or Nero said, then added, “He probably has. After all, he isn’t that stupid. Although I sometimes suspect that he actually is.”

“You’ll be executed for saying that.”

“No,” the Prince said. “I’m the heir, and, well… Let me tell you a secret: my father can’t have children any more. So, if he doesn’t want the family line to end, then he must tolerate me.”

Hadjar turned his back to his friend. He looked at Elaine. She was beautiful, but instead of the beautiful young woman she was, he always saw a small, laughing girl in her place. He wondered who she saw when looking at him…

“Why did the King send his precious heir to fight in the war?”

He tried to banish the scenes from the distant past from his mind. It had been a different life. It was no longer possible to get it back. He had to let it go.

“He didn’t send me directly to the army,” Nero grinned... or Eren did.

Once again, Hadjar nearly choked on his pipe. “The Generals?”

“Yep,” the Prince laughed. “Can you imagine me in the company of pompous turkeys in uniform? Naturally, I escaped, crippling several of my imperial ‘bodyguards’ in the process.”

Hadjar looked at the man’s hair and the scars on his face and hands.

“Did Serra change the color of your hair on purpose?”

“Of course. In addition, I covered my tracks in Spring Town very well. I even bought forged documents and made up a fake inheritance. Fortunately, the money that my father gave me for the road just about covered all of that.”

“All you needed to do was keep a low profile,” Hadjar continued. “So instead of becoming an officer, you chose to be a simple soldier.”

“But you made me an Officer. Well, by that time, they’d already stopped searching for me,” the Prince concluded. He looked at his father. The father and son’s eyes met, and even Hadjar could see that Nero was in for a world of hurt. “I think he’ll punish me soon. But… I figure when people find out that Commander Nero is actually Prince Eren, he is unlikely to find an argument that can negate such a trump card.”

It was worth noting that Primus’ son wasn’t a fool. Although he often pretend to be one.

They stood there and smoked their pipes silently for a long time. Each of them wanted to say something, but neither one had the courage to do it. It was sometimes much easier to fight an enemy army all on your own than to discuss how you felt with someone. Especially if you were a man.

Hadjar could’ve just turned around and left. He never did. Who was he to judge his friend for his actions? Was he honest with his friends? Hadn’t he tirelessly fed Nero lies, hiding his true motives? Hadn’t he been planning to kill Eren’s father?

Chapter 198

“Do you mind if I continue to call you Nero?”

The Prince turned to his friend and smiled.

“I would consider it an honor, my friend.”

They shook hands.

What would their friendship, their blood oath, be worth if it could’ve been destroyed by such an incident? To both of them, the title of ‘friend’ wasn’t just a meaningless word.

As for Primus, Hadjar would solve any additional problems as they came up. So far, the true identity of his friend hadn’t changed his plan.

“By the way,” Nero held his pipe between his teeth and took an amber medallion out of his pocket. “Take this. I’ve gotten used to your arrogant face, buddy, so I’m inviting you to live in my house for a little bit.”

With a wink, the Prince looked around at the huge Palace.

“Not interested,” Hadjar sighed. “Compared to my tent, it’s a shack.”

“Compared to your tent, anything will be... a palace.”

“Really? And who kept constantly spending all his time in that same tent?”

“Because the officers’ tents are even worse!”

“Just admit that my tent is better than a palace.”

“You know nothing about palaces, Hadj! When the celebration ends, I’ll give you a proper tour! When you see our parade ground, you’ll thank me. Especially if it’s being cleaned by the maids! Working as a maid is very popular around here. Every beautiful girl from the trade district dreams of becoming a servant in the royal Palace.”

Hadjar snorted and shook the ashes out of his pipe into the darkness.

“I imagine there will be a lot less of them soon enough.”

“Why?”

Hadjar just looked at him. When Nero realized what his friend was saying, he slapped himself.

Indeed, why would girls want to work in the Palace if the Prince had gotten married?

The two friends laughed together.

***

Despite all of Nero’s promises of tours and other entertainment, Hadjar hadn’t seen Nero or Serra for several days. The Princess didn’t want to talk to him either, and Hadjar couldn’t blame her.

For all her talent and strength, Elaine was a flower that had been grown in a greenhouse. The brightest and most beautiful of all of them, but a flower nonetheless. She didn’t have Serra’s ardor or Nehen’s cold determination. She would barely be able to understand why Hadjar hadn’t wanted to help that man.

As a result, he had spent several days sitting in a huge room. It was, of course, still smaller than his last room in the Palace had been. Thanks to the servants, Hadjar had found out that the western wing, where he’d used to live with his parents, was now sealed away and nobody could go there.

There was no one else in the Palace, except for the maids and the occasional nobles seeking an audience with Lithium, the King, or the Prince. Sometimes, one of the girls would come to Hadjar and inform him that there were visitors here to see him. However, the former General never received them. Not only did he not want to see anyone, but he was also not relishing the idea of leaving his chambers — the corridors, which had once been noisy and full of life, were now empty and filled with the ghosts of the General’s past.

“Meow,” came from the bed that was so huge Hadjar could’ve held an orgy with forty people there. Therefore, the small, white kitten lying atop the endless sheets, under a huge canopy, looked like a snowflake that had gotten lost in a spring meadow.

“I know,” Hadjar nodded. “I’m the Mad General, not an ancient recluse.”

“Meow,” Azrea repeated.

“What do you want? Okay. I’ll get out of here and leave you alone.”

“Meow.”

She seemed to nod, then wrapped her tail around herself and fell asleep. Sighing, Hadjar took a few pieces of meat from the table (he had wondered for a few hours if he could somehow steal it. With such a huge quantity of gold and silver, it would’ve been possible to buy the best horses in Lidus) and threw them on the sheets.

He wasn’t a barbarian, but was oddly eager to harm the enemy regime with such a trifle. Hadjar did his best to dismiss the memories of the carefree and exciting days he’d spent in the Palace, keeping in mind that this wasn’t his home anymore, at all. It was enemy territory, and he had to be ready to fight them off.

Going up to a huge mirror, Hadjar adjusted his shabby clothes and checked whether his sheath was firmly attached to his belt.

Gathering his courage, he turned the emerald door handle and went out into the long corridor. The silence immediately struck him. The sheer emptiness. The distant echoes of someone’s steps. If not for the ostentatious luxury, the pretentious, undisguised, tasteless wealth on display, one would’ve thought that the Palace was in a state of decline.

It was already dusk outside. In recent years, Hadjar had gotten used to only engaging in vigorous activity in the evening. During the daytime, as a general, he’d always had important and urgent matters to attend to. Now that he wasn’t so busy, Hadjar was devoting his free time to meditation.

The worst of the wounds inside his transforming core had already healed. However, there were still some small cracks and scratches on it that didn’t allow him to fully dive into the River of Energy. Right now, Hadjar couldn’t afford to continue his attempts at approaching the Sword Spirit.

He had a lot of hard work ahead of him.

“Yeah,” Hadjar sighed, massaging his neck.

Once again, he acutely felt the lack of the analytical capabilities of his neural network.

Message to host: ...

Error… Error... Error...

With its help, he could’ve easily sped up the recovery process. Now he had to independently search for the best ways to meditate and absorb energy in such a way that it would cure him, and not just do more harm.

According to Hadjar’s rough calculations, he would be completely healed in a few months. The difference between these two states seemed to be insignificant and even imperceptible. However, the Mad General knew perfectly well that these details were crucial in a pitched battle. Sometimes, they could cost someone their life.

Before Hadjar realized what he was doing, he’d gone toward a familiar street, went down the stairs, and found himself facing inconspicuous, simple wooden doors. He didn’t know what he would see behind them, and so he threw them open resolutely, his curiosity urging him.

Chapter 199

A breeze caressed his face and then moved on to play with the birds and the grass.

Hadjar stood on the stairs leading to the parade ground. Long ago, it had been full of the nobles’ children sweating, screaming, and exercising. They would hit the training dummies over and over with their weapons, practice various stances, and receive punishment from the strict Master.

Now it was a wasteland. All it lacked were the tumbleweeds and gloomy music. Neither the disciples nor the Master were there anymore.

Hadjar went downstairs reluctantly. He took off his shoes and buried his toes in the sand which had heated up during the day. The surface was cooling down, but still burned his skin.

The former General walked across the parade ground, seeing the shadows of the past. He remembered how he’d crashed into the rack of swords. He’d understood their call and answered it, so they’d fallen like feathers, unable to hurt him. His mother had picked him up, clearly worried. He’d become the first disciple of the Master.

South Wind and the Master used to sit right here. They would play chess and teach Hadjar the wisdom he needed in life. Only now did Hadjar realize that they had loved him. Not as a son, but as a disciple, as the inheritor of their knowledge and skills.

Hadjar went over to the wall upon which he’d left the first marks he ever made with a blade. The blackened gouges still responded to his touch.

“It is forbidden to step on this sand without my permission.”

Hadjar turned around.

He would’ve loved to say that the Master looked the same as before. Unfortunately, time had taken its toll. Time and Primus’ regime.

Hadjar saw a withered old man leaning on a twisted stick. His simple, gray clothes dragged along the sand of the parade ground, and the wind ruffled his loose, white hair. The deep wrinkles on his face revealed just how much he’d been aged by what had happened. Only his eyes were still sharp, unyielding.

If Hadjar had been able to, he would’ve knelt down on the ground and buried his forehead in the sand before the Master. But he couldn’t.

All the General could do now was bow at the waist and say: “I beg your pardon, Honorable Master. I didn’t know about this rule. Once again, please, forgive my ignorance.”

Hadjar swallowed a thorny lump in his throat, straightened, turned around, and headed for the exit. Before he managed to take two steps, the stick struck him between the shoulder blades.

“Ignorance of the law isn’t an excuse, young man.”

The wind was blowing. The stars were shining. Hadjar stood still.

The Master took a step forward, but his stick pierced only emptiness. Hadjar had already moved behind him. The Master had once been an unattainable ideal of skill for him, but now... Now he was only a person whom the former General respected greatly.

Despite his weakness and old age, the Master was quick. He turned and the wind followed him. The stick blurred, but it couldn’t even touch Hadjar’s clothes.

Hadjar grabbed an old, cracked wooden sword, blocked the old man’s lunge, slipped like a morning mist behind the Master, and touched his side with the blade.

At the same time, the old man whirled, swung his stick, and launched a miniature fire falcon from it. Hadjar had admired it once, despite the humorous ‘Fried Sparrow’ nickname he’d given it.

Hadjar whirled around too. The wind lifted the sand under his feet and the golden whirlwind consumed the fiery Technique. These movements seemed suspiciously familiar to the old man, but he didn’t have time to analyze them.

He kicked off the ground and used his best strike, the ‘Flowing Stream’. The stick in his hands moved like a hungry, poisonous snake. With every inch it covered between them, its tip changed direction. It seemed like it was aimed at Hadjar’s throat, heart, groin, and right thigh simultaneously.

Despite their difference in age and strength, the Master had repeatedly knocked the Princess out with this strike. No one who hadn’t fought in hundreds of battles could resist-

A sharp crack echoed across the parade ground and the stunned Master recoiled when his stick slammed into the wooden blade. Hadjar attacked then. The sword energy spun around his legs. The light evening breeze turned into a hurricane wind.

The old man thought he could see the ghostly silhouette of a dragon flying through the sky behind the young man. A moment later, a strike that felt like that same dragon’s fang, glittering with a steel light, cut through the ground next to the Master. It parted the sands and then continued on into the sky.

Everything stopped. There was only silence.

The Master understood that even if he were ten times stronger and more experienced, he wouldn’t survive under the onslaught of this power. However, it wasn’t even a matter of brute strength, but of skill.

The old man doubted that even Heaven Soldiers following the Way of the Sword could’ve replicated this strike armed with merely a single wooden sword. However, the young man hadn’t reached the peak of swordsmanship yet. His weapon couldn’t withstand the strain and crumbled into sawdust to be immediately carried off by the wind.

“Please, Honorable Master,” Hadjar bowed again, standing at a distance from the old man, “forgive my ignorance.”

“Then accept my strike, you brazen little boy.”

He swung the stick again and scarlet blood fell to the sand. The blow had hit him right in the face, damaging his nose and upper lip. Hadjar hadn’t taken even a single step to the side, hadn’t released any energy, and hadn’t used the Technique that strengthened his body. That one blow could never compare to the years of pain and humiliation that had become the Master’s fate.

The old man recoiled again. He looked at the young man standing in front of him, eyes wide with shock. In recent years, he hadn’t left the parade ground and the Princess had been the only one to ever talk to him, but she’d rarely spoken about the ‘outside world’.

That’s why he’d presumed that this young man in rags was another disrespectful scion of the nobles. However, none of them would be able to move more silently than a summer breeze and then accept a humiliating blow obediently.

Their eyes met. The old man’s heart skipped a beat. He’d already seen these eyes on the day a little boy had fearlessly accepted his challenge and had slowly begun to move a whole barrel of water, cup by cup. These eyes were full of unyielding determination that could split the Earth and bring down the Heavens.

“Master,” Hadjar bowed once more and left the parade ground.

The old man stood still for some time, looking at Hadjar’s back. A quarter of an hour later, he returned to the extension that had become his home. There was nothing in there except for an old, rugged training dummy, a bed, and an ancient sword that had long since become blunt.

For the first time in a decade, the Master took it off the wall. He laid it on the floor, knelt down, and rested his forehead on the rusted blade. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his heart beat so quickly that it almost jumped out of his chest.

“My Prince,” he said, over and over. “My Prince.”

That night, the old man started cleaning and sharpening his blade again. He placed the dummy on the parade ground and began to train seriously. He was waiting for his only and best disciple’s call to arms.

King Hadjar would always have his loyalty.

Chapter 200

The next day, a furious Nero rushed into Hadjar’s room. Hadjar had never seen his friend so angry.

He had been sitting in a lotus position on the bed and didn’t react much to it, just opened his right eye. The former General’s calm infuriated the Prince even more. Therefore, he started pacing around the room and swearing.

“What are you doing?” Hadjar asked calmly.

Nero snarled, grabbed the golden table, and threw it out the window. Hadjar followed its flight with his gaze, feeling indifferent. He hoped that a maid would take a walk in the park that evening and come across this unexpected gift from the Heavens. To be more precise, from the heir of the Kingdom.

“Hadj, let’s just leave this place!” Nero finally calmed down and flopped down on the floor. He leaned his back against the mirror and filled his pipe with tobacco.

“I’m afraid Serra won’t understand our love. She’ll be angry if I take her beloved husband away.”

“Ha. Ha,” Nero mocked dryly. “Very funny. I’m serious. You, me, and Serra. We’ll make a brief visit to the treasury and then travel to the Sea of Sand, and after that, the Empire. Let the morons here bathe in their shit.”

“That sounds very tempting. But I don’t understand why you want to do so now? What was stopping us from leaving right after we beat the sect?”

Nero swore again. He took Hadjar’s pipe down from the shelf and threw it to its owner. Realizing that he wouldn’t have an opportunity to meditate any time soon, Hadjar sighed, caught the pipe, and lit it.

“I thought I could wander around the world and that, by the time I came back, my father would have become a wiser man,” Nero complained, shaking his head. “However, it’s all the same as before: ‘Eren, meet with those nobles’; ‘Eren, go to the border and take part in their celebration’; ‘Eren, you need to fuck that duke’s daughter, and ideally, get married to her as well’.”

“But you’re already married.”

“The King doesn’t care. He told me that the dissolution of our marriage was only a matter of time. Serra heard him say it.”

Hadjar tried to imagine the reaction of the desert witch, especially since she wasn’t even a subject of Lidus.

“You can guess what happened,” Nero sighed. “I’ve spent all my time in his office, attending endless councils and meetings. Worst of all, they’re all the same. Officials, noblemen, wastes of space in general… telling us fucking shit all. My father sits there, smiles, nods, and signs papers. Do you know what I would’ve done to my junior officers if they’d come to me with similar proposals and reports?”

“You would have kicked them out?” Hadjar offered.

He’d suspected that things weren’t going well for the Kingdom. But he was surprised to hear that things had gotten so bad that even the unflappable and optimistic Nero had ended up this upset... Primus really couldn’t rule well at all, concentrating on strengthening the state through military ‘power’ instead.

“Yeah, exactly!” Nero punched the mirror, breaking it. “Or sent them to the penal battalion! Or even just killed them on the spot!”

Hadjar came down from his bed, petting the sleeping Azrea along the way. He walked past the scabbard hanging on the wall and his sword resting on the table. Moon Beam didn’t belong on velvet and brocade. It looked best hanging from his bed, in a simple tent.

In this huge, luxurious, empty room, Moon Beam and its owner looked like intruders. Over the years, Hadjar had lost his connection to this place. All that bound him to the capital now were his sister and his desire to kill one person.

Alas, that man was the father of his truest friend.

“People say one battle is enough to get to know a person. We, Nero, have had a hundred more. I know you well and I’m sure that the issues you described wouldn’t have upset you this much. So, buddy, what’s actually the problem?”

Nero raised his head. Their eyes met.

“He’s going to involve you in all of this.”

“Me?” Hadjar was surprised. “I seem to recall not getting along with the King.”

“My father doesn’t generally get along with anyone. Maybe Lithium, but they have a special relationship — a mutual hatred that has turned into friendship. I don’t understand it.”

“At the moment, I am more interested in my role in your family’s problems than the relationship between the King and the Governor.”

Nero nodded and got up from the floor. They came over to the window and looked out. A young maid, no older than twelve, was trying to drag the broken, heavy table off the lawn. It was a difficult task, but she wasn’t giving up. To her, it was an enormous fortune.

“They’re arranging a hunt. At the foothills of the Old Castle.”

Hadjar didn’t react. The Old Castle… So that’s what they were calling the ruins left over from where his family had once lived.

“And?”

“Father wants you to attend. He says that if the younger generation — Elaine, you, me, and a crowd of the aristocrats’ kiddies — participates in the hunt, this will inspire confidence in the future.”

“Or, more likely, in the fact that Commander Nero and the Mad General have been bought off with money and titles.”

Nero shrugged and sank down on the windowsill.

“I’m not the one wearing the crown,” he said heavily. “So, despite all my freedom, the King’s word is law. We can’t disobey.”

“Well, let’s hunt, then. We’ve done it before, quite a lot, too. It’s unlikely that there’s anything more dangerous than the horde of monsters we held back waiting for us near the Old Castle.”

“Nobles,” Nero reminded him, “they are much worse than any monster. And their kids are just as bad.”

“Those naughty brats that are always dissatisfied with everyone and incapable of wiping their own asses? Are you talking about them?”

Nero gestured vaguely.

“Mostly, yes. However, many of the aristocrats have summoned their eldest sons back for our visit.”

Hadjar didn’t like the way his friend had said that.

“What do you mean?”

“At least three of them were sent to study in the Empire before I left. I’m sure they’ll try to propose to my sister.”

On the one hand, fighting practitioners who had studied in the Empire would be dangerous. On the other hand, he would get a chance to appreciate the vaunted, legendary power of the Darnassus Path of Cultivation.

“Everyone in the capital knows that Elaine loves... loved listening to the songs about your adventures. So, they’ll probably try to do it using you. Well, most likely using your corpse.”

Hadjar looked at Nero.

“I’ve killed a General’s adjutant, actual Generals, even rampaging monsters. I killed the Patriarch of a sect, how often do you get to do that? But I’ve never had the chance to kill any aristocrats.”

“They say they have blue blood.”

“Oh, really?”

The friends looked at each other and smiled bloodthirstily.

Chapter 201

Hadjar left enough food out for Azrea to last her at least a week and exited his room. The fluffy kitten followed him with a skeptical look.

There was a ringing silence and a distant echo of the ghosts of the past in the hall again. Heading toward the small throne room (their meeting place), Hadjar kept seeing the shadows of his childhood. Sometimes, he could swear he saw a smiling, dark-haired, blue-eyed little boy waving his hand. He saw the halls where he and his father had sometimes played hide and seek. At the time, a lot of nobles had lived in the Palace. They’d had to take part in the game too. Now, apart from maids and the occasional visitors, there was no one here…

Hadjar stopped in front of the door covered in red plates and decorated with bas-reliefs. The small throne room. Hadjar couldn’t remember whether he had ever been here.

Opening the door, the former General closed his eyes for a moment to shield them from the light and flare of red. The room was absolutely red: decorated with red metal, red stucco, and a strange, red stone. Red fabrics, red tiles, red sculptures and paintings.

There were also massive columns. The room was as lifeless as the rest of the Palace. Except for the female guards standing on the steps leading to the throne. They had amber shields, long spears, heavy armor, breastplates, and bodies that could drive men mad with desire.

The steps led several yards up to the wide platform, where the eponymous ‘small throne’ stood. Made from red stone, with massive armrests, it seemed to press down on the visitor. The harpy statue standing next to it only added to the feeling.

Elaine, wearing a white, long dress, her golden hair in a tight bun, stood out against the scarlet background.

“My Princess,” Hadjar bowed deeply.

“Good morning, General.”

The Princess was one of the few who still called Hadjar ‘General’. In fact, a few days ago, a document bearing the royal seal and an iron medallion with a coat of arms had been brought to him. That was all. The Mad General had turned into a landless Baron. This meant that he couldn’t even pass his title on to his children. He was a nobleman on paper, but, in truth, little more than a beggar.

“You’re the first to arrive.”

Hadjar looked around, but there was nowhere to sit, except on the steps. So, without thinking twice, the former General sat down on the floor right where he stood. Out of habit, he checked his sword, which made the guards nervous.

“I don’t like making people wait,” Hadjar answered.

Elaine didn’t bat an eyelid. The conversation seemed to be completely unpleasant for her.

“Does this apply to all people or just the ones with titles?”

Hadjar understood that she was hinting at the poor fellow who’d almost been beaten to death by the city guards. Realizing that Elaine wouldn’t forget about the incident any time soon, he simply turned away and looked through the stained-glass window. Once upon a time, he-

“I believe I asked you a question, General.”

Hadjar was surprised by the steel and determination in the Princess’ voice. He even thought about answering her, but then the doors opened again.

Flashing his snow-white smile and hair, Nero entered the room. His step was purposeful, and he was holding a small leather bag in his hand, looking the same as before — ready for battle. Apparently, Hadjar wasn’t the only one bored of the Palace.

“Sister, stop tormenting my friend,” he laughed and the echo reached all the way under the high ceiling, making the throne room feel less monumental and much brighter. “Hadj, I don’t see your supplies.”

Hadjar silently pulled a bag out from beneath his clothes, and it looked the same as his friend’s. The comrades exchanged glances, smiled, and nodded mutely to each other. As if they were glad to see that they hadn’t been completely domesticated... during the week and a half they’d spent in the Palace.

“What do you need supplies for?” Elaine asked, bewildered. “We will be accompanied by two carts and nine cooks.”

Nero scratched his head. “You hear that, Hadj? Nine cooks.”

“And two carts,” Hadjar nodded.

They sighed and discarded their leather bags embarrassedly.

“Imagine if we’d followed the White Apes with nine cooks in tow,” Hadjar said dreamily.

Nero approached him and sat down next to his friend. He took out a short dagger from his boot and began picking his teeth with its tip.

Elaine muttered something and disappeared behind the secret door. She’d probably gone to change her clothes. It was unlikely, even considering the carts and cooks, that she would be hunting in the white dress.

“We could’ve used them,” Nero shrugged.

At that moment, he looked less like a prince and more like a brave officer. Upon seeing this, Hadjar’s soul became calmer and... More restless, all at once.

“As bait for the monsters,” Hadjar nodded.

“Would’ve made our jobs a lot easier.”

Again, Hadjar’s response was interrupted. The doors opened with a booming sound and several people entered the room — nine young men and five young women. All of them were wearing leather hunting suits. The aristocrats’ gear looked expensive and comfortable. They had clean skin and slender fingers. Their hands had never known hard work nor had their stomachs felt hunger. There was nothing inherently bad about this, because in this world, only the power that a person had was important, and these people had plenty of it.

Judging by the energy emanating from them (once again, Hadjar regretted rebooting his neuronet), at least four of them were on the verge of becoming true cultivators, and the rest were no lower than the Transformation of the Mortal Shell Stage.

Damn, these fourteen nobles, when they combined their power, were just as strong as the entire Bear squad of the Moon Army.

“Eren,” a tall, haughty young man of seventeen separated from the group. His jacket was sleeveless, allowing the blue tattoos on his arms to be clearly seen.

“Oneg,” the Prince nodded. “Hadjar, let me introduce you to Oneg of Boreas, son of Duke Boreas.”

“Hadjar Traves,” the former General said with a nod.

“Baron Hadjar Traves,” Nero clarified, as if the title changed something.

The son of one of the richest and most influential people in the Kingdom didn’t deign to give Hadjar even a glance. He completely ignored his presence. Hadjar didn’t care, but Nero...

Only the return of the Princess prevented a fight from breaking out.

“Since everyone is here,” she said sweetly, “We can go.”

“My Princess,” Oneg bowed, followed by the other children of the aristocracy.

Chapter 202

Outside the Palace, Hadjar saw two carts that could’ve easily held the daily food supply for the whole Moon Army, and about four dozen horse riders standing on the lawn. Wearing the same light leather armor as the nobles, they looked very formidable and were at the level of Core Formation.

The cooks were tense. They sat in the carts and tried not to look at the children of the aristocrats. Only one of them wasn’t a simple mortal. The rest knew nothing about the path of cultivation. Understandably, they didn’t really want to risk their lives on this hunt. But the King had ordered them to.

Hadjar approached one of the saddled horses. Besides him, only Nero and one of the female nobles had no transportation of their own. The rest of the hunters were already sitting on their horses.

Elaine had a white mustang that beat his hoof against the ground nervously, but she stroked his powerful neck for only a couple of seconds and the horse calmed down.

The Princess straightened and turned her face toward the rays of the midday sun. Even in her leather hunting suit, she looked so beautiful that everyone around her froze for a few moments.

“Well, friend,” Hadjar whispered in the gray horse’s ear, “remember: you do your best not to drop me, and I’ll try my hardest not to break your legs.”

The horse snorted and turned its muzzle away. Apparently, it didn’t like the agreement, but, just like the cooks, it had no choice.

Hadjar jumped into the saddle and immediately felt like a fish out of water. He’d spent all his life on his feet, so riding was rather stressful for him. He felt like he’d been deprived of a good half of his power. In his opinion, a human had two legs to run and jump with, not sit in a saddle.

“A bit unusual, isn’t it, Hadj?”

Nero came up to his friend. He looked just as awkward. Being Dogar’s subordinates, they’d spent a lot of time hunting. However, it had been a very different affair — going on foot and in a group no bigger than five people. Now they had to participate in some kind of farce.

“Before we start this trip,” (The aristocrats apparently called it ‘a trip’) “we should choose a leader.”

“Are you suggesting yourself, Oneg?” One of the girls asked.

Hadjar hoped that he would never have to see these people again, so he hadn’t bothered with remembering their names.

“Why not?” Oneg’s friend said. “Leah, you know that Oneg is studying at the ‘Falling Leaf’ Imperial School. They are known for their constant skirmishes with wild monsters.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re studying there with him.”

Hadjar looked intently at the two disciples of the Empire. He had to be wary of Oneg. Not only because he was on the verge of becoming a true cultivator, but also because he was studying in the Empire. That made him a very lethal opponent.

“We’re wasting our time,” a cold, distant voice sounded. Its owner was a beautiful girl who looked bored. She had a bow and arrows.

“Izma,” Oneg smiled derisively, “you still haven’t gotten over my ‘Falling Leaf’ school beating your ‘Four Clouds’ sect at the last tournament?”

Therefore, this girl was the third disciple of the Empire. However, the fact that she wasn’t studying at a school of martial arts, but in a sect, made her less dangerous than Oneg. In schools and academies, everyone was taught equally, without dividing access to knowledge into levels, but in sects... It was unlikely that a citizen of Lidus had been allowed to become a disciple of the sect. She was probably an unofficial member of the sect. This meant she could use a small amount of resources and had access to a very limited portion of their knowledge. Nevertheless, Hadjar was pleased that he’d identified three of the most dangerous foes before the hunt had even begun.

“I just don’t want to waste time,” the archer shrugged. “I see no reason to argue when we have two royals here with us. Let Prince Eren or Princess Elaine lead the hunt. Then none of us will be offended.”

The nobles exchanged glances and stopped arguing. Apparently, they weren’t so spoiled and narrow-minded to not recognize the truth of those words.

“Thank you, Izma,” judging by the warmth in Elaine’s gaze, the two girls were very close. “But I can hardly expect to handle such a task well. You know that father rarely lets me out of the palace. So…”

“So everyone will obey me now!” Nero derived a lot of pleasure from what was happening. “My deputy and assistant will be my close friend Baron Traves. Anyone who disobeys his orders will be seen as someone who’s disregarded my orders.”

Hadjar hadn’t even thought that Nero could speak in such a commanding tone. Of course, he’d attended the Bear Squad training sessions a couple of times. Still, Nero had been commanding ordinary soldiers back then, and now he was doing the same with aristocrats who weren’t used to obeying anyone.

“My Prince, you-”

Nero’s gaze cut Oneg off. For a while, they looked at each other. Hadjar put his hand on the hilt of his sword. The forty horse riders tensed up. Oneg’s friend demonstratively put his heavy hammer on his saddle.

“As you wish, my Prince,” Oneg said quietly. “Your word is law.”

Nero nodded, turned his horse toward the forest, and raised a clenched fist into the sky. He straightened his palm and moved it in a circle several times.

“We’re not in the army anymore,” Hadjar whispered to him.

“Damn,” Nero realized. He cleared his throat and commanded quite loudly: “Let’s set off! Hadjar and I will be in the vanguard. Oneg will lead the group behind us along with Elaine. The beaters will ride on our flanks and track the game. The carts will bring up the rear.”

No one argued with him. Ten minutes later, the group entered the dense forest, the canopy above providing ample shade. The day was beautiful, but the atmosphere was tense. Each of the aristocrats had their own issues. Judging by the way Oneg kept looking at Hadjar, this trip wouldn’t be an easy one for him.

Night had fallen by the time they’d come across their first game. Ironically, it was a Fire-Horn Deer at the Alpha Stage.

Chapter 203

In a wide clearing, under the starlight, the children of the aristocrats feasted. They felt free and uninhibited. The tired beaters settled down a good distance away from them. Three of the riders had needed medical assistance, which had been provided by their comrades. Hadjar looked longingly at their ‘camp’. With every fiber of his being, he felt he belonged with those forty horsemen, rather than with the nobles. Apparently, Nero felt the same way. Alas, they couldn’t follow their hearts and leave the noble fools behind.

During the years he’d spent in the military, Hadjar had gotten used to the fact that stopping to rest during a hunt would entail eating just a small snack of baked potatoes or biscuits. Right now, however, they were sitting on folding wooden chairs at a folding wooden table. It was covered with a white tablecloth, and its legs dug into the ground under the weight of a truly astonishing variety of dishes. There were several bowls of fragrant soup, two kettles for tea, and each of the spoiled brats had their own plates, silverware, porcelain cups, and saucers before them. There were also numerous delicacies, as well as hot and cold snacks.

The maids (who had ridden along in the carts) were serving plates of meat. Not far away, on a huge spit, the severed leg of the Deer that they’d managed to bring down on the first day of the hunt was slowly roasting.

No matter how reluctant Hadjar was to admit it, he had never eaten a meal of this quality before. The soft, juicy meat melted in his mouth, leaving a spicy aftertaste.

There was so much wine that it would’ve been possible to get a whole army drunk. Nevertheless, no matter how much the practitioners drank, they remained sober. Simple alcohol, without the addition of special herbs, could never leave a practitioner intoxicated. The wine that could do so was sold only in the Empire and was prohibitively expensive.

“What else do you want to know about the ‘Falling Leaf’ School?” Oneg laughed. The female aristocrats, except for the aloof Izma, were gathered around him. “Of course, this school is a small one, situated in one of the border towns. But even in such a school, the lead Mentor is a Spirit Knight. You should’ve seen his staff... With just one blow, he was able to split the flow of a river in half.”

His friend continued: “Most of the Masters at the school are at the Heaven Soldier level. All of them are already old, but their advanced age is an advantage. They know a great deal and have seen a lot. Compared to their stories, our Kingdom is nothing more than a simple village.”

“It’s definitely a village,” Oneg slammed  his palm against the table. “Don’t be offended, my Princess and Prince, but there’s a huge world out there. We are nothing in the grand scheme of this world.”

No one was going to argue with this truthful statement. Not during the first few minutes, anyway.

“Nothing,” Izma snorted. “Maybe you, Oneg, are nothing.”

The atmosphere became heavy.

“What do you mean, Izma?” One of the girls squeaked.

“Neither Oneg, nor his dear comrade, nor any of us for that matter, have really seen the world! The border towns of the Empire... Ha!”

“That’s farther than I’ll ever get to visit, dear Izma,” Elaine smiled sadly.

After adjusting the bow dangling from her chair, Izma, grumbling something, grabbed a piece of meat from her plate. Using just her bare hands, without any cutlery. She brought it up to her face and bit into it eagerly. This shocked everyone. None of the other nobles could even imagine behaving in such a barbaric manner.

“A village,” Izma repeated, wiping her mouth with the edge of her sleeve. “You dream of traveling while sitting at a table in the middle of a hunt. You, my friends, are hypocrites. During my time at the ‘Four Clouds’ sect, I’ve met people who arrived to the Empire from places so remote that it would take centuries to reach them. And you know what? They didn’t care how they looked or about table manners.”

“Vagabonds,” Oneg retorted, moving away from her. “They are no better than hobos. Even if they enter a civilized society, they’ll still remain the dregs of humanity.”

The aristocrat turned to Hadjar. He didn’t care about the existence of anyone besides Elaine, Nero, and the other offspring of the aristocrats. To him, the cooks, the beaters, the maids, and the former General were as insignificant as the grass growing under his feet.

“To be honest, I’d like to listen to the Baron’s and Prince’s stories,” Izma drained her glass greedily. “You’ve seen much more than we have.”

“What and whom did they see?” One of the other girls piped in. “Dirty and unwashed nomads? It’s not much of an honor to fight against people who aren’t that different from animals.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Oneg shook his head. “How dare you? They defeated that oh so mighty sect. What level was the Patriarch again? A Heaven Soldier at the initial stage? A really fearsome opponent.”

“You forgot about the monster invasion.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Izma… the invasion. A really terrifying event. My ‘Falling Leaf’ school participated in such battles a mere... five times during the past two years. What about your sect, Izma? As far as I can remember, they fought in three of those?”

The archer nodded and all the nobles turned to Hadjar. Nero glared at the archer with genuine contempt, and Elaine looked from one participant of the scene to the other uncomprehendingly. The Princess probably didn’t understand that this whole exchange and the barbaric meat eating had been a setup. Izma had been working with Oneg. She’d done so to leave Hadjar with no choice.

“If my presence irritates you so much...”

The only thing they hadn’t taken into account was that Hadjar truly didn’t care. Without any vanity or concern for his reputation, he rose from his chair and headed over to the squad of beaters. Their company seemed much more appealing to him. The beaters were very surprised by this. 

“Is this what the Mad General is famous for?” He heard from behind him. “For his ability to escape?”

Hadjar didn’t slow down, and the beaters began to rise to their feet. They looked at him the same way the villagers he’d saved. With a deep respect and reverence. To them, the Mad General was a symbol rather than a real person.

“You are a coward, General!”

He heard the rattle of metal and silence filled the clearing. Not a lull in the conversation, but the kind of heavy silence that preceded someone’s death.

“You are out of line, Oneg,” an angry voice sounded.

Hadjar turned around and saw Nero holding his gigantic blade at the arrogant young man’s throat.

“What are you going to do, my Prince?” There wasn’t an ounce of fear in Oneg’s eyes. He knew that Nero was weaker than him. “Try to kill me? Or admit that you served under a cowardly weakling?”

Vortices of energy swirled around Nero; Oneg smiled and reached for the hilt of his sword, but the Princess interrupted them.

“Stop this immediately,” she didn’t raise her voice, didn’t make her tone any harsher, but at that moment, Hadjar heard their mother and father. The combined power and authority of their personalities, clearly audible in her voice, made the men stand down.

Nero moved his sword away and sank into his chair, while Oneg, instead of his saber, picked up a glass of wine.

“It’s probably nice to be a hero due to victories over mortals. Eh, General?”

There was silence again.

“Baron Traves,” Elaine said suddenly. “Would you be so kind as to demonstrate the skills that make you a hero to the all citizens of the Kingdom?”

Nero jumped to his feet and tried to stop his sister, but it was too late. The words had been said and heard. There were no witnesses more impartial than the Heavens and the Earth.

Oneg and Izma hadn’t managed to beat Hadjar, but they’d influenced the Princess easily.

“It’s a wonderful evening for a duel,” Oneg laughed. He threw the crystal glass he was holding over his shoulder and stepped forward. “I hope, General, that you won’t force me to become known as the hero’s murderer.”

The blade of the wide saber flashed and Oneg of Boreas, noble scion and disciple of the ‘Falling Leaf’ Imperial school, assumed an attack stance.

Hadjar just stood there calmly — his hands linked behind his back, his legs close together. The most defenseless pose one could assume.

The wind ruffled his patched and worn clothes.

When Oneg blurred forward in a swift lunge, Hadjar didn’t even move.

Chapter 204

Everyone jumped up from their seats. The bravest of the beaters grabbed their blades. They were ready to defend their symbol. A symbol of freedom, rebelliousness, of dignity and military honor.

However, no cry came, no blood drenched the ground.

The wind was still calmly ruffling the Mad General’s clothes. His hands were linked behind his back. His clear blue eyes stared at the noble’s stunned face.

The tip of the saber had frozen only a few inches away from its target’s chest. It seemed to be stuck against an invisible wall of wind. Oneg gripped its handle tighter and pushed forward, trying to break through the barrier, but he couldn’t move the blade forward even an inch. Each time he strained, more and more white circles seemed to ripple out from the point where wind met steel.

“Damn it!” The aristocrat roared.

He turned on his heel, shifted his center of gravity, and slashed viciously at the General. He aimed it at his foe’s right side, and if such an attack had struck an unprotected person, their body would’ve been cut into two unequal parts. Nevertheless, the saber once again crashed into a wall of wind and froze in place. It was as if an invisible hand had stopped the blade only a few moments before impact.

Most of the spectators looked shocked, and only the nobles, the Prince, and the Princess were sitting calmly. They were strong enough to notice that Oneg hadn’t used any energy. He’d simply launched typical, albeit skillful, attacks. Any mortal would’ve been capable of such a feat... if they’d spent several decades following the Way of the Saber.

Oneg of Boreas pushed off the ground and jumped back. He landed ten yards away. He was still arrogant and confident. The two unsuccessful attacks hadn’t affected his self-esteem.

“I would’ve been extremely disappointed, Baron, if you’d died before the battle had even begun.”

His tone was filled with contempt and mockery. His foe didn’t even blink. Oneg became irritated. Here in Lidus, the son of a duke was almost a king in his own right, while in the Empire, he was the same as the cooks and beaters who accompanied them. A servant. A nobody. He couldn’t bear the sight of a mere peasant with a general’s medallion treating him with the same casual indifference as the senior disciples in the ‘Falling Leaf’ school.

“Dew Drop!” Oneg roared.

He assumed a stance that made him look like a crouching tiger ready to jump on its prey. He held the hilt of his saber firmly in both hands, and aimed the blade directly at his enemy’s chest.

Only Izma and Oneg’s friend knew about this Technique. The best disciples of the school could use it to kill a practitioner at the Transformation of the Body Stage.

If the Mad General relied on just energy to defend himself this time, he wouldn’t be able to survive.

Oneg’s blade shone with a blue light, and as he exhaled, the young nobleman thrust the blade out. A blue ball was launched from the tip. It stretched and changed until it began to resemble the broad blade of a saber. It looked as if the blade had indeed produced a drop of dew. Deadly and insanely fast, it rushed toward Hadjar’s heart.

Everyone screamed. However, it wasn’t a scream of fear or horror. Rather, one of surprise.

Hadjar turned into a whirlwind of gray, tattered clothes. As he spun, his rags shot up, covering his face and torso for a moment. When he stopped, the dew drop was slowly dripping down off them. It didn’t reach the grass, turning into a blue haze instead.

A hush once again descended on the clearing.

Neither Izma nor the aristocrats, not even Nero, could believe their eyes. None of them were sure that they could’ve defended themselves against such a swift and terrible attack. A Technique that had been specially created to penetrate even the strongest defense.

Hadjar, however, knew that while a sword could pierce even the strongest shield, it would always get stuck in thick, annoying mud. One didn’t have to use brute force every time.

It was hard to look directly at Oneg: the energy swirling around him was like a fierce whirlwind, echoing the storm of negative emotions rising up in his soul.

“Falling Leaves!”

He slashed down and a hurricane blew in. Sharp steel leaves fell from the sky right onto Hadjar’s head. They rained down as rapidly as diving hawks. The closer they got, the clearer it became that these were several hundred saber blades.

Hadjar looked up at them, completely ignoring Oneg. He understood that this Technique was a simple diversion. In any case, that’s how he would’ve used it. For the aristocrat, however, activating this Technique required all of his concentration and effort. Apparently, the founder of the ‘Falling Leaf’ school had created it while being at least at the level of a Heaven Knight.

Hadjar waved his hand calmly and elegantly, as if greeting someone or giving them directions. Without any Techniques or stances, the grass swayed and hundreds of blades — copies of Moon Beam — soared into the sky.

They clashed with the sabers and the battle began. Its deadly rampage was beautiful, but fleeting. After a few seconds, the sky stilled — the steel leaves disappeared, and Oneg, breathing heavily, was wiping sweat off his forehead.

Hadjar didn’t unsheathe his blade.

Even if he was fighting against a disciple of the ‘Falling Leaf’ school... How did this school on the outskirts of the Empire differ from ‘The Black Gates’ sect? Only by its status and by having access to more rare resources.

“And my father wanted me to study there!” Nero sighed with a chuckle.

Apparently, that statement was the last straw for Oneg. Swearing, he rolled up his sleeves and slashed his saber across his wrist. The blood poured over the blade, but never fell to the ground. It seemed to get absorbed by it, creating more and more new patterns.

“Autumn Leaf Fall!”

Izma chuckled. Using that stance, Oneg had won the title of the best disciple at the Earth Rank in the entire border town. Admittedly, it was the lowest of the four Ranks, but still.

He swung his saber around and the mad dance of a dozen crimson leaf-sabers sprang up around him. Once again, Oneg pushed off the ground. This time, he wasn’t a shadow or a lightning bolt, just a leaf floating in the wind. Such a strong and sharp aura of power emanated from him that it slashed the ground itself, the cut grass rising into the air.

Hadjar nodded to himself. It would’ve been very strange if a disciple of an Imperial, albeit provincial, school hadn’t been able to force him to unsheathe his blade. A nobleman, no less.

Chapter 205

Oneg stopped in front of his enemy. Using the force of his inertia, he slashed at Hadjar’s neck. At the same time, a dozen scarlet sabers rushed at Hadjar from different directions. They surrounded him in a sphere of blades. With every heartbeat, they closed in and Oneg’s saber came closer to Hadjar’s neck.

To mortal people, it all looked faster than a swallow’s flight. Hadjar, as well as the other aristocrats, managed to examine Oneg’s movements in detail. Following the path of cultivation, they’d improved not only their bodies, but also their minds, which became faster and sharper with each new step they took. It was the only way they could fight at the speeds available to strong practitioners.

After taking Moon Beam out of its sheath, Hadjar deflected Oneg’s blade, and then moved so gracefully that it seemed like he wasn’t even touching the ground. At that moment, he looked like the feather of a raven or a black morning mist. He slid along the grass in a zigzag pattern, leaving no trail behind him. He easily dodged all the sabers. As he was sailing between them, he kept his eyes on the young nobleman. If his past failures had enraged Oneg, this one would surely provoke him even more.

The aristocrat saw his opponent retreating and the predator instinct to play with one’s prey awoke in him. His saber gleamed scarlet like a beastly fang. A saber lacked a sword’s agility and flexibility, but made up for it with cruelty and lethality. A sword was a weapon made for battle. The swift and merciless saber was intended for killing.

Oneg, using his great speed, struck down with a brutal slash. The air whistled under the onslaught of the saber. A dozen steel leaves appeared again. Eleven of the blades hit Hadjar’s head at once. They were faster than he could dodge. They were stronger than the best of Lidus’ shields could withstand.

Hadjar froze and a dark fog seemed to envelop him. The ordinary people and weak practitioners could only see his body and calm blue eyes. The Mad General seemed unconcerned about the lethal attack his opponent had just used against him. Moon Beam shone with steel light and Hadjar raised it in a hard block.

Thunder rang out and sparks like lightning pierced the night sky. The wave of energy created by the collision of the blades threw several cooks and maids to the ground. A wind rose up and fanned the fire, which forced some hunters to close their eyes and cover their faces with their hands.

Standing firm, Hadjar calmly kept all of the eleven sabers at bay. Shallow cracks spread across the ground under his feet. Not a single drop of sweat or blood marred his serene expression.

Oneg, snarling, tried to overpower his block, but failed. The veins on his hands and neck swelled, but no matter how much strength and energy Oneg used, his foe’s sword remained an unassailable mountain.

Finally, Hadjar, flicking his wrist slightly, took a step back and abruptly swung his blade. It traced a wide arc, leaving a ghostly image in the air. The scarlet sabers ended up crushed, and the nobleman, pressing his palm to his cheek, took a step back.

However, Oneg wasn’t bleeding. Instead of hitting him with the cutting edge and chopping the aristocrat’s head off, Hadjar had simply slapped him with the flat of his blade.

“Bastard!” Oneg of Boreas growled, blushing from the insult.

Hadjar, still as calm as when the fight began, sheathed his blade.

“Let’s stop here, my Lord,” Hadjar bowed.

“We’re done when I say we are!” Oneg yelled, finally shedding all of his refinement and arrogance. “I wanted to keep this attack as my trump card in the Thunder rank advancement tests, but I suppose the famous General can be its first victim.” The noble spat out the last words venomously.

Oneg assumed a low stance and thrust his saber forward abruptly. It whistled and then stopped; a scarlet ray erupted from the blade. Like a striking snake, it cut through the air and flew toward Hadjar at an astonishing speed. From the side, it looked as if Oneg’s saber had suddenly become ten yards long.

Hadjar’s sword was already in its sheath. Once again, the people jumped to their feet. Exclamations of surprise and admiration filled the clearing when steel lightning flashed and Moon Beam cut the scarlet ray in two. 

Hadjar’s strike had been so quick and precise that it seemed as if he hadn’t pulled the sword out of its sheath at all, but had instead materialized it out of thin air. It looked like the blade had been in his hand the whole time, just invisible.

The people sat back down. Even Hadjar considered the duel to be completely over, but Oneg’s bloodthirsty grin suggested otherwise.

Realization came too late.

The two halves of the noble’s attack went around Hadjar and targeted the maids and cooks.

Hadjar rushed after them.

“Your... choice... General,” Oneg said, panting.

This final attack had cost him all of his energy, so, regardless of the outcome of that last clash, the winner of the duel was more than obvious. Hadjar didn’t care about that at the moment. He was playing catch up with death. Not his own, but with the demise of others, and so the stakes seemed unusually high to him.

One half of the Technique was charging toward a frightened maid who was hiding behind a silver plate. As if that could ever protect her...

The second one was aimed at the young apprentice of a cook. The boy was about ten. Even his mustache hadn’t begun to grow yet, and if the selfish noble had his way, it would never get a chance to.

Hadjar made his choice. He threw his sword at the right half of the ray. Grabbing the boy, he blocked the second half. Blood soaked the ground, and the ray melted away into the darkness. However, Hadjar was no longer in the spot where the first droplets had fallen.

Hadjar had chosen the boy because he weighed less...

A black shadow flickered. Not a single cry had escaped the former General when the scarlet ray had pierced his left side. Moon Beam had only been able to slow the strike of Oneg’s saber for a moment. But that had given Hadjar enough time to overtake death itself.

Strength had never been what he relied on. Speed, however...

“Don’t worry,” Hadjar whispered.

Shielding the frightened maid, he lowered the little boy down next to her. The terrified girl hugged the crying child immediately.

Hadjar smiled, nodded, and straightened up. With his left hand, he pinched the bleeding wound on his left side. The maid screamed and held the child even tighter. She saw a terrible, bloody stain spreading over Hadjar’s back. Where the second ray had struck him.

“You have no right, bastard!” Oneg squealed out, paralyzed with fear.

What he saw in front of him definitely wasn’t a human being.

Chapter 206

he aristocrat noticed the reflection of a beast in the depths of Hadjar’s clear blue eyes. As Hadjar slowly walked toward his sword, which was stuck in the ground, all the noble could see was a dragon approaching him.

“Stay away from me!”

The saber fell from his weak grasp, and the aristocrat fell back on his ass, ignoring his friends’ screams.

“Stay away from me!”

Hadjar raised his sword above him and slashed. A storm burst out of it, one capable of wiping a whole city off the face of the earth. A thunderbolt struck, roaring like a dragon that had awakened after a thousand-year slumber. A flash of steel light blinded the spectators for a moment, and then everything was quiet.

The unscathed Oneg lay on the ground, his eyes glassy. He wasn’t dead, he’d just fainted. However, the people were amazed by a very different spectacle.

A few inches away from the aristocrat’s head, a jagged tear had spread across the ground. Several yards deep, it looked as if a giant from the ancient legends had cut the earth with a huge broadsword.

The fury in the Mad General’s eyes gradually faded away, until finally being replaced by indifferent calm. As if nothing had happened, he pulled off his top. Sitting down on the grass, he laid out bandages and various miniature flasks he’d previously kept in his numerous pockets.

He completely ignored the people stunned by his behavior and the bewildered look on the Princess’ face. She was trying to count the scars on his body, but couldn’t.

“Let me help,” Nero sat down beside him.

Hadjar nodded and allowed his friend to treat the wound on his back. It stung. Suddenly, he remembered Nehen.

***

He lay on the animal skins. Officers and commanders were shouting outside his tent. They were trying to get the camp back into a disciplined state after their recent victory over the invasion of the monsters.

He didn’t care. He idly stroked the curves of Nehen’s snow-white body. She was the most beautiful witch in the world... Of course, Hadjar would never say that in front of Serra. Now, in these rare hours of undisturbed peace, he could afford to relax and let his mind wander.

“My stupid General,” her hot lips growled in his ear almost wolfishly.

Hadjar shivered and goose bumps covered his skin. Everything below the belt tightened, and Nehen, feeling her man’s growing desire, leaned closer. She did so in a way that only experienced women could manage. In just one movement, they were able to make men lose their minds and ability to think clearly. It was neither magic nor secrets learned on the path of cultivation. Just a simple female trick. Sometimes, it could cost a naive fool his life, if he was someone accustomed to thinking with the wrong organ.

“Why do you call me stupid all the time?” Hadjar asked, keeping himself under control for now.

Nehen squirmed and bent like a cat. She played with him, checking how much longer he would be able to resist her charms. She stroked herself over rounded hills, and her fingers went down into their hollows, beckoning him to their warmth and pleasure. She breathed loudly, and for the first time Hadjar felt like prey.

“I don’t know, stupid General,” she whispered and then growled. “Maybe because I want to. Or maybe... because you’re stupid.”

“And yet...”

She didn’t let him finish, but he found that, in this case, losing a small battle could probably feel good.

Hadjar wasn’t mistaken.

***

Hadjar was torn away from these pleasant but distant memories by the sound of a hunting horn. Nero seemed to use it purely to annoy his friend. After the battle, if what had transpired between the General and the young noble could even be called that, the group had had to stay in the clearing for another day.

Not because of Hadjar’s wounds. Despite the apparent severity of his injuries, he merely had shallow cuts on his back and sides. Fortunately, neither his spine nor his internal organs had been damaged. Only the muscle tissue had been cut. Special ointments, left over from their time in the army, and his body enhancement Technique, had handled it quickly.

Alas, the Technique was at a very low level, otherwise, such attacks could never have hurt Hadjar at all. It was impossible to find knowledge about the higher levels of the Technique in a place like Lidus, or the special resources that were needed to attain them. No, the delay wasn’t due to Hadjar.

Oneg needed time to recover, so the group had set up camp. This camp looked richer than some of the cities Hadjar had visited when he’d been a traveling circus freak.

His energy and strength returned to Oneg pretty quickly, but his wounded pride... The fact that all those girls who’d recently been fawning over their idol now avoided him had only worsened the situation.

Izma and Oneg’s other friends shot mocking glances at the until recently unspoken leader of the aristocracy. As a result, Oneg avoided Hadjar, trying not to acknowledge the existence of his personal ‘nemesis’. At the same time, he took his frustration out on the servants, cooks, and beaters. They endured and looked at Hadjar with respect and admiration. It would’ve been easy to kill the aristocrat, but for people of such a rank, there were things worse than death. For example, living with dishonor. Well, relative to the warped form of ‘honor’ they believed in. 

“Get ready!” Nero commanded and jumped on his horse.

He needn’t have bothered...

The camp was so huge that it took them a few more hours to get going. Therefore, they set off in the afternoon. The sun was shining lazily through the dense treetops, and the hunters moved deeper into the forest. Their strong, hearty mounts at the Stage of the Awakening of Power could travel long distances with ease, and by dusk, they reached the Mountain of the Kings.

On its northeastern slope, which was impossible to see from the plateau on which the hunters had stopped, stood the ruins of an ancient castle. Hadjar looked around, trying to remember where they were. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t remember these forests or the plateau.

Everything around him was unnervingly unfamiliar, although Hadjar, as a child, had explored everywhere. He glanced at the Princess, but Elaine immediately looked away. After the duel, her attitude had-

“Danger!” Nero exclaimed.

At that very moment, the horses neighed. Some of them reared up, dropping their unprepared riders. Hadjar jumped down, holding his horse’s bridle firmly.

Alas, it didn’t help much.

The ground beneath their feet trembled and stone geysers shot upwards.

“Damn!” Nero muttered.

Hadjar was inclined to agree. Three Earth Dragons had crawled out of the ground, a good ten yards tall. These smelly and slimy worms devoid of limbs weren’t related to actual dragons. However, they had fiery saliva and mouths decorated with thousands of yellow, sharp fangs.  

The beaters immediately took up fighting positions, and the aristocrats grabbed their weapons. Hadjar also prepared for battle.

“Elaine!” Someone in the crowd shouted.

Hadjar and Nero turned as one toward the Princess. She was already rushing toward the bottomless, black abyss that had appeared on the plateau. The girl had clearly been overwhelmed and couldn’t control her horse.

The two friends simultaneously started riding after her, but Nero wasn’t destined to travel even a dozen yards. He was intercepted by one of the Earth Dragons. The battle was on.

Hadjar rushed after the Princess, but understood that he would be too late.

Her horse, not looking down because of its terror, was getting closer and closer to the brink of the abyss.

Hadjar thrust his hand forward.

Golden hair shone.

Elaine almost brushed her fingers against his own, but then disappeared beyond the edge of the cliff.

Nero, who was fighting the huge creature, just managed to see his friend jumping after the Princess, straight into the mouth of the hungry abyss.

“Stupid General!” could be heard coming from somewhere, faint but unmistakable.

Chapter 207

Elaine struggled through warm, viscous darkness. She saw only some white stains and heard a noise similar to the distant sound of morning rain. Gradually, she regained consciousness and found herself in a dark cave. She attempted to sit up, but her body immediately responded with a sharp pain in her back.

“Don’t move, my Princess,” a familiar voice said.

After a few more moments, her vision was completely restored. The first thing Elaine saw was a low, stone ceiling. It was wet and black, hanging over her like a coffin lid, which wasn’t the most comforting comparison right now.

The rain-like noise came from a murmuring stream nearby. It gave off most of the soft, bluish light in the cave.

“The Grass of the Azure Star,” the same familiar voice explained.

If she could’ve moved, Elaine would’ve immediately dived into the water.

The Grass of the Azure Star was one of the rarest, for Lidus’ standards, ingredients. For one bundle of this grass, if it was at least one hundred years old, you could purchase the scroll for an Earth-level Technique. And there was a lot of it in here, as the whole cave was glowing.

Well, maybe not the whole cave — a green fire had been lit in the center. It danced inside a can, gradually devouring a small, white, very fragrant substance.

The cave was no more than ten feet high and maybe 23 feet wide at best. It was narrow and small.

“Stop making that face, Princess. Some of your subjects live in smaller houses than this cave.”

She looked into his deep, blue eyes and saw her own reflection in them. Her body reacted faster than her mind. However, this could be justified by her recent dive into the ‘black whirlpool’. The sound of the slap echoed among the wet walls of the cave for a long time. A red mark spread across Hadjar’s face, gradually taking the shape of a woman’s palm.

He rubbed his burning cheek and moved away from Elaine. She picked up a cloak lying next to her and covered herself with it. Numerous bandages that he’d wrapped around her beautiful body immediately disappeared under the red cloth. Honestly, Hadjar looked at her beauty with a sense of detachment, as if looking at a picture.

He didn’t feel any sexual attraction toward his sister. If he did, then he would’ve seriously begun to worry about the state of his soul and mind. Hadjar didn’t tell the Princess that, in his childhood, he had often helped Nana and their mother wash her and that this wasn’t something new for him. Alas, she would hardly have believed him.

Deciding to give the girl some more time, he moved to the side and began to sharpen his sword. He didn’t need to, because Moon Beam, like any artifact at the Spiritual level and higher, couldn’t lose its sharpness. The act just helped him center himself and keep his mind alert.

Hadjar once again began to miss his old friend — the computational module of the neural network. The more time he spent without it, the more he began to feel like he’d lost a limb.

The silence lasted no longer than five minutes.

“How did we get here, General?”

Despite the fact that the Princess’ voice was calm, Hadjar still felt her anxiety. After all, Elaine had spent all her life in the castle and hadn’t seen the world beyond the garden. Except for when she’d escaped that time they’d met in the city.

“My Princess, you fell into the abyss along with your mustang. I jumped after you.”

Elaine tried to sit up again, but winced immediately. A red spot began to stain the bandages on her side. Cursing quietly, Hadjar rose and stepped closer.

The girl pulled the cloak closer to her chin.

“I assure you, Princess, I won’t be seeing anything new. I’ve seen naked women before.”

Elaine’s eyes widened either due to the depth of the insult, or in horror.

“How dare you?”

“However, you can ignore my medical services. In that case, the poison of the Red Bat, which managed to bite you quite deeply last week, will spread throughout your body.”

“A week ago?” Elaine screamed. “Where is Gwido? What have you done with my horse?”

“Although, it’s also thanks to that Red Bat that we didn’t die,” Hadjar continued as if he hadn’t heard the Princess’ words. “It brought us to the stream, which, in turn, carried us here.”

Elaine stared into the General’s blue eyes for a while, but she couldn’t see anything there. As if the man was completely devoid of any emotion.

“Will you let me help you, my Princess?”

Hadjar reached for her wound. Wiping away a tear (a tribute to the memory of her faithful four-legged friend), Elaine proudly raised her chin.

“My father will immediately execute you when he sees that you’ve touched me.”

The Princess was extremely pleased to see the brave General pull his hand away.

She didn’t know that, because of her words, Hadjar had remembered Haver and how awkwardly he’d used to swaddle the small, ever-crying Elaine. He’d often done so while her uncle, the current King, had nervously paced around the room.

Eventually, Elaine gave up. She threw aside the cloak and allowed the General to inspect her bloody bandages.

She turned away. Not because she was afraid of the sight of blood, but so that he wouldn’t see the blush on her cheeks. They were so hot that Elaine felt as if even her earlobes were glowing scarlet.

However, that wasn’t the main reason...

She couldn’t explain why the General’s touch gave her comfort and peace. Even her own father, King Primus, rarely touched her. She didn’t like being touched. The General seemed to be the first ever exception to that rule.

“You said that we’ve been down here for a week, so how did we...”

Instead of answering, Hadjar pointed to the stream. Elaine looked closer and found several ‘empty’ sections in the abundance of rare Grass.

Surely not.

“Did you use the Grass of the Azure Star for food? But that’s like eating pure gold! It’s absolutely useless as a food ingredient!”

“In your opinion, it would’ve been better for us to starve?” Hadjar asked. “Maybe it’s useless as an ingredient, but it’s very nutritious.”

The General bandaged her deftly and quickly, smeared the wound with a stinking, mercilessly burning ointment, and moved back to ‘his’ corner. As far from her as possible.

“Why did you help-”

“You said it yourself, my Princess,” Hadjar stopped her. “I only help the rich and influential people.”

Elaine’s eyes flashed with anger. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone daring to interrupt her.

“...those servants?”

Hadjar looked at the Princess. She was beautiful. Young. Strong. Many men would’ve gladly given their lives to hold her in their arms for just one night. He would’ve given his life not to see her bloody and bandaged.

“Rest and gather your strength, my Princess. Soon enough, we’ll have to find a way to get out of here.”

Hadjar leaned against the wall, laid his sheathed blade across his lap, wrapped himself in a gray cloak, and plunged into deep meditation.

Elaine stared at the man. She’d heard so many songs and legends about him. He had always seemed like a magnificent hero to her, and not a recalcitrant, slightly sullen vagabond. She remembered his scars. They weren’t just the result of numerous battles, but had also been inflicted by whips and sticks.

At that moment, she didn’t have any respect or pity for the General. She was driven by a simple curiosity. Since she had the chance, she would solve the riddle named Hadjar Traves.

Chapter 208

“We’ve been here for nine days,” Elaine nibbled on her lower lip nervously, pacing along the edge of the tumultuous stream. “Eren and everyone else should’ve gone back to father by now. A search party will be here soon. Very soon.”

Leaning his head against a cold stone, Hadjar thought about how nice it would be to push the Princess into the water. ‘Accidentally’, of course. Then jump in after her to save her. That was the only way they could leave this cave.

And yet, while Elaine was a strong practitioner and her body had healed well, because of the injuries she’d suffered, she was now no stronger than a trained mortal, but that would still be enough to survive an underground journey.

If she’d been Nehen, Moon Leen, or Serra, they would’ve been long gone by now. However, his sister was a beautiful, carefully raised flower. Strong on the outside, but weak inside. She didn’t have the backbone that those brave ladies had. She was a girl who’d never known hunger, cold, gunpowder, or steel. And praise the Heavens and Earth for that! Hadjar was ready to bring any gifts to any gods to thank them for the fact that his sister had led such a life. However, at this particular moment, it was slightly interfering with the minor issue of their survival.

“Princess, please, listen to me,” Hadjar explained once again, “we are in an underground cave. Nobody knows how deep it is and what part of the mountain it’s located in. We ended up here due to a variety of random circumstances-”

“Which makes the likelihood of us being rescued minimal,” Elaine interrupted, repeating Hadjar’s words. “You’ve already told me this no less than ten times.”

“I’d hoped that you would finally hear me this eleventh time.”

“I heard you!” She shouted, and Hadjar closed his eyes because the ringing echo gave him a headache. “Just stop talking like a court scholar!”

Still biting her lip, the Princess paced the cave. As she did so, she nervously tugged at a small, rustling cloth bundle she’d attached to her belt — she had collected about a dozen bunches of the rare Grass.

Hadjar hadn’t even suspected that his sister had an entrepreneurial spirit. He wasn’t interested in the ingredient since he didn’t have the resources and knowledge to use it. If he attended a sufficiently large auction with it, people whom he wasn’t currently capable of defeating would come after him and the Grass. If Hadjar had to choose between wealth and life, he always chose life. Besides, with his sword hanging on his belt, and endless expanses stretching out before him as far as the eye could see, he felt richer than any king ever had.

“They’ll come and save us-”

“No one will be coming for us, Princess,” Hadjar said calmly. “I have no doubt that the King has sent a search party. But if no one could detect a whole underground stream teeming with one of the rarest cultivation ingredients for tens of thousands of years, then you and I won’t be found either.”

The Princess froze and looked at the water. Apparently, this argument had convinced her at last. With a sigh of relief, Hadjar rose and walked over to Elaine. He understood her panic and confusion perfectly well, as he had experienced it himself. Fifteen years ago, without legs, disfigured, and enveloped by pain, he had been thrown into a stony darkness. He’d also hoped that someone would come and save him. For almost three months, he hoped. Then he saw the truth.

He became aware that he was the one who would come and save him. That if he did nothing, nothing would change. The gods saw his efforts. Maybe that’s why Fate had taken pity on him and sent him a blessing in the form of a slave collar and a traveling freak show. Hadjar frowned and chased away these unnecessary memories. Around Elaine, he constantly found himself feeling sentimental.

“We don’t have three months this time,” Hadjar whispered.

“What did you say?” The Princess asked.

He saw his reflection in her eyes. They had similar eyes, which they’d inherited from their parents. In all other ways, they were as different as any two people pulled out of a crowd were. Traves’ heart had changed Hadjar too much...

“Nothing,” Hadjar shook his head, realizing that he had said the thought out loud. 

Elaine looked at the water again. She trembled slightly. The girl clearly wasn’t accustomed to feeling weak and defenseless. She wasn’t used to entrusting her fate to a stranger. Even if said stranger was a celebrated hero.

“What is your plan, General?” The Princess finally asked.

Hadjar barely restrained himself from letting out a victorious shout. He had spent the past two days trying to convince the Princess to allow him to save her. Nehen would’ve probably laughed her ass off...

“Stupid General,” a faraway, ghostly voice said.

“Take a closer look, my Princess,” Hadjar pointed at the water. “What do you see in its depths?”

The Princess squatted down and looked. In the water, which was glowing with a gentle light, one that was slightly flickering because of its flow, she saw only her reflection.

“Me.”

The General sighed and sat down beside her. He suddenly put his hand in the water, and then abruptly pulled it out — not a drop had been left behind on his clothes. Hadjar’s movements had been so fast that they’d cut through the water. He was clutching a small fish in his calloused hand.

“Is that our dinner, General? To be honest, I’m really sick of the Grass, even with it being so precious.”

A spoiled little princess, Hadjar thought, but instead said: “This fish, my Princess, eats small insects. It emerges from the water to catch them.”

“And?”

“In the ten days we’ve spent in this cave, I haven’t seen any living beings, except for us. Consequently, this fish eats somewhere else.”

The Princess looked at the fish which the General had released back into the water.

“You do realize that the stream might pass through small cracks that this fish can swim past, but we can’t?”

“If it’s still not fully grown, yes,” Hadjar nodded. “But an adult specimen can be up to seventy feet in length.”

“Seventy feet? How many flies a day does that fish eat?”

“Flies are different, my Princess,” the General’s smile was a little frightening. “You can ask your brother. A ‘fly’ once almost sent him to the next world.”

Judging by Elaine’s face, she didn’t believe that Nero could’ve been killed by a simple fly. Of course, she was right. An ordinary fly couldn’t have done so. But a Green Metal Fly — a huge creature with a wingspan of ten feet — almost had. Hadjar conveniently forgot to mention that it had almost devoured him as well.

“How long can you hold your breath, my Princess?”

Elaine thought about it, then measured her pulse and sighed heavily.

“Normally, a quarter of an hour. But in this state… no longer than nine minutes.”

Hadjar nodded and walked over to ‘his’ corner. Throwing aside his cloak, he took out two... sacks. Yes, these things looked like sacks. Very smelly, translucent ones, at that.

“What are those?” Elaine was horrified, covering her nose with her palm.

“I made them from the gallbladders of fish that swam through here. We’ll fill them with air. That will give us five extra minutes each.”

Elaine sighed. Apparently, they had no other choice. This was her chance to go on a dangerous journey. Strangely enough, she’d dreamed about this for almost her entire life, but now that Fate had come knocking, she was frightened.

They quickly got ready. Half an hour later, they were standing together at the edge of the stream.

Suddenly, Elaine realized something. “Wait. I don’t remember you feeding me fish!”

“While you were sleeping, I ate more than just the Grass.”

The Princess didn’t have time to argue as she was pushed into the water. Hadjar jumped in after her.

Chapter 209

The cold water squeezed Hadjar’s chest like a giant’s fist. A strong practitioner could hold their breath for fifteen minutes without damaging their health. Last week, Hadjar had practiced doing just that. His personal record was 18 minutes and 43 seconds. That was more than enough to swim over twenty miles, even with the underground stream slowing them down. But what would happen if, after more than 20 minutes of swimming, they didn’t find another cave or grotto? Hadjar tried not to think about that.

He’d given both oxygen sacks made from the fish gallbladders to Elaine. She swam after him. Hadjar couldn’t see her face. The stream wasn’t wide enough for him to turn his head and look back.

If not for the peril, their little journey would’ve been an amazingly beautiful thing. As they swam through the crystal clear water, they seemed to fly over azure light that the Grass pinned to the stones was emitting. There was so much of the precious ingredient here that even the ore vein Primus had found couldn’t compare to its sheer value.

This light, bright enough to illuminate their way, was still dim enough that they had to squint and strain their eyes. They seemed to float above a path that had been determined by spirits. Sometimes, fish joined the siblings on their journey. The same kind that Hadjar had been eating for the past week.

Of course, he had wanted to feed his sister the fish, not just the Grass. However, it was rather difficult to feed an unconscious person hard, fried meat, which had to be chewed as carefully as old and stale beef. So, he’d had to squeeze juice from the Grass into her mouth.

Hadjar’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden acceleration in the stream’s flow. The stream became a spiral. This could mean only one of two things: there was either a cave or an underground pocket of air ahead of them that was causing the odd change. They’d been swimming for a rather long time. Elaine would most likely have to use one of the sacks soon. The fish had grown larger, so it was unlikely that the water had carried them to safety.

After checking that the rope he’d used to tether Elaine to himself was still whole, Hadjar drew his sword and prepared for battle. Water wasn’t his domain. It made his movements sluggish. The lack of oxygen disrupted his thoughts and slowed down his reactions. That’s why, when the stream pushed them into a huge, flooded cave, Hadjar realized that the battle wouldn’t be an easy one.

Dozens of fish circled around their leader — a huge creature, easily forty feet long. It was a mixture of a catfish, an eel, and a shark. Its long body squirmed, playing with the streams of water and driving away the most annoying of the smaller fish. Odd strands, akin to tentacles, stretching from its muzzle, were topped with bone claws. Judging by the numerous scratches on the walls of the cave, they were formidable weapons. Numerous sharp fins allowed the fish to move in the water as easily and freely as a bird in the sky. Nevertheless, the most formidable weapon it had was its maw, filled with rows of triangular, bent teeth.

Hadjar looked down. The bottom of the cave glowed because of the abundance of the Grass. It grew everywhere: on the stones, on the sand, even on the skeletons of other beasts. Skeletons belonging to not only fish and other underwater inhabitants, but also ones that Hadjar wasn’t able to recognize. Apparently, it was their blood and cores that had allowed the Grass of the Azure Star to flourish.

Hadjar untied the rope around his waist and tried to show Elaine where to hide using gestures. He pointed to a ‘column’ that was near the tunnel from which they’d come out, carried by the stream. Then he pointed to the fish and folded his arms. Elaine, praise the Heavens, was a smart princess. She nodded and immediately sailed away. Holding onto the stone column, she hid behind it.

Hadjar turned toward his future opponent. The cave was too small for them to try and pass by the fish unnoticed. Besides, the huge creature was blocking the tunnel that led further on and into which the stream resumed its journey.

The enormous beast was floating comfortably. The other fish were circling it for a reason. They were bringing pieces of various food to their ‘king’, and the monster simply accepted the food into its open mouth.

Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to find another tunnel, Hadjar decided not to waste time and precious oxygen. This battle would cost him too much air regardless. 

Pushing away from the stones lying at the bottom of the cave, Hadjar moved up underneath the cave roof like a crossbow bolt. The vibrations that disturbed the water as he moved attracted the attention of the water monster.

The king of the cave opened its eyes and slammed its mouth shut, scaring its ‘subjects’. It saw a strange fish, which didn’t have a tail, nor any fins. Instead, it had four strange probes, one of which had a sparkling canine protruding from it. It was an ugly, horrid thing. However, even if it meant having to face such a monster, it had to kill it to safeguard its power and peaceful existence.

Hadjar had already begun to feel his chest burning. That meant he had precious little air left. Not to mention time. The monster was gradually coming to life after many years of torpor.

The sweeps of its fins changed the flow of water and disturbed the Grass at the bottom, which caused the azure light to dance in odd, intricate patterns.

The scales on the tail of the cave king caught these patterns, looking like they were covered in a net of azure threads. Then a wave of its huge tail made the water head toward Hadjar. Almost invisible to the naked eye, it nevertheless created enough pressure to flatten not just a person, but an actual stone.

Hadjar raised Moon Beam in front of him. The blade, illuminated by the light of the Grass, lived up to its name perfectly at the moment. The former General didn’t attack. However, the light ‘peeled off’ from his blade. It took the shape of the blade, growing until it became a cutting edge that stood in the way of the water trying to crush him.

The clash of the two skills didn’t produce any loud noises or visible signs of the struggle between them. There was only silence. The stream, which had been cut in half, moved around Hadjar and hit the walls of the cave, leaving deep holes in them.

For the first time in its life, the cave king was facing an enemy that it wasn’t capable of killing with just one blow. That was bad luck on this strange, ugly fish’s part. It would know the rage and power of the king’s steel teeth and sharp fins. The king’s subjects would have a bloody feast that would make them stronger.

Hovering in the water, Hadjar watched the huge monster rushing toward him. It opened its mouth and exposed the rows of crooked fangs there.

The General couldn’t afford to fight in melee. Even if he won the battle, he would have very little oxygen left afterwards.

Time slowed for Hadjar. On his back, the tattoo left behind by the Sword Spirit shone slightly.

The water hindered his movement. It didn’t allow him to fight as easily and as freely as he did on land. Nevertheless, it was also the main weakness of the underwater monster. When the creature was a moment away from devouring him, its mouth closing in around him, he launched a single attack with his sword.

Chapter 210

That one movement was enough for the light in the cave to change. It seemed to come alive. The azure glow pushed off the walls, leapt out of its captivity in the cave king’s scales, and slipped free of the Grass. It whirled around Hadjar’s blade and then took the shape of a sword that cut through the water.

The stones trembled as the pressure increased several times. The fish that were in the way of the strike were immediately obliterated. Their small bodies couldn’t even slow the swordsman’s attack, and it soon crashed into the wall of the cave, leaving behind a cut that was several yards deep. Water rushed through this new opening, disrupting the cave’s flow.

That was enough for Hadjar’s plan to succeed. His quick and powerful attack, imbued with his own energy, had also been granted a tiny sliver of the mysteries of the Sword Spirit, secrets that were stored somewhere in the depths of the universe. Such a skill could’ve frightened even a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage of that level of cultivation.

The hole in the wall had allowed Hadjar to lower the water level for a moment. That had been enough for the water monster to lose the support of its native element, even if briefly. It ended up pulled into that very same opening, and its mouth snapped shut just a few inches from Hadjar’s face.

Down there, a stone fang awaited it. Sharpened by an undercurrent, it dug into the monster’s carcass eagerly, punching through its body. The king twitched a few more times, and then stilled when Hadjar’s sword pierced its head. A red cloud of blood immediately began to float away across the water. Smaller fish swarmed toward the corpse like hungry flies. They gulped the blood down, realizing that it would make them more powerful. After all, when the battle for the ‘throne’ began, they would need every grain of power they could muster.

Elaine swam out from behind the column. She held only one air sack. Hadjar swore — his hands were already trembling slightly due to the burn in his chest. Even such a short battle had cost him too much of his strength and oxygen.

The Princess reached for her knife. She looked greedily at the core of the monster’s power that could be seen inside its flesh.

Hadjar stopped her with a powerful wave of his hand. He caught the end of the rope, tied Elaine to himself, and, pushing away from the monster’s body, rushed toward the second tunnel. She definitely was her father’s daughter. The Princess had probably cried inconsolably over how much of the rare ingredient they’d wasted. Now the monster core was out of her reach as well.

Hadjar, on the other hand, understood that the core wasn’t that valuable. Of course, the fish had been big and strong. However, its energy indicated that it had barely been at the Alpha Stage. If the water hadn’t been hindering him, Hadjar would’ve dealt with it even faster and wouldn’t have spent so much energy and oxygen on it.

The stream picked up the two uninvited guests and carried them toward another stone cave. The flow started to accelerate even further, and the walls of the underground tunnel began to tighten around them. Despite the smoothness of the stones, they still scratched their skin and tore into their clothes. Hadjar and Elaine left a bloody trail behind them.

Hadjar couldn’t see them, but he knew that hundreds or even thousands of fish that had been in charge of taking care of the monster were already following their bloody trail. While they hadn’t been much of a danger to him in the cave, right now... In such a narrow tunnel, he didn’t have room to even unsheathe his blade, let alone wield it.

The burn had already become intolerable. He somehow managed to turn around, only to see Elaine inhaling air from the second sack.

Damn it! Hadjar mentally cursed.

His lungs felt like they were on fire. His body was trying to force him to take a life-giving breath of oxygen. It didn’t understand that instead of air and life, his lungs would only receive water and a painful death from suffocation.

Somewhere ahead of them, Hadjar noticed pillars of golden light. He mentally reached out toward them, trying to make his body hold out a little longer. Just a little bit longer…

The sun’s golden rays were waiting for him up ahead. His freedom and the surface were within reach. However, they were also so far away...

Viscous, cold darkness closed in around him. It clung to his thoughts and body from all sides. He was drowning in it. He tried to endure, but couldn’t. Hadjar fell into it. He fell deeper than ever before.

Then he burned. At first, it was just his lungs, then his mind, and then his whole body.

Hadjar doubled over. He shook as his throat was burnt by the unpleasant taste of water. He coughed involuntarily, trying to expel the water from his lungs. This didn’t happen immediately, and, for some reason, he remembered Nehen.

“Stupid General,” sounded somewhere on the edge of his consciousness once again.

Through the pain, Hadjar inhaled life-giving oxygen with all his might. Coughing again, he repeated the action several times, until he finally felt like he wasn’t going to pass out at any moment.

Sitting up suddenly, Hadjar shook his head like a dog and could finally see normally again. In front of him, on her knees, a blushing Elaine sat. Her wet hair lay across her slightly trembling shoulders, and she kept touching her sensual, pink lips with her hands.

“Thank you,” Hadjar nodded.

He also thanked all the gods that someone had taught the Princess how to do CPR.

“Thank you?” The Princess exclaimed. She jumped to her feet and reached for her belt, but didn’t find her blade there. It had disappeared when the goddamned bat had grabbed her. “That was my first kiss! Who will return it to me now? My first kiss is lost forever!”

Hadjar smiled slightly. The way she was talking right now reminded him of how their parents had used to quarrel. Unlike most children, he‘d never been unsettled by their arguments because they had always known to end them in the warmth of their huge bed, keeping their love strong.

“Actually, my Princess, that doesn’t count as a kiss. You just saved my life, after all. ”

Hadjar rose to his feet and shook off the dirt that had gotten on his wet clothes.

“And I still don’t understand why I did it,” Elaine snorted and turned away.

Her ears were so red that Hadjar had no doubt that, if he were to place Moon Beam on them, the sword would melt. In an odd way, his sister combined militant determination with the shyness of a homegrown princess. One day, someone would be lucky to have her... or, well, perhaps unlucky.

“I dare to assume, my Princess, that you did it because, without me, you won’t find your way out of here.”

Elaine ignored him. After sitting down on the nearest boulder, she tried to dry her hair. However, it only became more tangled and messy, which annoyed the Princess even more.

Hadjar looked around. The place where they had found themselves was amazing. They had stumbled upon some very old ruins. According to his modest estimate (since his neural network still wasn’t working), these ruins were at least one hundred thousand years old. They’d been here long before the first royal castle of Lidus had been built on the hill.

Damn it, where were they?

Chapter 211

Hadjar got up and looked around. He stood on short grass that almost looked like it had been mowed. It covered the ancient stones that made up a road which snaked along among the rocky hills and cliffs. Once, in ancient times, this road had led to a pond or a well that had now turned into a small lake.

Elaine and Hadjar had emerged from this lake. Rather, Elaine had emerged from it. Then, while deprived of her strength as a practitioner, reduced to the level of a mere mortal, she’d miraculously managed to pull an adult man ashore, give him CPR, and wrest him from the clutches of death. Hadjar was overwhelmed with pride for his sister's accomplishment.

“It looks like a temple,” her muffled, brooding voice offered.

Hadjar turned and looked at the crevice where they were currently standing. Stone walls, reaching toward the sky, stood on either side of the wide road. They were smooth, as if carved by an experienced sculptor, and surrounded the plateau. Old bas-reliefs and patterns, sometimes destroyed by wind and time, could be seen on their surface. They depicted scenes that Hadjar didn’t remember learning about in history lessons. Even without his neuronet, Hadjar could recall most of South Wind’s lessons from memory, may the forefathers favor him.

Therefore, whatever this place was, it was ancient and probably part of the earliest history of the world. So ancient that Hadjar couldn’t even guess what it actually was.

He squatted down and touched a grass-covered stone. It was so smooth that water would’ve flowed across it without leaving much of a trace. No one in Lidus and, perhaps, in the whole Empire, could work stone with such skill. And it was even unlikely that technology had reached such a level back on Hadjar’s home world — Earth.

Having drawn his blade, Hadjar tried to cut a piece of the stone off. When he struck it, his hands shook and a tiny, barely noticeable scratch appeared on the surface of Moon Beam.

“Damn,” Hadjar muttered, running his fingers along the blade.

He put even more power into his next attack, using more force than when he’d cut the water in half back at the cave. Even so, he couldn’t leave a single scratch on the timeworn stone and only damaged his own sword further.

“How old are these ruins?” The Princess asked, watching the experiment.

Hadjar straightened and sheathed his blade. The road leading up the hill wound around the grass-covered, ruined walls and houses. Some of them had been three and four-story buildings. Now they were just remnants of the once magnificent dwellings. Stone protrusions and rare, preserved slabs hinted at stairs. Time hadn’t spared even these skillfully made, very sturdy buildings.

Nor had the sun, shining brightly. Maybe this wasn’t a mountain, but a volcano that had fallen asleep forever. It was so enormous that its eruption could’ve easily destroyed this planet... If it even was a planet, and not something else that Hadjar couldn’t comprehend.

“Ten thousand centuries,” he said. “Maybe more...”

Elaine blinked in surprise and rose abruptly from the stone she’d been sitting on. She brushed off the ivy and recoiled. What she’d taken for a boulder was, in fact, the head of a sculpture of incredible beauty — one depicting a female dancer. Every fold of her silk shawl, every eyelash, every pore on her beautiful face looked almost frighteningly lifelike.

Hadjar could swear by all the demons that, even in the crypt of the Ancient Cultivator, he hadn’t seen such beauty and skilled craftsmanship before. The most terrifying thing about all of this, however, were the implications.

Hadjar was scared of the possibility that a temple, sect, or school which had been at an unusually high level of cultivation had once existed in the territory of Lidus. Because, judging by how well-preserved everything was around here, something had ended its existence. Furthermore, it had done so swiftly, easily, and without being noticed, in less than a day.

“We need to get out of here, my Princess,” Hadjar pointed to the stairs carved into the rock. Winding upward, they almost reached the mouth of what he presumed could be a volcano, ending in a sharp precipice. Maybe a rockfall or storm had destroyed them.

“Princess?”

Hadjar turned around, but he didn’t see Elaine next to him. A moment of panic quickly gave way to relief. He saw her silhouette only a few yards away. She was walking along the timeworn road, heading for the farthest cliff.

“Elaine!” Hadjar called out, but...

She didn’t answer. She didn’t slow down, and her back remained ramrod straight. His relief was replaced by anxiety again.

Hadjar drew his sword and followed his sister. The blade, while perhaps useless in this situation, instilled confidence in him. Something was wrong here.

The former General was one of Lidus’ strongest practitioners. Even at the Transformation Stage, his power had become equal to that of a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage of that level. He was extraordinarily quick and strong. He could run as fast as the spring wind, racing horses at the middle point of the Awakening of Power Stage.

In contrast, after being wounded, Elaine had been completely cut off from all of her practitioner abilities and power. However, for some incomprehensible, mystical reason, Hadjar, who was running, wasn’t able to catch up to the calmly walking Princess. When she’d almost disappeared around the corner, Hadjar tried to call out to her again, but suddenly realized that he was standing on the edge of the lake. The one from which they’d emerged.

All this time, while he’d thought he was running through the ancient ruins, Hadjar had been standing still. He’d been as immobile as the stone statue of the beautiful dancer.

“General,” a distant, emotionless voice sounded. “Now it’s your turn.”

In the next instant, Hadjar realized that he was standing on a stone bridge. An old, crumbling, grass-covered stone bridge. Clouds of smoke and steam rose on either side of it. A pillar of soft, orange light fell from the sky. It caressed the rustling crown of a tree that stood on the bridge. No taller than an ordinary pine tree, it bent like the statue of the dancer. Its scarlet leaves were fluttering, playing with the wind and the rare white birds around it, which didn’t dare risk sitting on its brown branches. The mighty roots wrapped around stones and dug into the bridge, disappearing somewhere in its depths. Lying on these stones, he saw…

“Elaine!” Hadjar exclaimed.

His sword drawn, he rushed forward, trying to cross the bridge, but was immediately stopped by a powerful scarlet flash. The energy behind it was strong enough to make Hadjar stop dead in his tracks, not wanting to risk taking even a single step forward.

He looked at the tree again. Somehow, he became aware of the simple fact that the flash could’ve been much stronger, that it could’ve been enough not only to murder Hadjar, but to destroy... half the Kingdom.

“What are you...?” Hadjar whispered in awe, lowering his sword to the ground.

“Look at me, General... Look at me.”

Chapter 212

“Who or what are you?” Steel and fury could be heard in Hadjar’s voice. “Show yourself!”

“Look closely,” the whisper came again. The former General heard the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the songs of the wind, the creaking of bark that’s been dried out by the hot summer sun. In just a single whisper. “Look closely, man bonded to the sky.”

Hadjar felt an invisible wave pull him toward the tree. It carried him with the tenderness of a mother bathing her only child. It was the wind, it was the energy, it was everything and nothing, all at once. Suddenly, Hadjar found himself next to the tree.

His sword returned to its sheath by itself, and his palms, covered in scars and calluses, slowly pressed against the warm tree trunk. The birds were singing, the leaves were rustling, telling old fairytales and legends that had no place in this endless world. Hadjar felt at peace. All his anxieties and sorrows had faded into the background. His joys and moments of personal triumph were forgotten. He breathed smoothly and calmly.

He leaned his forehead against the tree, and for a moment, it seemed like his mother’s caring lips had touched his forehead once more. Hadjar didn’t cry, the burning, heavy lump wasn’t in his throat. He kept breathing calmly. His hands didn’t reach for his sword. His thoughts didn’t endlessly run ahead, weaving the threads of his grand plan and predicting the future. He just lived. He enjoyed the moment and its every detail, even if only for a split second.

Just like the tree that stood in front of him. It was always quiet, powerful, and calm as well.

Hadjar’s palms felt the branching patterns that decorated the bark of the tree with artful mastery. Every inch of it glittered in the light of the midday sun.

“The Tree of Life,” Hadjar whispered.

He knelt and lowered his forehead to the floor, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

Once upon a time, when he’d been a child, he had listened to South Wind’s stories. The Scholar had told him that there were many miracles that had become legends and myths in this world, ones which people had betrayed and consigned to oblivion. One of these forgotten legends was about the Trees that had emerged from the depths of the River of Energy that flowed through all of existence. Their roots permeated the entire universe, even time and space. Their leaves contained the wisdom of thousands of thousands of centuries. Their bark contained knowledge about everything that had happened, was happening, and would happen.

The Trees of Life had been small sprouts with which Mother Nature had wanted to support her beloved children — everything and everyone who inhabited the world.

They weren’t gods. They’d appeared before and would disappear long after the last drop of divine blood from the latest Usurper of the Heavens was shed.

The Tree before Hadjar was young. Perhaps one of the youngest that had been born to the River of Energy and Nature. The Trees that South Wind had told him about had been giants, their crowns propping up the sky; their roots so great that, from a distance, they looked more like mountain ranges.

“General,” Hadjar felt as if tender hands had raised him to his feet.

They shook off the dust coating him, and, along with it, they also seemed to dispel all the darkness that had stuck to Hadjar’s soul over the years. The pain that the statue of the God of War hadn’t managed to take away. The fatigue that had been left after the endless wars. The sadness that had settled in his heart.

“Honorable Tree of Life,” Hadjar said respectfully. To an outside observer, it probably looked silly — a person talking to a tree. In fact, the creature that stood before Hadjar in the guise of a tree was wiser and smarter than anything and anyone else living under the Heavens. “May I take Elaine with me...?”

“Your sister,” whispered the charming voice.

Hadjar flinched, but tried to maintain his composure. If it really did know everything, then it surely knew about them being siblings.

“I offer my deepest apologies for disturbing your peace, Honorable Tree,” Hadjar bowed again. “Let us go and I’ll swear a blood oath to never reveal the secrets of this mountain.”

Despite the Tree of Life’s power, it was still a young sapling. In this world, there were many powerful forces, eager to collect such a rarity. Hadjar didn’t know how to ‘use’ the Tree of Life, because, until today, he’d considered it nothing more than one of South Wind’s tales. Nevertheless, he presumed that its usefulness was somehow connected to the Immortals or even the Gods.

“Don’t apologize, brother of a dragon,” the voice whispered, “what should be will happen... or won’t. But you are here, which means it’s happened. Therefore, it had to be. But it could’ve been another way.”

Hadjar blinked a couple of times and shook his head sharply. South Wind had said that people who had a weak mind and spirit would lose their sanity or even their souls after meeting a Tree of Life.

That’s why Hadjar wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Then, Elaine...”

“Is passing a test.”

At that very same moment, the world before Hadjar’s eyes was covered with a grey veil. Once he was able to see again, his hand reached for his sword. He was standing in the center of an indescribably beautiful temple. People were walking around him… Or, that’s what he would’ve called them if he hadn’t felt the power radiating from each of them. It was several dozen times more potent than the might of the Ancient Adept whose Shadow had taught Hadjar for a year.

Among these people was an ‘ordinary’ person, in comparison with the others, anyway. He held a sword in his hand. The people were talking about something, and then the ‘normal’ man plunged his blade into a stone. The runes on the blade flashed and everything froze. Placing the sheath of his sword on the ground, the man suddenly turned around. Their eyes met.

Hadjar looked at the phantom from ancient times, and he gazed back at Hadjar. It was impossible, but still, it happened. In the features of the man’s face, in his eyes, and his smile, Hadjar recognized... No, not himself, and not his father. Not even Primus. Nevertheless, there was something they shared. The phantom put two fingers to his lips, then to his heart, and then the vision was gone.

The former General found himself among the ruins again and talking to the Tree of Life.

“You’re right,” the leaves whispered. “He was an ancestor of the ancestors of your ancestors. He was a great man, or… maybe he didn’t exist at all. But if you saw him, that means his name thundered through many countries.”

“But what about my sister and her test?”

The Tree sighed, “Once upon a time, the people who transferred my sapling here and took care of me made a promise to your ancestor. They promised to keep his sword safe and give it to his heir. Perhaps they didn’t promise it. Perhaps they didn’t help me grow and didn’t become my leaves later on. But if your sister is lying on my roots, then it all happened. Or it will only happen after my leaves wither and I return to the River Mother...”

“Heir…” Hadjar repeated. “But she’s an heiress. Regardless, I’m older than her, which means I should be taking your test.”

The Tree appeared to look at Hadjar disapprovingly.

“No, no, I don’t need the throne or another sword...” Hadjar corrected himself immediately.

“That’s why the test isn’t for you, but for your sister... She’s just now starting to take it... Or she’s already passed it, and her years are over, and her soul has been carried to the wheel of rebirth by the flow of the River Mother. Because everything that is happening now never happened and will still always happen.”

Well, Hadjar now understood exactly how people had lost their minds from meeting the Tree. Fortunately, his neural network was still offline. Otherwise, the computational chip would’ve just burned out from trying to comprehend all of this.

“You have your own road to travel and your own test, rejected by the Heavens brother of a dragon.”

“What do you-”

Hadjar didn’t have time to ask his question before the world was once again covered with a dark veil.

Chapter 213

Hadjar awoke to the feeling of sharp, cold needles scratching his face. Opening his eyes, he realized that these weren’t needles, but snow-white waves crashing against a rocky shore.

A strong wind blew, easily getting past the meager protection of Hadjar’s shabby clothes. His lungs were filled with the freshness of the sea breeze, which threatened to turn into a raging storm.

The sky, full of gray and black clouds, resembled an ink stain caused by a novice scribe. They were sometimes illuminated by white lightning, and raindrops, looking more like pearls, fell and wove together into the most inconceivable patterns.

Hadjar squatted and touched the water. It was very cold and terribly salty.

He looked up, and somewhere out there, in the distance, he saw the overcast sky and the water disturbed by the wind blending into a single black stripe. What was there, behind that barrier that looked like a bizarre optical illusion?

Hadjar didn’t have time to ponder the question. He heard a powerful roar. From the water emerged a giant black mountain. Water rained down from its smooth cliffs and boulders with another roar. As the mountain climbed higher and more water flowed from it, the easier it was to see the beast guarding it. And its bright, silvery eyes which were like two precious stones.

A huge buffalo stood in front of Hadjar, shielding both the horizon and the path to the sea. Its horns, like millstones, threatened to grind up this deluded little man who imagined himself a master of the coast. Clouds of steam burst from the monster’s expanding nostrils. It was so hot that the sea foam boiled and evaporated on the heated stones with a hissing noise. Hadjar knew that if he didn’t defeat this buffalo and didn’t dump it back into the water, he wouldn’t be able to keep going. The horizon would remain a pipe dream and he would never be able to get off this coast and continue his journey. He couldn’t let that happen!

Moon Beam settled into his palm, finding its place among the calluses and scars. The tattoo on Hadjar’s back lit up. Vortices of energy swirled around his legs, and from time to time, one could spot the silhouette of a dancing dragon in it.

His blue eyes flashed with determination. Hadjar was ready for the battle ahead. He waited for it as anxiously as a mother standing at the door, waiting for her lost son.

The buffalo roared. Its mighty cry made small pebbles jump up and fall back down into the sea, heated by its body and breath.

Hadjar used his best sword strike. His sword cut through the space faster than stars falling from the sky. For a moment, it might’ve looked like Hadjar’s sword had cut the sea in half, crushed the stones, and that a white strip had appeared in the air, disappearing immediately afterward.

Hadjar’s attack was the strongest that he’d ever used because his most terrifying enemy stood before him. This enemy didn’t want to take anything away from Hadjar. Just his freedom.

The buffalo blocked the wave of sword energy capable of mortally wounding a Heaven Soldier of the initial stage on its horns. It looked as if a real storm of steel light was raging on its horns as dragons roared within it. Then everything went quiet. The buffalo shook its head a couple of times and the storm disappeared. Torn to shreds, it fell into the sea, dissolving into nothingness among the white foam and waves.

Breathing heavily, Hadjar retreated a step. His hair was drenched and stuck to his sweaty forehead. He wasn’t going to give up. Not now, not when the horizon was so close...

He placed his palm on the blade and a whirlwind of energy started circling around his feet again. It rose up to his knees and the dragon within it became much more distinct.

Moon Beam flared with a steel light. It trembled and seemed to groan, unable to contain the energy of its owner. This attack was even stronger and faster than the previous one.

“Spring Wind!” Hadjar roared out.

For the previous attack, he’d used only his own energy and knowledge about the Way of the Sword, but now... The dragon Traves’ Technique had been added to them, capable of strengthening any attack. Hadjar felt the supply of the world’s energy inside him drop by almost a quarter. However, it was worth it.

The vertical strike rushing toward the buffalo cut through the water and stones with ease. It forced the air to sing a plaintive song, and the sound of the surf faded before the roar of a ghostly dragon, whose fangs were concealed in this attack.

The buffalo tilted its head, angling its horns forward. The attack collided with them, but didn’t disappear like its predecessor. The monster roared. Thick blood coated its black fur. The strike, however, hadn’t been able to cut through its strong skull. It had only pushed the buffalo a few yards back. High waves rose and fell on the stones with a crash. Steam drifted up into the sky, but that was all.

The ‘obstacle’ still stood before Hadjar. And what did the Mad General usually do when he was faced with one? When he was weighed down by the strongest chains? He broke them.

A hundred times more, Hadjar launched attack after attack, roaring as he did so. A thousand times, he rushed into melee range, pitting his blade against the horns. The fight nearly destroyed everything around them. Nobody knew just how many days, weeks, months, or even years had passed during this incessant battle.

Hadjar didn’t feel hunger, thirst, or fatigue. Every time the supply of world’s energy in his body ran out, it was replenished again by some miracle.

Sometimes, their battle stopped. A small pause in the endless noise of steel striking against horns and the scarlet blooms in the aftermath. During these moments, Hadjar would sit on the stones and look into the buffalo’s eyes intently.

He couldn’t look away. The few times he turned away from the buffalo, he always saw the same thing — the black, frightening horizon filled with storms and hurricanes — but then it would immediately be obstructed by the buffalo.

If Hadjar was tired, the monster was tired as well. If Hadjar was ready to fight, the monster was ready as well.

It was like a dance. A dance of the rocky shore and restless water. The water would beat against the stones, trying to make it farther inland to something new and unknown. The stones withstood even the most violent of its attacks steadfastly, becoming a little worn, but never ceding completely.

After so much time had passed that the King’s Palace could’ve disappeared into the sands of time and forgotten the name of the legendary Mad General, their battle finally came to a close.

Hadjar rose to his feet and walked to the very edge. He was a step away from the abyss. The buffalo stood in front of him. Hadjar reached out and put his hand on the monster’s forehead. Like water faced with an insurmountable obstacle, Hadjar found humility before his own unconquerable challenge. He was a simple man. Not a genius or a hero. He didn’t want much and didn’t aspire to lofty ideals. He just lived and that was all...

The calm world around them was suddenly crushed by something powerful and desperate. As if the mother who’d been standing at the door had seen that her wounded son would never come home. Like the mother, who would take off and rush toward him, overcoming all obstacles in her path, the wind broke through and into this artificial world. Mountains rose to meet it, but the wind went around them. Lightning bolts tried to hit it, but it cut through them. Waves blocked its path, but it dispersed them with a singular determination.

The wind brushed against Hadjar’s clothes, touched his hair, and then disappeared. The world froze once again.

It was enough. Hadjar’s eyes flashed brighter than ever before.

Chapter 214

He hadn’t talked to the wind for a long time. Many long nights and grueling days had passed since then. However, when Hadjar was on the verge of losing his way, the wind helped him. Like a friend trying to pull their comrade out of an abyss, even at the cost of their own life. 

It couldn’t hear Hadjar, but it had once again brought him stories of distant lands; stories of the dangers that lurked there; about the amazing things that awaited him if he pushed onward; about the mysteries hidden within the vast world. It relit a fading fire in Hadjar’s heart. It filled his hands with power, and made his sword sharper than ever before.

Hadjar stepped away from the buffalo and the world was engulfed by a storm. The waves were hundreds of feet high. The buffalo grew larger with each passing second. The sky turned black, lightning flashed, and it rained.

Hadjar grinned like a madman. He met the storm proudly and calmly. His sword didn’t tremble. He had fought against the buffalo. He’d tried to defeat it. But why? Why? His sword wasn’t meant for this. Of course, some people used their blades that way, but not Hadjar.

He had never truly been eager to fight, but had been forced to do so. After all, who else would’ve opened a path forward for him? Who would’ve come to the dungeon of an abandoned and forgotten cripple, if not the cripple himself? If the Mad General was a hero to the whole world, then who was his hero?

Hadjar tried to find his connection to the whole world. Once upon a time, he had felt connected to the earth, wind, water, and fire. He’d understood that he had been born from them and would return to them one day. It was inevitable. But if Hadjar had been born that way, then Moon Beam, which lay in his hand, also owed its existence to them.

Did that mean they were brothers? Maybe. On the other hand, if the sword had been born from the wind, then was the wind also the sword? Possibly. Hadjar didn’t understand that part yet.

The path of the ‘Wielder of the Sword’ had only just begun to reveal itself slightly to him. However, even that tiny shred of wisdom from the vast expanses of knowledge and understanding was enough.

Hadjar closed his eyes and breathed evenly. His wildly beating heart slowed. Vortices of energy weren’t circling around his legs and feet. He had the most innocent and serene look on his face. Only the radiance around his blade indicated that this image was a deception.

Hadjar swung his blade as awkwardly as a child playing knights and bandits. Between the raging ocean and sky, a small strip appeared. No thicker than a hair and no brighter than a fading candle. Then everything disappeared.

A black haze dissolved the fallen buffalo. The dark clouds dissipated and the sea calmed. The awakened sun flooded everything with golden light. Hadjar clenched his sword and looked at the endless horizon. The wind of freedom was blowing across his face.

Now he knew what his blade had been lacking. Strangely, it had needed more determination and force. Hadjar’s blows had always been held back by something. Something dark and heavy. Now, it had disappeared. It had evaporated just like the buffalo.

Hadjar saw the path of the ‘Wielder of the Sword’ before him. He hadn’t even stepped on it yet, but already knew exactly where to go.

“You’ve failed your test, General rejected by the Heavens.”

Hadjar opened his eyes.

***

He was once again standing in front of the Tree. The midday sun still shone into the mouth of the extinct volcano. All the time that Hadjar had spent in the artificial world had been a few seconds in the real one. As if it had all been just a simple dream.

“But I overpowered the monster!” Hadjar replied, outraged.

The Tree sighed sadly. The birds flew off its red crown and continued to circle around its rustling leaves. “Maybe you did, if fighting was what you were doing. But by defeating it, you lost. After all, your test wasn’t in the pursuit of victory, which you could probably attain... But in the defeat that you would accept, but you stand here without having accepted it. So, if you fought and didn’t lose, you’ve failed the test.”

Hadjar shook his head, trying not to let the Tree destroy his mind with its odd, semi-coherent rambling. “I don’t understand…”

“What do you think it is, General, that makes a king a true leader?”

Hadjar recalled the words of his father and repeated them: “Serving his people.”

“Not servitude,” the leaves whispered to him, “but humility. Humility in the fact that a king doesn’t live for himself. He forgets about his own dreams. About his own desires and aspirations. He only serves. It’s his fate. That’s the price of power — the loss of one’s self in it. That’s why, stupid General...”

Hadjar was startled to hear the words ‘stupid General’ coming from the tree.

“...The best rulers are those who don’t seek power. But, alas, those who aspire to it are almost always the rulers.”

Hadjar looked at his sister, and then at the Tree again.

“She isn’t being tested, is she?”

The Tree appeared to nod.

“She’s already passed her test. It was harder than you can imagine. If she is lying here, and you’re standing in front of me, then that means you’ve failed and she’s succeeded. Or, maybe we’ve just met. Or you’ll cut me down and then I’ll kill you and the whole Kingdom as well. If it still exists... If it ever even existed... If death still exists... If death was ever an entity roaming this existence.”

Hadjar decided not to answer that. He was going to stop the madness for today. It was time to leave this damned place and forget the way to it. He would try to persuade Elaine to make a blood oath so that no one would ever know about the Tree of Life and the Grass of the Azure Star leading to it. Who knew what kind of destruction the words of this crazy log could unleash upon the world.

Hadjar carefully lifted Elaine in his arms and turned toward the staircase carved into the stone. He immediately noticed that she now had a silver ‘Sword’ hieroglyph  on the back of her hand. Apparently, she had received a King’s Sword — a weapon of such a high level that it could be turned into a symbol and invoked with just the power of a thought. Hadjar had only heard about it in old tales.

“No one can hear the wind, General denied by the Heavens,” he heard the whisper tell him.

Hadjar turned around just in time to notice a leaf separate from the red crown and, after gliding through the air, dive into the pocket of his patched clothes.

“This is my first gift to you, stupid General. I want to help you. I wanted to help you... I’ll help you... I’ve never met you... No one hears the wind and you don’t hear it. You hear it, but you don’t hear the wind... You hear your dreams...”

Hadjar turned away and started walking faster. He was sure that a couple more minutes in the company of this creature would drive him completely insane.

“You’ll die,” the rustle of the leaves chased him, unrelenting. “But one who hasn’t been born yet will bring you death.”

Hadjar cleared a dozen yards in one leap and found himself on the steps of the stone staircase.

South Wind’s legends had taught him to not believe the prophecies of the Trees of Life. For even if a thousand bright minds got together, they still wouldn’t be able to interpret it properly. The Tree always worded them in such a way that the true meaning was hidden. Therefore, it was better to just forget them.

***

When the sun descended from the sky and the ruins of the temple plunged into darkness, the Tree of Life came alive once more.

“Hello, dead General.”

In the darkness, a ghostly figure appeared, woven from silver moonlight and a misty haze. The same man Hadjar had seen in his vision of his distant ancestor.

“Hello, my Enemy,” the long-dead echo replied.

However, the Tree of Life saw everything that had happened, was happening, would happen, and might happen. From its perspective, all of it was happening right now. It didn’t understand the concept of time, for time didn’t exist in a way that could influence it.

“I’ve given him your sword, dead General.”

“Thank you, my Enemy.”

The figure began to fade.

“You’ve doomed... will doom... him to a terrible fate.”

And then the Tree of Life, as it once again plunged into sleep and loneliness, heard these distant words: “Maybe that’s exactly what this world needs. A terrible fate...”

Chapter 215

Hadjar sat on a stone, idly toying with the red leaf. They’d already climbed out of the volcano several hours ago. Now, enjoying the twilight, they were resting on its grassy slope. They still had to climb down, but neither of them was eager to press on.

Elaine, who had woken from her sleep, ignored Hadjar and immediately plunged into a deep meditation. She sat nearby, holding a beautiful snow-white blade in her lap. The tattoo on her palm glowed brightly, and the weapon emitted waves of energy that were difficult to mistake for anything else. It was clearly an Imperial level blade. Any Spirit Knight would’ve sold their soul for such a powerful sword. However, given the fact that the blade was bound to Elaine’s blood, it was useless to anyone else. Only she and her children would be able to wield this weapon.

Hadjar smiled and looked at his red leaf. He wasn’t jealous of his sister and was even pleased with this outcome. He’d never aspired to the throne. The Tree had been right to give her the blade.

He hadn’t been planning to ponder what had happened in the volcano, but couldn’t think about anything else.

The test that he’d had to pass had clearly shown his preferences. He had been given a choice — power or freedom, and he’d chosen the latter. His parents probably wouldn’t have been surprised. Neither of them had harbored any illusions about the future of their firstborn. When Hadjar had been just five years old, Haver had given his son a detailed map (he hadn’t known about the neuronet), and Elizabeth had promised to find a good merchant caravan for him to travel with when her son got older. On that day, in addition to pride, sadness had been visible in their expressions.

As for everything else, especially regarding what the Tree had said about the wind, it had been wrong. Hadjar heard its whispers and stories. They were as real to him as this leaf, which remained a mystery to Hadjar.

Damned prophecy. Each practitioner and cultivator tried to follow the path that allowed them to rule their own destiny themselves. So, what could predictions possibly mean to someone who created their own future?

Hadjar put the leaf away and picked up a fallen branch from the ground. A simple, curved, dry branch... or so he would’ve thought before. Now he didn’t feel any different when wielding it or Moon Beam. For that, he was grateful to the Tree — it had given him the opportunity to face an enemy that had pushed him past his limits and forced him to evolve as a swordsman to defeat it.

Now, to show his gratitude, he had to convince Elaine to take an oath of confidentiality. Hadjar didn’t know how he could persuade the future monarch to abandon such wealth, especially since she was still so inexperienced.

“General.”

Hadjar flinched and looked over at Elaine. She’d awoken from her meditation and something had changed in her. Not on the outside, but within her. As if she’d become stronger, but not thanks to the energy of the world and reaching a new level of cultivation, but instead, by using her own power. Though Hadjar still didn’t feel like her swordsmanship was at his level or higher.

“My Princess,” Hadjar nodded and bowed. “I need to talk to you.”

“And I with you,” her voice sounded calm and confident.

He wondered what her test had been like to lead to such major changes. Besides, this was the first time in a long time that she’d addressed him with respect.

“Please go ahead, my Princess.”

Elaine touched her tattoo. The sword, now looking like thick smoke, was sucked into it and the glow died out. The Princess rose to her feet, brushed off her dress, and walked closer to Hadjar. He could smell her, and at the moment, her scent was like a mixture of fish, sweat, and river water.

“I would ask you, General, to swear an oath.”

“Oath?”

She nodded.

“I understand that I’m asking for a lot,” both confidence and a touch of pleading appeared in her beautiful blue eyes. “But at the moment, Lidus can’t afford such a discovery. If they find out about the Tree or the Grass of the Azure Star, our Kingdom will be doomed. I don’t want to cause the death of millions of innocent people.”

Hadjar swore quietly. His sister wasn’t stupid. She‘d been grown in the castle, like a flower in a greenhouse, had known nothing but lies, but she certainly wasn’t an idiot. 

He pretended to think about it intensely for about five minutes.

“Perhaps you are right, we certainly don’t need a second ore mine.”

Elaine frowned slightly.

“Mine? Lidus doesn’t mine any ores. Our main export is grain.”

When Hadjar had fought the monster created by the Tree, it’d taken all his strength to survive. Now he had to use every ounce of willpower he had to avoid cursing like a dockworker. Thanks to Dogar, he and Nero could swear much better than one, anyway.

“You are probably right,” these were the most agonizing words he’d ever said in his entire life. “I have some problems with understanding the economy.”

As if trying to encourage him, Elaine extended her hand first. Hadjar didn’t need to be told what to do next. He took out a knife from his ankle sheath and offered it to her, handle first.

The Princess was surprised by his confidence, but didn’t say a word.

She cut her palm and spoke the right words. Then Hadjar did the same. Their wounds flared and then quickly healed. The River of Energy had heard their words and forever sealed them in blood.

“My Princess,” Hadjar rose, adjusting Moon Beam’s sheath. “We should keep going. At night, these places are dangerous.”

The girl nodded.

“Do you know where we are, General?”

Frankly, Hadjar had been dreading that question. If the neuronet had been operational, he would’ve easily been able to orient himself. Alas, without it, all he could say was that they were on the opposite side of the ridge, at least a week away from where they’d fallen in. It was unlikely that the royal search party and Nero had even gotten close to here or had even managed to inspect much of the land around the site of their battle with the giant worms. This meant that they had a long way to go to get back. Together…

Hadjar remembered their childhood games, when they’d gone on a variety of adventures together... Well, not together, but because Elaine had followed Hadjar...

“I saw it, General,” Elaine said, her voice slightly muffled.

“What did you see, exactly, my Princess?”

“Your war. I had a dream about your war, you and my brother fighting side by side. I sometimes even seemed to participate in the battles...”

Stars were shining in the sky. Cicadas were singing in the grass. They walked down the slope, toward the dense forest. Hadjar pondered whether he had to return to the volcano and try to burn the Tree of Life, may all the demons take it.

“I want to say,” Elaine continued, “that I understand why you didn’t help that man. I understand it, but don’t accept it. I still think that you were wrong.”

Hadjar turned to the Princess. There was nothing but determination in her eyes.

“You might be right, my Princess.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter 216

Elaine moved over the grass. Her sword slid through the air like a snake, leaving a scarlet streak behind. A wolf-bull — a terrible mixture of a wolf and a bull — howled and growled as the blade cut into his eyebrow and right eye. Pawing the ground, he bared his fanged maw and lowered his huge horns.

Elaine stood firm, resolute and fearless. Assuming a high fighting stance, she swung her blade, sending a fire bird toward him. A falcon’s cry filled the clearing. The grass began to smoke from the heat of the Technique, and the treetops became slightly charred.

The monster hit the ground with its hoof once again and launched energy from its horns. It looked like the concentric circles that were the result of one throwing a pebble into a lake, only potent enough to tear up trees. The fire falcon got entangled in them. It repeatedly struck the barely visible barrier with its beak, tore into it with its claws, and burnt it with its wings, but to no avail. Seeing that her Technique couldn’t break through the enemy’s defenses, Elaine turned into a morning fog.

She slid over the grass quickly and smoothly. However, the monster, whose skin was littered with scars from past battles, was ready for this turn of events. When Elaine’s blade was just a few inches from the artery on the mighty wolf-bull’s neck, the beast jumped sharply. The impact of his hind hooves would’ve crushed her if it had hit her ribcage directly. Fortunately, the girl had managed to bring her blade up to block. There was a metallic clang, and Elaine, flying about ten yards back, slammed into a tree. Blood spewed from her mouth, and the oak that had ‘caught’ the girl fell to the ground with a bang and a creak.

Seeing that his opponent was lying on the ground without moving, the monster reared up and charged in to finish off the enemy and dig his fangs into her flesh.

Elaine didn’t see what happened next, but the wolf-bull didn’t reach her. Or rather, only half of him reached her. His horned head stopped at her feet, and the green clearing was drenched in crimson.

Hadjar stood in the distance. He swung his blade a couple of times and sheathed it.

“You are too impulsive, my Princess,” he said, helping the girl stand up.

Once again appreciating how rough the former General’s palms were, Elaine managed to get back on her feet, but not without difficulty. She saw the wolf-bull’s dead body in front of her. An experienced warrior would’ve managed to make a single slash, but the Mad General had managed four. He’d cut the wolf-bull along his spine, separated his head from his body, and then sliced off all four of his legs in just two strikes. The monster must’ve died before it had fallen to the ground.

“I wasn’t ready for his ability.”

“All animals at the Alpha Stage have the ability to control energy,” Hadjar reminded her.

“I know,” Elaine could barely stop herself from snarling. Not from anger, but rather, shame. “The Master taught me that.”

Hadjar didn’t doubt that the Master was the only one who had guided Elaine along the path of cultivation and the sword. Her Technique was a mirror image of the Master’s own. Her every movement, every swing, every breath was an exact copy of what the old man was capable of. The only difference was that Elaine was several times stronger than the Master.

“Since I did the work this time, you, my Princess, will have to make our dinner. I hope they taught you how to cook. ”

Hadjar turned around and walked over to a boulder. Settling down on it, he took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco, and started smoking. The Princess stood in the clearing for some time, silent. She looked hatefully at the carcass and at the General. Despite that, she started a fire and began cutting the meat. She was bad at it. But that had been the deal.

By now, they’d spent three days climbing down from this damned mountain, and didn’t want to eat only grass and berries. Hadjar had wanted to eat meat, Elaine had wanted to try out her new knowledge about the Way of the Sword. So, they had agreed that Elaine would hunt and Hadjar would cook dinner. 

This time, the Princess, confident in her power, had decided to try and fight a beast that wasn’t at the Stage of the Awakening of Power or Mind, but at the Alpha Stage. In the end, if it hadn’t been for Hadjar’s intervention, she would’ve gone to meet her forefathers or would’ve been severely injured.

Hadjar smoked and looked at his sister as she worked. The Princess wasn’t afraid of dirty work. For such a greenhouse flower as Elaine, that was truly admirable, showing she had a strong character.

The only thing that confused Hadjar were the thin scars on Elaine’s body. He’d noticed them in the cave. They were too thin and too old to be immediately apparent. Nevertheless, her arms, torso, and right leg were covered in these ‘decorations’. Noticing the General’s gaze, Elaine covered the long scar on her right forearm immediately.

“Please forgive me for my ignorance, Princess,” Hadjar breathed out a little cloud of smoke. “But how does the King tolerate the Master giving you these scars?”

“The Master didn’t do this!” Elaine replied heatedly. Her hand trembled and the tendon that she’d been trying to cut hit her fingers. The Princess swore. Very colorfully. Hadjar mentally apologized to their parents for his pernicious influence on his sister.

“I would’ve surely heard about a person being executed for assaulting the Princess.”

Elaine’s eyes flashed with rage. Their mother had looked the same when she was angry. Unlike Elizabeth, Elaine came to her senses quickly. She handed Hadjar the knife.

“Help me, please, General.”

Hadjar could’ve said that they had a strict division of labor worked out, but he didn’t. He came down from the boulder and began to cut up the carcass. For a while, they worked in silence.

“I have memory lapses sometimes,” Elaine whispered softly. “Ever since my childhood. It happens and then it goes like this: when I wake up, I see I’m covered in bandages and ointments. My father, a sad expression on his face, is sitting nearby. That’s when I know that my mind has let me down again.”

Hadjar’s knife bounced off the tendon and cut off a piece of his skin. Cursing and ignoring Elaine’s contented smirk, he sent a stream of energy toward the wound and it immediately began to heal.

“How often do you have these lapses, my Princess?”

“In recent years, I’ve had none, but...” Elaine’s eyes became stern again. “You see, General, nobody knows about my illness except the King and the head Palace healer. Even my brother, your friend, has no idea.”

“I’m sorry, my Princess,” Hadjar nodded and continued to work.

A few more minutes of silence passed.

“Since I was ten years old,” Elaine whispered again. She didn’t know why, but she felt that she could trust this man. It was a silly, irrational feeling.

“And before that?”

Elaine laid the knife down and wiped her palm on the grass. She didn’t look like a little princess at that moment.

“I don’t remember anything from before I was 10 years old…”

The girl got up and went to the forest to get some more firewood. Hadjar stayed back at their makeshift camp.

It was funny, but if not for Nehen’s stories, he would never have learned about the existence of Techniques that could influence a person’s mind and he would’ve never known how Primus kept Elaine blissfully ignorant.

The usurper had tampered with his sister’s brain!

But, gods as his witnesses, she was still his blood. The scars that Hadjar had seen on Elaine’s body weren’t from whips, sticks, or chains. They were from blades and spears. That meant that somewhere deep inside the facade created by Primus, his fearless little sister still lived.

Hadjar rested his hand on the hilt of Moon Beam. He had to move on to the next phase of his plan as soon as possible. For that to happen, Elaine had to learn the truth...

Chapter 217

  “General, are you sure we’re going the right way?” Elaine asked.

The forest had gone dark a while ago, and the light of the stars and the moon could barely shine through the dense foliage.

“Of course, my Princess,” Hadjar nodded. “Do you see those pegs at the edges of the path and the notches in the trees?”

“General, I’m not stupid, I know that they were most likely left behind by people and there is a village somewhere nearby.”

“Actually, my Princess,” Hadjar’s smile had a hint of mockery. “The word ‘nearby’ is quite a nebulous concept for these kinds of places. This path could’ve been abandoned several years ago.”

“Then it would have been overgrown,” Elaine snorted.

They had been walking along the forest path for several hours. Over the course of these few hours, they’d talked more than during the whole of their earlier journey combined. Fortunately, Elaine now had enough of a reason not to wait for help from her father and brother, instead doing her best to save herself ... Of course, she didn’t consider the General’s assistance of the a significant factor in all of this. But that was just her being her usual, odd self.

“You see, Princess, those pegs were placed there specifically so that the path doesn’t end up covered in grass. They are covered in a toxic substance that leaves the soil dry and lifeless.”

“Why would anyone from a village kill the vegetation of a forest? After all, they rely on it to live. ”

Hadjar chewed on a blade of grass and examined the greenery surrounding them carefully. He saw signs and marks that only an experienced tracker or a very thorough man could spot. He tried to distract Elaine from noticing them as well.

“This is a hunting trail, my Princess,” Hadjar said over his shoulder — the girl was following behind him. “It goes straight to the watering hole that we passed two days ago.”

“Do village hunters really go so deep into the mountains?” The Princess asked, her surprise clear.

“They have no choice,” Hadjar shrugged. “They either risk their lives on a hunt, or their families starve.”

“There hasn’t been a famine in Lidus for a long time,” Elaine responded like a mechanical doll. “We produce enough crops not only to export them, but also for our own needs.”

Hadjar understood that it would be futile to continue this conversation. Primus had done something to her mind, which meant his words wouldn’t be able to break through the established barriers. Elaine had to see everything with her own eyes. That’s why he’d guided her down the trail that led away from the search party and the hole into which they’d fallen.

The General changed the topic, and for some time, they discussed how to handle the bundles of Azure Star Grass. As thanks for saving her life (well, at least she was acknowledging it), Elaine was ready to give Hadjar two bundles of the rare ingredient. Then she immediately remembered that she’d pulled Hadjar out of the water and the amount she was willing to give him went down to one bundle.

They laughed together sometimes. This brought back some of Hadjar’s fonder memories. He tried not to dwell on them too much, as the scars from various swords and spears were too visible on her skin in the moonlight, enraging him whenever he did.

And so their journey continued for a few more hours, until Hadjar stopped. As she’d been telling him something about the garden where she liked to read books, Elaine didn’t notice he’d stopped and ran into his back.

“What-”

She didn’t finish speaking. She was stopped by an imperious wave of the General’s hand. One so powerful that it had been enough to silence even the Princess.

“Your bowstring, honorable stranger, creaks too loudly,” Hadjar turned to a dark patch of shadows near the road.

Elaine thought that the General must’ve hit his head in the underground river. She couldn’t hear a single creaking sound, and her practitioner’s instincts were silent. There wasn’t a single disturbance in the world’s energy that would suggest that there was an enemy nearby. And yet, after a couple of seconds, she heard:

“Who are you?”

Elaine nearly bared her blade, but, again, she was stopped by Hadjar, who put his hand on her arm.

“We are merely simple travelers, honorable stranger.”

“Simple travelers don’t carry swords on their belts!” the other voice barked.

Using his sense of danger that he’d developed in the war, Hadjar counted about five hunters. They were probably using some ointment or amulets to hide their levels of cultivation, so Hadjar couldn’t determine them. However, they were unlikely to be above the initial stages of the Bodily Rivers level. So, to Elaine and Hadjar, they were nothing more than ants climbing on their boots, threatening to topple elephants with their miniscule bites.

“Such are the times, honorable stranger. Without a sword, it is dangerous to walk around these sorts of places.”

Judging by all the rustling, the hunters were discussing something among themselves.

“Did you kill the wolf-bull?”

“Yes, honorable stranger.”

Hadjar didn’t see the point of lying and denying the obvious. Lies didn’t foster respect.

“That was our prey, traveler,” they said from the darkness. “We tracked it for a week. Our village would’ve eaten it for a month.”

The General put his hand to his heart and bowed low. A stunned Elaine watched as Hadjar apologized sincerely,

“We didn’t know that, honorable stranger. In our defense, we didn’t take much meat.”

“Even then-”

Something rustled in the dark, then came the loud echo of something being struck. A tall, handsome man stepped out into the clearing, accompanied by muffled curses. He was middle-aged, with curly gray hair. He had a bow over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows hung at his belt. Only city folk thought that a quiver should rest on an archer’s back... Trying to pull a long arrow from behind one’s back during a hunt was tantamount to letting your prey go.

“Forgive my nephew,” the squad leader said. “He likes talking, but usually tends to not make much sense.”

“But uncle!” Sounded from the forest, and then another smack.

Elaine relaxed and laughed. Hadjar rolled his eyes — she shouldn’t have done that. Now, after being mocked by a beautiful girl, the young man definitely wouldn’t like them, even if they weren’t strangers.

“My name is Hadjar,” the General introduced himself. “And this is...” he turned to the Princess and smiled a bit roguishly, “my sister, Elaine.”

The girl had just enough composure not to erupt into a fit of swearing. She was also well aware that their true identities had to be kept a secret.

“What are siblings capable of killing an Alpha doing in our wilderness?”

“We are going to the Sea of Sand,” Hadjar responded immediately. “We want to get hired by a caravan and go to the Empire.”

“The Empire,” the hunter repeated slowly, and waved toward the bushes. Soon, five more hunters came out, including a young man of sixteen who was rubbing the nape of his neck. “You’ll need at least three or five years to get to the Empire with a caravan. They don’t really travel quickly and often stop in desert cities, waiting there for months.”

“Everything is better than here,” Hadjar shook his head.

The hunter tilted his head to the side and looked appreciatively at the travelers. He liked them, but there was something about the siblings that didn’t allow him to relax and forgo his vigilance.

“You are too young. Few people your age would travel so far.”

Using all the acting skills he’d developed during his five years in the circus, Hadjar took a deep breath.

“Our story is a simple one, honorable hunter,” genuine pain and longing filled Hadjar’s voice, “our family died because of the mine. We were nearly sent there as slaves. We fled, wandered the country, found a Master. He taught us how to use a sword. After he died, we decided to leave Lidus.”

Elaine looked at the General in astonishment. He was once again mentioning a mine... But no ore was mined in Lidus! Such a silly lie would easily be revealed! She was about to say something, but then the leader of the hunters nodded sympathetically. “Three moons ago, everyone in one of the neighboring villages was taken to that damned mine as well. I can understand your desire to leave, Hadjar. Since fate has brought us together this night, and since it was you who slew the beast, I invite you to our village. Rest for a few days. Take some water and food with you — we’ll give you as much as we can spare. Then hit the road again. Maybe in the Empire, people with your skills will have better lives.”

Hadjar bowed low. He meant it, too. He understood perfectly how difficult it was for such remote villages to share their food. And yet, the hunter was ready to do so. Free of charge. That’s why Hadjar, knowing what had to happen next, felt uncomfortable. But the plan was too important...

“Thank you, honorable stranger.”

“My name is Omarik. Follow me, travelers.”

Elaine looked from the General to the hunter and couldn’t understand whether she was going crazy or the others were. What mine were they talking about?

Chapter 218

 After about half an hour of silent travel (no good hunter would speak out loud in the forest at night), the squad came to the village. It looked just like Hadjar had imagined. A small village of fifty, or maybe sixty, houses, two streets, an ‘avenue’, and a central square. In Lidus, such settlements were commonplace.

Most of the villagers were already asleep. The villagers could only afford to celebrate something after sunset during the major holidays. Usually, at this time of night, they were resting and gathering their strength before a new day full of hardships and difficulties. Only the sentries on the guard tower were still vigilant.

“Omarik!” one of the sentinels shouted. “Who’s that with you?”

“Two decent travelers!” the leader of the squad replied. “Open the gate, Zulu, it’s getting cold and we’ve just spent five days in the forest.”

Zulu stared into the darkness for a while, and then waved his hand. His partner, standing on the floor below, raised a mighty gate using the chain atop it. Ropes and poles creaked, and the gate began to slowly open. It swung open in different directions. The view they saw confirmed what Hadjar had noticed through small gaps in the fence.

Without waiting for the gate to open fully, the squad went inside. Zulu waved his hand again and his partner flipped a lever. The weighting mechanism creaked and the gate began to drop back down, closing behind the hunters and two travelers.

“Take the meat to the warehouse,” Omarik ordered. The hunters nodded, picked up the huge chunks of meat they’d preserved, and began carrying them over to a distant building. “Honorable travelers, please, follow me.”

They obeyed. Elaine was like a small child from the country on its first visit to the capital — looking around and greedily drinking in every small detail. They soon came to a log house. It was large enough to accommodate several families with a small fence around it.

Omarik opened the unlocked gate and entered first. Such was the law of hospitality. He climbed up the sturdy porch, and opened the front door for his guests.

“Come in. We’re not very rich, but we’ll do our best to treat you well. After you eat, we can find you a place to sleep.”

“Thank you, honorable Omarik.”

Hadjar first bowed to the hunter, and then to the house, but didn’t go inside right away. The former General stared at Elaine expectantly. She didn’t immediately realize what he wanted. Fortunately, before the hunter started to suspect that something was wrong, the Princess managed to swallow her pride and bowed too.

It was as dark in the hallway as it had been outside. For Hadjar and Elaine, two strong practitioners whose bodies had gone through several transformations, this wasn’t a problem. But Omarik tripped on a bench and swore several times.

“Dear, is that you?” a soft, warm voice asked.

“Yes, honey, it’s me.”

The hostess, wearing her night clothes, came out of a room. She was as strongly built as her house. She had a curvaceous shape and was quite feminine, as well as seeming quite pleasant and welcoming.

“And who are these people with you?”

She moved an already burning torch forward and lit the lamp that hung on the doorjamb. Dim light lit up the hallway, dispersing the darkness and turning it into a theater of shadows.

“I picked them up in the forest...” Omarik turned around and froze.

He was only now able to examine these travelers. He first spotted the handsome young man. If his daughter had been older, he would’ve never dared bring him to his own house. Then his gaze turned toward the traveler’s sister and his heart missed several beats. He admired her golden hair, blue eyes, satiny skin, her gorgeous face, and even her ideal proportions and figure. The girl was both as beautiful and amazing as a goddess, and as dangerous and alluring as a true predator.

“Well, why are you keeping them in the hallway then?” the hostess frowned. “Forgive my husband’s ignorance. I suspect that he was raised by bears. Come in, dear guests.”

“Thank you, honorable...” Hadjar paused.

“Nela,” the hostess introduced herself. “My name is Nela.”

***

A topless Hadjar was chopping wood. It was simple, pleasant work, the likes of which he hadn’t done since he’d left the village in the Valley of Streams.

Behind him, on the porch, sat Elaine. She was making dolls for children from the neighboring houses. For girls, she made ‘princesses’ in beautiful dresses made from rags, grass, and all kinds of junk. For boys, she made equally silly ‘knights’. They’d gathered around her, looking like chaos incarnate. Some of the children were playing pretend and having ‘balls’, having their princesses dance around. The others were playing ‘war’, damaging their rag dolls in the process. They would then run back to Elaine, who, laughing all the while, would repair their knights.

Young people sometimes passed by the fence, pretending to be going about their business. The young men were frightened by the scarred, sinewy, and lean body of Hadjar. Nevertheless, they couldn’t deny themselves the pleasure of staring at Elaine. The girls wanted to look at the warrior, but were afraid of rumors. No one would want to marry an impure, wild girl. The customs in the villages of Lidus were fairly traditional and, more often than not, incomprehensible to city dwellers.

“You have a knack with children,” Nela said as she came out onto the porch.

Elaine smiled at the woman. During the two days that they’d spent resting in Omarik’s house, Elaine and Nela had managed to find common ground and had even become friends. Hadjar suspected that their lovely hostess was Elaine’s first true friend, someone who wasn’t trying to gain something from the friendship.

“I like children,” Elaine replied, ruffling a boy’s hair. “They are like wildflowers — simple and very beautiful. Not like flowers grown in a garden — swaggering and arrogant, loving only their own beauty.”

Smiling, Nela raised her voluminous skirts a bit and sat down beside the Princess. Her husband, like many others, had gone out to the fields. Only the artisans, youngsters, and women had been left behind in the village.

“Omarik told me your story, Elaine,” Nela’s tone was warm, but at the same time, slightly playful. “Your comparisons are too poetic for a girl who grew up in a village.”

“You too, honorable Nela, speak much more eloquently than your fellow villagers.”

Nela nodded, sighed, and looked at the clear sky. Dark clouds floated there, promising that rain would soon fall and probably bring a storm with it.

“I lived in the city once.”

“Why did you move out here? People usually try to move to the cities. Villages get smaller because of this. Our agriculture suffers for it.”

“Agriculture?” Nela asked and laughed. “My dear, naive girl. What agriculture? Every second man is forced to go to the mine. The land in Lidus is heavy, capricious, it’s not easy to cultivate. If not for the trade caravans from the Empire, we would’ve all starved long ago. You can’t eat the ore, after all.”

“What mine are you talking about?” Elaine snapped and scared the kids.

Nela looked at the girl with surprise, but didn’t manage to say anything in response.

The alarm bell rang. The children dropped their dolls. Everyone in the village began to panic, and Nela turned pale.

“Soldiers!” came the shout from the watchtower. “Soldiers from the mine!”

Hadjar left the ax embedded in a log.

Elaine had to finally see everything with her own eyes…

Chapter 219

 There was no expression on Elaine’s face. The girl couldn’t understand what was happening. Shocked, she just sat on the porch.

The bell ringer sounded the alarm a few more times, and then fell from the tower with a loud scream. A heavy weight had struck him in the head. Blood splattered in different directions and the wounded guy landed in a haystack standing at the foot of the tower.

Some of the young men who hadn’t gone into the field rushed to the gate. Psyching each other up, they tried to hold the wooden doors.

Realizing what would happen next, Hadjar grabbed Elaine by the hand and rushed into the house. They watched everything from behind a window. The former General was as still as a statue. The Princess looked horrified, her face pale.

The men at the gate groaned and bit their lips with exertion, but stood firm. On the other side of the fence, a blue flash of energy suddenly struck. The gate ended up shattered, and the men who had been holding it closed fared no better, battered and bruised. They fell to the ground, unmoving. Their mothers ran out into the street. They shielded their children, not allowing the riders to approach them.

This was a standard mounted raiding squad. Their steel breastplates and light leather armor displayed the symbol of a sledgehammer and whip. The emblem of the mine scared residents of Lidus more than a war or monsters ever could.

“What’s happening?” Elaine asked finally. Her voice broke and sounded more like a squeak. The girl felt certain that the situation was only going to get worse.

Instead of answering, Hadjar grabbed Elaine’s hand tightly.

The Princess did the same back, but it felt more instinctive than something she’d done on purpose. Just like almost fifteen years ago...

“Who is the chief here?” The Sergeant, after galloping ahead to stand in front of his squad, barked out.

The horsemen circled around the peasants huddled together in the square. Using their spears, they ‘gently caressed’ the backs of those who tried to separate from the crowd. The women cried and screamed. The young men tried to step forward, but their mothers pushed them behind their backs like frightened children.

An old woman came forward. She was so old that she was practically on her way to the River of Energy, where her forefathers and rebirth awaited her.

“Sergeant...”

“Are you the chief’s mother?” The Sergeant roared.

His gray helmet gleamed. His horse snorted dangerously, annoyed by being squeezed by his strong legs. He held a heavy saber. Hadjar was sure that, over the course of his entire life, the Sergeant’s weapon hadn’t drunk a single drop of enemy blood. Only the blood of his own fellow citizens.

“Yes, Sergeant,” the old woman nodded. There was no fear in her eyes, only despair. “My son-”

A resounding clap sounded, and the Sergeant’s gauntlet slammed into her cheekbone. The old woman flew back, falling into the hands of her neighbors and friends.

Across her right cheek, the black spot of a terrible hematoma started to spread. The people shouted and rushed to check whether the old woman was still alive. By some miracle, the old woman had managed to cling to life. With a wheeze, she came to, spat out blood, and looked at the soldier hatefully.

“Why do I have to wait on some worthless earthworms?” The Sergeant growled. “This is a waste of time.”

Hadjar felt Elaine squeeze his hand even tighter. He knew that he would soon regret what was about to happen, but sometimes, the bitter truth was better than the sweetest of lies.

A moment later, coming from the direction of the field, new screams were heard. The thundering noise of hundreds of adult men running together shook the earth. Kicking up a lot of dust, they ran back, armed with pitchforks and scythes, hoes and axes.

They were angry, scared, tired, and sweaty. Among them, Hadjar noticed Omarik. He sought out his wife and children with his eyes and calmed down only when he made sure that they weren’t injured. Then he tensed up again.

“Go away,” a mighty, broad-shouldered, and gray-haired man growled out. He was the chief. According to some rumors, when he’d been just fourteen years old, he’d taken down a mountain bear with his bare hands.

“So you’re a brave one, eh?” The Sergeant took off his helmet and squinted. He waved his hand and one of the soldiers dragged a young girl onto the sandy road. She screamed, fought back, called for her mother, but the woman was held back by sharp spears. The soldier dragged the girl by the long curls of her brown hair. Then he threw her right in front of the men’s feet.

The men’s knuckles turned white as they squeezed their makeshift weapons even tighter.

The peasants didn’t see it, but the General realized that this situation was commonplace for the soldiers and that they were operating according to a standard procedure. That meant only one thing — this wasn’t the first village to suffer their tyranny.

While he’d been mulling things over, Elaine started crying.

“If you make a move, she dies,” the Sergeant seemed to be enjoying the situation. He relished his superiority over these unfortunate people. “Throw down your... weapons. All men aged sixteen to forty winters will go with us to the mine. The rest can stay behind and do as the goddess Leerey urges: multiply and cultivate the land.”

He was clearly mocking these people. Someone, perhaps, would have tried to justify the soldiers and the Sergeant, claiming that they didn’t want to harm their fellow citizens and that they were just following the King’s orders.

Someone could’ve done that... but not Hadjar. And certainly not Elaine.

“You have two options. Either you come with us voluntarily, or…” the officer looked around at the crowd with a sinister grin. “Well, you get the idea. We’ll use force if we have to, and this place will be nothing but a memory. What will happen to your families? Well, if they survive taking an arrow to the back and the fire, they will be fine.” The hundreds of archers pulled back their bows, and the Sergeant continued. “As soon as I count to ten, the arrows will fly... One...”

The men exchanged glances. A storm of emotions danced across their faces: determination, fear, anger, humiliation, rage, despair. They didn’t know what to do.

The chief was the first to respond.

“The gods won’t forgive you,” the imposing man growled. He couldn’t fight, knowing that the battle would take not merely his own life, but the lives of their defenseless loved ones as well. “You are demons. May all your evil be punished!”

He dropped his axe, which fell to the ground, burrowing into the sand, its steel gleaming. Following his example, the exhausted men abandoned their pitchforks and hoes. Soon, they all stood unarmed, their eyes full of burning malice and the bitter realization of their own impotence.

The Sergeant grinned crookedly and gestured to his soldiers.

“Ten...” he laughed. “It’s too late.”

The arrows flew across the sky. They didn’t fly toward the screaming, unarmed men. They’d been launched in the direction of their wives and children.

Omarik, as well as the other men, could already see his beloved wife, Nela, falling to the ground in a bloody heap, his children crying right behind her as she’d shielded them with her own body.

But…

Nothing like that happened. A firestorm arose. A violent conflagration, bursting out of the ground. It spun the black arrows around itself, burning the wooden shafts and melting the metal tips. When the fiery tornado dissipated, everyone froze, staring at a goddess descending from the Heavens.

Elaine’s blue eyes were glowing with a savage, animalistic fury. She’d drawn her sword and now stood in front of the mothers and children, shielding them.

“Who-”

The Sergeant didn’t get to finish before the Princess dashed forward and his head was rolling across the ground. The soldiers didn’t snap out of their shock right away and this delay cost them the lives of two more riders.

Then the fight truly began...

Chapter 220

When Hadjar fought, he was like a feather gliding over the water during a storm — fast, barely noticeable, and elegant. He sometimes seemed to end up trapped by a rapid flow, but he eluded even the most vicious attacks. Where others would’ve made three movements, Hadjar needed only one. Therefore, his style could be called something like: ‘A feather soaring gracefully in the face of death’.

Elaine was different. Like a fiery demoness, she fell upon her foes with a hail of deadly blows. Every slash of her white blade caused flashes of fire to spread across the battlefield. They engulfed the armor and the unprotected faces of the soldiers rushing toward her with scorching heat. The soldiers would then fall from the backs of their frightened, neighing horses, and roll across the ground, unable to put out the fire devouring them. Their shouts were full of pain, horror, and despair.

However, not a single peasant dared to move. They were captivated... In addition, the two wide rings of fire that Elaine had conjured around both groups of villagers protected them and kept them from interfering and risking their lives.

One of the soldiers managed to dive under the flapping wings of the fire falcon and attacked the Princess. The bird, which had been woven together using the flames, gnawed through his breastplate and burned his heart to ashes. Hadjar wondered what these terrified, charred soldiers would’ve said if they found out that it was the Princess’ sword that was killing them.

The young man rushing into battle certainly didn’t know who she was. He hefted his spear with both hands and threw it sharply. He shouted something and whirlwinds of gray energy swirled into being around his wrists. A rain of barely noticeable gray sparks showered Elaine. If they touched her skin, they would leave deep cuts behind. The soldiers from the mine were quite skilled practitioners.

Hadjar would’ve probably dodged the attack. He wouldn’t have wasted his time on it. However, Elaine, eyes glowing with anger, swung her blade. A wave of fire spread out from her body. The ten-foot tsunami of flames swallowed the young man’s Technique, and then the young man himself. Nothing but ashes remained.

Elaine was swift and terrifying when using her style full of rage and fire. With each slash, she sent fiery crescents toward her opponents. This was enough for the soldiers, dozens of whom had already been reduced to little more than smoking embers, to turn around and flee. Panicking, they threw their weapons down in an attempt to mount their horses faster. Elaine wasn’t going to let any of them go.

She pushed off the ground and soared into the sky. She seemed to hang there, somewhere high above, for a moment. Like a spirit of fire or the goddess of battle. She whispered something and streams of orange energy enveloped her. At the same time, the Princess ran her index and middle finger over her blade, and then swung it, aiming the attack down, toward the ground.

Alongside Elaine, thousands of fiery feathers fell from the sky. They blazed, leaving behind a hazy trail of dim smoke. The soldiers who got caught by this Technique died before they could even scream, little more than charred husks left behind. Those feathers were, in fact, clones of the sword that the breathless Elaine held in her hands. They hadn’t stood a chance

“Damn you,” said one of the dying soldiers, gritting his teeth. The feather hadn’t killed him like the others, having only brushed past him. He ended up the victim of the undying hunger of the flame which devoured him slowly, the horrific pain magnitudes worse than being savaged by any wild beast. With his last breaths, the soldier did the last thing his body was capable of. He took out a knife made from a special material out of his boot — it was very similar to obsidian, but much denser.

The Princess couldn’t possibly know what it was, but Hadjar did and only managed to cry out: “Elaine!”

Even the bravest, most frenzied officers of the Moon Army would immediately come to their senses upon hearing that scream. Elaine fell into a stupor, like a person who’d gotten lost in the well of their memories of a long-forgotten dream. This second of confusion was enough time for the soldier, straining with all his might, to stab the dagger into his solar plexus.

An explosion shook the world. Waves of energy soared into the sky, turning the ground into a raging sea of death. The sand rose up to throw the villagers down like helpless ragdolls, and deep cracks formed in the ground.

Hadjar was quick. Perhaps the fastest swordsman in Lidus. He blurred into motion like a black shadow, using his fastest Technique ‘Ten Ravens’. That was enough to get Elaine out of the epicenter of the burgeoning inferno, but...

The explosion was like a blooming flower, the fiery flashes similar to its petals. Due to the insane speed he was using, Hadjar’s skin ended up torn off like old cloth. Blood soaked his clothes and trickled out from his eyes, ears, and nostrils.

He picked up Elaine, who had become unusually light, and pushed off the ground. At his current speed, a simple push turned into a small explosion that dug up a hole ten inches in diameter. With a single leap, he traversed almost a dozen yards. After another leap, they were outside the village.

Hadjar hugged his sister from behind. Her hair now smelled like blood and smoke, not summer meadows and wildflowers. She shouted something. She called out to Nela. Omarik. Their kids. The other children she had played with. Instead of their answers, they heard only the hushed cries of the people burning alive and the resounding crashes as the houses collapsed. The smoke rising from the fire covered the sky, plunging the lands around them into darkness.

Elaine screamed, cried, and tried to escape from Hadjar’s grip, but he held onto his sister tightly, mentally apologizing for doing so. He also apologized to the villagers who’d died when the soldier had used the artifact that destroyed one’s core of power. He apologized to Elaine, whom he had forced to go through this hell for the sake of his foolish, crazy plan, full of vengeance and malice. It wasn’t a plan that sought justice at all. The villagers had suffered for his selfish desires.

The Princess cried until her tears ran out. She shook with silent sobs, hanging in Hadjar’s hands like a limp doll.

Hadjar’s cloak fluttered. The heat of the fire still burned their faces. The screams had gone silent. Only the crackling of the burning trees made any noise.

Hadjar looked at the orange glow one final time. One day, when his turn to stand before the court of the forefathers comes, he will have to explain what happened to these villagers. Compared to the tens of thousands of lives that he’d ruined during the war, a few hundred innocent souls meant nothing.

Seeing that Elaine had recovered enough that she could stand on her own, Hadjar set her down.

“Let’s go, my Princess,” Hadjar said and turned around.

Before he could even take a single step, hot, sharp metal was suddenly pressed against the right side of his neck. The Princess held her sword at the General’s artery and wasn’t planning to lower it.

“Why are you doing this again, my Princess?”

Chapter 221

“You could have saved them,” Elaine snarled. Her arm was steady and her sword didn’t falter, even when Hadjar’s blood started flowing down her blade. “You could’ve saved them all!”

She wasn’t asking a question, but stating a fact. Hadjar didn’t see the point in denying the obvious. “Yes, I could have.”

“Then why didn’t you save them? Why?”

The blood started flowing even faster, but for Hadjar, a practitioner of such a high level, this wasn’t a problem. Even if Elaine were to cut the artery, it wouldn’t be a mortal wound. In half an hour, the injury would heal.

“You can’t save those, my Princess, who don’t try to save themselves.”

Hadjar had learned this truth during the war. Billions, if not trillions of souls lived in this world, and most of them suffered under the rule of those who were stronger, more talented, and craftier. Some, perhaps, were of the belief that those people needed to be saved. Elaine was one such person.

Hadjar thought it was all pure hypocrisy. As far as he’d learned over the past fifteen years, people did good deeds for strangers only to make amends for sins from their past. Or to feel better, more important, like they’re noble and generous.

“But you saved those children,” Elaine, someone who hadn’t participated in a war, couldn’t understand this. That’s why the white sword of their ancestors was in her hands. She would become a good queen, but Hadjar wouldn’t be able to rule over anyone else for the rest of his life. “During your duel with Oneg.”

“Yes,” the former General nodded, not looking at his sister.

“Why?”

“They are still children. Unable to stand up for themselves.”

It was true. When Hadjar had witnessed children dying in the war, he... Well, it would be yet another sin that he would have to answer for in front of his ancestors.

“Then why did you save me?”

Hadjar flinched. He hadn’t been ready for this question. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Elaine would never believe him. Damn it, even now he wasn’t sure that she completely believed in the existence of the cursed mine.

“The odds of us surviving together seemed higher to me at the time.”

The lie wouldn’t have been enough to fool anyone, but Elaine wasn’t thinking straight at that moment.

“Is that all you feel, mighty General?” Only poison and pity could be heard in the Princess’ voice. “Is that all that remains of the hero? Anguish and weakness?”

What others might’ve called weakness, Hadjar called freedom — the ability to live as he saw fit, to go wherever he liked, to see everything that the world had to offer, the chance to finally be himself. That was his fondest wish.

“Yes,” Hadjar answered.

The sword moved away from his neck. Hadjar felt heat caressing his back. He turned around and saw Elaine’s blue eyes turning orange, full of fire and rage. Flames swirled around her blade as she grew more and more enraged.

Waves of fire spread out in increasingly larger circles around her. A scorching, orange storm raged behind her, and a rising wind buffeted her green clothes. Despite their proximity to the flames, they didn’t burn. The grass began to smolder in the heat, and the smoke from the burning village cleared, revealing the only building still standing — the old stone temple.

A moment later, the streams of fire merged into a gigantic blade. A couple of days ago, a Technique of such power might’ve incinerated Hadjar’s soul. But now…

If Elaine’s eyes were full of fire, then inside Hadjar’s gaze, something… awakened. Not the dragon. It was still sleeping in the depths of his eyes, curled up and only lazily opening its own eyes every now and then. And yet, something had changed dramatically in Hadjar. He didn’t shift his stance, didn’t even make a single movement. Energy storms and elemental whirlwinds didn’t spring up around him. All the same, he became more deadly. As if his entire ‘self’, his whole being, had rejected the mundane and craved only one thing —battle.

Hadjar would never allow himself to injure his own sister. Nevertheless, he wanted to see how much stronger he’d become. If the Princess was offering some ‘friendly sparring’ to help him test his might, he wasn’t going to refuse.

Elaine raised her white sword. The gigantic, fiery blade hanging above the Princess’ head echoed her actions.

Hadjar put his palm on the handle of Moon Beam. As he did so, the wind lifted some grass into the sky. These blades of grass began swirling around him. Around Elaine’s feet, a circle of fire had burnt the greenery away, but Hadjar stood surrounded by freshly cut grass.

When the flame and the grass collided, a look of shock appeared on Elaine’s face. She’d felt a thin, almost imperceptible sword strike hiding among the seemingly innocuous grass. However, she’d sensed so much... sword energy in this ghostly strike that Elaine’s heart missed a beat.

The grass cut through the fire as easily as if it had never existed at all. None of the green blades summoned by Hadjar’s attack were even charred. The wind died down, the fire disappeared into beautiful ruby petals, and the blades of grass dispersed like a green rain.

They stood still.

It began to rain, gradually extinguishing the fire in the village.

The Princess looked at the sword still resting in the General’s sheath. She hadn’t even managed to see him drawing and sheathing it.

“What are you fighting for, General?” She asked.

Her exhausted voice was drowned out by the noisy rain. She wasn’t the first person to ask him that. Hadjar couldn’t give her an honest answer yet. He didn’t know.

He pulled a raincoat out and angled it over his head.

“Come here, my Princess,” Hadjar suggested. “The smoke from the fire was visible for miles around. I’d bet my head that Ner... I mean, Prince Eren, is already on his way here.”

Elaine nodded and got under the cover quietly. She didn’t agree with the General, but could understand him. In spite of everything, for some reason, she trusted this dark-haired young swordsman. She felt calm around him. Like she was home.

Together, they sat down on the ground. She lay her head on his shoulder as Hadjar covered them from the rain and wind. They waited like that until the galloping of several horses was heard in the distance.

Chapter 222

adjar was woken up by the cold feeling of  danger. Developed over the years and through his many misadventures, it was now howling like a siren. Throwing away his cloak, Hadjar looked around. A dust cloud was approaching from the east, and behind it was the halo of dawn, painting the sky in golden hues.

Apparently, they had slept through the night since Nero and the search party had managed to reach them. The burnt village was a good ways off from the pit they’d fallen into.

“Wake up, my Princess.”

Hadjar turned to Elaine. Like a little girl, she reluctantly opened her eyes and started rubbing them. She didn’t immediately realize that, as she’d slept, her mouth had opened slightly and a thin, transparent stream of drool had gathered in the right corner of her mouth. Sensing something amiss, she immediately wiped it off and turned away, her face turning red.

Hadjar smiled. Once upon a time, she’d have fallen asleep on his shoulder almost every night. Elaine had refused to listen to a fairytale if her older brother hadn’t been nearby.

The General rose and helped the Princess up. He put the cloak around his shoulders and fastened it with an iron pin. He turned toward the black, smoking ruins. His heart still ached, but it felt better than it had last night.

“Elaine!” A familiar voice shouted.

Dirty and tired, Nero rode up to his sister and, jumping off his horse to the ground, embraced her tightly. Elaine returned the hug just as enthusiastically.

“Wait,” Nero whispered. He pulled away from his sister and began to examine her carefully. “How are you? Are you okay? Have you hurt yourself?”

“Eren!” The cheered up girl smiled instantly. “I’m not a baby. I can stand up for myself.”

Nero completely ignored her protests and still examined her carefully.

“So, you rushed in to embrace the girl, but don’t want to even shake your friend’s hand,” Hadjar grumbled.

Nero looked at him over Elaine’s shoulder and grinned wryly.

“While you’re covered in blood and dirt? It’s the standard appearance of the Mad General, I’ll grant you, but still, no thanks.”

“Don’t you want to feel me, too? Maybe I have a bump?”

“You can feel your bump yourself, you madman.”

“Eren!” The Princess exclaimed, her face cherry red.

“Sorry, sister, that’s just how we are.”

By that point, the rest of the group had ridden up. Oneg led them. By now, the elegant and dignified disciple of the Imperial school had managed to forget his recent shame. He was once again looking at Hadjar like he was an insect. Jumping off his horse, he rushed up to the General and grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Bastard!” The aristocrat howled. “What did you do with the Princess?”

This outburst shocked Hadjar, as well as the Prince and Princess. The three of them stared at Oneg, wondering what was wrong with him. How brave or stupid was he to treat the Mad General like this? The young man perceived the shocked silence as weakness and decided to keep going.

“Princess, are you all right? Did this peasant touch you? Did he bother you?”

Elaine didn’t even manage to answer before Oneg, obviously having gone insane, turned back to Hadjar.

“Scum!”

A resounding impact sounded and Hadjar’s head swung to the side. A bit of blood could be seen on his lips.

“What are you doing?” Nero drawled, pushing his sister behind him. He placed his palm on the hilt of his heavy blade, but even that couldn’t soothe the anxiety that had risen up in his chest.

Nero recalled how the last man who had dared to slap his friend had ended up regretting ever being born. Hadjar had a strange attitude toward getting slapped. With him, they were akin to pouring oil on a fire.

Blind with rage, Oneg didn’t notice that a dragon had awakened in the depths of Hadjar’s gaze. Hadjar wiped his lips and looked at the scarlet blood at the tip of his fingers.

“You call that a slap?” The growl of an enraged animal thundered in his voice.

The General’s movements were so fast that they merged into a single mirage. If Oneg’s slap had caused a modest sound, Hadjar’s blow filled the clearing with a deafening noise like spring thunder.

Oneg was sent hurtling backwards. Blood and some teeth flew out of his mouth. With a cry, the noble flew back no less than six yards, and then rolled across the ground.

Hadjar had hit him with the back of his hand, and now the entire left side of Oneg’s face looked more like cooked beets — formless, pink and scarlet, rapidly swelling. In some places, his broken bones had cut through his skin, his jaw had also cracked, and his left cheekbone almost looked concave.

“Now that’s a good slap,” Hadjar declared and spat the remainder of the blood out of his mouth.

Instantly, energy started gathering around the other aristocrats. Some of them bared their blades, the others nocked their bows. The squad of soldiers sent along with the nobles immediately accepted their decision to do battle. But their weapons weren’t directed at the General. The aristocrats were their enemy. Every soldier in Lidus, especially those who had served in the war, would give their life for the Mad General. The noblemen were unimportant to them, compared to him.

Hadjar didn’t even put his palm on the hilt of his sword, but freshly cut grass swirled around him all the same. Deadly blades hidden inside the wind flew around the clearing. It seemed like just the will of the swordsman was enough to cut and destroy everything around them, as if death itself was here to do his bidding.

Nero’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He’d always known that his friend had an extraordinary talent for the Way of the Sword. But to take even a step toward becoming a ‘Wielder of the Sword’ before becoming a true cultivator... It was an unheard of achievement. Even in the Empire, many schools and sects, even the poorest ones, would’ve given a lot for the opportunity to train such a disciple.

“Calm down,” Elaine said quietly and calmly.

Nero was once again surprised. His sister had always had a certain authority in her tone. However, the way she’d uttered those words had seemed to make even the wind slow down a little.

The people around them lowered their weapons without even realizing what they were doing.

Elaine went over to Oneg, who was lying on the ground. He had briefly lost consciousness, but was coming to his senses. Ignoring the pain, he rose to his feet and pulled his blade out. Blood streamed down his face like a waterfall.

“For your heinous acts during a duel, putting the lives of my subjects at risk,” Elaine’s voice was calm and full of cold determination. “I sentence you, Oneg of Boreas, to death. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.”

Oneg never got to his feet. The white blade flashed and the aristocrat’s head rolled across the ground.

Everyone watching was shocked. Even the sun itself seemed to blink for a moment, the scarlet dawn trembling with surprise.

“What have you done to my sister, my friend?” Nero whispered in Hadjar’s ear.

“I fed her some grass,” Hadjar honestly admitted.

The absolute lack of understanding in his friend’s worried gaze was almost worth all the trouble he’d gone through until now.

“What have you done?” One of the nobles screamed, holding curved daggers in his hands. “Do you know who his fa-”

“My subject,” Elaine interrupted sharply. “And the same fate will befall him if he thinks that he can do what he pleases in my Kingdom. The fate that awaits you, ladies and gentlemen, if you don’t sheathe your weapons immediately.”

After a second’s pause, no one dared to even hold their blade outside its scabbard. While the ordinary soldiers had barely noticed the Princess earlier, now they were looking at her with profound respect.

“Am I the only one who’s afraid?” Nero whispered once again.

Hadjar just shook his head. He had to give credit where it was due: the test of the Tree of Life had clearly changed something in Elaine’s worldview.

“We’re setting off, ladies and gentlemen!” She ordered. “It’s time to go home. I need to talk to my father.”

Nero flinched. He turned around and looked at the burned down village. At that very moment (as if the gods had decided to really make things clear), a fragment from an iron breastplate sporting the emblem of the mine’s troops rolled down toward them.

“Damn it,” Nero swore.

Chapter 223

 “How much does she know?” Nero asked.

For the past few days, he and Hadjar had barely spoken. Nero had been busy organizing everything and trying to relieve the sudden tension. The former wasn’t that difficult, but the latter... How could there not be tension if the aristocrats had to look at their friend’s coffin every time they came to a halt?

As the multicolored roofs of the capital came into view, the need to keep everything under control weakened slightly. Along with that, the tension increased. The nobles, who understood that they could do nothing to the Princess, kept glancing at Hadjar menacingly.

Hadjar didn’t care. He was too busy meditating deeply. His body responded sluggishly to his attempts to speed up the tissue rejuvenation process. After Hadjar had gone overboard and used the fifth step of the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique, he had inflicted a lot of damage to his body. It was unlikely that he would be able to use more than ninety percent of his maximum in the near future. It might seem like the difference wasn’t that significant, however, in a battle to the death, even the smallest of details could mean the difference between victory and death. Still, even if Hadjar could go back, he wouldn’t change a thing. Maybe he was just a bad person.

“I didn’t tell her anything if that’s what you mean,” Hadjar was ashamed for lying to his friend.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nero sighed. “Elaine isn’t stupid. Did you hear her say she wants a word with father? She’s definitely going to bring up the mine.”

Hadjar looked at his troubled friend. They’d lived through hundreds of battles together. They’d stood back to back, protecting each other. Nevertheless, Hadjar had never seen Nero so scared before.

“Why did you never tell her about it?” Hadjar asked finally.

He had to know the answer.

“You mean I should’ve told her that, somewhere in the Kingdom, hundreds of thousands of people are suffering so that millions can live a little better?” Nero smiled bitterly and filled his pipe with tobacco. “You know, in her childhood, when cats and dogs would wander into our garden, she’d take them to the Palace. She considered it her duty to feed, shelter, and save those animals. The maids got tired of sending them back out into the street.”

Hadjar looked at the Princess. She was talking to... a common soldier. The chefs and maids were also taking part in the conversation. Elaine was pointedly ignoring the aristocrats.

Hadjar could believe that his sister had taken stray animals home. She’d done so practically from the moment she could walk. Maybe that’s why she would make a worthy queen... or why she’d not rule for long.

“She also said that she’s never been let out of the Palace.”

“King’s orders,” Nero nodded, lighting Hadjar’s pipe. “I don’t remember it, as I wasn’t in the capital at the time, but she was attacked by assassins in her childhood. She still has the scars... So our father ordered that the Princess be placed under round-the-clock surveillance.”

Assassins... That accursed Primus had fed the people lies like they were honey. A spoonful each morning and evening to prevent free thinking.

“Who sent the assassins?”

Nero shrugged.

“At first, it was thought that Balium had done it, but the investigation of the Generals didn’t find any evidence. The King put a few heads on stakes and replaced almost half of the officials at headquarters.”

Using the pretense of punishing incompetence, Primus had put his own people in charge... A reasonable king maybe even had to do such things, but… Hadjar had long since grown tired of being objective. He wanted to become stronger in order to no longer have to try and justify what couldn’t be justified. There was no honor in what Primus had done. To the swordsman, this was enough reason to bare his blade without feeling any remorse.

The friends’ talk was interrupted by one of Oneg’s friends. He was a frail boy of about twenty. Hadjar wasn’t much older than this young man, but he looked at him like he was a snot-nosed teenager.

“Hadjar Traves,” the boy said, “for the insult you inflicted upon my friend, to preserve his posthumous honor, I challenge you to a duel.”

Usually, in these kinds of situations, the challenger then threw something at their would-be opponent. The worthier the foe, the more expensive the object they threw at them would be. For example, precious jewelry.

The young man kicked the ground. The muck that had gathered on the road after the rain flew into Hadjar’s face. The clearing at which the group had stopped to rest plunged into silence. Everyone, including the Princess, turned toward the former General and the noble who had challenged him.

“His father is a confidant of the King,” Nero whispered. “He’s a very influential figure. Please, for your own sake, don’t be rash.”

After he was done talking, Nero looked into his friend’s eyes and realized that his efforts had been for naught. His blue eyes resembled a beast’s once again. In their depths, a dragon roiled with fury. When Hadjar was in such a state, it was useless to try and talk to him or convince him of anything.

“Why are you so suicidal?” Nero sighed, looking at the aristocrats who didn’t even hear him.

Even if the Princess had wanted to stop what was happening, she could do nothing to oppose an official challenge to a duel. It was an ancient tradition.

Hadjar rose to his feet.

As the person who had been challenged, he could choose the weapons they’d use. He just patted the sheath of his sword, which meant everyone was free to use whatever they liked.

The boy took up a small but heavy hammer. It was a Spirit Artifact weapon, of course. Maybe its level was even higher. Without his neural network’s help, it was difficult to determine.

In challenges made for the sake of someone’s honor, neither a judge nor a second were necessary. Honor knew no convention, and only blood could wash the stain on its surface away. That’s why these kinds of fights often ended in the death of one of the duelists.

The boy was shifting his hammer from hand to hand. He clearly had experience with fighting. His movements were smooth and calm. He circled Hadjar, looking for weak spots.

However, he needn’t have bothered. Hadjar stood there, calm and relaxed. He picked up a simple stick, which confused the soldiers and aristocrats. Only Nero and Elaine possessed sufficient knowledge about the Way of the Sword to involuntarily take a step back. For them, that wasn’t a stick at all, but a real sword.

Green energy began to spin around the aristocrat’s hammer, but before he even managed to use a single Technique, everyone felt the cold touch of death. Hadjar waved his stick in a lazy, simple manner. As he did so, the leaves circling in the wind split into fine dust. Deep gouges appeared along the ground, as if someone had struck it with huge, sharp blades.

Behind the young man, the trees fell to the ground with a creak. The young noble blinked and tried to say something. Neither his mind nor his soul had had enough time to realize what had just happened. His body fell apart into dozens of bloody chunks.

Turning his back on the lifeless meat that remained, Hadjar shot the aristocrats a single glance. That was enough for them to realize a beast had just marked them as prey. No human could exude such raw malice. This time, they didn’t reach for their weapons. On the contrary, they only raised their hands and took a step back. They were doing their best to demonstrate their peaceful intentions with every fiber of their being.

The stick turned to dust, which annoyed Hadjar. Even now, his knowledge of the Way of the Sword wasn’t deep enough to reach the ‘Wielder of the Sword’ Stage.

“Why did Fate bring such a psycho into my life?” Nero muttered, covering his face with his hands. “Not a farmer or a blacksmith. Or a musician, even. No! I had to get the damned psychopath!”

“Whiner,” Hadjar snorted.

“Lunatic.”

“Pampered little princeling!”

“Barefooted bastard!”

Hadjar looked at his shabby boots.

“I like them well enough.”

The sight of the Prince and the General laughing next to a bloody corpse wouldn’t be forgotten by the other participants of the hunt for a long time to come.

Chapter 224

The capital greeted the squad with a morning chill and bliss. There were very few people on the streets this early in the day. Perhaps there was activity somewhere else, in other, less prestigious districts of the city, but not at the Palace.

As the aristocrats, the Prince, and the Princess rode ahead of the group, they entered the city through a special, royal gate. Nero and Hadjar were slightly annoyed by the soldiers in emerald armor insisting on patting them down. The damned Imperial legionnaires were guarding the Kingdom’s main gates! The most irksome fact was that the rest of the people from Lidus considered this to be normal.

“It seems that our country has been occupied,” Nero whispered so that only his friend could hear him.

Hadjar felt the same. As they passed by the two huge lions and entered the Palace’s territory, this feeling only intensified. Every five yards, patrols of soldiers in emerald armor were walking along the paved pathways. They looked around at the garden and park as if they belonged to them. The realization that his ancestors’ home was being defiled by strangers gave Hadjar a nervous tic. His hand reached for the hilt of Moon Beam, but he restrained himself. He hid his rage and anger deep inside the dragon’s heart, ensuring that when the patrols passed by them, no one could notice his bloodthirsty desire to slay them all.

Before they reached the Palace gates, a carriage intercepted them. More accurately, a house on wheels, drawn by a dozen white horses. Ten guards stood on various parts of the coach. A detachment of seventy warriors in emerald armor accompanied it.

“Well, it’s begun,” Nero sighed.

He was the first to notice the heraldic images on the carriage — a parchment, a gold coin, and a lion — the symbols of the Boreas. Realizing that the father of their dead friend had arrived, the aristocrats smiled wickedly and urged their horses forward to meet their ‘ally’. They completely forgot about the coffin that was being carried by the soldiers.

The cooks, realizing the danger, hurried to move aside. If they could have done so, they would’ve immediately rushed into the castle. Alas, they had to obey the King’s order about the whole group having to return together.

Hadjar and Nero jumped down from their horses. They did so none too soon, as the seventy imperial legionnaires moved to encircle them right away. They were like mechanical dolls, moving in unison without a single error. Then, with a loud “Hey!” they stuck their shields into the ground and moved their spears forward.

Two men got out of the carriage, forgoing the help of their servants. Hadjar was surprised at how much their children had resembled them — it was as if Oneg and his friend had risen from the dead, then aged thirty years.

Visibly furious, the Duke of Boreas advanced on the group. He was a handsome, white-haired man with many scars on his face that he’d earned in battle. Wearing black, silk clothes decorated with jasper and amber, he didn’t look like a fat and lazy official. The wide saber at his thigh only reinforced this impression.

Behind him came the father of Oneg’s friend. He was a typical, elegant shopkeeper who had risen so high up that he’d been able to buy his noble title. Always hiding behind his more decisive friends, but skillfully moving the figures on the chessboard, he had earned the recognition of the crown.

The young aristocrats easily got past the legionaries. They parted for them, and then closed their ranks again. Only the Prince, Princess, former General, and cooks remained in the encirclement.

The soldiers who had accompanied the squad during the hunt had been behind them and hadn’t managed to join them before the encirclement happened. Now the legionaries were also menacing them. This only reinforced the feeling of occupation.

“Princess Elaine,” the Duke growled, his eyes flashing. “I would ask that you and your brother leave the encirclement.”

“And why should we do that?” Elaine asked, remaining on her horse.

A vein started throbbing on the Duke’s forehead and his fists clenched.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Princess,” Boreas answered. “Baron Traves killed my son and needs to answer for his crime with his life. Right now!”

The legionnaires heard the Duke’s cry and took a step forward with another ‘Hey!’ The circle narrowed. Elaine’s horse became nervous. Despite the blinders on its eyes, her horse felt the tense atmosphere and the bloodlust filling the air. No matter how disturbed the horse got, its rider retained her icy calmness. This surprised Nero and Hadjar greatly because they’d gotten used to Elaine’s temper and self-centered lack of perspective.

The Princess raised an eyebrow.

“I’m amazed at how quickly, Duke, the news of your son’s execution reached you.” Her voice sounded confident and inexorable. “But I’m even more amazed that you don’t know it was me who executed him.”

Boreas frowned, and his hand moved toward the hilt of his saber. At the same time, without saying a word, Nero and Hadjar unsheathed their weapons. They stood back to back as always. Each of them stared at ‘his’ half of the legionaries. The soldiers in green armor wanted to take a step back, feeling like the sharp metal would be caressing their throats at any moment.

Hadjar and Elaine knew perfectly well that Boreas was aware of who exactly had been the cause of his son’s death. However, he could send only the former General to his forefathers, and not the Princess... Despite all the support the Empire gave him, he would have to answer to the King and the Governor if he did.

“Step aside, Princess,” the Duke said through gritted teeth. “Don’t aggravate the situation.”

Now it was Elaine’s turn to frown.

“Excuse me?” Steel sounded in her tone. “Are you giving me orders? It seems you’ve forgotten something very important, Duke. You are the subject in my Kingdom, not the other way around.”

Her words made Boreas snap. He bared his blade and spat derisively. “Foolish girl. Your father should have kept you locked up in the Palace. Well, some proper discipline was long overdue anyway.”

Upon hearing those words, Hadjar and Nero turned away from the legionnaires and looked at the Duke. Just the energy emanating from the two swordsmen was enough to make the spears of the legionaries bend, their shafts shattering into small pieces, and then all of the soldiers were flung back in different directions, as if they’d been at the epicenter of a powerful explosion. They fell to the ground and groaned miserably. Deep gouges, caused by invisible blades, could be seen on their shields and armor.

“Perhaps you’re brave enough, Duke,” Nero growled out, his eyes flashing, “To repeat what you’ve just said.”

“But I must warn you,” Hadjar finished. “You’ll be repeating your words a second time in front of the forefathers.”

Behind Boreas, four figures in dark cloaks appeared seemingly out of thin air. Despite the fact that they were emanating the energy of a practitioner standing on the verge of becoming a true cultivator, they didn’t frighten Nero and Hadjar at all. While they fought together, they were certain that no gods or demons could stop their blades.

“That’s enough!” An imperious voice declared.

From the other side of the road, the King was walking toward them calmly. Holding his hands behind his back, he radiated the energy of a Heaven Soldier. Dark wind blades danced around him in the air. The smiling Governor followed along next to him, clearly enjoying the show.

“My King,” everyone from Lidus said in unison and fell to the ground.

Hadjar, who once again had to touch his forehead to the ground in front of his parents’ murderer, kept his rage and anger in check with great difficulty.

“Milord Governor,” the soldiers thundered, dropping to one knee. They didn’t bow to the King.

“My King,” Boreas said happily, “You must-”

“Must?” Primus roared back.

He didn’t move, didn’t even utter a sound. Hadjar could detect nothing as the Duke suffered the same fate as his son — Boreas’ head rolled across the grass.

Everyone was shocked by the King executing one of his closest allies. No one noticed how the former General stared at Primus, or how Primus kept his eyes on the mark on the back of Elaine’s palm.

Chapter 225

After Primus executed the Duke, things quickly calmed down. The Governor reprimanded his legionaries. Hadjar heard him saying that they’d become too greedy and had sold their blades to a ‘dirty peasant’. This is what Darnassus considered Lidus to be — a remote village.

The cooks and soldiers were free to go. The latter, after saluting Hadjar — which didn’t escape the King’s disgruntled gaze — set off for their homes. Hadjar watched angrily as the soldiers of his country were patrolled by the legionnaires.

The other people from Lidus considered it perfectly normal. Only Nero gritted his teeth, but that was all. Elaine, gratefully accepting the help of her brother, climbed down from her horse and almost flew over to her father.

The Princess’ intentions were clear. Primus looked at the mark of the sword on Elaine’s palm unkindly. Just for a moment, Hadjar managed to spot surprise, envy, and even anger in the King’s eyes. Then those emotions subsided, replaced by humility and even love.

Nevertheless, the King’s first urge had been the desire to possess. Not Elaine, but what she’d received from the Tree of Life. Hadjar was surprised. It wasn’t difficult to guess that Primus knew what this symbol meant. But how?

Their eyes met. The King looked at his best, but already retired, General. The former General looked at the King. It didn’t last long. It passed by as quickly as the first torrent of Primus’ emotions. It ended with Nero standing between them.

“I’ll go with them,” the Prince said, returning his gigantic blade to its sheath on his shoulder. “You never know what my sister might do.”

“Okay,” Hadjar nodded. “I’ll be in my chambers.”

Nero squinted at the King who was giving the legionaries orders. After grouping up, they marched toward Hadjar and stood behind him. They didn’t unsheathe their weapons and didn’t let their energy flare up. Even then, it was clear that Primus had assigned them to escort the General.

“I don’t think you have a choice, buddy,” Nero shook his head.

Hadjar demonstratively moved his hands away from Moon Beam. In his case, his actions were more like a game. If he wanted to, he could draw his sword so quickly that simple practitioners wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. However, while the King was nearby, he didn’t want to risk it.

The General wasn’t sure that he would be able to defeat Primus in his present condition. The way he’d dealt with Boreas had clearly demonstrated the current level of the usurper’s power. He was much stronger than the Patriarch of the sect had been.

“You understand that I’m not going to endure being locked up forever?” Hadjar asked meaningfully.

Nero looked at his friend and the warriors behind him. The Prince was no fool. He knew it was impossible to keep the Mad General under lock and key. In the whole Kingdom, there were only a few people capable of restraining him. All of them, ironically, lived in the Palace.

“Don’t worry, Hadj,” Nero assured his friend. “This is only a temporary measure. Elaine and I will explain everything to our father. He is sometimes stupid and stubborn, but rarely unfair.”

Hadjar could’ve argued against the latter, but didn’t. The time for that would come soon enough...

Nodding to his friend, he headed toward his chambers. The detachment of legionnaires followed him. The aristocrats looked at him with hatred. Hadjar didn’t care at all. He was now eager to get to his chambers as soon as possible. The events of the past week had convinced him that it would be worthwhile to try a breakthrough to the next stage. Too long had Hadjar been at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell Stage. ‘Too long’ was just his subjective assessment, mind you. For an ordinary practitioner from such a backwater like Lidus, the Transformation Stage was almost an unattainable dream. If they even reached it, they would spend almost half a century at that very stage before moving on. Hadjar had reached it only a year ago. Now, even without the help of the neural network, he felt how much his body had changed. He’d become stronger, tougher, faster, even his Bodily Rivers (Meridians), along which the energy of the world flowed, had expanded.

Accompanied by the legionnaires, Hadjar reached his room. The same open spaces, the walls decorated with gold and silver, the huge bed and, surprisingly, the intact mirror awaited him there. Slamming the door in the soldiers’ faces, Hadjar turned to a small mound of clothes and sheets.

“How long are you going to sulk at me?” The smiling General asked.

The white muzzle with a black nose poked out from beneath the mound. Azrea sneered with displeasure and returned to her comfort and darkness. She’d built a ‘cave’ lair for herself and not a single two-legged, albeit pleasantly smelling, idiot would dare to stick her hairless hand in there! Hadjar didn’t know that many maids had almost left their fingers behind in the tiger cub’s mouth. In the end, they had abandoned their attempts to feed the General’s pet. They’d also cleaned the chambers only when accompanied by the guards. The guards had at first laughed at them because they feared a kitten. However, after one of them had sat down on the edges of the bed and ended up fighting the kitten that had latched onto his face for about fifteen minutes, the mockery had subsided.

“I hope you didn’t have too much fun without me,” Hadjar continued.

A scornful snort came from the mound, which could be interpreted as, “I don’t have much fun with you, either.”

Hadjar took a piece of corned beef from a special niche and threw it on the bed for his pet. A claw popped out, caught the piece of meat midair, and soon the scornful grumbling changed to a more satisfied rumbling.

Hadjar wasn’t worried that the bed might get smelly or dirty. He wasn’t going to sleep on it anyway. The last few weeks had made him long to sleep on the ground. So, after spreading his cloak out on the floor and putting the skin of the White Ape on top of it, the General assumed a lotus position. He closed his eyes and plunged into deep meditation.

Somewhere in the Palace, a fierce argument raged. Accompanied by swearing, outbursts of energy, shattered bas-reliefs, and crumbling walls. The servants and guards trembled with fear as, for the first time ever, the Prince, the Princess, and the King kept arguing so fiercely, with no sign of stopping any time soon.

This lasted for at least three hours, until the Governor entered the hall where the military and political councils were held. Only then did the storm of emotions and energies die down as the parties probably managed to come to some sort of agreement.

Hadjar didn’t know any of this. Such details had no effect on his plan. He just focused on diving deep into the River of Energy. He held what was left of Azrea’s mother’s core in his hands. The energy of the wild beast would help him advance to the next stage of the Transformation level.

Hadjar stared at the shimmering, almost imperceptible silhouette of the simple sword. Hidden within the depths of the ‘waters’ of the world’s energy, it drew him in with new secrets and mysteries, promising so much. Hadjar kept swimming toward it despite the pain and cuts spreading across his body.

Azrea came out of her mound. She looked at her stupid two-legged whose body was being harmed by deep cuts. Blood flowed across his body, right onto the skin of the dead, white beast.

The tiger cub yawned, jumped down to the floor, and crossed the distance separating them in one leap. Azrea curled up on Hadjar’s lap and the General’s breathing steadied. He felt better knowing that he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 226

“Remind me, please,” Hadjar uncorked a jug of wine with his teeth and filled his friend’s bowl first and then his own, “what are we doing here?”

Nero grabbed the bowl, drained it in one gulp, and put it back down on the oak table with a loud thump. The people around them were drinking and having fun. They were plain folk, not worried about their appearance or manners. To nobles, such behavior was pure savagery, but for Nero and Hadjar, it was a pleasant reminder of happier times in their past.

The friends were sitting in a tavern in one of the poorest districts of the capital. The ‘Bent coin’ was well known, albeit in rather narrow circles. Its fame was mostly tied to the contingent of customers who regularly visited the low, two-story building.

On the first, most spacious, floor was a bar, a door leading to the kitchen, heavy oak tables nailed to the floor, and rotten stools. No paintings, no animal heads, and no weapons could be found on the walls. The furniture was rather modest.

This was because mercenaries, soldiers, and bandits mostly visited the tavern, as well as girls of easy virtue, ready to brighten someone’s night for a ‘bent’ coin. Everyone here sold themselves or their skills for money.

“We’re celebrating my wedding!” Nero shouted.

The Prince raised his bowl over his head and shouted “Ehegai!” Almost a hundred voices immediately echoed his cry.

“Hey, barkeep, give everyone some drinks!” Nero shouted over the din.

After he spoke, the noise in the tavern increased several times. The people, overjoyed by free drinks, shouted and stamped their feet. The owner and his sons (his daughters didn’t dare work here) poured everyone a drink from the barrels fitted into the walls (for obvious reasons).

“They’re shipping out tomorrow,” Hadjar finished the verse.

“That’s a good song, by the way,” Nero threw his bowl on the floor, took the jug, and started drinking directly from it. Too much ordinary booze was required for a practitioner to get even a little drunk. “You’ve never told me where it’s from…”

“From my native village,” Hadjar smiled and raised another jug. “To you and Serra, buddy. May your union last forever!”

“Let the Gods hear your words,” Nero nodded.

They hit their jugs together so that the foam from one spilled into the other — an old military tradition that demonstrated the fact they trusted each other and that neither of them was trying to poison the other.

The friends drained their jugs, which elicited genuine respect and surprise in those around them. Then, wiping their mouths clean with the sleeves of their shirts, they threw their jugs on the floor, smiling widely. The other visitors shouted with joy. The owner just shook his head wearily.

One of the rules at the ‘Bent coin’ was that a guest had to hand over enough money to cover the cost of three sets of dishes as they came in. At the end of the week, when there were many fights, this amount could double, or even triple.

Hadjar glanced around and saw simple, cheerful people. Some of them grabbed girls by the breast. Other girls sat on the knees of half-naked mercenaries flaunting their tattoos. In the corner, there was a fight going on between a female mercenary who’d grabbed a stool and a gang member who had confused the girl with a whore. Behind them, a comrade of the mercenary had lifted another bandit above his head and was about to throw him somewhere. However, most of the visitors were looking at the girl in translucent clothes dancing on a table.

Hadjar was among them. He hadn’t been with a woman for a long time, and nature was quite insistent.

“You’ll burn her with your gaze!” Nero laughed, grabbing another jug.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you, Your Highness,” Hadjar looked down sadly. “Not everyone can find a good life partner.”

“You’re right, General,” Nero nodded and raised his jug again. “To beautiful women.”

“And to their no less beautiful, but younger daughters!” Hadjar added with a laugh.

The visitors cheered loudly. The friends drank some more, ate a fragrant, hard steak, and continued to talk. Hadjar truly believed that Nero was very lucky to have found the desert witch. Practitioners lived a long time, and true cultivators had even longer lives. They often went from person to person. Few people chose to bind their fate to just one partner. The stronger a person became, the less likely they were to find a suitable match for themselves. Hence the myths about only virgins becoming immortals, after hiding themselves away in caves for thousands of years. Supposedly, that was the only way they could withstand the temptations of the world and devote themselves fully to cultivation. Nero and Hadjar didn’t believe those stories — what was the point of attaining immortality if your sword ended up being your only companion at night?

“So…” Hadjar broke another jug without any remorse. They’d paid so much that they could probably burn the whole tavern down without the owner complaining. “Are you sure that they’ll come today?”

“Yep,” Nero nodded.

The spark of fun in his friends’ eyes diminished slightly. The excitement of the hunt replaced it, the sort of fire that usually appeared when a hunter was certain that their prey would very soon be falling into the trap they’d set for it.

As if Fate was confirming the Prince’s words, Hadjar’s sense of danger sounded like an alarm bell. Hadjar grabbed a knife from the table and deflected a metal crossbow bolt. At the same time, the neighboring table was tossed aside and several figures in black cloaks appeared in front of the friends. Hadjar recognized them immediately — they’d been standing behind Boreas on the day of their return.

“What are you-”

The man didn’t get to finish asking his question. He reached for his face, but was unable to touch it. A scarlet line spread straight across his nose, chin, neck, and torso. The two halves of the once whole body fell to the floor. The bowl which the mercenary had been holding ended up in his insides. An oppressive silence settled over the tavern. Everyone froze.

The figures in black unleashed their energy and the people around them turned pale. There was no one here who could boast a greater power than the Formation Stage. The auras of the practitioners at the verge of becoming true cultivators were crushing the people like heavy stones.

“Get out,” one of the figures whispered.

He didn’t have to say it twice. The people fled through the door and the windows. In just a couple of seconds, the noisy tavern was completely deserted. Only the four figures in black and the two friends unsheathing their blades and standing side by side remained.

“Prince,” the voice that came from underneath the black robe was unnatural. “You aren’t on our list. Please leave.”

“Leave?” Nero exclaimed in surprise. “What’s a bachelor party without a fight?”

The figure tilted his head to one side and shrugged.

“As you wish.”

The robed figures drew their weapons in unison: two of them had classic blades, one wielded a pair of daggers, and the forth held a war hammer. Hadjar and Nero met their opponents with joyful smiles. It had been a long time since they’d had a chance to fight some enemies together.

Hadjar could hardly wait to check how much stronger he’d become after advancing even further down the path of cultivation. The General released his energy, and gouges made by invisible swords appeared on the floor beside him. 

Chapter 227

 “I hope you can keep in mind that this is a party,” Nero said.

The voice of the former Commander of the Bear Squad trembled slightly. Not with fear, but excitement. It had been a while since they’d fought together against a strong and lethal opponent. The enemy even outnumbered them, which was just icing on the cake. While the dark figures circled the friends, they happily continued to discuss the situation.

“What are you getting at?”

Nero rolled his eyes, swung his blade around and put it back into its sheath.

“We came here to have fun,” Nero nodded toward Moon Beam and repeated himself. “Fun!”

Hadjar understood what his blond friend was hinting at.

“Well,” he said at least. “You’re not wrong.”

“Exactly, buddy, exactly.”

They stood back to back. They each had two opponents. Hadjar got the assassin wielding the daggers and one of the swordsmen. Nero faced the other two.

Looking around, Hadjar couldn’t find anything good to wield...

“You should hold the knife in your left hand,” Nero corrected him, defiantly holding up a fork he was holding in his right.

“Thank you,” Hadjar replied seriously, shifting the knife to his other hand.

Their robes hid the murderers’ faces, but it was clear from the tense atmosphere that they were annoyed by their targets’ antics.

“Are you mocking us?” One of them shouted.

“Mocking you?” The former Commander looked surprised. “No, what makes you say that? We are very serious. Aren’t we, Hadj?”

“Yeah.” Hadjar nodded. “I, for example, am trying to remember all the prayers I know.”

“You’ve never prayed in your life.”

“Demons! That’s right, I don’t know any prayers...”

Nero spat and, after sticking his fork into a nearby table, turned to Hadjar.

“Are you serious?” Nero asked angrily. “Our plans were to have a bachelor party, drink some wine, then fight the aristocrats’ assassins, and you forgot to learn how to pray?”

Imitating his friend, Hadjar stuck the knife he’d been holding into a table as well and faced him.

“Do you think it’s easy to learn four hundred lines of that rubbish?”

“Rubbish? Those are prayers, Hadjar! Prayers to the forefathers! These lovely gentlemen are going to send us to them.”

Nero froze mid-sentence, as if an ingenious thought had just occurred to him. He turned back to the assassins and spoke quite earnestly: “Or do you not want to send us to them? I have some difficulties finding my way around, you see. But maybe you have a map...”

The hired killers couldn’t stand it any longer. Their leader, the one with the hammer, screamed like an enraged banshee. “Kill these fools!”

“They are insulting us,” Hadjar sighed, giving the men a reproachful look.

The friends didn’t get to finish their conversation. One of the swordsmen leapt up. He spun and aimed his blade forward, becoming a whirlwind of death. The one with the daggers followed after him. He swung his weapons through the air several times, sending ghostly snakes toward Hadjar. The murderer was clearly well-versed not only in the Way of the Dagger, but also in the Way of Poison. A most unpleasant foe.

Hadjar couldn’t see what was happening behind him, but he knew that Nero would handle it, even with the limits they’d set for their ‘fun’. In the end, what was the point of life if they couldn’t have their fun, risky as it was?

The former General, who still wasn’t unsheathing his blade or invoking the energy at his disposal, picked up a table with his toes. When the black whirlwind crowned with sharp steel and grinning snakes got close to him, he raised his leg sharply. With a crash, the heavy oak table soared into the air.

The sword pierced the heavy oak surface instead of his flesh. It easily cut through it, but... There was a metallic chime afterwards and the table cracked, crumbling into a myriad of long, sharp splinters.

The assassin sank to the floor and stared blankly ahead. His blade had been stopped by the tip of a blunted knife that a smiling Hadjar held in his hand.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to break other people’s things?” Hadjar asked.

He pushed his palm forward slightly, and the killer was thrown aside. The simple, blunt kitchen knife had almost shattered his blade.

Retreating, the other assassin moved smoothly and calmly. His dark cloak swayed, and from its darkness, snakes launched from the tips of the poisoned daggers emerged.

“Style of a cleaning lady,” Hadjar declared and smiled wolfishly.

He stamped hard on the floor. The sheer force of the action launched the splinters of the table toward the assassin. A whole swarm of razor-sharp, wooden projectiles shredded the dagger wielder’s attack and then kept going, aiming for the murderer himself. He spun, and the splinters ended up lodging in his cloak.

“Style of a cleaning lady? Are you for real?” Nero asked, genuinely baffled.

He sat on a bit of string stretched between a table and the back of one of the assassins. He was blocking the hammer of his second opponent with a stool, handling it the same way he usually wielded his gigantic blade.

“I’d like to see you come up with something better!” Hadjar retorted.

Reversing the grip on his knife, he repelled a sword Technique that looked like a swarm of ghostly, emerald-colored insects. One swing of his kitchen knife was enough to turn the enemy’s attack into a pile of dead insects on the floor.

“Sure, easily! Style of an innkeeper’s daughter!”

And then, with a deliberately squeaky ‘Hiya!’ meant to irritate his foes even more, Nero jumped back and launched himself off the back of the other swordsman. Soaring through the air, he spread his arms and legs like a starfish, then, after suddenly twisting around at the last second, struck his foe’s cheekbone with the seat of the stool. The man was hit so forcefully that he flew back and his head ended up stuck in the wall. Nero landed on the floor, beaming as if he’d single-handedly seized the capital of the nomads.

“And?” Hadjar asked, absently fencing as he did so. His opponent was sweating, his movements were swift and precise. His daggers flickered with such speed that they left green afterimages in the air, and Hadjar... leaned on the nearest table, turned toward Nero, and blocked all the assassin’s strikes using just his left hand, still wielding the same kitchen knife from before.

“Think about it, Hadj. Come on, I know you can do that much. Style of an innkeeper’s daughter.” Nero shook his stool, ‘accidentally’ hitting the other killer with it. “It’s like I slapped him for trying to scam me.”

“But he didn’t try to scam you.”

“But he could have, theoretically!”

“Theoretically…” Hadjar rolled his eyes. “My friend is an idiot.”

“That’s just hurtful!”

With a loud cry, the swordsman, who had finally come to his senses, rushed in to help his partner. Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to handle two opponents armed with just a knife, Hadjar quickly found a way out.

Continuing to repel the deluge of inept attacks, he reached out toward one of the jugs with the toe of his left foot. Hooking the handle, he yanked the jug toward him, catching it in midair. Then, a moment before the second foe almost managed to cut Hadjar’s neck with his blade, the General jerked his body to the side slightly. The assassin hadn’t expected that and lost his balance. Hadjar used the man’s own momentum to add to the force of the kick, the jug acting as an improvised, blunt weapon. Now there were two bodies hanging side by side, embedded in the wall.

Nero couldn’t let the precious drink spill. He quickly dispatched his other foe with a solid kick, falling to the floor and tilting his head up, making sure the stream of alcohol didn’t fall to the floor. Now there were three bodies decorating the wall.

Hadjar lifted his friend back up, and then slammed his foot forcefully into the side of the last assassin standing, or, rather, lying on his stomach. He was launched at the same wall. But the hit had been too hasty and thus too powerful.

“You ruined everything,” Nero sighed.

He watched longingly at what could’ve been true art. The kick had been so strong that all four men had fallen out into the street. Along with a piece of the wall.

“Assassins are weak nowadays,” Nero continued to lament. “Do you remember how it used to be? When the Axes would come for our heads every night? That had been fun, but now...”

“Well, they might have more for us,” Hadjar offered, his grin bloodthirsty.

He looked at their beaten foes as they stood up. They seemed to have one last trump card up their sleeve.

Chapter 228

The assassins got up. They tried to maintain their pretentious air. Alas, that was quite a difficult thing to do, given their torn cloaks, trembling legs, bloody limbs, and their supposed targets’ mocking laughter.

“Prepare yourselves, you poor mortals,” the leader said, spitting out blood. “Now you’ll be nothing more-”

“Wait a minute,” Nero dropped his fork, which he’d been holding in his hands that whole time, and put his hands on his hips. “Did you just call us ‘poor mortals’?”

Silence descended upon the street. Only the creaking of a passing cart’s wheels could be heard.

“I agree, that is quite an insult,” Hadjar sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“They probably don’t know who we are,” Nero said dismissively. “You’ve got the wrong people, guys. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

Hadjar turned to his friend and tilted his head to the side.

“And who are we again?”

Nero swore angrily, “Why haven’t you learned your lines yet? We’re... well... What are they called?”

Nero’s next bit of improvised mockery was unfortunately interrupted because the assassins couldn’t stand the ridicule any longer. Pillars of multicolored energy started swirling around them, each of which contained some poisonous acid.

Hadjar noticed Nero stiffen in surprise and anger. The memories of how fiercely he’d fought against the claws of death — after being poisoned by the venom of ‘The Black Gates’ sect — were still too vivid. But such was the life of a warrior: their courage was often nothing more than bravado masking their reticence and fear.

The hired killers’ energies merged to form a lilac haze. It thickened until it turned into a giant scorpion. The hammer blows directed at this Technique became its pincers. The two swords formed its tail and sting, and the daggers filled that sting with a poison that was so strong it corroded the pavement.

Nero and Hadjar instantly got serious. They stood shoulder to shoulder and drew their blades — the short, classic one and the heavy, gigantic one. The scorpion charged them.

Moon Beam flashed and the spectators forgot how to breathe. It seemed to them like this simple swing had cut off all sounds, the wind, and even a piece of the light itself. Some of them could’ve sworn they saw a thin strip of energy appear for an instant, illuminated by moonlight, a dragon stirring in its depths.

Nero’s blade made the tiles on the roofs of the neighboring houses shake; wide cracks appeared in the oak walls of the tavern. The giant sword stopped ten inches above the floor. The fragments of the crushed stones soared through the air. A wave of energy cut the floor and tore out stones, scattering them in different directions. A tsunami of destructive force followed the thin and invisible stripe. The people saw a tiger in the wave. The beast’s roar shook the walls of the houses. Its paws came down so heavily they tore up the street below it.

The tiger’s and the dragon’s roars merged together. They passed through the misty scorpion with ease. The aristocrats’ assassins had no way of escaping or dodging the attack. Using the last remnants of their strength and energy, they tried to defend themselves, forming a barrier in front of them. There was an explosion.

When the wind calmed down and the dust settled, only bloodstains and small bits of flesh were left behind on the pavement. Along with a deep crater in the middle of the street. Horrified, the spectators turned to look at the two swordsmen, but they were no longer near the tavern.

Many mercenaries got drunk that day. Some of them decided to abandon their profession. Others, on the contrary, were filled with determination to advance further along the path of endless self-improvement. Regardless of what they chose, they never again witnessed two swordsmen erase four practitioners at the cusp of becoming true cultivators. It was an unheard of event. Even by the standards of the outer rim of the Empire.

After this event, whenever someone mentioned the ‘Mad General’ or ‘Commander Nero’, the bards would be inspired. Soon, the city was full of new songs about the exploits of their favorite folk heroes. And yet, neither of these heroes would hear them.

They sat by the lake in the royal garden and smoked their pipes.

“I’ve missed this,” Nero said.

“Yep,” Hadjar nodded, exhaling a little ring of smoke. “Me too.”

A wind was blowing. Black and white swans were swimming on the surface of the lake. According to Elaine, they had names. Hadjar couldn’t remember them.

“Do you ever think about the future, Hadj?” Nero asked suddenly.

Setting aside his pipe, the Prince lounged on the grass and put his hands underneath his head. His huge sword, covered with numerous scratches, lay nearby. It wasn’t as elegant and polished as the aristocrats’ own blades — it was clear that this weapon, like its owner, had seen many battles.

“The future? What do you mean?”

Nero smiled. “You haven’t thought about it either,” he nodded. “I’m getting married tomorrow, buddy. What will happen the day after tomorrow? Or a year later. What about ten years later, when both Serra and I get tired of this gilded cage?”

Hadjar looked eastward. The Sea of Sand. Behind its dunes, nomadic tribes, dangerous creatures, and storms, were the lands of the Empire. How many of the cultivators there could take Hadjar’s life faster than he’d dealt with the assassins sent by the nobles? What knowledge and mysteries did the libraries of the Empire hold? What could the Masters and Scholars whose lives stretched back hundreds of centuries teach him? What awaited him if he kept going? What was beyond the Empire? Perhaps he could even uncover the secrets of the dragon’s Shadow there. These possible adventures appealed to Hadjar. The wind whispered to him about the distant horizon. It was just waiting for the General to finally set off on the journey.

“Would you want to go on a trip together?” Nero asked carefully, as if afraid of scaring his friend.

Hadjar didn’t have time to answer. The air suddenly smelled like hot sand and became noticeably warmer. Serra sat down between them.

“I seem to recall that seeing one’s bride before the wedding is a bad omen,” Hadjar said.

“We have our own omens in the Sea of Sand,” the witch replied.

They sat there together and watched the moon.

“When are we leaving?”

Nero and Hadjar exchanged glances.

“Don’t even try it,” Serra shook her thick, black hair. It smelled like the road. It was a nice smell. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you, Nero, if you’d been an ordinary prince. Moreover, I wouldn’t have become your friend, Hadjar, if you’d been an ordinary general. I am also interested in exploring what’s out there, beyond the horizon.”

The trio looked at each other and smiled.

They discussed their future journey until dawn, when Elaine came to get Serra. Only Hadjar knew that these were little more than simple, youthful dreams. Tomorrow, his plan would reach its final phase and rivers of blood would soon flow through Lidus. Not for justice or the common good, but for banal revenge.

The revenge of Hadjar Traves, not Hadjar Duran.

The story of the Prince and the General had come to an end.

Chapter 229

Hadjar stood in front of the mirror, trying to adjust his tailcoat. This kind of clothing didn’t look good on him. That’s why, to avoid torturing himself and others, Hadjar preferred to wear plain, spacious clothes. They didn’t hamper his movements and didn’t require arcane magic to sit right on his frame. Alas, he had to wear it for his friend’s wedding. Fortunately, the bride had provided the outfit.

“Stop nibbling me!” Hadjar shook his foot slightly.

Hissing, Azrea bounced off to the side and continued trying to tear off a turquoise ribbon. Hadjar had warned both Serra and Elaine that it was useless to try and dress up the little tigress, but they hadn’t wanted to listen.

Two little girls had seemingly possessed these strong practitioners. They’d spent the entire evening playing with the kitten. At Hadjar’s request, Azrea had tolerated them. Nobody, not even the General, knew how the kitten could understand requests, but she’d endured being squeezed and played with. A couple of times, the Princess, without even realizing it, had almost lost her fingers. Only Hadjar’s strict gaze had kept Azrea from exacting immediate revenge.

Azrea had even stoically put up with having a ribbon depicting a tiger in the midst of a majestic leap wrapped around her body. After the girls had left, Azrea  had started trying to get out of her uncomfortable captivity diligently.

On his end, Hadjar hadn’t been able to refuse his friend’s bride’s request. Unfortunately for him, Serra knew that Azrea loved to eat, so she’d promised to feed her a hearty meal if she let the ribbon stay on for her wedding. That’s why Azrea was now focusing her frustrations on his shoes instead and trying to eat them.

After adjusting his bowtie, Hadjar sheathed his sword and, clicking his heels together like a guard, picked the tiger cub up and held her in his arms. Azrea, once she was warm and surrounded by a familiar scent, soon calmed down and slumbered peacefully.

Hadjar went out into the corridor and froze for a moment. It was too crowded. Many people had come to the wedding of the only Prince of the Kingdom. All along the marble halls, among the paintings and sculptures, the arrogant nobles swaggered. They were all impeccably dressed, with even their shoes polished to a mirror shine.

Guardsmen and legionaries stood in the niches. The latter were here more to enjoy the wealth than anything else. Excessive luxury and indiscretion seemed to have flooded the Palace.

“The servants’ entrance is on the other side,” said an old, hoarse voice over his shoulder.

Hadjar turned. A tall, middle-aged man stood before him. He was wearing high boots and clean cavalry pants that had never seen the road. They hadn’t even heard of a single whiff of battle or a long, arduous journey. His hand, encased in a white glove, clutched the hilt of a thin, ceremonial sword. The man twisted his long mustache diligently and gave a shining smile.

Hadjar immediately recognized the person standing in front of him. He was General Bermengton, the former commander of the Western Army. And now he was one of the highest ranking Generals. He had signed the order to send the Moon Army to Balium without waiting for reinforcements or provisions.

He was the man responsible for General Leen going to the forefathers after being killed by the man whom she’d been able to call her ‘beloved’.

Before Hadjar’s hand could drop to the handle of Moon Beam, his shoulder was gripped tightly. Bermengton took a step back and, after taking his broad-brimmed hat off, bowed gallantly.

“My Prince,” he said. “I was just about to send this servant away.”

“Servant?” Nero asked quietly. Despite the fact that his friend’s voice was calm, Hadjar felt the rage simmering beneath the surface. Only an idiot wouldn’t have noticed that the official of the Generals understood and was enjoying the situation. “It seems to me, General Bermengton, that your numerous medals are so shiny that they’ve blinded you, since you can’t recognize General Hadjar Traves.”

“General Traves? Sorry, I can’t seem to recall anyone with that name in the ranks of the current army.”

Bermengton straightened, put his hat back on, and pushed his girlfriend forward slightly. She was wearing such a revealing dress that she could’ve given a heart attack to most men, but not Nero and Hadjar. Both of them were too consumed by their hatred to be distracted by anything. The bureaucrat pretended to look closer and once more bowed his head gallantly.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Baron Traves. You are difficult to recognize in that outfit. It’s too much like the servants’ clothes today. Once again, please forgive my bad eyesight. If you’d been wearing your homeless man costume, I would have recognized you immediately. Everything in this world is growing, changing and evolving. Even…”

The General didn’t finish his sentence and only smiled meaningfully.

“Bermengton,” Nero growled. “You-”

“Oh, my Prince,” the official interrupted and pretended to be in a hurry to get to somewhere. “I’m holding you up before the wedding! I apologize! I must go. I’ll find my spot among the guests.”

Pushing Hadjar aside, Bermengton hurried after his girlfriend, who looked like a beautiful, but silly doll. At the door, the official stopped and said over his shoulder: “We’ll be waiting for you, Baron. Please, if it’s not too much trouble, bring some cold drinks with you. The servants are too lazy and it’s stuffy in here.”

Hadjar held his friend back again. He could tolerate being insulted, but his friend, who had lived among the nobles for so long, sometimes thought like them. He would gladly throw himself at every insignificant wretch that decided to throw out veiled, or not so veiled, insults. Of course, Hadjar was also eager to bare his blade and check Bermengton’s skill, but for a completely different reason.

“Not today, Nero,” Hadjar urged his friend. Too many people had gathered in the corridor to watch the show. “Don’t spoil your wedding with bloodshed. Think of Serra. This is her wedding too.”

The Prince took a deep breath and, after a few seconds, exhaled sharply. Adjusting his ceremonial costume embroidered with gold, emerald, diamonds, and agate, Nero turned to his friend, “Thank you, Hadj.”

The former, a fact Bermengton had so kindly reminded them of, General just smiled and shrugged.

“What else are best men for, if not these kinds of situations, my friend?”

Now it was Nero’s turn to smile. The friends patted each other on the shoulder in a soldierly manner and spat behind them, shocking the snobby aristocrats, then entered the hall. The guests were already seated on the benches. The King and the head priest stood under a golden canopy. Religion wasn’t the cornerstone of a Kingdom in this world, but, nevertheless, it sometimes got its chance to shine.

Ignoring Primus’ gaze, Hadjar led his closest friend along the red carpet and to the altar. On this this day, which was so important to Nero, he was with him, as always. Shoulder to shoulder, back to back.

The closer they got to the golden altar, the more Hadjar felt that Nero needed his support now more than he ever had in any of their battles. The Prince stumbled and Hadjar, keeping a calm expression on his face, stopped his friend from falling. Nero came to his senses in time, regained his balance, and reached the altar.

The priest, who was dressed as richly as the King himself, nodded to Hadjar and handed him a simple leather strap. The best man’s duty was to tie the hands of the newlyweds together.

Then everyone gasped. All the guests turned toward the main entrance in unison. There, along with the modestly dressed Princess, stood Serra. She looked so beautiful that, for a fraction of a second, Hadjar wanted to switch places with his friend.

When Serra reached the altar, Nero seemed to let out a sigh of relief and his smile lit up the room.

Then came the ceremony. Hadjar, due to his lack of knowledge, made a slight mistake when tying them together with the leather strap, causing his friends to smile even as the priest frowned in displeasure.

Then there was the feast. Hadjar had never seen so much food and wine in his entire life. Laughter and toasts filled the banquet hall. The guests had fun. Serra and Elaine continued to play with Azrea. The kitten didn’t care — she was too busy licking the remnants of the meat she’d eaten from her paws. Hadjar and Nero drank and smoked. The people around them were annoyed with the latter.

At least a few thousand people sat at the huge table. Bards sang and played on the stage. They sang the same song about Commander Nero and the Mad General over and over. Serra had asked them to play it repeatedly, smugly looking at the gloomy King. A freak show performed next. Hadjar stubbornly looked away from them. He even thought he’d seen several familiar faces among them.

The hall abruptly plunged into darkness and the first screams rang out. It reeked of blood. Human blood.

Hadjar looked with sorrow and regret at his shocked friend who was hugging his scared wife. Hadjar’s revenge had begun in earnest and now he had only one way forward: through mountains of bodies and rivers of blood, straight to the throat of the King and his ultimate desire — regicide.

Chapter 230

The screaming began. Like a tidal wave, it crashed against the cool calm of Nero and Hadjar and, after doing so, washed across the guests, who panicked and fled, hiding under the tables, grabbing the tablecloths and wrapping themselves up in them. The falling dishes rang. Among the flashes of multi-colored energy and sparks of steel, their ringing sounded almost like a melody. An ode to terror.

The King kept issuing orders. Behind him was the Governor, along with six legionaries. Hadjar hadn’t seen these soldiers before. They were clearly more powerful than the four assassins had been.

Sometimes, a figure would appear from the darkness, desperately trying to end the King’s life. However, the many darts, crossbow bolts, daggers, and even a few suicide runs, failed to so much as touch the edges of Primus’ clothes. Everyone and everything that tried to get to the King was immediately stopped by the blades of the six legionaries.

They stood in front of the Governor and the King like stone statues. They had emerged as if from thin air, armed with very unusual swords — notched, curved, flexible, and wide-bladed. Each of them had two pairs of scabbards on their belt. Judging by the way they moved, they were from the same school. What’s more, Hadjar could’ve sworn he’d seen something like this before...

The latest assassin tried to evade them, but her head rolled across the floor anyway. Then the body collapsed, a fountain of blood gushing from its neck.

Hadjar realized then why their Technique seemed so familiar. It was the same one that Primus had used to execute the Duke of Boreas. This only strengthened Hadjar’s suspicions about what had happened fifteen years ago.

After making sure that Nero and Serra were safe, Hadjar leapt off the table. His movements were faster than a falcon’s. His gaze was as merciless as the pits of hell. His sword was like a spring storm hitting a calm, unprepared bay.

Hadjar easily bypassed the defenses of the six swordsmen. Not because they were sluggish or weak, but because they hadn’t expected his attack. Neither the King nor the Governor had had enough time to perceive what had happened.

Blood flew.

Hadjar’s plan was going great so far...

Primus looked startled and put his hand to his cheek, which had been struck by Hadjar, cutting it open. The King looked at the back of the person in front of him with a dumbfounded expression. The disgraced General, who was still alive only thanks to his friendship with the Prince, was holding the weight of a huge axe back with his blade.

One of the assassins had managed to slip past everyone unnoticed, gone around the hall in a wide arc, and had then struck from where he’d been least expected — from behind the King and the Governor.

For a long time to come, the best investigators of the Kingdom would wonder how he had managed it. No one would ever know that it had been Hadjar who’d let this assassin into the room the day before and hidden him in a secret niche that no one except him and a younger Elaine would’ve known about.

“Your majesty, are you alright?” Hadjar asked without turning around. He looked into the assassin’s eyes, and the man looked back resolutely. Both of them understood what would happen next. Both of them were ready for it.

“Kill him,” Primus growled, waving his arm imperiously and sending a wave of energy out.

Immediately, Hadjar turned his wrist and moved slightly. His sword sailed like a blade of grass carried by the wind and, slipping past the shaft of the axe, cut the fake assassin’s head off. Another fountain of blood erupted and another body fell to the marble, the sound drowned out by all the fighting.

The attackers had no real chance. When Serra managed to suppress the spell of darkness and restored light in the hall, their fate was sealed.

A mere ten minutes later, the two remaining enemies were forced to their knees in front of the King. Their masks were then torn off and the people gasped when they saw that these were young men no older than eighteen winters. They were shocked not so much by their youth, but by how many legionaries the assassins had managed to kill.

The King looked at them silently. Then, snarling, he snatched his blade from its scabbard and cut the body of the nearest man in half with one strike.

The people cried out again. Some of the women hid their faces in their companions’ shoulders. Even Serra, who had seen awful things during the war, turned away and pressed herself against Nero. The King’s fury always scared his subjects because they knew that it could one day be directed at them.

Only Hadjar remained calm. Fortunately, no one except an old man was looking at the former General. The guests stared at the bloodied blade, the hand that held the man’s head, and at the last assassin.

“Who... sent… you?” Primus almost choked with rage and anger. “Tell me and you’ll die as swiftly and painlessly as he did.”

The man remained silent. He looked into his captor’s face with hatred.

“The King gave you an order!” General Bermengton barked out from the crowd. Surprisingly, his blade was covered in blood. Hadjar was pretty sure that the bureaucrat had simply thrust his weapon into someone’s cooling body.

The young man turned sharply and spat right into the General’s face. Alas, the spittle didn’t reach him and fell on the table instead.

“This usurper isn’t my King!” The kneeling prisoner cried out, full of despair, fear, and hopelessness.

He turned toward the King and tried to spit on him, but he was stopped by a strong blow to the face from Hadjar.

“King’s mongrel...” the assassin wheezed, spitting out teeth. “A false hero in the service of a kin and king slayer!”

The people whispered, and Primus tried to swing his sword, but there wasn’t enough space for him to do so — the Mad General was standing over the young man, who continued his final tirade: “But you, usurper, won’t ravage our country for much longer! The hammers in the damned mine will rust soon! The green boots won’t be trampling our meadows and fields soon enough! In the north, the true King is gathering his army! The spirits of his parents are with him! Glory to Prince Hadjar! Glory to the true King!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Primus pushed Hadjar aside, but it was too late. The young man had grabbed the collar of his cloak with his teeth, swallowed, and a moment later, fallen to the ground, convulsing. Fragrant, gray foam bubbled out from his eyes, mouth, and ears. His skin quickly dried up, and the bones crunched and ripped out through his flesh and blood. Some of the guests vomited. The others recoiled in fear. The young assassin had believed in the long-dead Prince so strongly that he’d been ready to accept such a terrible death in his name.

Primus, moving his sweaty hair away from his forehead, looked around the room and at the whispering guests. They all looked at Primus with suspicion and... Far less fear than before.

Damned Prince! Even after his death, he still causes me trouble!

“General!” The King barked. “Bring the members of the highest military council to the small throne room immediately. It’s time to end this heresy.”

“Yes, my King,” Bermengton bowed.

Primus gave the official a scornful look.

“Not you,” the King said and turned to Hadjar. “General Traves, you are hereby reinstated. You must lead the army once more and rid the north of this filth.”

Now it was Hadjar’s turn to bow.

“Your will is law, my King,” Hadjar said, and no one in the hall saw the General’s victorious, sad smile. The success of the first stage of his plan had already exacted a grim toll. How many people would die for his ambitions by the end of it?

However, the spindle of Fate was already spinning and weaving the tapestry. Hadjar would either lead the parade or be trampled by the marchers.

Chapter 231

Behind the King, several other people entered the small council hall. Hadjar knew some of them: the Princess, Nero, General Bermengton, and other people who were involved in governing the country or its military.

Only Hadjar and Serra were impressed by the hall. Apparently, the other members of the upcoming council had visited it often. Hadjar had been in this small room once before, hidden behind the wall of the main hall. At the time, the room had been very different.

There was now a wide table in the room, atop which sat a paper map of the country and its environs. Primus had spared no expense. Paper was only imported from the Empire and it cost so much that it was better to not even think about it.

A massive ebony chair at the head of the table was immediately occupied by Primus. The rest of the council sat in their customary seats.

Nero sat to his father’s right and Elaine sat to his left. The rest sat in a strict order, depending on their usefulness to the King.

“General,” Primus pointed to the chair opposite the royal one at the far side of the table. The aristocrats looked at Hadjar with envy. That seat was intended for those the King was going to talk to the most, the main person after Primus. Taking the sleeping Azrea out of his clothes, Hadjar sat in the indicated chair.

After a short moment of silence, the King sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face, as if trying to wipe his fatigue away. Behind him, the Governor stood like a silent statue. Hadjar tried not to look at him, as he wasn’t sure that the dragon inside his heart wouldn’t wake up if he did so.

“Forgive me, son, for what happened at your wedding,” Primus said. “I’ll definitely find out how the assassins were able to get past our guards.”

Nero nodded and squeezed Serra’s hand. She was sitting next to him. The witch hadn’t had time to change, and bloodstains were visible on the hem of her snow-white wedding dress. Hadjar tried not to look at them as well... But for completely different reasons.

“I hold no ill will toward you, my King,” Nero shook his head. “We must find and punish the ones behind this assassination.”

It was unlikely that the Prince was concerned about his father’s life. He was full of righteous anger at the fact that someone had dared to endanger his wife. Come to think of it, had the wedding made Serra a princess of Lidus? He should’ve paid closer attention to South Wind’s explanations on the intricacies of Palace life in his childhood. To be honest, Hadjar had been a bit lazy. After all, he’d been relying on the neuronet at the time. Without it, he felt as if he’d lost a vital piece of himself.

“Then let’s proceed with this unscheduled council,” the King nodded.

Without waiting for Primus to give the floor to anyone, General Bermengton took up the pointer.

“May I, my King?”

Primus looked at the official, sighed heavily, and waved his hand to indicate approval. The General rose, coughed into his fist, and began to move figurines representing soldiers, guns, and cavalry across the map.

“According to our intelligence reports, the rebel troops are allegedly holed up in the White Forest,” Bermengton gave everyone some time to process what he’d just said. There was much to unpack there. The White Forest was one of the most deadly places in Lidus. No one below the Formation Stage would ever risk going in there, despite the legends about a variety of magical herbs and strong beasts whose cores could help with cultivation. Too many anomalies, natural disasters, and monsters of great power plagued that Forest. Not to mention the fact that the snow never melted in the White Forest, not even in the middle of summer. It was so cold there that the chill could rival the highest peaks of the Black Mountains.

South Wind had told him that the Forest had appeared as the result of a battle between two Immortals. A number of adventurers went there every year, searching for the legacy of one of these Immortals. No one had ever returned.

“That’s impossible,” one of the officials cried. “It’s impossible to survive in the White Forest!”

Most of those present supported him with their approving whispers.

“Actually, it makes sense,” Nero said, raising his hand, which made the aristocrats fall silent. “Did you know that the best trackers and hunters of the Kingdom have been looking for the rebels for fifteen years? And no one has found them so far.”

“But we’re talking about the White Forest!” The official protested indignantly. “My Prince, with all due respect, you must’ve been hit in the head during the war. No one can endure even one season in there. Let alone 15 years!”

“That just means they’ve found a way,” Nero shrugged.

“About as likely as finding a way to be born an Immortal,” the official said. “General Bermengton just wants to send General Traves to his doom. Not your most subtle move, Sir.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Earl Rakia?” The General squinted. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the pointer. “Maybe-”

“Maybe it’s time for you to stop being foolish,” Elaine whispered, but as she did so, a wave of power swept through the room. It was difficult for Hadjar to find the right words to describe it because he’d never felt something like this before. Only he and Primus had noticed that a hieroglyph on the Princess’ hand had flashed brightly for a moment. “Until recently, it had been considered impossible to defeat ‘The Black Gates’ sect. Do you mind reminding me, Earl Rakia, what the sect is like these days? Maybe you know how its Patriarch is doing?”

Blushing slightly from the humiliation, Rakia leaned back in his chair and waved his hand uncertainly. Hadjar knew perfectly well that he led the opposition to the current government and King Primus. Unfortunately, this opposition was very nominal and mostly for show, but even that was better than nothing.

“Go on, Bermengton,” Primus nodded.

He and Hadjar had studied at the same ‘school of management’. As a result, their councils were rather similar: first, everyone got the opportunity to speak, and then, based on what he’d heard, the King made a decision. Hadjar hoped that this detail would elude his friends’ notice. He needn’t have worried. The newlyweds were still too shocked to pay attention to such subtle clues.

“Thank you, my King,” the official moved a few more figurines to the White Forest. “Give me one hundred thousand cavalry, two hundred thousand infantry, and one hundred and twenty cannons, and by the middle of autumn, the rebels will be nothing more than a memory.”

The councilors started whispering again. Three hundred thousand soldiers wasn’t that big of a deal to the Army of Lidus. Significant, certainly, but not any sort of major loss. 120 cannons was, of course, a fortune, but if the rest of the armies ‘tightened their belts’, they could be found.

“We’ll come in from the south side,” Bermengton continued, “and march in a wide arc toward the Blue Vein.” The General gestured with the pointer at a wide river that never froze. “The rebels will be forced to retreat, and once they are on the ice, we’ll use the cannons.”

Bermengton concluded his presentation there. The others had enough knowledge and imagination to figure out the rest. What would so many cannons do to people stuck out on the ice, even if they were strong practitioners? Some of them would end up a bloody mess, and others would end up freezing and drowning beneath the ice.

Hadjar had to give the man credit — the plan was amazing. Simple, crafty, and efficient. It was no wonder that a wave of approving whispers had followed in the wake of Bermengton’s explanation.

“General Traves,” Primus’ eyes flashed and the hall immediately fell silent once again. “What do you think?”

Hadjar rose and approached Bermengton. He calmly extended his hand toward him. For a few moments, Bermengton wrestled with his desire to insult him and his unwillingness to incur the King’s wrath. He gave the pointer to Hadjar, snorted, and sat back down.

Turning to the map, the General removed almost all the figurines that the previous speaker had managed to move to the Forest.

“Give me thirty cavalry, a hundred infantry, and three cannons,” Hadjar said, “and in three weeks, I’ll return with their leader’s head.”

The room was deathly silent as everyone tried to process this. The silence was eventually broken by Nero, who slapped himself and let out a slow, agonized “Agaaaaiiiin!” The Prince massaged his temples and rose abruptly. “My King, don’t listen to him, his crazy plans are sometimes really just that, crazy. Let’s instead go with the safe, sane plan of General Berm-”

Nero stopped talking when his father raised his palm. Primus took the floor.

“How are you, with so few soldiers, going to bring me the head of someone who hasn’t been found for fifteen years in a mere three weeks?”

“It’s simple, my King,” Hadjar bowed slightly. “I’ll just join them. Everyone knows that the Mad General and King Primus don’t get along. Convincing the rebels that I’ve betrayed you won’t be very difficult to pull off.”

Nero was about to say something again, but before he could open his mouth, Primus started laughing. He laughed long and hard.

Hadjar tried not to plunge into his memories again — his uncle had laughed like this when he and his nephew had used to prank others together.

“You really are mad, General Traves... Well, so be it! You set off tomorrow. Gods as my witnesses, if you don’t return with the head of the leader of these rats in five weeks, I’ll give the order for Bermengton to execute his plan. And I won’t care about who ends up sent to the forefathers by his cannons.”

Chapter 232

Hadjar stood in front of a small squad: thirty horsemen in steel armor and red cloaks, a hundred infantrymen with round shields, helmets, standards, and spears; three cannons and the cannoneers to man them. Judging by their auras, there was no one in the squad below the level of the Formation Stage. Hadjar was still the strongest cultivator among them, of course. Still, a 130 people at the Formation Stage were a significant force by the standards of the surrounding kingdoms. They could’ve stormed a city or a barony.

“General Traves,” a middle-aged man rode forward. Around his chest, slowly thudding against his armor, hung a silver medallion. “May I introduce myself?”

“Yes, please,” Hadjar nodded.

The reinstated General wore a white cloak made from the skin of a White Ape. Underneath, he was wearing the same kind of simple clothes and bast shoes that he always did. Only his general’s medallion and Moon Beam were worth any money.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, Azrea immediately nipped at his chest. She still had the habit of sleeping in the clothes of her ‘transport’, and woke up only to resent him and eat. Nero often joked that this was typical behavior for a woman.

“Lieutenant O’Shekl,” the Officer punched his breastplate. “I’m the Commander of the Royal special guard. Actually, most of us are right in front of you.”

Hadjar had no doubt that Primus would’ve never let him go without proper supervision. But the King had assigned him his own guards, trained to ‘fetch’, ‘sit’, and ‘shake’, thus he was being kind of paranoid. However, this hadn’t derailed Hadjar’s plans at all. Perhaps it was even better this way.

“You are at my disposal for the next month, Officer,” Hadjar said unemotionally, almost ironically.

The Lieutenant nodded and struck his chest again. The other soldiers repeated the gesture. Well, guards was probably a better term for them. The General didn’t know what to call the King’s ‘pet dogs’ exactly. While they hadn’t chosen such a fate for themselves, they were nevertheless his minions.

Some of them were young and had had nothing to do with his parents’ death. However, among those present, Hadjar also spotted some familiar faces that he had often seen in his nightmares. They had aged, and some were now gray-haired and scarred, but Hadjar could’ve singled them out in a crowd of millions.

“Let’s dot the i’s and cross the t’s, then,” Hadjar continued in the same, cold tone. “I can’t stand two things from my warriors — cowardice and disobedience. My orders aren’t negotiable and are to be executed immediately. Is that clear?”

“Yes, General!” The soldiers responded in chorus.

“In battle, I’ll kill you with my own two hands if you try to run away. Is that clear?”

Again, the cry of “Yes, General!” came loud and clear.

Hadjar nodded and looked at the capital. It was spread out at the foot of the hill they’d chosen to gather on, right at the top. Even from their position, the sound of people having fun in the city could easily be heard. The people were celebrating the wedding of their beloved Prince. Thanks to the bards’ songs about Eren/Nero, the common folk liked him very much. He seemed dearer to them than the distant and aloof usurper King.

Hadjar, patting the neck of his horse, turned toward the north.

“Where are you going, buddy?” A familiar voice asked him.

Hadjar turned around.

Nero was riding up to the hill, swaying slightly in his saddle. He was dressed in full armor, wearing a woolen, thick cloak over his shoulders. The hilt of his heavy blade poked out from behind his shoulder. His black horse shook its head, which caused the metal plates on its bridle to ring out.

Nero had strapped his patched marching bag that had seen him through two wars to the pommel of his sword.

“My Prince,” the Lieutenant bowed immediately. The other royal ‘dogs’ followed suit.

“At ease, Officer,” Nero’s wide smile glittered almost as brightly as his polished armor. “For the next month or so, I’m not your prince, but Commander Nero.”

Riding over to his friend, Nero slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, General, one more battle won’t hurt, right? I’m sick and tired of the Palace anyway. And weddings are just so tiresome.”

Nero kept blabbing on.

“Does the King know?” Hadjar interrupted him.

The Prince immediately fell silent and his smile faded.

“I told him just before I left.”

Hadjar didn’t like that.

“Well, Serra and Elaine don’t know, do they?”

The smile finally disappeared from the Prince’s face, and the bridle in his hands creaked plaintively.

“I’m not a slave to my wife, Hadjar. I can do what I think is necessary. And right now, I consider helping my friend to be of the utmost importance.”

Hadjar tilted his head to the side and looked at Nero expectantly. He frowned even more and looked away.

“I’ve left her a note,” he muttered. “She’ll understand... probably.”

“Or, more likely, she’ll pack her things and go back to the Sea of Sand,” Hadjar said. “You’re now a married man, buddy. You have responsibilities. One of them is to devote the next month solely to your wife and your marriage bed.”

Nero lost his temper and waved his hand abruptly. His horse squealed nervously and stomped around.

“So, while my only friend, nutjob that he is, is sticking his head through a noose, I have to stick my-”

Hadjar cleared his throat, reminding the Prince that they weren’t alone. The Royal soldiers were standing next to them. Nero stopped ranting.

“My friend,” Hadjar’s clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’m not a hapless mortal. Have fun, rest, celebrate your wonderful bride. You won’t even have time to worry about me. I’ll be back even before you get tired of checking the bed’s durability and drinking enough wine to get an elephant drunk. Besides, what’s a few insurgents, a pair of snowflakes, and a dozen monsters to the Mad General?”

The Prince smiled wryly and sighed.

“Besides, don’t try to fool me, you just want to escape your sister.”

Nero laughed. Then, as was often the case, the Prince and the General egged each other on and couldn’t stop laughing hysterically for about a minute. Their laughter made even the most experienced officers uncomfortable. Some of them recoiled while others reached for their weapons instinctively.

“Don’t die out there, Mad General,” Nero wiped away his tears of laughter and held out his hand.

Hadjar smiled wickedly in return. “Don’t miss, Commander.”

Nero turned his horse around and rushed away. He most likely felt like he wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of another adventure if he stayed on that hill for much longer.

Such was the way of those who followed the path of cultivation. A quiet life was hell to them. They were drawn to distant horizons, secrets, and deadly opponents that would force them to overcome their limits.

Hadjar shook off his morose thoughts and turned back toward the north.

“Move out!” He ordered and spurred his horse.

Chapter 233

It was much easier to move as a small squad than an army of three million. It took Hadjar’s squad only a few days to cover the sort of ground it would’ve taken the Moon Army a month to traverse. They sometimes paused to sleep for two hours before moving on. They also ate on the go. The riders and cannoneers, whose weapons were being transported in large carts, had it easier. However, the infantry wasn’t complaining: they were being paid triple the usual amount for this.

When they reached the snow-covered White Forest, Hadjar called for a short rest. The soldiers happily collapsed to the ground. For about five minutes, the squad resembled a bunch of corpses, that’s how motionless they were from exhaustion. But, due to the cold wind, which kept blowing snowflakes at them, they had to get on with it. In short order, the soldiers began to set up tents and light fires, basking in the life-giving orange flames.

The eternally snowy forest was surrounded by rivers, meadows, and grassland. It was as if summer, which still reigned in Lidus, had bowed before the domineering cold and hadn’t even tried to encroach upon the White Forest’s territory.

Hadjar stooped and picked up a red wildflower. It bloomed only in the summer and was a symbol of this season. Seeing a snowflake melting atop it was somewhat unusual, but amazing.

Hadjar sat down on a rock and toyed with the flower in his hand for a while. He was immersed in his memories once again: Elaine had laughed as they’d plucked these very flowers and tried to weave a wreath for their mother. They hadn’t succeed. Then Haver had showed his children how to do it. Hadjar still remembered that day fondly. Now this simple flower, with which shepherds decorated the hair of their beloved, would forever remind him of his mother and motherland. It grew nowhere else but Lidus for some reason.

“General,” the Lieutenant came up to Hadjar. “Perhaps we should move a little further to the south. Our camp will be clearly visible here. Especially if we light fires at night.”

Hadjar looked at the officer. It was unlikely that he was trying to offend the General. He just really wanted their mission to succeed. Therefore, Hadjar didn’t remind O’Shekl that he was an experienced military commander and had won two wars.

“It’s all right, Officer,” Hadjar opened his fingers and gave the flower up to the will of the wind. It was picked up and carried off somewhere far away. “If we are noticed, it’ll work in our favor.”

“But General...”

“I don’t know what the King told you, Officer, but we aren’t going to fight them. We’re here to kill someone. There’s a big difference between the two. To get as close as possible to the enemy, we need to be as noticeable as possible.”

O’Shekl froze. He was mulling these words over, that much was clear from his expression, and the wrinkles and scars on it became more prominent as a result.

“With all due respect, my General, I’ve always thought it was the other way around. The less noticeable one is, the easier it is to kill their enemy.”

“And you’re wrong to think so,” Hadjar shrugged. “By the way, you still haven’t noticed that my dagger is resting against your femoral artery.”

The Lieutenant started and looked down. He saw the steel aimed straight at his thigh. If Hadjar moved his hand even slightly, the officer would die from blood loss in a few minutes.

“Because we aren’t hiding, we’ll lull the enemy into lowering their guard,” Hadjar returned the dagger to the folds of his clothing. “We’ll make them doubt everything with our brazen approach. Doubt and a lack of vigilance are certain death for any rebel.”

The Lieutenant, after gulping loudly, hit his chest with his fist. “Please forgive my insolence, my General.”

“It’s all right, Officer,” Hadjar took out his pipe and lit the tobacco with a slight effort of will. “I understand your concerns. Believe me, if we do everything properly, you’ll get to see your wife again in three weeks.”

O’Shekl glanced at the leather bracelet on his right wrist. There were no wedding rings in Lidus, they had wedding bracelets instead. After hiding it under the sleeve of his shirt, the Lieutenant saluted once more and returned to his soldiers.

Hadjar was left alone. He smoked and looked at the forest. Somewhere in the middle of all that snow, there was a man for whom Hadjar had too many questions. For some reason, the General was sure that, right now, this man was looking at the darkness as well. He’d looked at the endless fields of flowers and seen the fires burning.

He wondered if this man knew his fate. Did the royal ‘dogs’ know that Hadjar had lied to them? If everything went according to his plan, then none of them would ever see their families again.

Hadjar stayed awake that whole night. Having reached the Transformation of the Mortal Shell Stage, he could now go almost four days without rest, and only needed to eat food once a week. That was enough for his body to function properly.

As soon as the first rays of sunlight touched his face, Hadjar emerged from his deep meditation. Throwing on his cloak made from the White Ape’s skin, he got on his horse and blew the alarm horn.

Ten minutes later, the tents had been packed up, the campfires put out, and the soldiers stood ready as the cavalry mounted up. Half an hour later, the squad reached the very edge of the White Forest. It was quite an amazing sight.

Even as summer and sunshine reigned supreme behind them, the cold and darkness were undisputed here.

“Squad!” Hadjar addressed the soldiers. “I want to remind you that we aren’t here to do battle. Therefore, you must treat any forces we encounter with the utmost friendliness and camaraderie. Don’t fight unless I give the order. Move through the forest in a tight formation. I assure you that if we end up disorganized, we’ll be going to the forefathers! Every tree is a danger to us. Every gust wind is a potential hazard! Every rustle is a warning sign! Don’t forget that we’re entering the land that has been a source of many horror stories for generations of our people.”

Hadjar fell silent and the soldiers shouted back in chorus: “Yes, General!”

Nodding, Hadjar was the first to enter the shade of the ice kingdom. The snow cover crunched under his horse’s hooves, and the frosty wind immediately stung his cheeks. The first snowflakes fell on his eyelashes and Hadjar involuntarily remembered the day when he’d raced after the island witch while wounded. The wind, as if agreeing with someone he could no longer hear, whispered a quiet “Stupid General.”

Following Hadjar, the rest of the squad entered the forest.

Chapter 234

In just a week, Hadjar learned firsthand that South Wind’s tales had been sugarcoating things, if anything. The White Forest was a more perilous place than anything the Mad General had encountered before.

On the very first day, four people lost their lives. Not to an enemy’s blade or because they’d been eaten by a hungry beast. Their death had been much simpler and, at the same time, much more terrifying.

When night fell, Hadjar had decided to make camp. They’d traveled deep into the Forest, but hadn’t found any signs of people. There was no point in continuing their search at night, when they couldn’t even see their hands in front of their faces.

The squad started setting up camp. Hadjar made do with just his Ape’s skin, which protected him from the cold. After wrapping himself in it, the General sat down in the snow under a tree. It was quite comfortable. He didn’t need even a tent.

The soldiers didn’t have the luxury of a cloak made from a White Ape’s skin. They needed fires, tents, and warm bedrolls. Most of that wasn’t an issue, but the fires, well...

Seven soldiers went to gather dry brushwood. Half an hour later, when O’Shekl had started worrying about them, only three men returned to the camp. They had been young guys with full heads of black hair, but now they were gray.

It took an hour of drinking soothing, herbal tea before they were able to tell their story. They said that they’d been collecting brushwood when a snowstorm began. In the storm, they’d seen several ghostly female figures. The women had been so beautiful that the soldiers had been ready to sell their souls just to touch their bodies once. Four soldiers had managed to do just that. As soon as they’d gone inside the storm, they’d immediately disappeared, turning into four ice statues.

Hadjar went to search for these ice statues on his own. When he discovered them, he understood why the soldiers had turned gray. The statues had expressions of horror the likes of which Hadjar had never seen before on their faces.

Maybe if he’d peered at the faces of the dead a bit longer, his hair would’ve turned gray with fear too. Or maybe not, as it was very difficult to strike terror into a dragon’s heart.

Hadjar broke the statues with his blade and buried the shards in some snowdrifts. When he returned to the camp, he said that he hadn’t found the bodies. Apparently, the storm had taken them. Everyone except the three survivors believed him. Having guessed the truth, they were grateful to him.

On the second day, the squad lost two more members. A huge Ice Python that had crawled out of snow had devoured them. It was a vile, 25ft long poisonous snake. Its poison froze a person from the inside. It had bitten two men, and the memory of their anguish caused most of the squad to stay awake that night — it was difficult to forget how a person who felt their blood crunch as their veins froze could scream.

The third day was a peaceful one. Unfortunately, it was followed by the fourth, one of the most terrible days they would have in the forest. On that day, Hadjar realized that he was still stuck at the very beginning of the path of cultivation.

As the squad went deeper into the Forest, a snowstorm  arose. The three gray-haired soldiers screamed in horror. The rest immediately grabbed their weapons and the cannoneers lit the fuses of their hand grenades. However, instead of beautiful women, two men came out of the storm.

They had long, white hair peeking out from under their helmets, and their faces were pale, expressionless. They wore beautiful, gold and white metal armor, and held short axes in their hands...

Hadjar immediately jumped off his horse and started fighting one of them. No matter how hard Hadjar tried, no matter how swift his blade was, or how powerful his attacks were, cutting the trees around them in half and ripping up the ground, the snow warrior always proved to be a little stronger and faster.

Explosions and screams could be heard. The melting snow hissed as blood was spilled on it. Then the snowstorm kicked up again and the two warriors turned into snowflakes and disappeared.

Hadjar stood unscathed even as eleven lifeless bodies lay on the snow. That evening, Hadjar reduced the number of soldiers in the squad by another five people.

After leaving the clearing where the battle had taken place, the squad set up camp. Of the 120 survivors, two dozen had been sent out on patrol. They had to swap out every hour.

“This is a cursed place,” someone said by the fire.

Hadjar, as usual, was sitting wrapped up in his ape-skin cloak. He listened to the soldiers’ conversation, but didn’t give it much thought. He was more concerned with his own meditation. After undergoing the Transformation at the Mortal Shell Stage, his path of cultivation had changed slightly. Now it was much easier to absorb the energy of the world, and the image of the Sword, hidden in the River of Energy, had come a little closer — less than a hair’s breadth, admittedly, but still.

“You’re right, Parton,” another man said. “We are the royal squad. Honorable guards! Not lowly huntsmen who have to freeze their asses off!”

“And we certainly didn’t agree to a war with demonic ghosts and ice creatures from nightmares!”

“The gods as my witnesses,” a third voice added, “General Bermengton fooled everyone! He decided to get rid of the Mad General and we’ll just die with him!”

A wave of approving murmurs flooded the camp, but it immediately crashed against the Lieutenant’s roar.

“Shut up, you sons of bitches!” O’Shekl snapped. “You swore an oath. Each of you! We swore allegiance to the King! And an order from General Traves is an order from the King himself! If it’s necessary to lay our bones to rest in this gods forsaken hole, we’ll do just that! Or do you want to go to the house of your forefathers with the stigma of dishonor upon you?”

The murmurs immediately quieted. There was no worse fate than dishonor for a warrior. The forefathers would never allow someone like that past their threshold. They would just spit in a warrior’s face instead, upon seeing such a stigma tarnishing their soul.

“Dishonor?” Parton hissed out. Hadjar was still sitting with his eyes closed, unable to see the speaker. “Tell me, Lieutenant, where is the honor here? I would be happy to fight in a battle against at least a thousand rebels. Even if they cut me to pieces, I would die with a smile on my face. But this... To die in the snow and ice, being toyed with by unknown creatures. There is no honor in that!”

The roar of approving shouts started up again. This time, O’Shekl couldn’t suppress the uprising. Fear was a powerful motivator.

“I’m leaving!” Parton spat. “Who’s with me?”

Four more soldiers managed to get up. Suddenly, the clearing stilled. Only the hiss of snow melting from the blood spilled on it broke the silence. The five bodies that had been pierced by invisible blades fell. Confusion and a bit of resentment could be seen in their expressions, frozen there forever. Without even opening his eyes, Hadjar continued to sit at the foot of the tall, icy tree. The soldiers only managed to notice a vortex of steel energy subsiding around the General. No further words were required from either the Lieutenant or the General. The soldiers immediately fell silent, looked at each other, and went to their tents. Their turn to patrol would be here soon. It was best to get some sleep before that.

Over the next three days, Hadjar lost a dozen more people: some of them ended up frozen, some disappeared in the snow, and some were even devoured by shapeless shadows, which emerged from out of nowhere and disappeared back into the abyss, leaving behind claw and fang marks. One man, the most ‘fortunate’ of them all, managed to die in a perfectly ordinary way, slipping and falling onto an iced over log which pierced his throat.

Despite all these hardships, at the beginning of the second week, Hadjar found the people he’d been looking for. General Bermengton hadn’t lied. They ended up being found by... Azrea.

Chapter 235

The morning of the eighth day began with a powerful, tiger-like roar and a human cry. Then the alarm horn rang out and the squad rushed toward their forward troops.

What they saw was the least frightening thing they’d witnessed in recent times. In the clearing, around the flattened and torn up remains of riders and horses, a huge cat prowled. It wasn’t a lynx, or a tiger, or a lion, just an ordinary cat. However, it was bigger than a three-story tavern. Each of its claws could be used as a spear, and its fangs would make good swords. It reminded Hadjar of the Ancient Beast he’d met long ago, Azrea’s mother. The cat hissed at the rider standing in front of it. He, like his horse, was frozen with terror.

“Run!” O’Shekl screamed. “Run, you idiot!”

It was too late. The cat swung its tail with a hiss. It easily batted the armored warrior out of his saddle. Just one swipe of its mighty paw was enough for the man to begin screaming in agony. The crumpled metal of his armor crushed his torn skin and broken bones even further. A fountain of blood shot out from his mouth, and a white and gray foam burst from his eyes and ears. The cat jerked its tail and threw away the ‘used up doll’. The body landed in a snowdrift and blood poured out onto the white snow.

“Surround it!” Hadjar commanded. “Artillerymen, throw your grenades under its paws! Archers, hit its eyes. Get ready for close combat!”

Hadjar unsheathed his blade and jumped off his horse. As soon as his feet touched the ground, a whirlwind of steel energy immediately sprang up around him, a coiling dragon visible in its depths.

The cannoneers hadn’t even managed to light the fuses before a white muzzle poked out from inside Hadjar’s clothes. Azrea sniffed the air, frowned slightly, and then growled so quietly it was barely audible, almost closer to a purr.

That was still enough for the huge cat to squeak plaintively and disappear into the forest in one leap with its tail between its legs. After a couple of moments, even the crunch of trees that the beast destroyed as it fled was no longer audible. Azrea sniffed, snorted, and returned to her warmth and comfort. Within seconds, she was already peacefully snuffling as she started falling asleep.

“What other secrets are you hiding from me?”

The whistling of an incoming arrow interrupted his musings. It almost struck a shocked O’Shekl right between the eyes. The steel flash of Moon Beam saved his life. Hadjar had swiftly brought it up to block the arrow.

“Arrows! Defend!” The General commanded.

Right behind him, the soldiers crowded together and erected a dome of shields around them. The horsemen covered their bodies with round shields and prepared their broadswords.

Hadjar peered into the snow-covered forest, but couldn’t see where the arrow had come from. On top of that, he didn’t feel the presence of anyone besides the members of his squad. The warrior wasn’t afraid, but he did feel rather nervous.

Hadjar heard the creak of a bowstring being pulled back and was about to send one of his strongest attacks in that direction when somebody started giving orders: “Stop! Back off! Hold your fire! Back off!”

The voice giving those commands was familiar to Hadjar. His heart grew heavy and his rage soared. After Primus, this man was possibly the person he wanted to kill the most in the world.

Soon, everything was silent. In that icy tranquility, accompanied by the snow whirling in the wind, there was only the dome of shields. The cannoneers were also ready, getting their cannons ready to fire.

A whirlwind of energy raged around Hadjar and his sword scared even O’Shekl who was standing nearby. He knew that the General’s ire wasn’t directed at him, but he was still afraid.

“Shall we negotiate?” The voice on the other side of the clearing asked.

Hadjar pretended to think about it. However, he didn’t do it for long.

“Alright,” the General agreed.

“Sir, may I-” O’Shekl began, but was interrupted by a powerful wave of Hadjar’s hand. It looked very similar to the one which King Primus had used to silence others.

Hadjar sheathed Moon Beam. He went down to the clearing. Calmly walking past the torn apart bodies, Hadjar looked at their faces. He recognized one man that had been among the ones who had entered the corridor with Primus and had watched the usurper tear the heart out of the Queen’s chest. Hadjar didn’t feel even a bit of sympathy for him.

Despite that, his placid expression was marred by intense emotion, caused by a rising snowstorm, or, more precisely, the man who stepped out of it. The General grabbed the hilt of his blade, but the man raised his hands in surrender.

“Easy, Mad General,” he said. “I’m not a snowman.”

“Snowman?”

The man nodded.

“The ones who come out of the snow,” he explained. “To be honest, we also don’t know who or what they are. But they don’t seem to want to harm us and have even taught us this Technique.”

To demonstrate, the man once again turned into a snowstorm. Hadjar couldn’t feel the man’s aura at all after he did that. When the man rose up behind him, Hadjar dodged aside abruptly. Only the man’s hands, which were once again raised in surrender, stopped him from immediately attacking him.

“That’s insane,” Hadjar whispered. “This isn’t a Speed Technique...”

“That’s right,” the man nodded again. “This is a Shifting Technique. I think that you could only find something similar in the capital of the Empire.”

A Shifting Technique was the next step in cultivating one’s movement skills. It was much stronger than any of the Speed Techniques. Compared to it, the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique was a child’s trick. Mastering this kind of Technique was impossible even for cultivators at the Spirit Knight level. Another myth had turned out to be real right before his eyes.

“You probably want to ask why, with such a Technique at our disposal, we haven’t seized the capital yet?” The man’s smile dimmed. “In order to try and get rid of the tension between us, I’ll tell you a little secret. This Technique that the snowmen have shared with us can only be used in the White Forest. Beyond it, trying to use it has very... disastrous consequences.”

Hadjar didn’t believe him. He could be telling the truth, but he still didn’t trust this man. The paranoia he’d developed during his years of slavery was too powerful. He trusted very few people. This man wasn’t one of them.

“Let me introduce myself. I am the former General of the former Northern Army, Atikus.”

The former General bowed. His paper-thin, scarred skin was very different from what Hadjar remembered. His brittle arms didn’t resemble the mighty, muscular ones he’d used to have. Neither did his long, unwashed, thick black hair, lying loose across his shoulders.

General Atikus had been King Haver’s closest friend. He’d fought in dozens of wars with him. He’d been the strongest General of his time, someone who all the surrounding Kingdoms had feared. The man Hadjar had once wanted to be when he grew up, who had demanded immense respect and had been able to calm anyone down. The man who’d betrayed his King; who’d let the imperial legion into the capital; who’d opened the Palace doors for Primus’ people; who had supported the usurper in his fight for the throne and had indirectly killed his parents.

The former Viscount Darsky...

He had been that small pebble that had started the avalanche that ended up burying Hadjar’s life beneath it.

“General Hadjar Traves. You have no idea how glad I am to meet you.”

The half-forgotten prayer came to him in a flash:

“Duke Velen, Earl Vaslia, Primus, the Governor, Viscount...”

Chapter 236

“I’ve heard about your exploits,” Atikus lowered his skeletal arms.

Hadjar knew that he shouldn’t let the man’s appearance fool him. Haver’s former friend still exuded power. Over the past several years, he had become even stronger, and right now, Atikus wasn’t any weaker than Hadjar.

“I confess that I’m a little nervous because of the arrows aimed at my back,” Hadjar said calmly, putting his hands behind his back, away from the hilt of Moon Beam.

He’d just demonstratively shown that he thought little of the rebel archers’ skills. The creak of their bowstrings and the abrupt cursing were a delight to his ears. A bloodthirsty smile curved his lips.

“Your power and skill are something to be proud of, Mad General,” Atikus nodded toward the woods and the creaking stopped.

This time, the archers actually returned the arrows to their quivers. Both groups, nervous and wary, now waited for their leaders to conclude their talk. The possibility of fighting a battle wasn’t appealing to anyone. The royal squad was afraid to fight against those who could enter and leave a snowstorm as if it were their own home. The rebels were terrified of the famous General Traves.

Before his victory over the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect, he had been respected, and after it, people came to fear him. For a warrior from a provincial kingdom to reach the Transformation of the Mortal Shell Stage, achieve ‘One with the World’, and then defeat a true cultivator before the age of 25 was a monstrously impressive achievement, worthy of being sung about for another thousand years. Many people were sure that if the Mad General had been lucky enough to be born in the Empire, he would already be a Heaven Soldier, if not a Spirit Knight.

“Perhaps you’ve also heard, General Atikus, that I’m not a big fan of small talk.”

The rebel leader nodded and grinned briefly.

“The songs about your legendary feats have reached even our backwoods, General,” Atikus’ voice was as cold and emotionless as the bloody snow around him. “I know that you prefer to get right to the point.”

Silence reigned once again. Hadjar looked into the man’s dark eyes. Finally, Atikus shook his head and reprimanded him: “You’re being impolite, young man.”

Hadjar almost lost it then. This traitor had thrown away his right to teach him anything when he’d sold his King and country to the Empire and Primus. Hadjar almost reached for the handle of Moon Beam, wishing to cross swords with his former idol from the distant past.

“I’m not the one making his guest wait needlessly,” Hadjar shrugged.

He’d done so for a reason — to distract himself from his body’s murderous desires. His palms were too itchy and kept involuntarily reaching for the hilt of his blade.

Atikus laughed harshly. He looked like a crow. He was even wearing simple, patched clothes, similar to Hadjar’s. Hadjar didn’t want to admit, even if only to himself, that his choice of clothing had been based on what he remembered the greatest General he’d known in his childhood had worn. A child’s impressions were the strongest, after all.

“Why have you come here, General? Do you really want to avenge your friend’s ruined wedding?”

“And what if I do?”

Atikus squinted at him and nodded again. The creak of bowstrings was heard again and Hadjar could sense the archers dimly, as if trying to discern a burning candle on a bright sunny day out of the corner of his eye. But even that was enough for him to see that the rebels outnumbered them. The clearing was surrounded by thousands of archers, at the very least. Hadjar couldn’t even count how many infantrymen were behind them.

“Then, I’m afraid, you’ll have to prove that the fact you can block five thousands arrows wasn’t just made up by the bards.”

Now it was Hadjar’s turn to squint. “I’m not sure about five thousand, but I can certainly deal with your three and a half thousand.”

Atikus didn’t react or show that he was ashamed of the accusation that he’d exaggerated. Any leader worth their salt always tried to bluff during negotiations. Especially when their bluff could still be backed by something impressive.

“I should clarify. Even if you survive, your soldiers surely won’t,” even Atikus’s voice sounded like he was cawing now. “But if you’d planned to fight us, you would’ve brought at least a quarter of a million soldiers with you. I see only a handful of royal dogs. That means I have to ask this question again: What are you doing here, Mad General?”

Again, there was only silence. Some thought that Hadjar was frightened, others hoped to see the rebel leader’s head roll across the snow. They were all wrong.

Hadjar was just putting on a performance. Fortunately, his five years spent in the freak show had made him a good actor because that skill had been very useful during his adventures.

“Would you believe me, General Atikus, if I told you that I want to join you?”

“You? Join us?” Atikus hadn’t been ready for such a drastic turn in the conversation. “I will admit, the offer is tempting. More than tempting, to be perfectly honest. A folk hero joining the resistance? That would be worth a lot.”

“I’ve never looked at it like that,” Hadjar shrugged again.

“But you have to understand, General Traves,” Atikus put his hands on his belt, near the handle of a long, simple blade. It was almost a copy of Moon Beam... Or vice versa... “It’s far too suspicious. You arrive immediately after a failed attempt on the King’s life, during which, according to certain rumors, you saved the usurper’s life yourself. On top of that, you’re not even accompanied by soldiers from your army, but by royal dogs.”

“I understand why you’d be concerned, General,” Hadjar nodded. “For my part, I can assure you that I wasn’t thinking of it as saving the King’s life. I saved the life of my friend’s father on the day of his wedding. What kind of a friend would I have been if I’d allowed you to sully that joyous occasion with such a thing?”

“Well, General Traves, how are you ever going to be one of us if your closest friend is Prince Eren?”

One downside of all those songs was that the whole country knew about the bond of friendship that the Prince and the Mad General shared.

“I hope this will convince you,” Hadjar took out a dagger from the folds of his clothes and slashed his palm with it. “I swear that I won’t rest until I kill King Primus.”

The wound on the General’s palm flared with a golden flame and immediately healed. The River of Energy had accepted his oath. Since he wasn’t currently on fire, he had been telling the truth.

“But then...” And Atikus finally understood everything. “You’re very devious, General Traves. Did you know in advance that the King would send this particular squad to accompany you?”

Hadjar nodded.

At that moment, O’Shekl understood everything as well. The Lieutenant, pale with fear, turned to the cannoneers and shouted “Fire!”

His last word ended in a wet gurgle as an arrow pierced his throat. From the forest, a rain of arrows came and snuffed out the lives of the remaining royal soldiers. The cannoneers tried to fire, but many of them fell on their cannons, dozens of arrows sticking out of them. They left bloodstains on the black metal of the cannons.

They didn’t get to retaliate. Hadjar had foreseen everything, and all this time, the cannons had never been loaded. This had almost resulted in their deaths, but Azrea had fortunately scared the giant creature away. Otherwise, gods only knew how that day would’ve ended.

Not a minute later, it was all over. The one hundred royal soldiers lay on the snow, bleeding to death. Their souls would go on to face the judgment of their forefathers, and from there, straight to the wheel of rebirth. They could only hope that they would have more luck in their next lives or that they wouldn’t make the kind of choices that would lead them to a similar fate once more.

“You brought them here like an offering.”

A sacrifice, more like it, Hadjar thought, but simply said: “They were a way to further prove my intention to join you.”

Atikus nodded and extended his hand.

“Please don’t try to kill me as we travel. That will end poorly for both of us.”

“Is there an easy way to reach your camp?”

“Nope. You can only do so with the help of this Technique. Otherwise, we would’ve been slaughtered long ago, even with all the dangers of the White Forest.”

Hadjar took hold of the outstretched hand. For a moment, he felt as if he’d been thrown off a cliff directly into icy water, and then he was standing on a wooden floor. The same floor he’d used to have in his General’s tent. Looking around, Hadjar found he was actually inside a spacious tent. However, he could never have imagined that, in addition to the usual cabinets, chests, beds, and tables with maps on them, he would also find a blade at his throat.

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t recognize you, my Prince?”

Atikus’s hand didn’t tremble, and there was no doubt in his eyes.

Chapter 237

Hadjar spent a few seconds trying to comprehend what was happening.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my Prince,” Atikus said meaningfully. “If you think that you’ll be able to draw your sword, you’re mistaken. I’ll take your head off before your hands even move.”

“I’m pretty fast,” Hadjar smiled wryly.

“No doubt,” Atikus nodded.

They stood in the center of a huge tent. Hadjar noticed that this tent was about one and a half times larger than the one he’d lived in. Judging by the sounds that came from outside, they were still in the White Forest.

“First of all, you need to know the full story,” Atikus said and pushed the sword forward slightly. A scarlet trickle began to run down Hadjar’s throat. “I’m glad you still remember what I taught you, Prince.”

The reminder that, as a child, Hadjar had used to sit on the knee of the then honorable General and to listen to his stories with his mouth open was as insulting as a slap to the face. Hadjar, who had been slapped numerous times, could flare up from just one.

“You know, in all your stories and teachings, I don’t remember any lessons about betrayal,” Hadjar almost snarled.

Now it was Atikus’ turn to flinch as if he’d been slapped. Just that brief moment, when his enemy’s blade moved less than an inch away from his throat, was enough for Hadjar to draw his own sword.

Steel flashed, red sparks fell to the floor, and then the two warriors were standing opposite each other. Their swords were crossed and ready for battle.

“You are astoundingly quick, my Prince,” Atikus was a little shocked. “Perhaps you are faster than anyone I’ve ever fought against.”

“Then you can hope that your death will be swift as well,” Hadjar didn’t restrain himself any longer. An enraged dragon coiled behind his eyes, ready to strike, and an inhuman growl escaped him. “But I can’t promise that.”

Hadjar had been ready for anything. Atikus’ famous ‘Sky Piercing Slash’ Technique, for example. With his own eyes, he had seen Atikus cut a huge boulder in half at a distance of forty steps using it. To a young Hadjar, that had been comparable to the feats of legendary heroes.

He’d even been expecting some sort of vile trick: hidden traps or poisonous darts. But what the traitor actually did was something that Hadjar couldn’t even comprehend, let alone prepare for.

Atikus’s expression showed he was weary. He looked as tired as if he’d been carrying the whole world on his shoulders for centuries. His lips curved into a sad smile, and his hands shook for the first time. His sword fell from his unsteady grip. With a thud, it got stuck in the wooden floor, shook a couple of times, and stilled. Now unarmed, Atikus stood opposite Hadjar. He spread his arms out and seemed ready to embrace and even welcome the death that would soon come for him.

“My Prince, I’ve been dead for nearly fifteen years now,” Atikus croaked. On his right cheek, there was a small teardrop which contained so much pain that it could’ve turned into enough rain to last a whole month. “I made a mistake, my Prince. That mistake cost me more than just my life. No matter how hard I try, I will never atone for my sins.”

Hadjar looked into his former idol’s dark eyes. He found no anger there, no rage, not even a willingness to do battle. Only fatigue and regret. An ocean of regret lapping against the shores of a vast universe of pain. Atikus had suffered greatly and was perhaps glad that someone would finally take his life. It was possible he even craved it. He wanted it much more than Hadjar wanted to kill the traitor.

“Tell me the truth,” Hadjar said in a calmer manner, sheathing his sword. “Tell me why Primus betrayed my father and why you helped him.”

“That is a long story, my Prince. It’ll bring you neither relief nor joy. I have already lingered for too long on this earth. The judgment of my forefathers and the stigma of dishonor have waited for too long already. Let us end this.”

Hadjar’s eyes flashed with anger.

“If you’re truly so sorry for what you did, Atikus, you would’ve been more careful and lied to me more convincingly. You don’t want to spare me, you just don’t want to remember the past.”

Atikus twitched again and his expression became stern.

“Maybe I have no honor left,” his voice was cold iron, “but no one has ever dared to accuse me of cowardice.”

“Then tell me!” Hadjar almost roared back.

The canopy was thrown aside and four men ran in with their swords drawn. Hadjar prepared for battle, but Atikus shook his head and made a couple of gestures with his hand. The men hesitated for a moment and then left.

“It’ll be a long story, my Prince. After hearing it, your world will no longer be as black and white as before. In any case, these events made me go down a crossroads. Alas, I realized too late that I had chosen the wrong turn.”

“Tell me,” Hadjar repeated.

“Very well, my Prince. Listen carefully. This is a story that neither the honorable Master nor the wise South Wind ever told you. A story that almost no one knows, and those who remember it try their best to forget. A story that you, most likely, will never believe. A story of two brothers, neither of which wanted to betray the other, but they both did so...”

Hadjar listened to Atikus’ story and visions of the past appeared before his eyes.

***

It all started with Hadjar standing on a balcony, watching his parents, Atikus, Primus, and the other Generals leaving the capital. The nomads on their borders had started their seasonal raids. However, this time, the King had decided to go beyond merely repelling them, and instead wanted to march across the borders of their Kingdom and strike at the capital of the nomadic tribe.

The battle was bloody. They had to fight on the bank of a wide river. The nomads initially had the advantage — they were attacking from dry land while the troops of Lidus had to disembark from their boats as they fought.

That day, Atikus decided, luck hadn’t just turned away from him, but had spat in his face. As soon as he made it ashore, he slipped on the river sludge. He lost his balance for a moment, which was enough to allow five arrows to pierce his body. Haver saw it happen. With a roar, he cut his way through their enemies, trying to save his dying friend.

“I trained with Haver since childhood. I fought alongside him in thousands of battles. That’s how I recognized you immediately, my Prince. His shadow follows you. You even hold your sword the same way he did. Others may not see it, but I do.”

Seeing that the King had left his back wide open, dozens of nomads rushed to attack him. Elizabeth rushed to defend him. She was a fiery whirlwind sweeping the enemies in her way. Not a single blade or arrow could even touch Haver. However, the enemies weren’t deterred. They kept coming

The sky darkened from all the explosions and fire. Hundreds, thousands of the dead and dying lay across the riverbank. Suddenly, in the midst of this orgy of death and agony, Atikus sensed something... inhuman. Something demonic.

That was the beginning of the end.

Chapter 238

Atikus was bleeding to death and the world seemed hazy, like the air was being distorted by a huge bonfire. The mountain to the west turned into a castle. The black sky took on a scarlet and purple hue.

The fleeing nomads were shouting something. They were leaving weapons, prisoners, even their own comrades behind. Those who didn’t have horses tried to cling to others’ stirrups, but were thrown off. Everything around him was filled with the cries of people dying under the hooves of horses mad with horror.

Suddenly, something that very faintly resembled a man was hovering over Atikus. An odd, incomprehensible armor hung from the creature. Its long, scabby arms hung to below its knees. Instead of teeth, it had black fangs. Its eyes were redder than hot coals. Atikus prepared to die, but it never happened. The creature growled as black and green blood spurted from it. Primus had outrun his brother and impaled the monster on his sword. Throwing the body off his blade with a kick, he grinned at him and jokingly said: “You owe me, General.”

Atikus knew that if they survived, this joke would come true. He really would owe Primus, the man he trusted the least in this world. However, it was unlikely that either of them would get to go back home. The terrifying creatures had replaced the nomads, who had managed to escape this hell, as their foes. They looked like nightmares come alive. They tore through people, devouring and killing anyone they could reach.

Atikus remembered how he’d thought of them as ‘demons’, and mentally laughed at his foolish assumption. Then the laughter in his head was replaced by sorrow. He would never be able to return to the day of the little Prince’s birthday celebration and give him his father’s dagger. It had been passed on in their family for hundreds of generations. But Fate was cruel. After Atikus had gone through five wives and divorces, the healers had said that the Gods hadn’t given the General the ability to carry on his family line. Therefore, Atikus had been planning to pass on his only legacy to his most beloved student and someone he’d thought of as his nephew — the little Prince. He had been certain that, despite all the efforts of Haver and Elizabeth, their boy wouldn’t grow up to be a scholar at all, but a warrior. A great warrior. Maybe the greatest one that had ever lived.

A hundred people crowded around Atikus, protecting him. Among them were the King, Primus, Elizabeth, and a beautiful girl with turquoise hair. Bathed in the light of the lilac sky, her hair almost seemed to glow. She fought with a short blade and was graceful in her deadliness. No wonder Primus loved the girl so much... The bride of the King’s brother was named Leonora, a swordsman famous in all the northern areas of the Kingdom. She’d never joined an army until the day she’d met Primus and started fighting side by side with him. They made a good couple. It was a pity that that would soon end.

Suddenly, it seemed to the General like a miniature sun had flashed before his eyes, and then the world froze. After a moment, Atikus realized that he had been mistaken — it hadn’t been a sun at all. Nevertheless, the world really had frozen: the terrible creatures hung in the air, Elizabeth’s fire Technique looked like a bloom of flame that would never blossom, even Haver had been stopped mid-swing. It was a haunting and unnerving sight.

Primus’ blade, called ‘Moon Wind’, inherited from his father (may the forefathers judge him kindly), turned into ghostly moon silk. Atikus had always liked it when Primus called on his ‘Moon Wind’. It was so marvelous that it often won not only battles, but also drew oceans of female attention.

Leonora, despite the fact that she fought with a simple short blade, seemed to conjure entire tsunamis of power with each strike. They swept away the beasts, bent age-old trees, and cut stones in half. Atikus often wondered what it would be like if Leonora wielded a heavy sword, not a short one.

“Hold on, poor General,” a melodious, childish voice whispered.

Through the veil of death and the call of his ancestors, Atikus beheld a miniature girl. Woven from threads of light, she flapped her butterfly wings and held Atikus’ finger. That was the only thing that kept him from going to the house of his forefathers where he would always be welcome.

The General looked at the miracle that had appeared before him. He recalled the old stories South Wind used to tell — in this world, across time and in the wind, through the moon and sun, along the earth and fire, fairies flew. They were creatures endowed with unprecedented power and punished for it by the Heavens with endless loneliness. They served the Gods as their envoys. Any story in which these creatures appeared was doomed to end tragically. Fairies were feared. There were songs about them. They were loved and hated in equal measure.

“You shouldn’t have been here, poor General,” the fairy’s voice made Atikus cry, so beautiful and sad it was. She had a tiny sword. “And there should have been no demons here, either. They made a mistake in the Seventh Heaven, poor General. The Jasper Emperor is furious. I’m here to assuage his fury and alter your destiny.”

Atikus didn’t understand half of what the fairy had just said. Who was the Jasper Emperor? What was this Seventh Heaven and why had they made a mistake? However, he understood the main point — the fairy was going to help him. He asked her what she wanted in return. Fairies always wanted something in return. They were like the Gods they served in that regard.

“One of the women who follow the brother Kings should stay behind. She has to delay the demons. Then I can get you and them to safety. Don’t ask me why it has to be one of them. That is how magic works, and how this entire world functions. ”

Atikus said they wouldn’t believe him.

“I’ll make it so that they do believe you. But you must know, poor General, that if you make this decision, you’ll be even more miserable. If you don’t, then you will all die, but the world will be a little better in the end. What will you choose, poor General? Short-term happiness or a better world?”

What would any practitioner choose? What use did he have for peace if all his life he’d strived to gain only one thing — power? The fairy disappeared. Atikus made his choice and everyone believed him.

“Leonora, don’t you dare!” Primus shouted, but it was too late.

He saw only the warm, sweet smile of his beloved, and then he was struck in the temple by Haver’s sword hilt.

“Thank you, Haver,” Leonora nodded. “He would’ve stayed with me.”

Leonora went over to her friend Elizabeth. They embraced. No one but Atikus and Primus knew that Leonora had given birth to a child just a month ago. But they were all aware that Elizabeth had gotten pregnant a couple of days ago. Leonora had chosen to save the life of her unborn nephew or niece.

“Goodbye,” she said, and turned toward the oncoming horde of demons.

Atikus fainted a second later.

When he woke up, he saw a half-naked Primus in front of him. Black tattoos covered the King’s brother’s mighty back, and bloody bandages had been wrapped around his numerous wounds. In his arms, he held the lifeless body of his beloved. Slowly, he carried her to a funeral pyre. The sparks that reached for the starry sky that night reminded Atikus of fairies. And that’s how one brother had unwillingly betrayed the other. That was the beginning of the end.

Atikus’ guilt stemmed from the fact that Primus had saved his life and then his honor hadn’t allowed him to give up the burden of repaying his debt to save them all.

***

Atikus and Hadjar were sitting at the table. Both of them looked lost in introspection. Atikus drank some wine from a jug and continued his story.

Chapter 239

Atikus was at a war council. All the members of the council, including the King, were huddled around the map and discussing their plan to strengthen the southern border. Recently, the neighboring countries, having learned how badly the nomads had battered Lidus, were doing their best to take advantage of the situation. Haver insisted on building a new defensive line, while the Generals were in favor of a new offensive. Atikus had to admit that he agreed with their reasoning.

The construction of forts and fortresses would only confirm their neighbors’ suspicions that Lidus had taken heavy losses. Such actions would end up being counterproductive. Even if they used all their forces and reserves and somehow finished constructing the defenses by the time the snow melted, it wouldn’t stop their potential enemies to the south. As soon as their southern borders ‘weakened’, Balium would immediately begin its attack. Lidus would simply be torn apart. However, Haver didn’t want to admit this. After the events of the past month, the once brave King seemed to have lost his nerve. He saw only danger at every turn, and feared for the life of his wife and the child she carried with an almost obsessive intensity.

Atikus couldn’t remember the last time the King had spent a whole month in his palace before or had received foreign ambassadors with such cordiality. Haver had concluded more peace treaties, trade deals, and non-aggression pacts in the past few weeks than during his entire previous time as ruler. The common folk liked it, as it meant they finally had a respite from the endless wars. Nevertheless, Atikus knew it was only temporary. In the world of practitioners, in the midst of that endless struggle for resources, one could either grow stronger or die. Lidus hadn’t gotten any stronger through these deals, maybe more secure, but definitely not stronger.

Haver was preoccupied with worrying about Elizabeth while Atikus had his own concerns. Over the past month, he’d tried with all his might to tell his friends about what had happened on the riverbank. Alas, once he opened his mouth, something would click in his head. The world would plunge into a sort of fog, and after five minutes, Atikus would realize that he’d been talking about everything under the sun, but had never mentioned the fairy or the demons. It seemed like an odd sort of curse wasn’t letting him talk about what had happened.

Worst of all, this was all happening while relations between Primus and Haver continued to break down. While the brothers’ quarrels had affected only them in the past, right then... The court had basically been divided into three parts. It was a cold war of sorts, but undeniably happening. The sides were: those who supported Haver and his new, peaceful policies, those who were ready to do everything in their power to help Primus, and those who had remained neutral.

Atikus had a hard time choosing a side. Out of everyone, he was probably the only one who knew why the divide had truly come to be. However, this didn’t negate the fact that Haver had begun to make mistakes that Atikus wasn’t aware of. Atikus’ sense of helplessness when faced with unknown forces had overwhelmed him, and he was almost blind to everything. He was terrified of what might come next due to all the horror stories from his childhood. He was horrified to realize that he would have to keep everything a secret until the day he died.

“But you’re telling me all of this now.”

“Don’t interrupt me, my Prince, I haven’t finished my story.”

Atikus had still been wandering through the labyrinths of his mind when the discussion reached a dead end.

“You want to bury your nose in the sand, brother!” Primus slammed his hands down on the table and rose from his seat. Many of the people there agreed with him.

“What do you suggest we do instead?” Haver’s voice was calm, but his eyes shone with anger. “Go to war again? Which war will this? We’ve had what, 17 of them in the past three years?”

“That doesn’t matter! You know perfectly well that only the strongest survive in this world!”

“Are you trying to get into a useless argument about whether the best sword created by the best blacksmith can split his best shield that he also made? We don’t need to rely on the sword alone to become stronger! ”

Atikus knew a bit about the ancient tale: A god had once approached the best mortal blacksmith. He’d asked him to forge two things — a sword capable of splitting any shield in half and a shield capable of withstanding the attack of any sword. The General didn’t quite remember how that story ended. The blacksmith had been a young, brilliant man. He’d loved the same girl that the god had loved. Because of this, the god had chosen to give him an impossible task. When the man failed, the god turned the girl to stone and banished the blacksmith to distant lands. From that day onward, nothing was known about the young man, the girl, or the god. The question of whether the sword or the shield would be better remained a mystery.

“We don’t live in fairytales, Haver!” Primus’ tone of voice reflected his fury. “There are no impregnable fortresses! Our people can’t hide behind walls forever, trembling in fear at every step an enemy takes near our borders! The best defense is to attack. Don’t forget what our father taught us!”

“Our father could’ve been wrong,” Haver said. “Maybe instead of winning the fight and striking first, it is better to avoid the fight altogether.”

“That’s what a coward would say!”

Haver became angry. He rose, and the air around him was suddenly so heavy that the weakest among those present found it difficult to breathe.

“Don’t forget, brother, that you’re talking to the King!”

“I remember, brother!” Primus struck his fist against the wall, which made deep cracks ripple across the ancient masonry. “You condemn us all to death! Your people! The whole country that our ancestors died for! Our enemies will tear us apart if we show them any weakness!”

“This council is over!” The King shouted. “I order you to build new fortresses and forts! We won’t fight!”

“You’ve doomed us all,” Primus shook his head. “But you’re used to that, aren’t you? Sending other people to their deaths?”

“Shut up, Primus,” Haver almost whispered, “before you say something that you’ll later regret.”

“Regret? The only thing I regret is that I carried Leonora in my arms, instead of you carrying Elizabeth! Or did you perhaps listen to me, brother, and have begun to investigate? Maybe you’ve visited the Empire? Or did you just decide to forget all about it? Forget how you betrayed your own brother and his bride?”

Atikus didn’t remember what happened next. He’d tried to shout, say something, anything, about the fairy and her curse, but then the world once again plunged into that familiar fog. This time, it lasted longer than five minutes.

The General only awoke once he was back in his chambers. Primus stood before him and was telling him about his plan. It was sneaky, bloody, and full of the sort of blind rage that a person could only feel for those closest to them.

Primus had found a vein of Solar ore. He wanted to use it to secure the patronage of the Empire. He wanted to leverage it to strengthen Lidus, make it the strongest in the region, turn it into such a powerful country that it would never have to fight again simply because no one would ever dare to even look toward their borders. No one else would ever again have to carry their beloved to the funeral pyres in their arms. However, for this to work, the King had to die, and that meant he needed Atikus’ help.

“You owe me, Atikus. Don’t forget that.”

Primus left the room and the General was now alone. The moon shone through the window. Its light seemed to shine like an executioner’s blade. Atikus understood Primus’ motives perfectly. He could see the mistakes that Haver had made over the past month. Fatal mistakes, ones that could cost them millions of lives. Even then, he was still his best friend. Just like Elizabeth. Like Primus. He couldn’t imagine himself killing any of them, even if things had changed.

And then there was the little Prince — reckless, innocent, and amiable to everyone. He was a small bundle of light in this bloody sea woven from the crimson darkness. If they killed the King, they would have to kill Hadjar as well.

Leonora and Primus hadn’t had the time to get married, and their son, about whom only a few people knew, was nothing more than a bastard in the eyes of the law. He could never take the throne...

Atikus looked at the moon one last time and unsheathed the dagger that he hadn’t given to Hadjar yet. Any situation had at least one way out, his father had used to say jokingly. But in every joke, there was always a kernel of truth.

Resolutely, Atikus swung the blade toward his throat, but the metal never touched his neck. Everything froze. The familiar ball of light descended onto his hand again and took the shape of the miniature fairy.

“You can’t do that, poor General,” the messenger of the gods said. “No one can escape their fate. I gave you a choice that day. You chose your path. You have to follow it. It is you who will destroy the last King and the most beautiful Queen.”

“Let me go, fiend,” Atikus growled, unable to even move a finger. “Let me die with honor!”

“Honor is for mortals alone. The Gods don’t know about honor. Only Fate. Yours is already written in the Book of Thousands. You’ll take part in the uprising. It’ll be a success. Haver will die. Elizabeth will die.”

Atikus heard her words and horrible scenes flashed before his eyes: the Palace drenched in blood; a sword chopping the King’s head off; Primus ripping the heart out of Elizabeth’s chest.

“What will happen to the Prince?”

“I can’t tell you that, poor General. Remember that you will only be able to tell this story once. When someone who is not a man and not a dragon comes to you. Not a prince and not a commoner. Not a wanderer and not a general. As changeable as the wind, following the call of his dreams. He will come to you. He’ll learn the truth. You will fight him. The snowmen will judge you both. One of you will die.”

Chapter 240

They sat in silence for a while. Hadjar looked at Atikus, who in turn was staring into the depths of his own mind.

“I’m not trying to absolve myself, my Prince,” the former General said at last. “But I won’t ask for forgiveness, either. Haver would’ve destroyed this country. Maybe that same year, maybe a century later, his policies would‘ve led to our demise.”

“Was that a good reason to kill him? Betray your best friend? Cause my mother’s death and doom me to the life of a cripple and slave?”

Atikus sighed and drained a jug of wine in one gulp.

“I didn’t kill my friend and your mother that day, but the King and Queen. Despite everything, Primus had made our country stronger.”

“Millions of people are working in the mine for the benefit of the Empire.”

“That’s still better than tens of millions dying in wars.”

“I don’t need to hear about wars!” Hadjar slapped his hand on the table, resembling his uncle. “I’ve seen many of them with my own eyes! I know what war is like.”

The regret and sorrow disappeared from Atikus’ eyes. Arrogance and mockery replaced them.

“How many times have you sent people into battle, great General? How many wars have you lived through? Two, three, four? I’ve been fighting for a century and a half! I’ve shed more blood than there is water in the royal garden! For what? To make the enemy shed twice as much in turn? You haven’t seen anything, my Prince. Only a shadow of war’s true shadow. The kind of war Primus saved us from!”

“By selling our country to the Empire.”

“And yet we’re still alive and the flag of Lidus still flies over the Palace.”

“And is used like a doormat by the Darnassians.”

The atmosphere grew tense. Whirlwinds of white energy sometimes flashed around Atikus while deep cuts spread across the table from Hadjar’s palms. Hadjar rose. He took Moon Beam and secured its sheath on his belt. Approaching the exit, Hadjar, without turning around, asked: “If he’s such a good ruler, why are you fighting Primus?”

Behind him, he heard a heavy sigh and a rustle. Soon, Atikus stood next to the man whom he’d once loved as much as the son he could never have.

“So that you’d know where to find me, my Prince, for our fight.”

They went outside. Large flakes of snow fell from the sky. Atikus’ tent stood in the middle of a large, militarized camp. The rebel army must’ve numbered at least half a million people. And all these people who were dressed in the same (Where did Atikus even find so much armor?) snow-white armor now stood fully armed and looking at their General and the man standing next to him. Then they fell to their right knee in unison and put their fists against their breastplates. Hadjar heard something quite different from what he’d expected.

“The King is dead!” They shouted. “Long live the King!”

“The King is dead! Long live the King!”

The thousands of people weren’t saluting Atikus, but... Hadjar. He didn’t understand what was going on.

“I’m not fighting against Primus, my Prince,” Atikus’ voice was once again filled with pain and fatigue. “I’m fighting for you.”

“Long live Prince Hadjar!” The chanting of half a million voices boomed. These people were ready to put their lives on the line to liberate their country. “Long live Prince Hadjar!”

Hadjar turned to Atikus and suddenly understood why the whole country had been full of rumors that an army led by the Prince was gathering in the north. And why this army had never made any serious attempts to invade the capital. Atikus had never intended to fight Primus. He’d just been waiting for the Prince to finally come to him. He had been calling out to him through the years and across hundreds of miles. He’d let out a battle cry in the country and had hoped that said cry would reach the ears of the legitimate royal heir. Atikus didn’t believe that he had any right to decide the fate of the kingdom. He didn’t believe that any fate could be decided. His heart had been wounded by the dagger that hadn’t been able to cut his own life short. The fairy’s words had killed the resolute and powerful General he’d once been. They’d left only an unfortunate warrior behind, devoid of any direction in life.

“This doesn’t change anything, Atikus,” Hadjar turned away from the people and drew his blade.

Moon Beam flashed. Its steel light spilled across the clearing, cutting through a myriad of snowflakes and kicking up a thick snowstorm around them. When everything settled down, the two men had disappeared.

The rebels peered deep into the forest. They knew perfectly well that somewhere out there, a deadly battle between the Poor General and the Mad General was raging. They didn’t want Atikus, who had gathered them here, given them hope, trained them, and instilled a thirst for freedom in their hearts, to die. But they believed their Prince would be victorious. The man who would lead them, who, finally, would give them a chance to fulfill their blood vows that they’d made in this eternally cold forest of both doom and salvation.

***

They stood in the middle of the White Forest.

“I didn’t think witnessing the battle between their old and new leader would do the morale of the army much good,” Atikus commented.

“Agreed,” Hadjar nodded.

His hand was calm and his sword didn’t tremble. However, rage smoldered in his bright, blue eyes, comparable only to the wrath of a Lord of the Heavens whose millenniums of peace had been disturbed by stupid and greedy mortals.

One of the people directly responsible for the death of his parents stood in front of Hadjar. No matter what he said, no matter what stories he told, even if the gods themselves, along with a myriad of fairies, were to personally come down and intervene, they wouldn’t be able to stay Moon Beam — Atikus would die this day.

“I’m not going to hold back, my Prince,” Atikus drew his sword. The powerful trunks of the nearest trees bent from the force of this simple move. At the feet of the former General, waves of snow dispersed outward, exposing the frozen ground.

A decrepit old man no longer stood before Hadjar. He wasn’t someone deprived of any desire to continue the endless struggle for his place under the Endless Sky, but the legendary General from his childhood. The one whose blade had been feared by all the warriors of the surrounding kingdoms. The man who’d been an idol for the little Prince as he’d wondered which path he should take in life.

“I would be very disappointed if you did.”

They stood there, looking at each other. The world seemed to hold its breath. Snow fell on their shoulders. The crowns of the trees creaked. Somewhere far away, wolves howled, greeting the arrival of darkness, and, hidden from their gaze, the snowmen watched the beginning of their battle. They were the ones whom the Gods had assigned to judge the fate of these two people.

After their very first exchange of blows, even the most dangerous animals of the Forest decided to run and hide. Not because they were afraid of being harmed by the echoes of the distant battle. They just couldn’t bear the rage that was contained in one blade, nor the desperate, suicidal determination within the other.

Chapter 241

Hadjar easily dodged aside, letting Atikus’ strike pass by him. A black sickle of energy that had been launched from the former General’s blade cut several trees down and crashed into a boulder. The huge trunks fell with a crash, and two ideally smooth halves of the once whole boulder parted. Having crossed a distance of almost fifty paces, this attack would’ve brought glory to any warrior. Hadjar wasn’t sure that he would be able to do the same without the help of the ‘Spring Wind’ stance.

Atikus used the ‘Sky Piercing Slash’ Technique. After dodging it, Hadjar spun around with an almost inhuman agility. With each turn he made, a new stream of ghostly blades rushed toward Atikus. They turned stones and trees into little more than dust. Atikus, constantly retreating, repelled one ghostly attack after another. His sword fluttered like a black shadow, breaking each of the blades as they came. His body flowed like a wild river, and even when the former General’s blade didn’t manage to block a strike, he could still evade them.

Not a single blade was able to touch him. Even when Hadjar, snarling, stopped abruptly and flicked his wrist a couple of times, sending a stream of ghostly blades that was twice as large, he didn’t catch Atikus unprepared. The man pushed off the ground, whirled around between the two streams, and, even before he landed, sent another black sickle flying through the air.

Hadjar didn’t have time to dodge. He swung his blade, using the ‘Calm Wind’ stance. The enemy’s Technique hit the veil of gentle wind. This time, the Technique was visible even to the eyes of a mere mortal.

The dark attack, which exuded an aura of pressure and titanic power, tried to break through the veil. Before it almost succeeded, Hadjar dived to the side. Where he’d stood just a moment ago, a deep crater had formed in the ground. With a bang and thunderous crashes, felled trees struck the ground. Before today, only the Patriarch of that accursed sect had managed to force his way through the veil of the ‘Calm Wind’.

“Don’t be afraid of being in the air, my Prince,” Atikus said, out of breath. “But remember that you shouldn’t defend then, but attack.”

Hadjar snarled again. He was enraged by the thought that the traitor was trying to teach him in the middle of their battle.

He grabbed the hilt of Moon Beam with his both hands. A tornado of steely energy began swirling around him. He lifted the blade high above his head, and then swung down. The ‘Spring Wind’ stance, combined with his knowledge about the mysteries of the Way of the Sword, made for one of Hadjar’s strongest attacks.

The 35ft blade that had a ghostly, growling dragon within it, came down on Atikus’ head. This blow could’ve cut off a whole mountain peak or divided a small lake in two for a short time. However, Atikus met the Technique with an anticipatory smile and without a hint of fear. It had been years since he’d fought against a worthy opponent, and for a long time, his heart hadn’t had any reason to beat faster, feeling the excitement of mortal danger.

The former General exhaled sharply and moved his blade straight up. A whirlwind of black energy flared and leapt from his sword. Turning into a dome of pure darkness, it took Hadjar’s attack head on.

Hadjar pushed down with all his might, feeling Atikus’ defense resisting him. With a cry, surrounded by the pouring rain of black energy, the former General tried to keep all of Hadjar’s rage and power at bay. Long, deep cuts crept around him in the snow. Snowflakes were reduced to the smallest crystals. The trees turned into little more than splinters, and then into fine dust, but Atikus held out against the attack. It felt like he’d been struck by a giant and he started bleeding, but the former General was still alive.

Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the entire weight of the titanic blade for much longer, Atikus struggled forward, letting out a loud roar. Using inertia, the strength of his legs, and his experience to help him gauge the best angle, he managed to push Hadjar’s Technique aside for a moment. That was all he needed to jump back far enough to avoid the destructive attack, and then swing his own sword in retaliation.

The dome that had recently been defending the former General turned into a sharp, rotating disk and flew toward Hadjar. He didn’t have time to dispel his Technique, and was therefore defenseless against Atikus’ strike. The disc flew with such speed that it left behind a dark, smoky trail. It was like a buzz saw, cutting down trees in its path.

“Damn it!” Hadjar cursed.

Clenching his teeth, he cut off the flow of energy fueling his Technique. Practitioners rarely used this method because it had dire consequences for the body. As if to prove that point, Hadjar spat some blood out, but still managed to raise Moon Beam in front of him. The disk struck the blade. While it was unusually thin, it was nevertheless stronger than hot steel and sharper than a razor. Hadjar listened with growing horror as his sword started creaking and even seemed to be breaking under the strain.

When a fragment of Moon Beam struck Hadjar’s shoulder, the Mad General turned into a shadow. Using the ‘Ten Ravens’ Technique to the point he pushed himself to the limit, Hadjar managed to finally get out of the disc’s way. There was a long cut on his left side that was so deep it exposed his ribs.

The disc flew far into the Forest, cutting through almost a dozen trees. The battle, which had gradually turned the surrounding clearing into a lifeless, snowy wasteland, was a testament of the truth behind the sages’ words: “In a battle of the gods, worlds perish.” The echo of this kind of battle could’ve easily ended not just a mortal life, but even the life of a practitioner at the level of the Bodily Nodes.

“You’re right to not be afraid of sacrificing yourself, my Prince,” Atikus said while exchanging blows with Hadjar.

They were engaged in a brutal melee. Each time their blades flashed, lumps of snow and earth were torn up. Lights soared through the air. Every attack that found neither the flesh of the enemy nor the steel of the opponent’s sword would instead destroy everything around them.

“And how much are you ready to sacrifice?”

Suddenly, Atikus stopped. Hadjar’s sword went deep into the forearm of the former General, but this slowed Hadjar down a lot. Atikus immediately used that to his advantage. They were too close for the former General to use his blade. Nevertheless, he struck hard. A powerful kick sent Hadjar soaring through the sky, covering a distance of almost ten yards, and then he crashed down right onto the slope of a hill. He rolled down, desperately gasping for air. All the air had been driven from his lungs. Atikus ran after him so quickly that he almost didn’t leave any footprints in the snow.

Coming to, Hadjar pushed off the ground. He managed to launch himself upward just in time to avoid the next dark sickle cutting him in half. His clothes ended up being the only thing his opponent’s attack touched. This time, Hadjar was no longer afraid of being in the air while his enemy stood on the ground. Closing his eyes for a moment, he visualized the distant horizon before him.

There was no flash of energy, no echo of rage, no dragon roar. Hadjar’s feet didn’t even touch the ground before he launched the thinnest attack he could. The strip of energy was the thickness of a hair, almost imperceptible, and deathly silent. It left a long, clear trail behind as it cut through the snowflakes.

At first, Atikus didn’t understand what was happening. Then he suddenly felt the cold touch of death around his throat. He conjured the black dome in front of him, but the attack Hadjar had used went through it as easily as if Atikus hadn’t used his best defensive Technique at all. Only at the last moment did the former General manage to duck, letting the attack sail over him. It cut off a strand of his hair and then hit a hill, splitting it in half. Atikus fell to the ground. Blood was trickling down his forehead. Apparently, along with his hair, Hadjar’s blow had cut his skin as well.

“Never before, my Prince,” Atikus was breathing heavily and covered in blood, but he was still happy. After getting to his feet, he continued: “I have never seen anyone who stands as close to attaining ‘Wielder of the Sword’ as you do, my Prince. That attack could’ve probably killed many Heaven Soldiers of the Empire-”

Atikus didn’t get to finish speaking before a sharp pain in his back and the blood pouring from his mouth stopped him. Four arrows were sticking out of the former General’s back.

“No!” Hadjar shouted at the warriors that had emerged from the snow. He launched another imperceptible attack at them, but it was too late. The snowmen had disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared.

Chapter 242

Hadjar caught Atikus’ falling body. His thick, black hair that had been tied into a tight bun spread out across the snow. Hadjar realized that even this part of his appearance had been copied from his childhood idol. His simple, torn clothes gradually ended up covered with crimson stains.

“The judges have made... their decision,” the traitor wheezed. “I’ve wanted this for so long...”

“Don’t be absurd, General,” Hadjar didn’t understand why it was so painful for him to hold this dying man in his arms. Over the past fifteen years, he had dreamed about sending the bastard to the forefathers with his own two hands. “Our battle is not yet over. You aren’t allowed to die so easily! It’s only a few arrows!”

Hadjar reached for Atikus’ back and broke the nearest arrow shaft. The General groaned in pain and blood gushed from his mouth. Hadjar immediately realized that it was very likely that the man’s arteries and lungs had been hit as well, not just his muscle tissue. If Atikus didn’t receive immediate assistance, he would die within the next ten minutes. Hadjar reached for the horn on Atikus’ belt, but he was stopped by the grip of a rapidly weakening hand.

“Please, stop... my Prince,” the former General managed to whisper through his pain and the blood seeping out of his mouth. “...I have waited too long for the stigma... of dishonor and... Eternal... oblivion.”

“Oblivion? You’re not making any sense. For thousands of years to come, parents will tell your story as an example of dishonor, General. You won’t be forgotten for a long time.”

Atikus smiled and the ghosts of the past danced before Hadjar’s eyes: Atikus lifting him high above his head and showing him distant lands while they stood on the very top of the Palace observatory’s spire, and then, them laughing as they run away from Elizabeth, who had been enraged by their recklessness. Atikus had taught Hadjar how to use a sword and the secrets that every man had to know, but which were kept hidden from women. Atikus had told him stories about battles and wars. Only decades later did Hadjar realize how these stories had downplayed one in order to exalt the other — they had lacked blood and pain so that only honor and dignity would remain.

If it hadn’t been for Atikus, Hadjar would never have put his back in front of lashes meant for the guilty soldiers. His soldiers. And now this man, the hero of countless epics, was dying. He was thin, old, and no longer as mighty as he had been long ago. After all, if it hadn’t been for those arrows, Hadjar’s next strike would’ve cut Atikus in half, not another hill. Anyone could’ve seen the inevitability of it. Apparently, that’s why the snowmen had decided to end their duel.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness, my Prince,” Atikus’ body shook and his limbs spasmed, “because... what I did...deserves no... forgiveness. But, please... my Prince... take it.”

Somehow, even while almost screaming in pain, Atikus reached into the folds of his clothes and took out the dagger — it was simple, without an adorned hilt or precious stones in the handle. Its blade wasn’t especially strong. Very few people would’ve bought such a dagger. But, to Atikus, it had an extraordinary significance. It was the only legacy of his family, one that he had never managed to pass on to the little Prince whom he had betrayed...

Hadjar took the dagger and hung it on his belt.

“Help me get up, my Prince,” Atikus didn’t wheeze this time. Seeing the Prince take the dagger and hang it on his belt... Well, the act meant more to Atikus than any words ever could.

For a moment, his strength returned to him. The power thanks to which he had once been known in all the neighboring Kingdoms. The might and dignity that had allowed him to become the idol of the heir to the throne. The power that he’d lost that day on that accursed riverbank.

Hadjar helped Atikus stand up and stepped aside. The former General leaned on a tree, which immediately became covered in blood. Atikus pushed off it and, holding out his left hand, raised his sword with his right. The arrows still protruded from his back and blood flowed from his mouth. But there was neither fear nor regret in his eyes. Only determination. The wind ruffled his black hair, buffeting his tattered, simple clothes. Behind him, the snow-white figures appeared, there to witness the execution of their sentence.

“I won’t hold back,” Hadjar said, suppressing the pain that had somehow arisen in his heart, “General Atikus.”

The whistling of the wind almost drowned out Atikus’ last, fading words: “I would be very disappointed if you did... my beloved Prince.”

Atikus, despite swaying woozily, rushed forward. Along with his blood, his famous battle cry escaped his throat... The same roar that had often made the enemy feel like a terrible beast was charging them. Just like the Mad General’s own...

A moment later, Atikus’ knees buckled and he fell into the snow. His head landed nearby. An expression of pure relief would remain frozen on his face forever.

Hadjar put his sword back into its sheath and touched the dagger’s hilt. Had he just killed a traitor or ended the life of a famous, but unfortunate General, whose fate the gods had laughed at so cruelly? He would probably never know the answer to that question or would end up looking for it for a very long time.

Four figures emerged from the snow and headed toward Atikus’ body.

“Take one more step,” Hadjar’s voice was emotionless, but in its depths was a dragon’s growl, “and I’ll turn this forest into a plain. I’ll burn your snow. I’ll send you to your forefathers. Or whoever you Snowmen venerate.”

The figures froze for a second and then drew their blades. Hadjar didn’t unsheathe Moon Beam. He just put his palm on its handle. Blood soared through his body. Numerous hematomas appeared on his arms and legs. But all of these weren’t serious injuries. Life had made him strong. Stronger than even Atikus had been. The boy had long surpassed his idol. The snow warriors turned into four pillars of snow and disappeared back into the blizzard quietly.

Hadjar looked up at the gray sky. Snowflakes were falling and swirling around in wondrous patterns, led by the music of the cheerful wind. For some reason, Hadjar knew that he would never enjoy a blizzard, a snowstorm, or even a light snowfall ever again. Just like how he could never again enjoy simple, red wildflowers...

By nightfall, the Mad General constructed a funeral pyre. He’d laid Atikus’ body on it, but left his head resting in a bag. Hadjar placed the pipe he had recently carved near the body. It was exactly the type of pipe that Atikus had liked to smoke tobacco from in the evenings...

Flames rose up and, without turning back, Hadjar left the White Forest. Behind him, the corpse of the man whom he had been eager to kill for revenge burned to death. However, that fact didn’t please Hadjar at all.

“Stupid General,” could be heard in the wind.

Hadjar walked back to the capital. In his eyes, as in Atikus’ own, there was room for neither regret nor pleas for forgiveness. Only determination. A man still walked under the boundless sky, someone who he had to send to the judgment of the forefathers.

Primus...

***

In a market square where a festival was in full swing, just before the fireworks began, a lonely, bewildered boy stood. He seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd.

“Hey, Atikus,” someone said. “We were beginning to fear you wouldn’t show up.”

The boy smiled and ran over to his friends. Another boy and a girl who were holding hands.

“Elizabeth, what happened?” Atikus pointed at the girl’s broken knee.

“Haver pushed me,” the girl frowned.

“I didn’t push you!” The boy protested indignantly. “On the contrary, I tried to catch you.”

All three children laughed.

“Shall we go watch the fireworks?”

“Not right now, just wait a little longer...”

Chapter 243

Hadjar stood at the top of the hill from which he’d taken his last look at the capital fifteen years ago. From here, the owner of the wandering freak show had taken him away and that had been the beginning of Hadjar’s new life. At the time, his last name had been Duran.

Now, so many years later, the retired Mad General, Hadjar Traves, had ridden up this hill and was once again looking at the capital. He hadn’t recognized it at first, and it had reciprocated. They’d been strangers...

From this hill, the group of nobles had embarked on the hunting trip. It had been a simple performance set up Primus, meant to win over the people who loved their heroes — the Mad General and Commander Nero. It had been especially useful for his narrative when it had turned out that the latter was also the Prince...

This hill was also where Hadjar had returned now. He held a simple, bloody canvas bag. He’d made good on his promise even earlier than had been expected. Three weeks hadn’t gone by and he’d already returned to the city victorious — carrying the rebel General’s severed head.

Hadjar walked along the road toward the main gates. There were a lot of travelers, trade caravans, stagecoaches, and even nobles’ carriages waiting there. They were all waiting in the queue for a chance to grease the guards’ palms, hoping that they wouldn’t be particularly zealous in searching through their goods.

Walking past the queue, Hadjar heard shouts of both rapture and horror.

“Look, that’s the Mad General himself!”

“No! He can’t possibly be so young!”

“It’s him, I tell you! I saw him at the King’s reception! I’m sure of it.”

“But didn’t they send him north?”

“Yeah, to the White Forest... Maybe that’s his ghost? They say nobody returns from that place.”

“Look at his bag. What do you think is inside?”

Hadjar left the whispering and gossiping behind. He reached the guards who were standing next to an unknown aristocrat’s luxurious coach. Admittedly, Hadjar didn’t know a lot about the modern heraldry. Moreover, without the help of the neuronet, he couldn’t remember many emblems from the past and especially not the more recent Houses.

The noble, opening a window in the door of his carriage, had almost begun to shout, presuming it was just a brazen commoner. The tirade froze in his throat. Being one of the people that had attended the latest receptions at the Palace, he’d immediately recognized Hadjar. Nodding nervously, the aristocrat slammed the door shut again.

“Stop!” The guard snapped. Together with his companions, he thrust a spear forward and aimed it at Hadjar’s chest. “What’s that in your bag? It’s stained with blood!”

Instead of answering, Hadjar took out the medallion that had been given to him by Primus from the folds of his clothing. As soon as the soldiers saw the medallion, they turned pale, almost mimicking the color of their helmets. Raising their spears and planting them in the ground, they sharply struck their fists against their breastplates.

“General Hadjar!” They saluted eagerly and the respect was clear in their eyes.

“At ease,” Hadjar answered, paid the entrance fee (in his opinion, everyone was equal before the law), and entered the city.

The central avenue, which was wide enough that a dozen carriages could easily ride down it side by side, met the General with its perennial bustle. Sometimes, the people rushing about would turn their heads to look at the General who was walking through the crowd.

Girls looked at the handsome warrior with undisguised desire. Young men looked at their idol with pride and respect. They saw themselves in his place. His hair, gathered in a bun, and his simple, torn clothes, didn’t diminish him at all in their eyes. On the contrary, these details seemed amazing to them, and even somewhat romantic. After all, a true hero had to look unique...

Hadjar walked to the Palace without paying much attention to the road. He’d wandered far away in his memories. The memory of his original world was so distant that he assumed that it had never existed. Mentally, he returned to that half-forgotten dream world — Earth. This dream was more vivid now, both closer and somehow clearer. Hadjar recalled how often he’d lain in the ward and looked at the lights of the city spread out below. That city had been somewhat similar to the capital of Lidus...

Hadjar tried to figure out if all of this might just be a story... Long ago, Hadjar had often read one particular book in the evenings. It was the story of a king, of betrayal, a prophecy, of witches and gods. It was very similar to the canvas of Fate along which Hadjar was walking now. Hadjar thought about the first lines of his favorite passage from that book: “Isn’t it all the same where you die: here or there?”

Hadjar entered the Palace as easily as he’d gotten into the city. The guards let him pass as soon as they saw the royal medallion. Then he went on a short walk through the front yard, accompanied by legionnaires of the Empire who stayed a respectful distance away from him. Everyone in the capital, and perhaps throughout the entire country itself, had heard about how the Mad General had treated Darnassus. None of the warriors believed that they would be able to fight against the famous swordsman and therefore didn’t intend to irritate him once again.

Hadjar walked past the garden. He directed his gaze toward an ivy-covered stone on the lake for a moment. For some reason, the sight of that stone made his heart ache. Alas, the General didn’t get a chance to walk over to the stone and examine it more thoroughly.

Once inside the Palace, Hadjar heard someone shout: “I’m a fool for marrying you!”

With a calm expression on his face, Hadjar deflected a spell that had ricocheted toward him. Coincidentally, he sent it in the direction of one of the legionnaires. The warrior was dragged across the floor for at least six yards, and then the comrades of the victim began to fuss, trying to extinguish the green fire that was threatening to devour him.

“You’re a psycho! What if you’d killed me?”

“Then I would’ve been granted the mercy of not having to endure your presence!”

“Endure my presence?”

“Dickwad!”

“But I haven’t even walked past her! Why are you so angry, dear?”

“Don’t try to butter me up!”

Hadjar rolled his eyes. Back when these quarrels had taken place in their army camp, he’d had at least some ability to influence his friends and calm them down. Now, with him not around and an entire empty palace to have their fights in? Hadjar gave the place about a month before they tore it down.

Hadjar cleared his throat and smiled at his friends. They were standing at the end of the corridor and either kissing or trying to devour each other.

“I’m happy to see you both as well.”

The lovers released each other. They looked toward the entrance, and after a moment, Hadjar felt the touch of Serra’s hot lips on his cheek, as well as his friend’s strong palms on his shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’ve returned, you drifter!” Nero shouted, shaking his friend with such force that he almost broke his neck. “Finally! We’ve already gotten sick of this gilded cage! It’s time for us to look for a place in a caravan!”

Serra nodded at her husband’s words. The two of them were sick and tired of being cooped up in the Palace.

“Are you going to leave again?” Came the question from the opposite side.

Elaine walked down the corridor. Even wearing a simple dress, she was still as beautiful as ever. Her appearance made the legionnaires freeze up. Even the guy who had nearly been burned to a crisp stopped panicking for a few moments, captivated by the Princess’ beauty. Before Nero could answer her, the King and the Governor appeared behind the Princess.

“It’s unlikely that your brother will be going anywhere anytime soon,” Primus’ voice was filled with the joy of victory. “General, I see you’ve returned.”

Hadjar pulled the bag over his shoulder silently and threw it across the corridor. Midflight, the ribbons holding it closed unraveled, releasing its ‘contents’. With a hollow thud, Atikus’ severed head fell to the marble. Leaving behind purulent, bloody stains, it came to rest at the King’s feet.

“Old friend,” Primus whispered, and for a moment, there was pain in his eyes. Then the King seemed to shake it off and... Calmly stepped over the head. “Congratulations on your success, General Hadjar Traves.”

The King walked by the stunned Elaine, Nero, and Serra, and came almost face to face with Hadjar. They stood opposite each other, separated only by a few inches of space. Suddenly, Primus’ gaze slid a little lower and stopped on the dagger hanging from Hadjar’s belt.

“I recognize that dagger,” Primus said thoughtfully. “I remember Atikus wanting to pass it on to one Prince in particular...”

Hadjar only managed to spot the Governor briefly. Then a throbbing pain erupted at the back of his head and darkness began to envelop his world.

“Welcome back, Hadjar Duran.” A laugh full of maniacal glee could be heard somewhere in the back of his mind.

When Hadjar woke up, he smiled despite himself. He recognized the cold, the darkness, the walls, the floor, the ‘window’, and even the collar around his neck. Fifteen years later, he’d returned not only to the capital, but also to that very same dungeon from which simple chance had once rescued him.

Chapter 244

Hadjar didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since he’d been thrown in the dungeon. He sat with his back against the cold stone wall. Not a single ray of sunlight or moonlight could penetrate through the bars on his window. Just like last time, it had been covered with a sheet of hardened steel.

Touching his collar, Hadjar immediately felt pain. The sensations resembled hot needles being stabbed into all of his nerves. One of these needles was embedded in the back of the neck. The thin spike, soaked in a special potion, cut Hadjar off from his abilities as a practitioner.

Over the course of fifteen years, Hadjar’s life had made a complete circle and he’d returned to what he’d been at the start: a mere mortal, deprived of his name and family. Only now he still had his arms and legs. How long would that last?

“I had hoped to never see you again,” Hadjar smiled a bit sadly.

Another difference was that his eyes now saw much better in the dark than they had before. In the corner of the cramped dungeon was the white skeleton of a small rat — Archibald, the name Hadjar had once given his only companion and silent interlocutor. Partly due to his presence, the young ex-Prince had once managed to stay sane.

Everything around him was the same as before. On the floor, there was a thin cover of tattered straw, instead of a mat. Over the years, the straw had become rotten and it smelled foul, and the floor had only gotten colder. Due to the dampness and moisture, the walls were covered with black mounds of dangerous mold. A heavy door with rusty hinges covered the entrance, ensuring he could not escape.

The moment Hadjar remembered that these hinges had used to make such awful sounds, heavy footsteps sounded outside. A key was turned in the lock and Hadjar’s suspicions were confirmed. The sound really was so terrible that he wanted to rupture his eardrums to avoid hearing it.

Hadjar closed his eyes for a moment so that the dim light of the torches didn’t hurt them. When he opened them again, he saw the visitor he’d been expecting right in front of him. Primus towered above his prisoner, who was chained to the wall. His gray hair was bundled together in a tight ponytail, smug mockery danced in his eyes, and his expensive silk clothes embroidered with gold were mopping up the mold on the floor.

In the corridor, with his shoulder leaning against the doorway, stood the Governor. This time, he was wearing a jacket that made him look like a warrior.

In his right hand, the King carried a stool, and in his left he held the dagger that Hadjar had received as a legacy from the poor General he’d killed.

After sitting down in front of Hadjar, Primus snapped his fingers and the heavy chains came to life. They wrapped themselves tightly around Hadjar’s legs and arms, preventing him from grabbing the dagger laid before him.

“Hello, uncle,” Hadjar croaked out through the pain.

The tight grip of the chains could still be tolerated, but every movement of his larynx agitated the collar, which produced very… ‘pleasant’ sensations.

“Hello, nephew.” The cell was so tiny that Primus, sitting on a stool opposite him, could quietly lean back against the wall. “Sorry for not visiting you all this time. That first year, there were simply too many things to do, and then, well... you ran away after that.”

Hadjar responded to his statement with a bloodthirsty smile. Well, as bloodthirsty as he could manage, anyway, given that he’d been shackled in the cell of his worst nightmares. He’d been deprived of his power, chained, and left all alone in the darkness. Even the honorable Archibald’s skeleton had been set down opposite him, may the forefathers be merciful to that kind soul...

“Didn’t your mom and dad teach you that it’s not nice to run away?”

“No,” Hadjar shook his head and immediately regretted it. He mustered all his willpower to avoid showing the enemy his pain and weakness. “But they did teach me that people without honor aren’t worthy of listening to. So, I’m sorry, uncle, but I probably won’t be answering your questions.”

Those words didn’t seem to hurt Primus at all. But that was a ruse. Judging by the flash of pain he’d seen in his blue eyes, Hadjar realized that his verbal jab had hit the mark. At that moment, Primus had possibly experienced more anguish than his prisoner was currently enduring.

“My questions?” The usurper grinned. “I thought you’d have questions of your own. For example, how did I recognize you?”

Hadjar turned away. He did his best to look like he didn’t even notice the man. This behavior made Primus feel another thoroughly hidden burst of pain and anger. The Governor laughed, showing his perfectly straight, snow-white teeth. That was a rather rare thing among practitioners, but common among true cultivators. They probably had more time and opportunities to fuss over their appearance.

“Well, I’ll tell you everything regardless,” Primus spread his arms, only to cross them again across his mighty chest. “Did you really think that I didn’t recognize you when you came to my house? To a celebration in honor of my daughter? Are you just as stupid as your father was?”

“She isn’t your daughter,” Hadjar growled out.

Primus arched his right eyebrow in dramatic amazement.

“What happened to your ‘I don’t speak to dishonorable people’ policy?”

Hadjar ignored the question.

“However, I must disagree with you,” Primus continued, pleased that he’d been able to hurt Hadjar. “If you asked Elaine, she would call me her father.”

“The fact that you used some sort of Technique on her doesn’t make you her father. I saw the scars that prove just how sick you are.”

The whirlwind of energy that arose around Primus would’ve torn an ordinary mortal apart. Fortunately, the collar only blocked Hadjar’s abilities, it didn’t render him completely powerless. Otherwise, he would’ve died right on the spot.

“Choose your words carefully, Hadjar. Don’t forget your life is in my hands.”

Hadjar grinned again. This time, it wasn’t a bloodthirsty expression, but rather... wise. “My life is in my hands alone and-”

He didn’t get to finish speaking. Atikus’ face appeared before his eyes, against his will. He remembered a line from the story that the poor General had told him, which was similar to the stories that South Wind had used to tell: I’m tired of life, and would be glad to see the world crumble to dust with me. It sounded like a fitting epitaph for Atikus’ gravestone.

“Although, to be honest, at the time, I still had my doubts.” Primus couldn’t calm down. He was drowning so completely in his own sense of superiority — drunk on his triumph, but, judging by his eyes, he wasn’t the happiest person. “Well, you must’ve either been a desperate idiot or a madman to come to the Palace. General Hadjar Traves... You didn’t even change your name.”

“Whatever for?” Hadjar asked in surprise. “There are as many Hadjars in the country as there are sins weighing your soul down — too numerous to count.”

“And yet, I still had my doubts. I probably couldn’t believe anyone could be so arrogant. But this,” Primus threw the dagger into the air. He caught it an inch from Hadjar’s face. “Atikus would’ve never given this to anyone. Except, of course, to his adorable little Prince.”

Hadjar silently looked at the window.

Primus rose from the stool, approached the prisoner and, bending down, whispered in his ear: “Tell me, nephew, what’s it like to kill the only person you care for?”

In the depths of Hadjar’s eyes, an anger that could crack the sky itself flared up. The King recoiled out of sheer reflex.

“You should know more about that than me, kinslayer,” Hadjar growled back.

Now it was Primus’ turn to show his own primal rage and thirst for blood.

“What do you know, you insolent whelp? Your father-”

“Atikus told me everything,” Hadjar interrupted him. “I know everything.”

For a while, they stared silently at one another. Then Primus suddenly snapped his fingers and the chains came alive once more. They fell to the floor, releasing Hadjar. He didn’t have time to comprehend anything before the guards grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off somewhere. Hadjar kept fainting from the unbearable pain. The few times he managed to stay conscious for a while, he tried to count the turns and the torches on the walls of the casemates. He was soon thrown into another cell. It was much more spacious, even if it still smelled foul, but it had an open window near the ceiling.

“Enjoy,” Primus said through clenched teeth and slammed the door shut.

At first, Hadjar thought that he was alone in the cell, but then a voice sounded.

“My Prince…”

Despite the fact that the voice clearly couldn’t belong to a human being, Hadjar recognized it.

“Nanny?” Hadjar turned to the sound.

His heart skipped a beat... then another... then another... And Hadjar started crying for the first time in almost fifteen years. His tears were full of rage, sorrow, horror, and despair. They fell to the floor and evaporated with a hiss, leaving shallow hollows on the surface of the stone.

Chapter 245

There was Nanny, across from him in the cell, hanging on some chains like a piece of meat. The woman who had cared for Hadjar as eagerly as his own mother had. Actually, as a child, Hadjar had often believed that he’d gotten very lucky. After all, children usually had only one mother, but he’d had his mother and Nanny.

Now, under the light of the waning moon, Hadjar could once again look at the woman who had devoted her life to him. Maybe he could talk to her. Or rather, what was left of her. Held aloft by heavy chains and cruel hooks that had been lodged under her ribs, hung... a slab of flesh. It had no arms or legs, and the stumps were wrapped in yellow, pus-soaked, foul-smelling, crusty, and in some places, fused strips of old bandages. The torso was completely naked and covered in terrible scars. Instead of her once matronly bosom, there were only terrible hollows, charred, with horrifically intricate scars that must’ve been the result of burns. Her head was bald. Well, calling it a head was maybe being too generous. It was more like a skull with small patches of dry, thin skin. The right cheek... In reality, there was no right cheek, only a few naked muscle fibers covering her teeth and tongue. Apparently, these had been left behind so that Nanny could still talk. Nothing else was left. The eyes were now two dark pits, with the same complex burns as on her chest. Instead of a nose, she had two loose strips of flesh, fluttering with every breath. The already dried out lines of pus that had once flowed from her eyes gleamed slightly in the light.

The chains and Nanny swayed. It was actually hard to determine which of them had initiated the motion. Hadjar had no idea what kind of pain she must’ve been enduring, suspended by her ribs, but Nanny seemed to have gotten used to it. After all, a person could get used to anything... Even when there was precious little left of the person in question.

“What did he do to you, Nanny?” Hadjar’s voice broke.

He walked toward her, but moved like a broken doll, twitching. He sobbed.

“My little Prince,” Nanny couldn’t see him, but she heard his footsteps. “I knew you would come, my little Prince.”

Hadjar stopped in front of her. He hesitantly extended his hand toward her left, still whole cheek, but she moved it away. As far as she could.

“No, my little Prince. Your heart is stronger than steel, but even steel would shatter after touching this horror.”

Hadjar’s hand froze in the air. He seemed to fall into a cold, bottomless darkness. Due to his naivety, his sheer childish stupidity, he’d believed that Primus would never hurt Nanny, as she had helped raise not only Hadjar, but Haver and Primus as well. And since the usurper hadn’t killed the Master, then Nanny was surely also... Unfortunately, reality turned out to be much crueler than young Hadjar could’ve ever imagined.

“How dare he!”

“Don’t be sad, my little Prince,” her voice sounded as if a living corpse was talking. “I chose my destiny myself.”

Hadjar recoiled. What did she mean by that?

“But why?”

The chains swung. With a terrible rattling, they moved Nanny’s body and her ribs creaked, torn apart a bit more by the hooks.

“You know why, my little Prince. You know...”

Hadjar really did know. As a child, he’d begun to suspect that no one would ever treat a simple Nanny with such reverence and respect. She hadn’t been as simple and straightforward as she had seemed. This had been especially clear after he’d met the Tree of Life. In its voice, he had recognized Nanny’s own.

She had kept her secret for centuries. She’d been the only living person who had known the way to the Kings’ Sword.

“You did the right thing, my little Prince, by not choosing the sword,” her voice was the whisper of a thousand dead. “It was never meant for you. It’s like a cage. Who can keep the wind or a dream in a cage?”

Hadjar couldn’t stop crying. The man who had lived a hard life back on Earth and in this vast, nameless world, the Mad General who had fought against the most terrible of foes, stood there and cried like a little boy. His tears hissed, evaporating and burning the stone below.

“Don’t cry, my little Prince. I don’t regret anything. Only that I can’t see you now. But you came to me in dreams. You’ve become a strong and handsome young man. Perhaps your feet carry you not only across the fragments of your enemies’ swords, but also across the shattered remains of many a girl’s heart who is stupid enough to fall in love with the wind.”

It seemed to Hadjar like Nanny smiled at him then and, just like in his childhood, stroked his cheek with her warm, soft palm.

“Tell me, my little Prince, about your wanderings. Tell me of your victories, sorrows, the people you’ve met and the ones you parted with. Tell me everything so that I can pass it on to your mother and father.”

Hadjar sank down to his knees in front of the stump hanging from the chains. Forcibly, he lowered his forehead to the cold stone floor. He began his story. Without lifting his forehead off the floor, he told her about his travels. How he’d played in squares in front of large audiences, in the guise of a freak. How he’d had to invent different stories to be able to eat meat afterward.

He told her about being bought for a brothel, where he’d met the girl whom he hadn’t been able to love, despite wanting to. How he’d liked to listen to the light rustling when she combed her long hair. How the brothel had burned down.

He even told her about meeting the dragon. How he’d ended up in the village in the Valley of Streams. About the villagers that had cared for him and the place where he had found a purpose in life again.

He told her about the army and meeting his first friend.

His forehead was still pressed against the floor, and his knees were bent.

He told her about his encounter with the Ancient Beast and Azrea. About them coming across Serra, who was as steadfast and dangerous as the desert itself. About the battle against the nomads, in which Hadjar had lost a man whom he’d respected.

He told her about the mighty Dogar, about the honor and dignity of Moon Leen and her lover, Dragon Tooth, how they’d fought against each other because they hadn’t been able to avoid it.

He told her about the beautiful mountains of Balium. The eternal snows, the White Apes, the Shadow of the Immortal, the Islander, Nehen, the visage of the terrible Derger, the sect, Adept Raven Wing, and his battle with the Patriarch.

Nanny listened in silence. It sometimes seemed like the hollow pits that had once been her eyes glittered with unshed tears. It had been a long time since this unfortunate prisoner of the usurper had been able to cry.

“Your life is like a legend, my little Prince. And now…’

“No,” Hadjar shook his head, pressing his forehead against the floor even harder.

“... I must leave to tell the story to your parents.”

“No. No. No. No,” Hadjar repeated. “I should’ve come back for you, Nanny. For you, Elaine, and the Master. I could’ve found a way to save you. I should-”

“Don’t cry, my little Prince,” and again, Hadjar got the impression that Nanny was smiling at him. “Steel yourself, for your journey hasn’t finished yet. You stand at the very beginning of it. But I’m too tired to complete my journey on my own. Help me, my little Prince, please help me find peace at last.”

Hadjar rose and approached her. His heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, but his hands remained strong. Again, he remembered a line from that book from his first ever life: “Wind, blow. Death, I am yours!”

“Goodbye, my little Prince. I’m happy I got to talk to you one final time.”

“Goodbye, Nanny.”

One quick, accurate strike later, and what was left of the once bursting with life and freedom body, fell limp. Ignoring the pain of his collar, Hadjar carefully took the body off the hooks. He pulled off the remains of his cloak and wrapped Nanny in it like a shroud. Placing the small bundle down so that the light of the moon fell on it, Hadjar sat down at the opposite end of the dungeon.

His heavy thoughts were accompanied by the clanging of the swinging chains.

“Today, in battle, I’ll meet you,” Hadjar quoted aloud.

He didn’t know that, right then, another visitor was sneaking over to his cell. 

***

A stately, middle-aged woman joined the three children. Curvaceous and vibrant, with thick, luxurious hair falling down to the small of her back, she glowed with life.

“Shall we go now?” Atikus asked again.

“Wait,” the woman smiled and patted the boy’s cheek. He’d always liked these warm, slightly callused palms. “Wait just a little longer. In the meantime, let me tell you a story. The Legend of the Wind.”

Chapter 246

Hadjar tried to distract himself from the remains lying opposite him in the dungeon. But he couldn’t. From time to time, he would turn to take a ‘final look’ at Nanny’s body. Only the steps coming down the corridor distracted Hadjar. At first, he thought it was one of the guards who’d decided to come stare at the captive Mad General, but soon enough, Hadjar recognized them. This often happened when a person knew another so well that they could recognize them by how they walked.

“What are you doing here, Nero?” Hadjar asked before his visitor had even inserted the key in the lock. His unexpected ‘guest’ slowed down slightly, but soon enough, Nero opened the door wide. He slipped inside the cell like an inconspicuous shadow, and closed the metal door behind him quietly.

When the first ray of moonlight fell on Nero, Hadjar couldn’t help but smile. Both his heavy sword and Moon Beam were sheathed across Nero’s back.

He also had a bag full of provisions, a bundle of simple clothes, a thin belt, and boots. Nero didn’t look like an experienced warrior, but more like a wandering merchant. Or just a very stupid thief who’d decided to steal whatever he could find instead of actually searching for valuables.

“You’re joking around, that means everything’s all right,” Nero nodded.

He pulled a small locket out of his pocket and walked over to Hadjar. Mumbling, he began to study the collar until Hadjar pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?” Nero asked.

“What are you trying to do?”

“Why are you distracting me? I’ll take this thing off your neck and then we’ll go to the Sea of Sand and...”

Hadjar gazed at his friend... his brother... with a look that expressed what he felt better than any words ever could. Nero recognized that look. The Mad General looked like this when he wanted to make it clear that it was useless to try and argue with him.

“Are you crazy, Hadj? Completely insane?” Nero whispered angrily. “They’ve already announced it to the whole Kingdom and built a platform on the central square! A bonfire is even being constructed! You’ll be burned alive tomorrow!”

“I would’ve thought you’d come sooner...”

“Are you listening to me, you mad idiot? You’re going to be executed. If you don’t understand the word, I’ll spell it out! E-x-e-c-u-t-e-d!”

Hadjar shrugged and winced slightly at the pain caused by the collar. It was a vile invention of the damned artifactors. Why couldn’t they have created something less painful? Or maybe they just felt a collective hatred toward practitioners?

“I won’t run, Nero. Not this time. Not now.”

Nero cried out silently. At least that’s how Hadjar understood his friend’s open mouth and pained expression. If Nero had hit the wall right then, the force of the blow would’ve shook the entire Palace and brought down the ceiling on the first floor.

“Why? You crazy idiot! Are you planning to die here? On the bonfire?”

“I can’t, my friend, I just can’t...”

“Damn it! Demons and gods! Why?!”

Instead of saying anything, Hadjar simply nodded to the bundle shrouded in the silver light of the moon. Nero, who’d been subjected to the same grindstone of war as Hadjar had, immediately realized what it was. He also noticed both the chains and the bloodied, rusted hooks.

The anger and frustration left Nero’s expression, leaving behind understanding and regret. Sighing, he sank down beside Hadjar and handed him the pipe that had been gifted to him by the girl Hadjar hadn’t been able to love...

“Thank you,” Hadjar nodded and inhaled the fragrant smoke delightedly. He’d missed it even more than the feeling of power and energy coursing through his body.

“Did you know him?” Nero glanced toward the remains.

“Her,” corrected Hadjar. “She was my Nanny, back when I lived in this damned Palace.”

The words weren’t a surprise to Nero. It was clear that he’d already known the truth.

“Father told me everything,” Nero whispered. He simply couldn’t utter the phrase any louder.

“What did he tell you, exactly?” Hadjar asked with a slight half-smile.

Nero also lit his pipe and exhaled a ring of smoke. He still did it better than Hadjar. It probably required certain abilities, or a natural talent for it.

“That he killed your parents. The previous King and Queen. That he cut off your legs, broke your arms, made you a freak, and destroyed the core of your cultivation. That he kept you in a cell for a year, and that you somehow escaped...”

“I didn’t,” Hadjar kept smoking. “I just got lucky. I was bought by a traveling freak show. I traveled with them for five years. Then I was bought by the ‘Innocent Meadow’ brothel in Spring Town. Then it-”

“Burned down,” Nero nodded, a little surprised by this story. “I was there that day... Damn... That’s it. That’s why you didn’t like that Adjutant.”

“I had no doubt that you were a frequent customer of the best brothel,” Hadjar nudged his friend with his shoulder.

“Please don’t tell my wife.”

They laughed for a while.

“There was this girl there. She had multicolored eyes. Her name was Eina. She was… Colin Larvie raped and killed her in front of her dying mother.”

Nero grimaced.

“That is truly vile. Now I understand why you wanted to kill Colin so much. What about the dragon? You’ve never lived in a mountain village-”

“I lived in a village, but not a mountain one,” Hadjar interrupted. “After I escaped from the brothel, I ended up in an underground cave. There was a captive dragon inside it.”

“Wait,” Nero exclaimed. “A real, live, huge, fire-breathing-”

“That’s right,” Hadjar nodded. “But he didn’t breathe fire. Not all dragons possess that ability. It’s a misconception.”

“How do you know? Did you have time to talk to him about it?”

Hadjar was about to answer, but suddenly realized that he wasn’t sure. He really had no idea how he knew that not all dragons breathed fire.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hadjar waved it off. “Well, I made a deal with him that he would give me his heart, and in exchange, I would help him get his revenge.”

Nero looked at his friend’s chest skeptically.

“It’s like a metaphor,” Hadjar explained. “It was a complicated process that I don’t remember too well. So it doesn’t really matter... Then I was found by the villagers. They nursed me back to health. Then I learned from a merchant that Elaine was still alive and went to join the army. You know the rest of my story.”

There was a heavy silence in the dungeon.

“Funny,” Nero drawled, breathing out smoke rings again. “It turns out you are both my friend and my brother twice over. By choice and by blood. And Elaine... To be honest, I’d thought that I could get you two to marry. You’d make a great couple. But you are her brother... You know, this’ll most likely break her heart.”

“Break her heart?” Hadjar asked. “You said your father told you everything.”

“He did,” Nero said with a nod. “He told me everything. I haven’t seen Elaine since that day. According to the servants, she hasn’t even left the tower. So, I have no idea what kind of lies my daddy fed her.”

Nero had always had a difficult relationship with Primus, but Hadjar knew one thing: in spite of everything, Nero loved his father and wouldn’t let anyone kill him.

“Serra and I were locked in our chambers,” Nero suddenly began his story. “The damned Governor placed a magic seal on the door. We couldn’t get out for a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah. You’ve been here for nine days.”

Hadjar cursed up a storm, which made his friend smile.

“Serra, the love of my life, was able to make something like a ‘hole’ in the spell. I managed to dive through it. Then I found you...”

They fell silent again. Outside the window, the waning moon shone brightly. The chains with blood drenched hooks swung. The two friends smoked. The two brothers. They were perhaps the most important person to each other in this world forgotten by the Gods.

“Life is shit, isn’t it?” Nero smiled sadly.

“Well, it’s certainly not a field of fragrant roses.”

“Do you really need to kill him?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Nero looked at Nanny’s horrifying remains.

“I would,” he nodded. “But I don’t want to see my brother and the future uncle of my children get burned alive.”

“I can’t give up, buddy,” Hadjar shook his head. “I can’t run. If I do, then you won’t have a friend and brother to go to the Sea of Sand with. I will be like the walking dead. A ghost.”

“Damn it!” Nero couldn’t hold back this time and struck the wall. A crack the width of his palm spread up to the ceiling. “What would you have me do, Hadj?! Watch you burn?”

“We are all burning,” Hadjar smiled, “Each person has to deal with their own fire that life allots them.”

“You are a damned philosopher.”

“And you’re a spoiled prince.”

“Barefooted psychopath.”

Nero turned away and wiped something off his cheek. He rose and headed for the door. Stopping for a moment, he reached for the handle of Moon Beam, but stopped at the last second.

Without turning around, he said: “Live free, my friend.”

“Die well, my brother.”

Chapter 247

It was just as Hadjar had suspected — Primus didn’t dare visit him before his execution. That morning, on the day when the false Prince and traitor General was scheduled to be burnt at the stake, five people entered his cell: four guards from Lidus and a soldier in green armor commanding them.

While the four soldiers shackled Hadjar, the Imperial soldier kept a close eye on them. He kicked Hadjar as often as he could, declaring that the Empire was superior; he repeated that a worm like Hadjar wasn’t worthy of breathing the same air as him several times; then he said something about rural, barefoot savages from Lidus, and so on.

Hadjar ignored all his efforts with a stoic expression, but the guards were very offended. They looked like beaten dogs whining in front of a cruel master. Their hands shook and their expressions were full of pain and regret. When the heavy shackles snapped closed around Hadjar’s wrists and ankles, the guards lifted the prisoner to his feet gently.

“Carry that garbage out,” the Imperial legionnaire ordered.

Throwing a glance full of contempt toward Hadjar, he left the cell first.

The guards led Hadjar to the exit obediently. He could only take small, shuffling steps because of the shackles and chains — both the shackles around his ankles and around his wrists were connected, meaning his hands were forced down and he couldn’t lift them above his belt. Once they got to the exit, one of the guards seemed to tumble and Hadjar felt something small and firm being placed behind his belt.

“That is a pill with a deadly, painless poison,” the guard whispered in his ear. “Sorry, General, that’s all we can do for you.”

Hadjar looked at the guards with surprise, but they averted their eyes. Suddenly, Hadjar realized that they looked like beaten dogs not because of what the legionnaire had said, but because they personally had to lead their idol to his death. Hadjar understood them perfectly. Atikus’ face reappeared before his eyes. Damn that poor General. How long would he be in Hadjar’s thoughts? How long would the memory of him guide the Mad General’s actions?

Hadjar was led along a wide corridor, past many empty cells — Primus, taught by bitter experience, almost never held prisoners, but executed justice quickly and often on the spot. Lidus courts convicted people nine times out of ten. Sometimes, that fact was even a good thing. But only sometimes.

Once past the corridor, they came to a small door. One legionnaire took out a bunch of heavy keys. He toyed with them for a while, and the guards tried to draw Hadjar’s attention to the pill. However, he was lost in his own thoughts and hardly noticed what was happening. The door opened and the bright daylight hit his eyes, forcing him to close them for a moment.

The dungeon was inside the hill on which the royal Palace resided. That’s why this door came out directly onto the main street that led to the central square.

Hadjar remembered only one execution like this from his childhood: a powerful aristocrat had been found guilty. Haver had convicted him personally. Alas, without his neural network to aid him, Hadjar couldn’t remember what he’d been guilty of. But he remembered very well how a crowd made up of thousands of citizens had rejoiced when the noble had been led through it.

Now, this crowd, this vast sea of people, stayed silent. Millions of people from Lidus had gathered on the street and were refusing to make any noise.

Hadjar remembered the stones, rotten vegetables, and rotten eggs that had been thrown at that prisoner. These people were also throwing something as well... Red, simple wildflowers. The scarlet petals rained down from the sky and covered the road in front of the General. Some of the women sobbed, and the men clenched their fists and teeth. But none of them risked meeting the General’s gaze as he moved to the platform. They, like the guards who had angled their spears toward the crowd, turned their heads away or looked anywhere else except at his calm, blue eyes. Millions of people, thousands of scarlet petals, and a deathly silence — that was how the people met their hero.

It was a cruel jest of Fate. First they’d learned that the ‘Bear squad’ Commander, one of their favorite heroes, was Prince Eren. A few months later, it turned out that the Mad General, Hadjar Traves, was in fact the heir of the previous King, the son of Haver and Elizabeth. Then Prince Hadjar Duran had been convicted and sentenced to death for attempting a coup.

The crowd was left standing behind them soon enough. Hadjar stopped in front of the large platform made of wood. It towered over the square and had been made to stand parallel to the Palace and facing the street. That way, everyone could see what happened to those who dared to resist the power of King Primus.

On the platform, in absolute silence, stood an executioner dressed in black. A heavy cap with small eyeholes hid his face. He held a bit of flint and a torch.

The guards, their faces full of sorrow, helped Hadjar climb the stairs. The executioner accepted his victim with a grim, stoic calm. He led Hadjar over to a tall post and chained him to it.

“General,” the executioner whispered while laying down brushwood around Hadjar’s feet. There was so much of it that it would’ve been possible to burn a whole village down with it. The executioner came closer to Hadjar and whispered again: “General, the pill must be hidden behind your belt. Just give me the word and I’ll put it in your mouth.”

Hadjar looked into the eyeholes of the man’s cap, but the executioner averted his eyes as well.

“You swore an oath to serve the Crown, honorable Executioner,” Hadjar’s voice was calm and determined. “Don’t forget that.”

The executioner flinched and stepped away. He turned around and went to the edge of the platform, but before he left, Hadjar heard him say: “Breaking my oath for your sake would be worth it, General.”

Hadjar stood among the brushwood. Doused with a special liquid, it tickled Hadjar’s feet slightly. There weren’t any guards from Lidus around the platform, only legionnaires of the Empire. They kept their swords unsheathed and pointed toward the enormous crowd. The people, staying silent, continued to throw red flowers onto the platform and the brushwood. Hadjar recalled a line from his favorite story: “I’m like a bear, chained to a post.”

“Cheer for your King!” A powerful cry rang out over the square from a wide balcony off to the side. The King usually stood there waving to people during the holidays, or heralds would stand up there to deliver important news. “King Primus II Duran! Cheer for your King!”

Primus went out onto the balcony, accompanied by the still smiling Governor. Elaine walked out alongside them. Wearing a beautiful, gold dress, she looked like a fairy from one of Atikus’ stories. Serra, wearing the traditional dress of her people, and Nero, gripping the sheath of Moon Beam, trailed behind her.

The crowd met Primus with silence. No one even turned toward the King. The King didn’t seem to care. He was going to give a speech. Hadjar hoped that he could withstand it. At that moment, it seemed to him like it would be better to burn in the fire than to listen to Primus speak even one more time.

Before Primus started talking, Hadjar recited the following line as loudly as he could: “I can’t run away as I’m surrounded on all sides by enemies.”

Chapter 248

“My loyal subjects!” Primus’ voice, amplified by his power, sounded like spring thunder in the middle of a clear day. “This day will be remembered forever! This day, we celebrate the final victory over the usurpers of our Kingdom! The people who tried to destroy us by making us weak! The ones who wanted to leave our country at the mercy of our enemies!”

The people didn’t seem to be listening to the King. All eyes were fixed on the General tied to the post.

“We managed to get rid of the previous despot! No one needs to give their life needlessly for the ideas of King Haver! No one tramples the memory of our ancestors with his banner in their hands! We have lived all these years since his death in peace and tranquility!”

Silence again. No one looked at the King. But they didn’t dare to even glance at Hadjar’s eyes, either. The crowd, which had several million people in it, just looked passively at a couple hundred legionaries. They’d calmly accepted that they could do nothing about the fact that the legitimate heir to the throne was about to be executed. Not only the true heir, but a national hero as well. The man who was respected not for his strength or fame, but for his determination, willpower, character, and temper. For the fact that he would be ready to give his life to save a common soldier.

Maybe some would say that a powerful commander would be stupid and unwise to do so. But to the common people, tormented by internal and external wars, it was a sign. A sign that there were still people in power who hadn’t forgotten about the mandates of their ancestors, for whom honor and nobility weren’t empty words and outdated concepts. And yet, they averted their eyes.

“Today, we’ll finally get rid of the last parasite on the body of our glorious homeland! This small beetle, devouring us from the inside, took the form of a hero! Using deception and betrayal, he led Moon Leen’s army! He sent many of our warriors to their deaths! Ruined thousands of people! Made a vile, corrupt agreement with our enemy — Balium! He did all of that to get here and have the opportunity to stab me, your King, in the back! He didn’t shy away from anything! He used my son! He tried to take my daughter by force during their hunt!”

Elaine recoiled from her father at that moment, but then her face assumed the same impartial mask once again. Hadjar saw a small amulet glowing with a dim light in the Governor’s hands. The General realized what was happening. Enraged, Hadjar almost broke the post. If he hadn’t been wearing the collar, his strength would’ve been enough to break it. The noise and struggle made quite an impression on the crowd. They didn’t see it as Hadjar wanting to kill the King and Governor, they saw it as their General refusing to surrender...

“For these heinous crimes, I sentence the false Prince, Hadjar Duran, to death by burning. May the forefathers meet him, see that he was burned alive, marked by his dishonorable actions, then spit in his face and not allow him to enter their house!”

The executioner, averting his eyes, lit the torch with the flint and stepped toward Hadjar. At that moment, somebody in the crowd shouted: “His last words! According to the laws of our ancestors, the condemned has a right to that!”

The executioner froze. The torch never touched the brushwood.

“Last words!” other people cried.

“Last words!” sounded from the other side.

A minute later, the whole crowd was chanting the phrase “Last words!”

For about half a minute, millions of people chanted their demand until the King waved his hand. Apparently, even Primus, who was confident in the outcome of today’s events, was interested in what the Prince had to say.

The crowd fell silent. The guards of Lidus mixed with the crowd. They stood next to their countrymen. Having removed their helmets and lowered their shields and spears, they looked toward the platform. Only a few hundred legionaries still held swords aimed at the gathered crowd.

“You know,” Hadjar’s voice didn’t sound like thunder, but it was quite audible. “I’m looking at all of you and it makes me sad... It’s a shame that I was born in this country and that I was destined to call you my countrymen until the end of my days!”

No one had expected such harsh words from the General. In the absolute silence that followed, the Governor’s and King’s laughter filled the air.

“And you say this man is your hero?” The King shouted gleefully.

“I’m not done talking!” Hadjar roared. Despite the fact that his strength was being suppressed, there was still so much power in his cry that the world was once again plunged into silence. “Where were you, my countrymen, when my father was killed? When that kinslayer ripped the still-beating heart out of my mother’s chest?”

Elaine jerked and her face twitched for a moment, but then the amulet in the Governor’s hands began shining more brightly. There was so much rage in Hadjar that it could set fire to the brushwood.

“Where were you when your fathers, brothers, sisters, wives were all taken to the mine? Where were you when my warriors bled on the Blue Wind ridge?  Where were you when Moon Leen gave her life for you? Where were you when your countrymen died in the Black Mountains of Balium? Where are you now, when injustice is happening once again, right before your eyes?”

Primus, who understood what Hadjar was doing, squeezed the balcony’s parapet so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Executioner, begin the-”

“Shut up, traitor!” Hadjar snapped. “My speech isn’t over yet! You, the people that my father, his father, and his father’s father shed blood for, what are you doing now? Just standing around? Watching events unfold? Averting your gaze? Why aren’t you looking me in the eye? Are you afraid of seeing your own reflection there? Look at me! Look!”

One by one, the people looked away from their own feet. They looked up, into the clear, blue eyes filled with rage and determination. They saw their own reflection in them. They were a bunch of frightened, indecisive sheep.

“Who stands in your way? Two hundred foreigners at most. They trample our lands, tear down our flags. They kill our own. They rape our country ruthlessly, taking whatever they want. And what are you doing about it, my people? Nothing.”

Silence reigned. Primus smiled, realizing that nothing would happen. The people of Lidus weren’t united and weren’t courageous. What would they do in the face of imminent death delivered by the legionnaires’ blades? Nothing.

“Do you really think that I traveled all this way just to get closer to Primus?” Hadjar turned his head toward the King and smiled. It was a wide, cunning, and bloodthirsty expression. Nero shuddered at that smile. He knew that no enemy would live to see the next dawn after the Mad General smiled at them like that. “You worthless dog, I could kill you at any moment! Your palace is your coffin, and I have all the power here. So why am I here now, on this platform? The answer is simple! Because of you. Because of Lidus, for which my parents died!”

Hadjar’s plan had never been to just get simple revenge on Primus. What was the point of taking a person’s life if that person died happy and fulfilled? No, Hadjar was going to take everything away from Primus. He would begin with the people he ruled. Hadjar was going to steal the very country away from this King!

“So how long will you just grumble and go meekly to the slaughter like lambs? Isn’t it time to throw your fists into the sky? Isn’t it time to shout war cries and take back what has always rightfully been yours to begin with? Tell me, people of Lidus, are you with me?”

Silence.

Inaction.

The people turned away from the famous General once again. They averted their eyes, looking somewhere below even their own feet. Laughter and applause sounded. They came from the balcony.

“Executioner,” Primus wiped away tears, “end this farce. Light the fire!”

The executioner flinched. He slowly headed toward the brushwood, but...  was stopped once again. A stone had been thrown at his head. A second stone hit the helmet of one of the legionnaires surrounding the platform.

A little boy came forward, to the front of the crowd. His long, black hair was in a tight bun. He was wearing ragged sandals and dirty, old clothes. In his hands, he held a wooden sword that had ‘Moon Beam’ carved on it.

“The Mad General isn’t afraid of anyone! I’m with you, Prince!” The boy shouted and, raising his sword above his head, rushed at the nearest legionnaire. The soldier smiled wryly and swung the blade at the child’s head. Blood began to flow.

From a hand.

A tall, muscular man had caught the legionnaire’s blade with his bare hand.

“I’m with you, Prince!” He growled and slammed his fist into the visor of the legionnaire with enough force to dent it.

“I’m with you, Prince!” Someone shouted, picking up a stone.

“I’m with you...” The sound of blades being unsheathed filled the air.

“I’m with you...” Arrows were nocked.

“I’m with you...” The entire crowd began to move. It rushed toward the ring of legionnaires like an angry tide.

“Kill Hadjar!” The King shouted.

One of the legionnaires jumped up to the platform. But then he grabbed his face and cried out — the executioner had slammed the flaming torch into his face.

“I’m with you, my Prince,” sounded from under the cap. “Fuck my oath. I’ll meet my forefathers with honor even if they call me an oathbreaker.”

The world froze one last time before finally exploding.

The earth trembled.

From atop the hill closest to the capital, that same one that was so dear to Hadjar, an avalanche came down. An avalanche of people and horses. The riders, throwing their fists into the sky, shouted something.

“General Hadjar!” cut through the noise of the crowd.

“General Hadjar!” The infantry shouted as they ran after them.

Lergon, armed with a war hammer, led them. At the head of the army, Lian rode. She held the ‘Moon Army’ banner. Planting it in the ground, she took out her bow and prepared to fire something... Moon Beam.

Nero abruptly drew the sword that he’d kept in its sheath all this time. A smile appeared on his face when he realized that he’d been carrying a copy all this time, and not the original sword.

Moon Beam, after flying across the sky, cut through Hadjar’s collar and pierced the wooden planks. An explosion shook the platform.

A vortex of steel energy shot several feet into the sky. It turned the platform into a pile of sawdust and scattered the butchered bodies of the legionnaires in different directions. A roaring dragon rushed toward the clouds as well, within this whirlwind. When the energy dissipated, the Mad General stood with his sword in his hands, in the center of the square.

“Primus!” He roared and charged at the Palace.

Chapter 249

ozens of legionnaires in green armor rushed toward Hadjar. Behind him, the sound of iron horseshoes striking the pavement and enthusiastic cries filled the air. Gradually, the crowd parted, letting the Moon Army, led by Lian, through. Hadjar didn’t fight the legionnaires himself. There was no need.

“General,” the familiar voice said. “I’m glad to see you, my General.”

Lian jumped down from her horse. She was wearing light half-armor and a high helmet that had two white, fluffy tails dangling from the back of it. They were most likely a trophy taken from a Two-Tailed White Fox — a rather dangerous foe.

“General!” Lergon saluted.

Hadjar nodded to them in greeting, watching the troops move to quickly move the raging crowd away from the future battle. The two hundred legionaries who’d been guarding the platform were already knocking at the doors to the homes of their forefathers.

The Mad General, whose crazy plans had succeeded once again, had done what he’d set out to do. He had stolen the people from Primus. There was no need to make them die in his name.

Hadjar had done the most important thing — he’d lit a fire in their hearts. Now it would smolder quietly. It might ignite fully in their children’s hearts or their grandchildren’s hearts. Alas, Hadjar most likely wouldn’t be there to see it happen.

“My Prince,” a voice intoned respectfully.

“Make way,” Hadjar ordered.

Immediately, the ranks of the Moon Army’s soldiers broke open. A man approached the remains of the platform. A brown cape hid his figure and face, but it was obvious that he was carrying something in his hands with great care.

“Master,” Hadjar nodded in greeting.

The man threw back his hood. His gray hair was scattered across his shoulders and a long, standard sword peeked out from under the edge of his cloak. In his arms, he carried the small tiger cub.

As soon as Azrea saw her man, she immediately meowed in displeasure and jumped out of the Master’s hands. In two leaps, she reached Hadjar, scrambled up his legs, then his torso, bit his ear, and slipped into his clothes, resting against his chest, where she soon fell asleep.

“I would never have thought it possible, my Prince, that communication between rebels can be accomplished with the help of a kitten.”

“We are not rebels,” Lian said resentfully. “We’re fighting for the legitimate heir.”

Despite dozing, nestled in the clothes of what she considered to be her ‘bipedal vehicle’, Azrea meowed angrily. Apparently, she wanted to express her dissatisfaction with being called a ‘kitten’.

“What now, General?” Lergon asked in between giving orders to his people.

The soldiers deployed siege mortars, prepared spike barricades against the cavalry charge, and placed sandbags around the square to fortify their position. The Palace, despite its accessibility, remained the strongest fortress of the Kingdom. The first, central Palace wall had been built thousands of years ago. Throughout the years, it had been strengthened and expanded, finally becoming the most reliable defensive fortification in the whole country.

“We’ll probably have to blockade the Palace,” Lergon mumbled, scratching his short beard.

“The troops of the Empire might come while we’re doing that,” Lian said.

That’s how their arguing began. While they bickered, the Moon Army dragged away the bodies of the legionnaires and those that they’d managed to take with them to the next world. Redoubts were built. The cannoneers put cannonballs in the mouths of their cannons. Hadjar felt happy as thousands of soldiers awaited his order. It wasn’t because he felt powerful, but rather nostalgic.

“No siege will be necessary,” he said.

The officers looked at their General, clearly puzzled. He gestured toward the opening fortress gates. They were being opened by blood-drenched, regular soldiers and guards of the Palace. Dozens of their comrades lay dead behind the gates, but there were also many soldiers in green armor lying alongside them. The Master had done his best during the time given to him and had trained the Palace guards well.

Hadjar turned to the Army. All of them were waiting for his order to storm the Palace. He should’ve probably given them some sort of pretentious speech, full of determination and nobility. Unfortunately, he’d lost all his willingness to indulge in such things while chained to the post. Therefore, the Mad General did what he always did. He raised his fist into the sky and roared like an enraged dragon.

Hundreds of thousands of soldiers did the same. Their fists were raised, and the walls of the ancient castle and houses started to crack from the force of their roars. Hadjar, raising his sword, ran toward the Palace first. The Moon Army and the Balium corps, which had come at the Mad General’s call, followed right behind him. Together, they rushed into the Palace garden and several thousand legionaries immediately appeared to challenge them. The narrow paths of the garden didn’t allow the army to maneuver easily, but that wasn’t necessary.

Hadjar’s sword seemed to be everywhere at once. The legionnaires had no chance. A dark shadow flashed between them. Each swing of Hadjar’s blade took several lives; each of his attacks conjured a whole wave of ghostly blades that turned people into little more than mincemeat.

A bloodthirsty grin gleamed on the General’s face. The sword in his hand sang and danced. Like a spirit of death, he rushed through the garden, and by the time his people had barely managed to send a couple dozen legionaries to their forefathers, he’d covered the paths with over fifty bodies.

Pausing for a moment, Hadjar held his blade in both hands. A vortex of steel energy sprang up around him. Assuming the ‘Spring Wind’ stance, he swung Moon Beam. The thin line of a sword strike cut through the air. Fast and almost invisible, it left behind a trail of red petals. When the attack disappeared, cutting down trees, statues, and fountains, the red trail lingered in the air for some time, but it wasn’t made up of flowers. A hundred legionaries had been cleanly cut in half. Their torsos fell to the ground and they died without understanding what had taken their lives. What was a simple practitioner to Hadjar, after all? No more than an annoying mosquito crawling along the edge of his clothes, something that could bite him, certainly, but not end his life.

Hadjar was reminded of the Tree of Life’s prediction. Involuntarily, the Mad General started to repeat a passage from the ancient poem: “But where is the one who wasn’t born to a woman?”

Hadjar drove his blade into another legionnaire’s chest. With a roar, he lifted him above his head. The blood flowed straight over Hadjar’s face as the body was still twitching in its death throes.

The General swung his sword down forcibly and the legionnaire, flicked off the blade like a piece of trash, landed on his comrades that had been hurrying to try and rescue him. They fell and were immediately swarmed by hundreds of the warriors of Lidus.

“General!” Lian shouted, fighting several legionnaires at once. “Enter the Palace! We’ll follow you!”

Hadjar nodded and continued to cut his way into the Palace. His opponents stood no chance. They fell like autumn leaves, paving his way with blood.

The main Palace staircase was covered in broken pieces of armor, blood, and flesh. Hadjar, walking up to the ancient doors, simply kicked them open. One of the doors, unable to withstand the force of the kick, flew off its hinges and, after flying a few yards, fell to the marble with a booming echo.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Hadjar hadn’t been the one to say that.

Nero stood in front of him, wearing a lightweight jacket and the stupid helmet with ‘ears’ on his head. He held his heavy blade that had been immortalized in dozens of bards’ songs. Next to him stood Serra, holding a staff shaped like a dragon’s maw, a purple sphere gripped in its mouth. She wore a light dress, a short red cloak, and black gloves that covered her forearms and shoulders. Both of them looked like they were ready for battle.

“Only he can take my life,” Hadjar said the next line of the poem quietly.

After all, according to the law, Nero, as a bastard, practically hadn’t been born to a woman. Maybe this was when the Mad General would die. If Fate was too lazy to come up with anything new, he would die at the hands of his own brother.

Chapter 250

“Get out of my way, Nero,” Hadjar said. Behind him, the battle still raged, but the outcome was inevitable. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see that. “Take your wife and leave. No one will touch you. I’ve arranged everything. At the city gates, a cart and the best horses will be waiting for you. As well as provisions, money, and documents. Everything you might need on your way to the Sea-”

“Shut up!” Serra cried. Hieroglyphs began to dance around her staff. “Shut up, General! And you, Nero, you shut up too.”

The Prince, who’d just opened his mouth to say something, hastily closed it.

“What is the matter with you two? Both of you constantly lied to me, to each other, to everyone around you! Now what? Have you decided to kill each other right here and now? And for what? For the Kingdom? Or maybe for revenge?”

“You don’t understand, Serra-”

“Shut up, Hadjar! Don’t say another word! Gods curse me, but I agree with Nehen on one thing — you’re a fool.” Under the high, golden Palace ceiling, three people stood on the white marble. Three friends. Two brothers and a wife. One family. Tears streamed down Serra’s cheeks. For only the second time in his life, Hadjar saw the witch crying. “Please stop. Don’t do this. Even if you win, Hadjar, what comes next? The Darnassus Empire will send one of its legions here and will raze Lidus to the ground. You know that’s what will happen.”

Hadjar remained silent. The battle was still bloody, people were shouting, but he was silent. Because he knew it would really end that way. Darnassus wouldn’t allow itself to lose even such an insignificant resource as the Solar Ore Mine. After all, while it was a trifle to them, it was still an advantage. The war between the Empires was determined precisely by these small things, which could give them a victory when combined. For the sake of its own survival, Darnassus would destroy not only Lidus, but also all of the surrounding kingdoms, if it came down to it.

“Do you remember that day by the lake, Hadj?” Nero’s voice was quiet, soothing, as if he were really trying to reason with a madman. “Do you remember us discussing the journey we’d go on? We can still do that.”

Hadjar lowered his sword. Drops of his enemies’ blood quietly dripped down from it. They soiled the snow-white marble, spreading like oily stains.

“Let’s go together,” Nero continued. “Right now. Leave this cursed Kingdom and Empire behind. Let’s take Elaine and go to the Sea of Sand. From there, we’ll find a ship and leave all of this in the past. We’ve shed enough of our own and others’ blood for the sake of Balium, Lidus, Darnassus. We’ve washed off any debts that we had to our homeland and ancestors. It’s enough.”

“I can’t, buddy,” Hadjar sighed. “I can’t... This is what I lived for. For fifteen years, I’ve dreamed of this day. The day when-”

“You lived with it, brother,” Nero interrupted. “Fifteen years ago, you were obsessed with revenge because you were alone. You were surrounded on all sides by enemies,” Hadjar was startled by these words. “Now you have us. And we have you. Are you ready to give all that up for the sake of revenge? Just to murder Primus? Think, Hadjar. My father isn’t a good man, but he is my father. I won’t let you go any farther, but I’ll be happy to leave with you.”

“And you’ll just leave your father?” Hadjar asked. “What will happen when the Moon Army charges in here? How do you plan to stop them?”

“I don’t,” Nero shrugged. “All actions have consequences. My father will have to face them. But not you, Hadjar. Because you are my brother and I can’t forget or forgive what you’re planning to do. Therefore, I beg you, let’s leave, together. Just run away. Let’s go on that journey that we’ve dreamed so much about. This is our moment, buddy. Ours and no one else’s.”

Hadjar looked into the eyes of the man with whom he’d passed through the many flames and storms of life, as well as countless fights. How many times had they stood shoulder to shoulder, fending off hordes of enemies fearlessly? They’d fought for each other in hundreds of battles. They’d saved each other’s lives and covered each other’s back.

In a world of practitioners all striving for freedom and power, it was incredibly difficult to find a person you could love and spend forever with. However, it was even more difficult to find a faithful friend who would give their eternity for you and for whom you would do the same.

What was more important to Hadjar? His friend or his revenge? If Nero was ready to give up his crown, his name, even his own father for his sake... Hadjar would be cowardly and dishonest if he couldn’t do the same for his friend and brother. If one of them was willing to give up his life, then the other was as well.

“I hope there’s enough space for four of us in the cart,” Hadjar sighed, sheathing Moon Beam.

That moment when he sheathed his blade too early would haunt the Mad General for a long time to come. Some nights, he would wake up, asking himself: What if he’d taken just a bit longer to sheathe his blade? Would he have changed fate and saved his brother?

“Don’t ruin the show, Your Highness,” the Governor’s laughter echoed off the marble.

A powerful wave of energy sent Hadjar flying toward the gates. Instead of ending up outside, Hadjar’s back struck a seal of hieroglyphs. The same exact signs flashed around the perimeter of the Palace, securing it with a magical veil.

Rising to his feet, Hadjar took a while to comprehend why Nero was kneeling. There was a cry: “No!” It belonged to Primus, who’d run down the stairs. Dressed in full battle armor, holding his broadsword in his hands, he swung it at the Governor, but... The man just whispered something casually. On his coat, one of the amulets flashed, projecting a scarlet, flickering seal, which bound Primus with ribbons made up of hundreds of hieroglyphs. The King froze in place, unable to move or even scream. He wept inconsolably.

“Hey, hey,” Serra knelt down next to her husband. She was crying as well. “What are you doing? Come on, you idiot, stop pretending. Get up! Is this one of your weird games? That’s it, right? Enough! It’s not funny... Please, Nero...”

A long blade protruded from Nero’s back. His torn clothes allowed everyone to see the horrible wound and the white lines of his tattoos. His helmet fell nearby. It swayed slightly on the marble, scraping it and producing a harsh screeching noise. Blood pooled under the Prince’s feet. A lot of blood.

“Forgive me...” Nero whispered. His hand slipped off Serra’s cheek, leaving two bloody streaks behind.

The sun was shining through the stained-glass windows. In its light, Serra’s skin looked whiter than snow, and her black hair hid her face. She pressed her lover’s lifeless body to her chest and sobbed softly.

Hadjar felt as if he were falling into a deep pit. As if the floor had disappeared from under his feet. As if his heart had been split in half. Then the whole world turned red, blazing in the fire of his madness and rage.

His sword fell into Hadjar’s hands. Cracking the marble slabs, he rushed in with a frantic lunge. He moved with such speed that if a mere mortal had seen him, they would’ve glimpsed only the vague outline of a dragon.

Hadjar struck his foe’s blade, putting so much rage and strength into the attack that dozens of marble columns collapsed from the impact. The echo of the collision caused the walls to begin crumbling. Cracks as thick as the torso of an adult man appeared on the walls as marble rained down.

The Governor, who’d blocked this violent charge, didn’t even take a step back. He moved his wrist and his blade swayed to the side, hurling Hadjar directly into the seal at the entrance. Rising, the Mad General spat out blood. With just that simple movement, the Governor had wounded his internal organs and energy channels.

“Damn it,” Hadjar wheezed, wiping blood from the corner of his lips.

“I see you’ve figured it out,” the Governor smiled, releasing all of his energy.

Hadjar saw that he wasn’t a Heaven Soldier, but a Spirit Knight.

“Kill them,” the Governor said to six warriors in emerald armor and turned to the King. “I’ll have to work on you a little. Don’t worry, it won’t be anything too bad. In any case, it won’t be any worse than what you and I did to your niece.”

The Governor, however, didn’t leave. He turned to the witch and the General, wanting to see how long they would be able to fend off the six warriors. Warriors like the ones that had once defended Primus during the attack.

Hadjar looked at his brother’s lifeless body. Once again, he’d been too weak to save someone he loved. Too weak...

In his head, devoid of anything but his desire to kill, the last line of the passage echoed: “Or maybe I, like a Roman fool, will fall on my own sword?”

Chapter 251

Serra was still holding Nero’s dead body when one of the legionnaires ran toward her. The blade of a curved sword flashed. Emerald lights danced across it, exuding enough heat to incinerate half the Palace.

“Serra!” Hadjar shouted, but the witch didn’t move.

Dredging up every ounce of speed he could muster, Hadjar turned into a shadow. He used the ‘Five Ravens’ Technique and reached such a high velocity that his muscles and tendons distorted slightly, and his internal organs, damaged by the Governor, could barely withstand the stress. Leaving behind a trail of darkness and blood, Hadjar managed to block the strike at the last moment.

As the General and the legionnaire fought, deep cracks spread along the marble beneath them. Slabs of marble rose up into the air as the floor was destroyed.

Pushing the man back, Hadjar turned and kicked one of the slabs of marble. A large shard ended up lodged in the legionnaire’s shoulder as the man hadn’t expected such a move. It dragged him a few yards through the air, until he slammed into the wall, stuck. The Imperial shouted and tried to free himself, but looked as helpless as a fluttering butterfly. No one — neither the five remaining warriors nor the Governor — were going to help him. His blood pooled on the floor.

Hadjar, seeing the remaining legionnaires unsheathing their blades, swung his own first. Immediately, the shroud of the ‘Calm Wind’ appeared around him and Serra. When the Imperials attacked, their swords seemed to get stuck in a viscous substance. However, even if very slowly, they still managed to swing through it.

“Serra!” Hadjar knelt down next to the witch. “Wake the hell up!”

Hadjar snatched Nero’s body from Serra’s hands and looked into her eyes. In them, he saw nothing but an all-consuming void that pulled him in, beckoning him toward a blissful oblivion of sadness, longing, and loneliness.

The General ignored the oddly powerful temptation. He shook it off with an effort of will. Since he had no better options, he slapped the girl. In an instant, a small light appeared in Serra’s eyes, which subsequently turned into a fire fueled by rage and a desire for revenge.

“Sword!” Serra’s voice was as merciless as the desert.

Hadjar extended Moon Beam. The witch grabbed the blade with her palm, leaving a trail of glowing white hieroglyphs on the metal. Hadjar felt like this was no longer his old sword made from the fang of Azrea’s mother. Of course, it was still Moon Beam, but it had become more... profound. Stronger. Sharper. Faster.

“The spell will last about an hour,” Serra said, rising, “then the sword will crumble.”

Hadjar nodded. He understood perfectly well that they would have to use every single advantage they had in the upcoming battle. So, if this battle ended up being the last one for Moon Beam... Well, so be it.

A powerful explosion rocked the garden. A dozen cannonballs had hit the shimmering hieroglyphs of the seal that blocked the entrance to the Palace. Then the cries of the wounded came, when all the cannonballs simply bounced back. Clouds of black smoke rose. They covered the sun, making Serra’s skin look like burnished copper. She stood next to Hadjar. Shoulder to shoulder. Just like her husband always had...

She said something in a language that was unfamiliar to Hadjar. A line of hieroglyphs swirled around her fingers, and then a small, blue light appeared between her palms. It grew, turning into a dragonfly the size of an index finger.

Hadjar threw a hood over his head and thrust his bloody blade forward. The white hieroglyphs shone, giving off an aura of unprecedented power. Hadjar realized that he was fueling the spell with his own energy. That meant that if the blade didn’t shatter, its owner would most likely die.

“We’ll kill them!” Serra said. “We’ll kill them all!”

The five legionnaires cut through the shroud of Hadjar’s protective stance and a desperate battle began. Four of them immediately surrounded Hadjar, apparently thinking he was the most dangerous of their opponents. How wrong they were...

As soon as the witch waved her hand, the dragonfly flew. Hadjar couldn’t pay it a lot of attention because he was trading blows with four enemies at once. They moved so quickly that a mere mortal could’ve only seen the occasional flash of their blades and the blurry silhouettes leaving black and green plumes behind them.

Serra stood still. Opposite her, the Imperial burned with a blue flame. He was in such horrific pain that he tried to cut off any parts that were burning. His blood drenched the white marble. The fiery dragonfly burned inside his body, eating him from the inside. It followed the movements of Serra’s hands and fingers, and her gaze was merciless. The legionnaire was dying in agony.

Hadjar blocked an enemy’s blade, let the second one pass over his head, pushed his third opponent back with his shoulder and, as he turned, bisected the fourth foe. The man’s two perfectly symmetrical halves fell to the floor.

Before the halves of his body touched the marble, Hadjar caught the enemy’s sword. It had slipped out of his weakened grip. He rammed that sword into the throat of the nearest legionnaire and, growling from the pain in his wounded leg, leapt back to give himself some room. He cracked the marble with the force of his jump, which slowed down the two surviving warriors.

Hadjar landed next to Serra, who was holding the fiery dragonfly. Hadjar’s clothes were covered in blood. His injured right leg buckled, but his hands still gripped Moon Beam tightly. Only three foes remained.

“Apparently, a genius can sometimes be born even among backwoods bumpkins,” the Governor lamented. A thin, long blade appeared in his hand. “Alas, kiddies, I’m bored of this farce. It’s time for you to join your friend.”

The Governor took a step forward and the world stilled under the pressure of his power. Hadjar couldn’t move a muscle. He watched the Spirit Knight approach him with a resigned glare.

The gray energy radiating from the Governor’s body formed a multi-armed figure behind him. In each one of its hundreds of hands, the creature held a blade. That was the Governor’s spirit, the concentration of his power and might. South Wind had told him that each Knight had their own spirit, which was always unique.

The Governor raised his sword over his head and the spirit mimicked his movements. The power of this simple action was potent enough to cause the remaining columns to split in half, the walls to crack, and the ceiling to explode, revealing the distant, blue sky. The Governor was much stronger than the Knight who had led the nomads on the Blue Wind Ridge had been. That meant Hadjar had been right to not believe the predictions of the Tree of Life.

“Don’t forget about us, Mad General.”

Hadjar squinted at Serra. The dragonfly had disappeared from the witch’s hands, leaving behind a barrier of blue flame. Apparently, that had saved the witch from the pressure of the Knight’s power.

Serra was chanting something, and her skin was rapidly turning white. This was no trick of the light and shadows. It really was becoming as white as the first, purest snow. Suddenly, Serra emanated a power ten times greater than the Governor’s own. Hadjar didn’t understand what was happening, but the Imperial seemed to.

“Stop!” He screamed and tried to lower his blade, but, like Hadjar, he now couldn’t move.

Dozens of stone ivy thorns shot out from the floor. Shrouded in blue flame, they wrapped themselves around the Governor. The two legionnaires that were still alive couldn’t resist the spell. They fell to the ground, stabbed through by the vines. Burning in the blue flame, they held out their hands toward Serra as they screamed in agony.

Tears of blood flowed down Serra’s cheeks. Her hair turned red. A second sun came into being over the witch’s head. Her red cloak billowed like a strong wind was blowing, and the witch flew across the ground. A moment later, she and the Governor turned into two blue pillars. The burning Imperial screamed something in his final moments. Hadjar saw a slight smile on Serra’s lips.

“Don’t forget us...” Hadjar heard.

The world around him quieted. The stone vines and blue flame disappeared. Hadjar exhaled and staggered as he regained control of his own body.

“Serra!” He shouted, but it was too late. There was no Serra, no Governor, nor any legionnaires left. Just ashes. The playful wind immediately lifted them up and carried them off through the entrance which was now no longer blocked by the seal.

Despite the soldiers of the Moon Army bursting into the hall, Hadjar suddenly felt completely alone.

“I won’t forget,” he whispered softly, and turned to Primus.

The King stood on the stairs, looking at his son’s body, lying at Hadjar’s feet. With the death of the Governor, the spell had disappeared. Primus kept crying.

“General,” Lian turned, but Hadjar waved his hand imperiously. “Take your people and get out of here. Assume a defensive position around the Palace. Don’t let anyone in.”

“But...”

Hadjar turned to the only person left in the whole world that he could still call a friend.

“You know the plan, Lian. You know what happens next.”

The archer nodded, turning away.

“Live free, my General.”

“Die well,” Hadjar nodded, “my friend.”

Lian gave the order and the troops moved away from the Palace. Serra’s actions had slightly changed Hadjar’s plan, and now there was no longer any need for the Moon Army.

When the troops left the hall, only two people remained inside. The King and the General. The kinslayer and the Prince. Primus and Hadjar. The uncle and the nephew. Neither of them could live until one of them died.

Chapter 252

Hadjar stood still. Primus came down the stairs. On barely moving legs, he approached Nero... or rather, Eren, and knelt before him. With utmost care, he lifted his son’s body in his arms.

Hadjar turned away. He didn’t want to or wasn’t able to see this. Right then, he wasn’t afraid to turn his back on the enemy. It was probably stupid to believe a man like Primus Duran could be honorable, but still... For some reason, Hadjar knew that the usurper wouldn’t stab him in the back. Not now.

Hadjar stepped aside and, leaning his back against a wall, sank to the floor. He tore off a wide piece of cloth from his jacket and wrapped his injured leg. The bleeding had already stopped due to his will and energy, but during the battle to come, the wound could open back up and hurt badly. Cultivators like the Governor could probably ignore wounds, as they would heal almost instantly. Only now...

Hadjar shook his head — now wasn’t the time to remember Serra.

“Tell me, did he fight with dignity?” Primus’ voice trembled as he spoke.

“Always,” Hadjar answered. “He was a good man, a great brother, and a friend like no other.”

Primus looked into Hadjar’s eyes, nodded slightly, and touched Nero’s cold forehead with his own.

“I’ll see you soon, my son,” he whispered.

Primus rose. The wide, black broadsword appeared in his hands. The slightly curved blade absorbed the light. The three rings threaded through its non-intersecting edge made terrible sounds, like a funeral dirge. The long handle crowned with a demon’s head was wrapped in patches of thick, gray skin. It was a formidable weapon and its wielder was an equally formidable opponent.

Hadjar rose as well. His Moon Beam looked simple and modest in comparison to the King’s sword. Only the white, glowing hieroglyphs stood out.

“Before we start,” Primus began calmly. “I’d like you to know something: I didn’t want this. I loved your father, your mother, and you. More than anything else, I always wanted our whole family to live in this Palace. To hear the laughter of our children and grandchildren fill the halls...”

“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “I wanted that, too. I wanted a home for me to return to. A father I could talk to about my travels. A mother whose embrace I could always find solace in. A sister to protect. And a brother who would fight alongside me against any foe...”

They stood and looked at each other for a long time, knowing that these dreams would never come true.

Primus swung his blade so quickly that a dark line appeared in its wake for a moment, as if the King had cut the air itself. A stream of black, cutting wind that looked like silk flew toward Hadjar. The Mad General also swung his sword. A wave of steel wind hurtled toward Primus.

The two attacks collided in the middle with a deafening boom. They began circling each other like two hungry tigers. They tore at each other. As they fought, the walls of the Palace began to shake and deep gouges appeared on the floor. Then there was a powerful explosion, which removed a whole layer of the marble.

Hadjar and Primus turned into black shadows. One looked like five ravens. The other like a black wind. They clashed in the center. A wave of dust and debris filled the air when their blades collided.

The walls looked ready to crumble, the stone fragments of the completely broken mosaics falling to the ground. The stained-glass windows were little more than small, colorful crumbs. The Moon soldiers, standing a good distance away from the Palace, felt the terrible echo of the battle pressing down on them. If they hadn’t left the Palace, it would’ve surely killed them.

Using inertia and his weight advantage, Primus rammed into Hadjar’s chest with his shoulder. A powerful wave of energy passed through Hadjar’s body. The wall behind him now had a huge hole in it.

Hadjar took two steps back, and Primus immediately swung his sword in a backhand blow. His broadsword flew like a black crescent, emanating the energy of the sword and wind. It cut through the air, leaving the dark outlines of dead bodies and bones in its wake. The very essence of this weapon was saturated with the death of thousands of people.

Realizing that he wouldn’t have time to block, Hadjar pushed off the ground. He soared a few feet into the air, letting the attack pass by under him. Without hesitation, using the fact he was now above his foe, he launched three rapid attacks. With each one, another ghostly blade flew toward Primus, and an enraged dragon seemed to be raging in all of them.

The King managed to block one of them and dodge the second, allowing it to knock out a huge chunk of the Palace’s foundation. However, Primus couldn’t deal with the third blade. Such an attack could send even a Heaven Soldier to the other world. The ghostly sword never touched Primus’ mighty chest. It struck a black dagger’s protruding hilt instead. Another powerful explosion sounded and Primus was thrown twenty yards back. Spitting blood, he stood up and assumed a stance that resembled an executioner preparing to end someone’s life.

“Army of the Wind,” he said aloud, using every trick he could to help him focus.

His hand turned into a blur as the sword struck out hundreds of times, leaving behind bright, dark tears in the air. Pouring out of each of these cuts, ghosts woven from the black wind floated toward Hadjar — skeletons in armor with glowing eye sockets. They held various kinds of weapons in their bony hands and grinned, wanting to devour the enemy.

Hadjar sank to the floor. The wind ruffled his clothes. Assuming the ‘Spring Wind’ stance, he felt whirlwinds of power rising up around him. The hieroglyphs on Moon Beam flashed with white light. Due to the power that was currently surging through the blade, the metal began to crack.

“Strong Wind!” Hadjar used the very first of the ‘Light Breeze’ Technique’s stances. In the past, he had been able to summon a simple whirlwind with blades hidden inside it with the help of this stance. Now, he’d called forth a huge tsunami of cutting wind and enraged dragons.

The army of black skeletons faced the dragons. They tore at each other, cut and clawed. With their every collision, wounds and cuts appeared on the bodies of Primus and Hadjar. After all, it wasn’t simply the Techniques fighting, but the warriors themselves.

Another explosion threw the two foes in different directions. Hadjar dragged himself up the stairs. Wheezing, he plunged his sword into the marble and stopped. A stream of blood was pouring out of his mouth. It seemed like his internal organs, already damaged by the Governor, had failed. Soon, Hadjar wouldn’t be able to fight or even breathe...

Primus was hurled into the wall by the explosion, then fell to the floor. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle. The King, growling, slammed his shoulder against the marble. With a loud, nasty crack, the joint fell into place, but it was obvious that the King could no longer move his fingers.

“Your father would have been proud of you, Hadjar,” Primus smiled wryly, rising to his feet.

Blood flowed down his face. Thrusting his sword into the floor, Primus tore off his ruined breastplate with his good hand, exposing his mighty torso. There wasn’t a single spot not covered in scars, burns, and old wounds on his chest.

Hadjar also got up. He didn’t rip off his only outfit, just discarded his top. His sweaty skin welcomed the coolness of the wind.

“Let’s continue,” Hadjar spat and turned into five ravens again. 

Chapter 253

Hadjar made an overhead swing, forcing Primus to go on the defensive. Then, stopping suddenly, he kicked up a whole cloud of stone chips, which immediately flew into the King’s eyes. Blocking the enemy’s vision, the General, using the inertia of his sudden stop and his agility, bent his arms sharply and the attack, which had previously been aiming for the head, now soared toward the King’s ribs. Using such a strike, Hadjar could’ve defeated many warriors, but not Primus.

After fighting in thousands of battles, the King knew why his opponent had used such a maneuver. Angling his blade vertically, pointed toward the floor, Primus blocked the strike, using his sword like a shield. This meant Hadjar was defenseless for a moment. Through his haze of pain, Primus grabbed his opponent by the throat with his weakened left hand. Putting his whole body into the motion, he threw Hadjar across the room like he was no heavier than a toy. While Hadjar was in the air, the King launched another dark wind attack. Hadjar realized that he wasn’t fighting a run-of-the-mill enemy, not even someone merely as skilled and powerful as the Patriarch had been. The King of all Lidus was his foe, someone who had been using the ‘gifts’ of the Empire for many years.

Aching all over, Hadjar landed on the wall and pushed off, jumping forward. The world slowed down for a moment. Hadjar flew right above the black wind. He stared at it, and within its darkness, the shadows of Primus’ long ago defeated enemies stared into his blue eyes.

Hadjar landed next to Primus. If the former General didn’t have sufficient experience in battle, then the King had too many battles under his belt. This had made him complacent, as he’d been fighting for so long that he’d begun to fall into patterns and rely on what had worked before.

Primus hadn’t expected Hadjar to simply push off the wall and jump over his Technique. Nor had he expected that Hadjar, unable to reach his enemy with his blade, would resort to kicking one of the marble slabs again. A stone fragment blasted through the air like a cannon shell. Primus broke it with his fist. Nevertheless, this moment of distraction was enough for Hadjar to exploit.

He grabbed Primus by the throat and, mimicking the actions of his enemy, threw him, but not at the wall. Instead, he launched him up toward the ceiling. While Primus was in the air, Hadjar pushed off the ground. Once he was above the King, he roared, using the ‘Spring Wind’ stance and swung his blade down.

A roaring dragon materialized from his blade, and, like a shooting star, flew toward Primus’ chest. The King moved his blade in front of him. He didn’t have time to use any protective Techniques, so he simply infused the sword with his own energy. For a moment, a black sphere similar to what Atikus had used covered him.

Hadjar’s dragon grabbed this black pearl and, clutching it in its fangs, crashed down. Another explosion nearly toppled the whole Palace. Primus, wheezing, stood up from a huge crater in the marble floor. Dropping down next to him, Hadjar swayed and leaned against the wall. Sweat and blood flowed down his forehead. He felt like he could barely breathe. He had become much stronger since the time he’d fought the Patriarch. But Primus was a far more powerful foe.

“I would’ve liked,” the King leaned on one of the protruding marble fragments, shaking, “to fight you under different circumstances.”

Hadjar was well aware that the King couldn’t fight at full power. Nero’s death had hurt him too badly. To a warrior, their physical health, but also their spiritual stability, was vital. When their energy, like their mind, was in disarray, it was very difficult to use even the simplest Techniques properly.

Silently, Hadjar forced himself to keep going. They fought in a brutal melee. Each clash of blades caused the remaining walls and foundation to crack even further. Both of them were running out of energy, and the whirlwind of their battle soon began to die down. Several minutes ago, they’d flown around the room and the flashes of their blades had seemed to be everywhere at once, but now they stood on the very balcony from which Primus had recently sentenced Hadjar to death. Like mere mortals, they fenced, using pure skill without a drop of energy. Smoke from cannon fire and the battle that had enveloped the square hid them from the eyes of the citizens and soldiers — the Moon Army was fighting the Imperial factions.

Hadjar didn’t care about that. He felt his sword weakening with every exchange, almost managing to crumble faster than his own body was. Dodging Primus’ attack, Hadjar slammed his fist into his opponent’s face. He felt the King’s teeth bite into his knuckles, tearing off the skin and injuring the flesh. Primus recoiled from the blow, but managed to kick Hadjar in his wounded thigh.

The General snarled with pain and anger. He swung his blade, aiming at the enemy’s stomach, but the King parried the blow deftly and counterattacked. The broadsword arced in a wide slash and left a long cut on Hadjar’s chest, from his right shoulder to his left thigh. A shallow but heavily-bleeding wound. They once again stood opposite each other, breathing hard and almost out of power.

“It’s time to... finish this ... Hidji,” Primus grunted out, wiping blood off his mouth and eyebrows.

Hadjar flinched. ‘Hidji’ meant ‘evil wolf cub’ in the nomads’ language. Primus had teased Hadjar with the nickname in his childhood.

“Yes,” Hadjar nodded. “It’s time.”

Primus closed his eyes. He held the broadsword in front of him and a tornado of black energy rose up around him. A huge whirlwind cobbled together from the remnants of his energy. Hadjar saw the King’s skin turn gray, now covered in liver spots, his once thick hair thin and fall out, his teeth turn yellow, and the whites of his eyes become dull.

The vortex tightened and shrunk until it shifted from Primus to his sword. The broadsword was enveloped in a black wind. Primus opened his eyes, and as he did so, a black, thin ray of energy lanced out from the tip of his sword. With incredible speed, it covered the distance between them and Primus’ eyes flashed with triumph.

The attack melted away after only a hundred paces, somewhere above the square where the General’s execution would’ve been carried out. Hadjar pressed his hands to his right side. Blood spurted through his fingers. The attack had gone clean through Hadjar’s body. He couldn’t even cover the hole it had left behind with his hand. Suddenly, the triumph in Primus’ eyes gave way to understanding and then a calm readiness to meet his fate.

“Atikus has taught you well-”

The King didn’t get to finish speaking. Hadjar evoked the image of the Sword Spirit hidden within the World River. Then, using the remnants of his energy, simply lunged forward with Moon Beam. The sword, unable to withstand any more abuse, cracked and turned into a cloud of steel dust. Before it disappeared, Moon Beam managed to send out an almost invisible, barely noticeable, ghostly sword that ran Primus through.

The King fell from the balcony. The entire eastern side of the Palace was covered in long gouges. Then that half of the Palace trembled and began to collapse.

“Father!” Came the shout from the surviving side of staircase.

Hadjar cursed.

Wearing her mother’s armor, Elaine ran toward him, holding the white sword of her ancestors. A scorching, orange flame rose up around her, and rage smoldered in her eyes.

“Murderer!” She cried, pointing her blade at Hadjar.

***

Primus couldn’t see what was happening in the Palace. He fell from the balcony and rolled under the hill. He felt his life leaving him, trickling out like sand from a broken hourglass. Then came a flash of pain. An old stone covered in ivy had arrested his fall.

“Brother.” Through the haze of his agony and the whispers of death, Primus clutched the stone and assumed a half-sitting position. He leaned against the old tombstone and looked at the horizon. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, brother.”

When the next rays of sunlight illuminated Primus’ face, he was no longer breathing. He was finally at peace.

***

“Well, can we go now?” The boy named Atikus asked the tall, curvy woman. “The fireworks will start without us.”

“Yes, let’s get a move on,” the woman smiled.

A boy with clear, blue eyes came up from behind her.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Haver smiled, the boy’s grin infectiously wide. “Where have you been, brother?”

“I was a little lost.”

“Well, that’s nothing new, Primus,” the children laughed.

All five of them went to watch the fireworks.

Chapter 254

After bandaging his wounds using his clothes, Hadjar jumped off the balcony. He landed on one of the collapsed columns. Elaine slowly glided down onto a similar column opposite it. She pointed her white blade at Hadjar’s chest.

“Murderer,” she repeated.

“Elaine, listen to me, your mind is being controlled by a-”

The Princess didn’t let him explain. She launched a stream of flame from her sword. If Hadjar had had a sword, he would’ve easily cut it in half and not had any problems. But he didn’t have one, just its hilt.

Suddenly, the world froze. Hadjar was looking at that hilt, a part of the sword that remembered the blade even better than Hadjar did. The hilt of Moon Beam, not the blade itself, had been what Hadjar had held in his hands all these years and what he’d relied on even in the most hopeless situations.

The thought was slippery, hazy, almost like a mirage in the desert. Hadjar didn’t exactly understand what it meant, but he felt how deeply connected it was to the mysteries of the Way of the Sword Spirit.

Hadjar swung the handle of Moon Beam, and for a moment, a blade shimmered into being and soared through the air, as invisible as the thought itself. The attack snuffed out Elaine’s flames and then smashed into the wall behind her, disappearing only after crossing almost seventy steps. Hadjar ended up paying a heavy toll for using it, however. He nearly fainted from the pain. Blood rushed out of his wounds, particularly the one in his side, instantly soaking the fabric of his ripped up clothes and leaking out onto the broken floor.

Elaine, who had spent almost all her power in that flame strike, was breathing heavily. Her main problem was that she knew how to fight, but didn’t know how to fight to the death. She was simply too inexperienced. She sent the sword back into the hieroglyph on her palm.

“I’ll kill you,” the Princess said and held out her right hand. She launched a burst of white energy from her palm. Hadjar saw flames and swords inside it.

He made the same gesture as his sister — he stretched out his hand and sent out all the energy he had left. A steel-colored energy burst out from his palm, dragons dancing in its depths. Two streams, simple attacks made of pure energy, collided in the middle and whirled madly. They fought for supremacy.

Hadjar looked at his sister. He was well aware of the fact that if she faltered, if she lost control over her energy for even a moment, Hadjar’s own power would tear her apart like a furious dragon savaging one of its victim.

“The one who wasn’t born will destroy you,” the voice of the Tree of Life came to him suddenly.

Who had given birth to Energy itself? Probably no one.

Hadjar understood that Elaine didn’t have enough experience to endure this battle of wills. Even wounded, Hadjar was stronger and more experienced than his sister. Like any older brother, he had to protect his little sister, even from himself, even at the cost of his own life.

“Forgive me,” Hadjar smiled and spread his hands, as if trying to hold Elaine one last time.

A deep misunderstanding of what was happening could clearly be seen on the Princess’ face, and then the white flow of energy, no longer opposed, hit Hadjar’s chest. Before it pierced the General’s heart, the leaf flew out of the man’s clothes. The one that had been given to him by the ancient Tree. As soon as her energy pierced the leaf, scenes from the past flashed before Elaine’s eyes.

She was laughing, playing with the mustache of a handsome man. She remembered his name — Haver. He had been her father. Next to him, she saw a beautiful woman, her mother. Elizabeth.

A boy with a hooligan’s face was next. Naughty and restless. His name had been... Hadjar. He’d been her older brother.

Then another scene came. Hadjar standing in front of her with a stick. They had run away from the Palace and wandered too far outside the garden. Stray dogs had attacked them. Elaine had cried with fear, but Hadjar had laughed with excitement. With his left hand, he’d covered Elaine, moving her behind him, and with his right, he had fended off the hungry, growling dogs.

Then she remembered them running across a meadow, picking flowers. They had tried to make a wreath, but neither of them had known how to do so.

Hadjar had struck a boy, the son of an aristocrat, because he’d offended Elaine. She remembered asking her brother to stop, the boy hadn’t actually hurt her very much. Then Haver had reprimanded Hadjar, saying that a good and noble person wasn’t a dog to bite each offender.

Then they’d sat together at the feast. Hadjar had done his best to ensure that only the dishes she’d loved ended up in front of Elaine.

Then they’d ridden horses together. It seemed like this had been the first time Elaine had had fun while Hadjar had been scared. The girl had laughed and the boy had frowned and tightened his grip on the reins. After they’d dismounted, he had tickled her for a long time in retaliation.

Then she remembered Hadjar, now with a real sword in his hands, fighting against their mother’s warriors. He’d tried to save Elaine and Elizabeth. But Primus, her... father… or uncle, had ripped the heart out of her mother’s chest. He’d cut off Hadjar’s legs, causing him to howl in pain, then pierced his solar plexus and broken his arms, then burned his face using the torch standing next to him.

Then she plunged into her own memories. Sometimes, the Governor’s Techniques had failed. Elaine would come to her senses when that happened. She would recall the past, grab her sword, and try to escape the castle. She’d wanted to find her brother and save him. Every time, she had been dragged back.

This whole barrage of scenes from the past flashed through her mind very quickly. Before the flow of her energy struck Hadjar, Elaine cried out in horror, “Hadjar!”

The white energy pierced Hadjar’s chest, but no fear or pain could be seen on his face. In that cry, full of horror and fright, in the way Elaine pushed off from the column and rushed to catch him, in her outstretched hand, trying to grab her brother’s, Hadjar recognized his sister. Not the doll that Primus and the Governor had created, but his actual little sister.

Almost five years ago, he’d left the village in the Valley of Streams with only one wish — to save his sister. As his father had taught him, a man always had to complete what he’d set out to do. Hadjar would meet his forefathers with honor now.

Elaine didn’t manage to grab her brother’s hand.

Flying through the broken wall, Hadjar fell into the dark lake water. Huge chunks of the collapsing Palace followed after him, crashing down on top. They buried both the lake and the lifeless body of Primus leaning against the tombstone.

Lian shuddered when she heard Elaine’s cry. She was standing in the middle of the square, which was littered with bodies. That cry meant only one thing — the craziest of the Mad General’s plans had succeeded.

***

Holding the sword in her hand, Elaine went out to meet the thinned, but still formidable Moon Army. How would they greet their General’s murderer? She met Lian’s gaze, the gaze of the renowned archer and current leader of the Army. Would her arrows end Elaine’s life?

Lian raised the flag of the Moon Army.

Elaine was ready to meet her family at the home of her forefathers. She wasn’t going to defend herself from what was about to happen. She even wanted it.

“The King is dead!” Lian suddenly exclaimed, dropping to her right knee. “Long live Queen Elaine, slayer of the false Prince!”

“The King is dead!” The Army numbering thousands of soldiers shouted. “Long live the Queen, slayer of the false Prince!”

The soldiers chanted these strange words, but Elaine couldn’t understand what was happening. She went over to Lian and flinched, seeing tears on the brave warrior’s face.

“What is this…”

“Everything is going according to plan, my Queen,” despite her tears, Lian’s voice sounded stern. “You have defeated the false Prince and suppressed the uprising. You are the daughter of Primus Duran, the last of the Duran family line. You are the legitimate heir to the throne. The Queen of Lidus... That is the truth that the Empire will be told.”

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

Only the tears flowing from Lian’s eyes, saturated with impotent anger, showed how difficult it was for her to participate in this insane plan of the hero who would forever be remembered as a traitor.

Chapter 255

Wearing a red dress, Elaine stood atop the hill where the castle of her ancestors had once been. It had recently been dismantled for stones in order to restore the Palace and construction was in full swing.

It was rather quiet in the Kingdom. Queen Elaine had received a request for a meeting from the ambassador of Balium. The two countries had signed several trade and military treaties. They now had a shared border and an army of soldiers from both countries had been created, intended to protect them. It had been given the name ‘Northern Moon”.

Then the ambassadors of the Empire came. They’d been greatly dissatisfied with the uprising that had killed the King and the Governor, but, upon seeing that the young Queen had adequately managed the situation, had left satisfied.

Ore deliveries were still proceeding smoothly, so the ambassadors didn’t make a fuss, simply installing a new Governor who was slippery, domineering, and dangerous, just like the previous one.

Elaine was well aware that they wouldn’t be able to get rid of the mine for the foreseeable future. All she could do was change the mine management system: make it easier for people to work there, pay them not with beatings, but with money. In contrast to Primus, she saw mere mortals not like a herd that could be slaughtered for meat when needed, but like people.

Lian became her First Military Councilor. They had a difficult relationship. In public, they always smiled at each other, but when they were alone... Well, they never were. Elaine knew that Lian blamed her for the General’s death and the fact that the bards’ songs had changed. Now they glorified Prince Eren and Queen Elaine, and denigrated the name of the false Prince Hadjar who’d risen up against the King.

Only in the darkest hours, in the most remote taverns, could the old songs about the Mad General  still be heard. How he’d sacrificed himself to save the people of Lidus, how he’d single-handedly deceived the whole Empire. These stories and rumors were punishable by law, and people were sometimes imprisoned for telling them. Elaine couldn’t change that — for the sake of the majority’s survival, she had to sacrifice the rebellious minority.

Elaine clenched her fists, her nails dug into her skin, and blood fell to the ground.

“You’re a fool, brother,” Elaine whispered, wiping away tears and leaving bloodstains on her cheeks.

Suddenly, it seemed to her like a warm, calloused hand had touched her face, like in that underground cave long ago. Her imagination was probably playing tricks on her...

“I like to think that my plan was brilliant.”

Elaine opened her eyes. A tall, handsome young man in simple clothes stood in front of her. His long, black hair fluttered in the wind. In the depths of his blue eyes, a dragon slept, and the muzzle of a white tiger cub protruded from his clothes.

“Are you a ghost?” Elaine took a couple of steps back.

“I don’t know,” the young man laughed, grabbed the Queen by the wrist and pulled her toward him. He hugged her warmly and buried his face in her hair. Elaine didn’t say anything, didn’t ask for an explanation. She simply clung to her brother, feeling peace and tranquility in her soul.

***

Hadjar was sinking into the depths of the black waters. Above him, the heavy stone slabs of the ruined Palace were falling in.

Isn’t it all the same where we die: here or there?

Had the Tree of Life predicted this? That he’d be killed by Elaine, who’d forgotten that she had been born to Elizabeth and Haver? Since she’d forgotten her parents, she hadn’t been born at all. It was stupid. Ironic. Far too poetic and dramatic for his tastes.

I’m tired of life, and would be glad to see the world crumble with me.

Hitting the bottom, Hadjar didn’t try to get back up to the distant surface of the water. His strength had left him.

Wind, blow. Death, I am yours!

He would meet his forefathers with honor. He had done everything he’d wanted to do. He’d freed the Kingdom from the rule of Primus. He’d entrusted it to Elaine’s hands, whom the Tree of Life had chosen to be the Queen. He had also saved Elaine.

“I’m like a bear, chained to a post.”

All these years, through any storms or hardships, he had followed those simple goals: to take revenge on his parents’ killers and save her. He had reached them and now he felt a deep emptiness in his chest. Not one caused by terrible wounds, but by the absence of a goal that he could live and fight for.

What was the use of pointlessly wandering along the path of cultivation if you didn’t strive for anything?

Power had never been Hadjar’s goal, only a means to an end.

I can’t run away, as I’m surrounded on all sides by enemies.

Hadjar remembered his desires: he’d wished to travel, to meet new, interesting people, to face the dangers that awaited him on his way to the unknown, to be free… It was possible in this world and had been impossible in his past one.

But where is the one who wasn’t born to a woman?

Now that he couldn’t travel with his friend... his brother... The idea seemed like torture, a terrible joke of fate. If Hadjar had welcomed it before, he was now afraid of it.

Only he can take my life.

Just as Azrea’s mother had predicted, Hadjar was burnt out. His revenge had consumed him from the inside out. It was a potent, hot fuel, which he had used to break through obstacles that would have broken most people instead. Now he had nothing left that could make him go any further.

Or maybe I, like a Roman fool, will fall on my own sword?

Somewhere out there, above the dome of darkness, where a little yellow spot shone, somebody small dived in, swimming down. Somebody white, fluffy, desperately pawing through the water. Azrea charged through the terrible abyss, ignoring the falling, sharp debris, trying to save her stupid two-legged.

Hadjar looked at her. He tried to drive her away… Tried to explain that he couldn’t keep the oath he’d given to her mother, he couldn’t help her become a human. That his life path was at an end. But Azrea continued to swim. It seemed like an even more powerful fuel was burning inside her than had previously burned inside Hadjar. But did the tiger want revenge? No.

“No!”

Would Hadjar, the Mad General, let the prediction of an old, stupid piece of wood come true? Was that how pathetic he truly was?

Hadjar twitched. Through the dark haze of pain and death, he assumed a vertical position. He moved his hands for the first time, trying to swim up toward the light.

As far as…

Suddenly, the world changed. The darkness disappeared. Hadjar stood on the shore of a small pond and peered into its depths. He saw his parents’ house and his parents waiting for him in front of it. Nero and Serra were with them. They called out to him.

Then a maiden appeared from the pond. She was very beautiful. She hugged Hadjar and pulled him down, inside the pond... But had his parents needed to die? Or fight the demons and sacrifice Leonora? Hadn’t that happened because of the mistake made by the Jasper Emperor — the Emperor of the Gods?

Hadjar didn’t know why he knew who the Jasper Emperor was, but still... Because of a mistake made by the Heavens, his father and mother had died. And Nero and his wife had died. The Gods decided the fate of the people, didn’t they? They’d caused the deaths of not only entire families, but also countries, with their mistakes.

I have…

Who had given them such power? Who had allowed them to toy with the lives of mortals? After all, every practitioner fought for the sake of freedom, for the opportunity to master their own destiny. And then it turns out that all of it was a hoax, the Gods mocking them for their efforts?

No. Hadjar’s hands hadn’t weakened yet. The rage in his eyes hadn’t dimmed yet.

Hadjar grabbed the beautiful maiden’s arms, which instantly became bony and rotten. With the roar of an awakened dragon, he forced open the arms of death.

His footfalls were like thunder.

His sword was lightning.

... such strength...

Even if the army of the gods descended from the sky, they wouldn’t stop his blade. If the legions of demons arose, they wouldn’t slow his stride.

Hadjar Duran, the Prince blinded by his revenge, was dead. He’d died in battle with his own demons. From his ashes, Hadjar Traves was born. The man who wouldn’t stop until he found the Seventh Heaven, until he reached the Jasper Emperor and broke him. After all, if people suffered for their mistakes, then why could the Gods make mistakes and not be punished for them?

He would find the Gods. He would open the Book of Thousands and correct their mistake. He would bring back all of them: Haver, Elizabeth, Primus, Leonora, Eren, and Serra. All of them would sit at the table and feast. But not in the house of their forefathers, but in the Palace of Lidus!

Hadjar, in whose eyes a roused dragon could be seen, poised to strike, looked into the face of death as she dragged him to the bottom and roared at her mentally: GO BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE!

***

The white, horse-sized tigress carried Hadjar’s body out of the lake on her mighty back. She pressed on the General’s chest and a fountain of dark water burst out of his mouth. He wheezed and, trembling, clutched at the tigress. She threw him onto her back and, turning into a white wind, rushed toward the camp of the Moon Army...

***

“Will you come back?” Elaine asked, then shook her head sharply. “No, not good enough. Promise me you will come back! I know that if you promise it, you’ll surely keep your word.”

“I promise,” Hadjar nodded.

“When you do, let’s meet at our usual spot?”

Hadjar smiled. Elaine hugged him, but was left holding a shadow. The five black ravens flew away from her.

“I’ll see you there,” the wind whispered.

***

Legend has it that anyone who wants to see the Queen should come to the lake in the royal garden on the thirtieth day of every sixth month of the year. There, in the center of the small island, under a tree, Queen Elaine spends the entire day waiting silently. Every year. Centuries pass, but she still waits.

Legend has it...

***

On the border between the Sea of Sand and Lidus was a vast field. Once upon a time, Primus and Haver had planted a small tree here. Now Hadjar sat with his back against its powerful trunk. In front of him, a simple iron sword was thrust into the ground, the kind one could buy from any blacksmith. Nearby, Azrea was chasing a butterfly. The wind blew, whispering something.

Hadjar looked at the distant horizon. Far away, among the hills, foreign countries, mountains, oceans, and cities, there was knowledge to be found about the Seventh Heaven and the Gods. Hadjar would see the entirety of this infinite world if he had to, but he would find the entrance to the Kingdom of the Gods. He would make them answer for all their mistakes and sins.

Hadjar rose, sheathed his sword, and looked at his homeland one last time. He looked at the simple, red wildflowers that covered the field.

“Well, let’s go, my brother,” he said and patted a small leather pouch tied to his belt. He carried the wedding bracelets of Serra and Nero in that pouch. Just like his friends had wanted, the three of them were going to hit the road and explore all the dangers and mysteries this world had to offer.

To be continued …

Afterword

"Dragon Heart" is one of the top-rated Wuxia LitRPG novels in Russia.

The author has been writing the story for only two years, however, it already has over 1400 chapters spanning 14 books. The whole story is planned out and will have over 2000 chapters and 20 books.

Today is written 14 books of 20. Three books are translated and released. The editing of the 4th book is in the process. The 5th book is being translated as well.

Don’t forget to GIVE FEEDBACK! All your activity really helps to pay for translations!!!

Consider leaving a review, please. Let it be short, never mind, every your feedback is the best reward for my team and me. I read all your reviews with the great pleasure.

Thank you, friends!

You can read the 4th book of the series “Sea of Sands” IN THE PROCESS OF IT’S TRANSLATING a chapter by chapter on RoyalRoad.com.

Here is the link : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/22034/dragon-heart-stone-will-litrpg-wuxia-series

PRE-ORDER of the 4th Book is here:    CLICK HERE

If there is no opportunity to review on Amazon, here are my publish pages:

Review on Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43980256-dragon-heart

Follow my Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/kir.droi

Follow me! I am always glad to discuss Hadjar’s adventures!

Let me introduce you one more of my series in urban realrpg and fantasy genre.  The 1st book of Dark Wizard Case is released.

LINK IS HERE

Alexander Dumsky, or Alex Doom, was a dark wizard. At the age of seventeen, he was convicted of a litany of crimes so long that even the seasoned investigators, judges, and prosecutors involved in the case could only shudder.
Not a single attorney could be found to defend him in court.
But four years later, Alex was released from prison to become the Professor of Dark Magic. They'd thrown him into the deepest hole they could find, one built for the sole purpose of holding wizards, and then they let him back out again...
Why him? Why then?
Oh, you're not surprised to hear talk of wizardry? Well, then you probably know that the Magic Lens, which was invented in 2032, let humans see and use magic again.
Or do you know?

Also I would like to recommend you these new books of the Russian authors

Sergey Belsky: Monster [The Beetle]

MC is a beetle in the underground world

Rick Scar: Player reached the Top

The world of 100 stages waits for you

Ivan Shaman: Cannibal. Demon of the Mind

Horror litRPG: the war of people and machines

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Western Wuxia