Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4

by Kirill Klevanski

  Maybe this was because the old man knew how to control his emotions. Or maybe, regardless of how talented Hadjar was, a mere practitioner was simply unable to ‘read’ a Heaven Soldier at the peak Stage of that level.

  Interrupting their staredown, Rahaim turned to his chief of security. Shakar was sitting on a pillow, and his nephew was right next to him. He glared at Hadjar. However, he did so out of a simple desire to fight and envy, nothing more. Hadjar didn’t feel any desire to kill him, so he was glad the younger man’s emotions weren’t more bloodthirsty.

  “Are you sure, Shakar?” the old man finally asked.

  Shakar nodded and pulled out a small scroll from a ragbag. He turned it around and showed it to everyone else. Hadjar immediately grabbed the handle of his blade.

  His portrait was on that scroll. He was wearing his famous armor with the demons’ visages on it and standing in front of the burning pavilion of ‘The Black Gates’ sect. He was holding the sect Patriarch’s severed head up by its hair. The soldiers of the Moon Army were standing around him. The artist had done a good job! Hadjar was flattered.

  “The Mad General of Lidus,” Shakar said. “The man who won three wars. The practitioner who killed two Heaven Soldiers. Queen Elaine’s brother. The best swordsman in at least two Kingdoms. According to the bards, the best swordsman born in the last hundred years.”

  “And,” Kharad added, “A traitor to his homeland, supposedly dead.”

  Without hesitation, Hadjar unsheathed his sword... Or rather, he tried to, because he suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. His body seemed to be paralyzed from the neck down. He could only move his head.

  Looking down, Hadjar saw an index finger pressed to his chest, which belonged to old Rahaim. However, Hadjar didn’t feel a single disturbance in his energy flow. That damned old man stopped me without even using a Technique! How is that even possible?

  “Calm down, young man,” Rahaim’s voice was soothing. “None of us care about the fate of Lidus, Balium, or any other northern state. Your affairs are your own.”

  “Then why did you send for me?” Hadjar asked.

  Rahaim moved his finger away and Hadjar regained control over his own body. He decided not to draw his sword. For some reason, the old man’s words had really had a calming effect on him. The dragon that had begun to awaken in the depths of his blue eyes curled up once more and plunged back into the darkness of his pupils.

  “Personally, I suggested we bind you, leave you at the transit point, and claim the reward,” Kharad pointed to the words at the bottom of the portrait.

  The Empire was offering a very decent (by local standards, in the Empire, it was a trifle) amount of money for him. That meant they hadn’t forgotten Governor Lithium’s death. Fortunately, the scroll had been made in the Borderlands. So it was unlikely that somebody knew about the Mad General’s existence in the depths of the vast Empire. Probably because they had no idea that Lidus even existed. Some cities in the Empire were larger than Lidus itself. Hadjar didn’t believe that, but still…

  “We need your help, General-”

  Hadjar interrupted Shakar.

  “I like ‘northerner’ more,” he said.

  The others looked at each other, but said nothing. They didn’t like the fact that a simple guard had interrupted the chief of security. That kind of disrespect was a great sin in the eyes of the locals.

  “Okay.” Shakar nodded. “We need your help, northerner. We don’t have your experience and knowledge. We need your advice and your sword, if you agree to help us. Of course, you will be suitably compensated for doing so.”

  “My knowledge and experience? Why does the caravan need a general’s expertise?”

  “Because our caravan won’t survive the next month without it,” Rahaim suddenly said. “A war will soon break out in the desert, northerner. And we are moving right into its heart.”

  Hadjar cursed loudly.

  Chapter 269

  Hadjar looked around. He hoped that they were joking or, at least, exaggerating. Unfortunately, they were quite serious. So, it would seem Hadjar had left war behind, but war had other plans.

  Someone else would’ve probably been flattered by such a twist of fate. But not Hadjar. He wore the amulet of the General, yes, but only as a tribute to the dead soldiers who would never get to go home to hug their parents and families.

  Hadjar hated war. Of course, it had allowed him to get his revenge on Primus, but in turn, it had taken almost everything from him. His hand reached for the leather wallet fastened to his belt.

  “Can’t we sidestep the conflict?” Hadjar suggested.

  “Sidestep?” Rahaim asked, stunned.

  The others looked at each other. They hadn’t expected such advice. The stagecoach swayed slightly, scrolls rustled on the table, and evening slowly approached outside the silk ‘walls’. It carried with it the muffled echoes of the caravan’s hustle and bustle and promised a storm would come in a couple of weeks.

  “You wanted to hear the Mad General’s advice,” Hadjar shrugged. “Over the years I’d spent waging war, I came to understand one thing: the best battle is the one that doesn’t take place.”

  Utter silence reigned once again. Hadjar couldn’t even guess what these people were thinking. He went over numerous options in his mind.

  If Nero had been around, he would’ve argued that they should steal a camel, food, water, and a map, then set off on their own. Serra would’ve immediately vetoed that plan. The desert witch had claimed that even a Heaven Soldier can’t survive in the Sea of Sand all on their own. Hadjar believed her.

  “Wise words,” the old man nodded. “If we’d been able to do so, we wouldn’t have asked for your advice, honorable northerner.”

  Hadjar paused at the words. Not because Rahaim had heeded his request and called him ‘northerner’, but because of the ‘honorable’ prefix. It was rather unusual to him, although he knew that it had only been used due to the local’s politeness.

  “I understand that, honorable Rahaim,” Hadjar bowed his head slightly. “However, if you want my advice, you’ll have to share more information with me. Without it, I can’t really help you and would prefer to return to my duties as a guard.”

  For a while, Rahaim and Hadjar looked into each other’s eyes again. Hadjar thought he noticed interest in the old man’s gaze.

  “You aren’t afraid of death, Northerner,” Rahaim stated.

  Hadjar remembered the lake in which he’d almost drowned and his dream of a beautiful maiden who had called out to him, and then turned into a rotten skeleton covered in mud.

  “I looked into the eyes of Death once,” Hadjar said so quietly that only the old man heard him. “There is nothing frightening about it.”

  A couple of long and heavy seconds of silence followed. The wind grew stronger, carrying sand into the stagecoach. It didn’t get any cooler, the air was still dry and unpleasant. It made one’s eyes water and their lips dry, creating the illusion of thirst. Hadjar had heard stories about water being not only salvation, but also disaster. Some travelers who couldn’t control themselves often drank too much of it. They usually died of bloating or some other disease connected with the consumption of six or even seven liters of water per day.

  “Pay attention, Northerner,” Rahaim picked up the pointer and was about to show him something on the map when Kharad jumped up from his pillow. He looked alarmed, annoyed, and shocked.

  “Honorable Rahaim!” He exclaimed, saluting hurriedly. “With all due respect, he isn’t of our blood. His skin doesn’t know the sun. He’s a stranger!”

  “His skin color is the last thing on my mind today,” Rahaim answered rather harshly. “Anyone who walks along the crests of sand dunes with us isn’t a stranger.”

  “But he’s just a guard!”

  “Sit down, Kharad. Don’t disgrace your ancestors. The Great Stars are watching you.”

  “But, grandpa!”

  Rahaim’s eyes flashed unkindly.
Hadjar noticed that it became difficult to breathe. The wind was still dancing outside the stagecoach, but the canopies stilled, and the atmosphere was almost dead inside. Despite his dried out appearance, the old man was still very strong.

  “Please forgive my insolence,” Kharad bowed and sat back down.

  What the hell? One of them is the chief of security’s nephew. The other is the grandson of the caravan’s owner. Damned nepotism!

  To Hadjar’s surprise, he didn’t see any hatred or envy in Kharad’s gaze when it was directed at him. The man had expressed his concerns, received an answer, and had calmed down. He hadn’t held a grudge, unlike the ‘self-respecting’ officers of the Lidish or Baliumian armies.

  It was a surprising change of pace. It turned out that people could be subtly different in the smallest and most unexpected ways. At that moment, Hadjar regretted that he hadn’t traveled earlier. How many amazing discoveries was this endless world hiding?

  “What do you know about the Mage City, Northerner?” Shakar asked suddenly. He did so with Rahaim’s approval.

  “According to what a friend of mine who’d lived around here once told me, it’s a fairytale, just like Helmer, the Lord of Nightmares.”

  He felt like he knew what was coming. Hadjar had met Helmer and even chatted with him several years ago, and he didn’t want to repeat the experience. At least not until he gained at least a tenth of the power that the Lord possessed...

  “But,” Shakar smiled slightly, “Mage City really does exist.”

  Only Hadjar was aware of the irony in his words. He tried his best not to smile.

  “Many thousands of years ago,” Shakar began his story, “when the Sea of Sand was a real, vast, raging ocean, great rocks appeared out of its depths. For many hundreds of centuries, the salty waters washed over them until they collapsed and buried the ocean, raising the infinite sands up from the bottom of the sea floor. And that’s how the Sea of Sand came to be.”

  “I know that legend,” Hadjar nodded.

  “As does any resident of the surrounding lands. But only we know the ending of that story. Long ago, at the top of those rocks, lived people who could read the fate of the world in the movement of the stars, who could talk to stones, listen to the wind, and dance with fire. Their Path of Cultivation differed from ours. They sailed across the surface of the World River, while we strive toward its depths. They saw the bright sky, while we peer into the darkness.”

  Hadjar listened to Shakar’s story attentively, sensing that some of the mysteries of this world were hidden within it. After all, he’d gone on this journey to learn them.

  “When the waves destroyed the rocks, these people talked to the stones and wind. They bound them together and made the rocks hover among the clouds. The Gods didn’t like that. They sent their emissary and he destroyed the rebellious people. However, after witnessing these people’s great achievements, he left a piece of his own knowledge in their huge library as a sign of respect.”

  A spark of greed appeared in everyone’s eyes.

  “The emissary was Derger, the God of War,” Rahaim continued the story. “According to the legend, he left one of the six scrolls of his Techniques in the library — the ‘Midnight Day’ scroll.”

  What a strange name! ‘Midnight Day’... Well, it’s to be expected that a god would invent the most obscure and convoluted name possible for their Techniques.

  “I still don’t really understand how this relates to the war and our caravan,” Hadjar said.

  Everyone looked at each other again.

  “Well, Northerner,” Rahaim moved a statuette of a warrior with a huge axe. “The path to the Mage City will soon open, and the library with it. Sankesh, the Prince of the Deserts, the executioner of cities and countries, will head there. And anyone who gets in his way will die.”

  Chapter 270

  “I want to clarify something,” Hadjar grunted. “A couple of months ago, I heard someone talking about him in one of the teahouses. Sankesh is mad, a sadist, a Spirit Knight, a demon worshiper, and loves to devour human flesh.”

  “That’s a lie,” Rahaim answered with a slight smile. “Sankesh is indeed a Spirit Knight, but he is undoubtedly a very noble person. He is a worthy warrior and an honest ruler, but he always gets the job done. By any means necessary.”

  Hadjar noticed something in Rahaim’s eyes, except it wasn’t joy, but sadness. Hadjar was about to continue the conversation and get to the truth when he met Shakar’s warning gaze. The chief of security shook his head slightly, making it clear that this would get him nowhere.

  “Over the past four years, Sankesh has come far from Scorpio City, his home,” Rahaim pointed somewhere along the edge of the map — the very easternmost part of the Sea of Sand. “He’s burnt down hundreds of cities, towns, and oases.”

  He moved the pointer westward, farther from Scorpio City and closer to the route that the caravan was taking.

  “Why now?” Hadjar asked. “He seemed to feel comfortable in his homeland.”

  “Because in two and a half years, two red comets will pass by each other in the sky. Mage City can be found beneath the spot where their trails meet.”

  Hadjar didn’t show that the answer wasn’t enough to satisfy his curiosity. Sankesh could’ve waited in his palace, among hundreds of harem girls, lying on comfortable pillows, until the sign appeared in the sky.

  This wasn’t the whole truth. He was moving through the desert as quickly as a forest fire. He was clearly following something... or someone. Something was definitely fishy here. Hadjar didn’t like the fact that the local ‘council’ wasn’t telling him everything.

  “We’re heading toward Kurkhadan oasis,” Rahaim moved the pointer a little northward. “We’ll be there in a week. However, as you can see, northerner,” the old man moved his pointer again. The figure of Sankesh was headed in the same direction, though it was almost a year’s travel away from Kurkhadan. “The Prince is moving in the same direction we are.”

  “Bandits and the Bedouins,” Hadjar guessed.

  “That’s right,” Rahaim nodded.

  Rahaim wasn’t actually worried about Sankesh and Mage City. He was looking at the Prince of the Sands like a stone rolling down a mountain. What the old man was really afraid of was the rockslide that this stone would bring with it.

  For four years now, Sankesh’s army had been moving through the desert, driving the Bedouins and, even worse, the bandits, out of their hidey-holes. They couldn’t go east, to the lands that the Spirit Knight had already conquered. So, they went west. Some of them had surely fought each other along the way, but...

  “Many Bedouinsand bandit tribes have appeared in the Sea of Sand,” Rahaim’s words confirmed Hadjar’s worst fears. “They’re fleeing from Sankesh toward the route our caravan is taking.”

  The pointer showed where they’d be traveling among the oases. It was the fastest way to get to the Empire. His desire to save some time — anything from a month to two years — had led Hadjar into another war. It was rather ironic.

  “We’ve already discussed the possibility of diverging from the path,” the leader of the scouts told Hadjar. “Other caravans’ routes could be found nearby. However, they won’t want to share the water in their oases, nor their routes. Our ancestors fought for every one of them. Each is like a vein that the well-being of the caravans and their cities depends on. No one would share their blood with strangers.”

  “But you are all scorched by the same sun,” Hadjar sneered. “And in the desert, nobody survives without help from others and helping others in turn.”

  “So what? All northerners come from the same mountains,” Kharad shrugged. “Mutual help and joint suicide are different things, northerner.”

  Well, he could’ve argued that point for a long time. However, there was nothing to be gained from it.

  “So, let’s sum up.” Hadjar said. Without asking, he took the pointer and came up to the map. It was a very expensive one. These kinds of
maps were guarded jealously and only a few of the closest confidants were normally allowed to look at them. That was why Kharad had been against Hadjar being present during the council. “We’re going to encounter hordes of enemies along the way.”

  “Damned chekhars,” somebody whispered.

  Well, honest caravaneers obviously didn’t like the ‘pirates’ of the Sea of Sand. The enmity was usually mutual. The bandits’ creed was: ‘Rob caravans, kidnap children, eat, drink, and kill’. The Bedouins lived by the same laws. Therefore, it was often impossible to distinguish the former from the latter.

  “Do you want me to come up with a plan that will help us survive?”

  “A plan?” Rahaim asked. “No, honorable Northerner, we only ask that you stay nearby and provide valuable advice or remark on anything you feel we’re doing wrong. According to Shakar’s stories, you were known for your ability to get where no one else could and keeping your enemies on the back foot. They say that you alone burned an entire army of supposed ‘nomads’, as you call them in your country.”

  Hadjar’s heart ached.

  “A tenth of it,” Hadjar pulled himself together. “I had great allies.”

  “Well,” the old man nodded. “This time, if the Great Stars are merciful, you will be our great ally. From now on, you can leave your guard post, if necessary, to participate in Kharad’s intelligence gathering missions. I hope your own eyes will tell you more than I could.”

  For a moment, Hadjar felt déjà vu. Smiling at these distant memories, he asked: “Could I make a small suggestion right now, honorable Rahaim?”

  “You are here to do just that, Northerner.”

  The Gods seemed to delight in taunting mortals.

  “I would advise that you include the islander, Einen, in this. His shadow Techniques are simply incomparable. In the future, some situations may arise when the fate of the caravan will depend on him and his Techniques.”