“Hadjar!” Ilmena exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”
“I can,” Hadjar interrupted. “99 bandits are your and Shakh’s spoils of war, I don’t lay claim to them. About the same number are my kills. According to your laws, I now own all they owned and can do with it as I please. So I am.”
A heavy silence filled the cave.
“You’re an idiot, barbarian.” The words were uttered by three voices at once: Shakh’s, Ilmena’s and... The old woman’s, who, despite the pain she was in, walked out of the cave. A few more men and women followed after her. As they walked past, Hadjar tried not to look at them.
“You can’t just give away resources in the Sea of Sand, stranger,” Ilmena said with a note of disappointment in her voice. “Your life might depend on them.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Ilmena swore and waved her hand sharply.
“Do as you wish,” she answered. “We’ll meet back at the entrance in two hours. Unlike you, I’m going to take everything that is rightfully mine.”
The scarlet wings flashed into being once more and the warrior evaporated. Shakh, shaking his head, followed her down. In Lidus, this was called looting, but out, here it was normal. If a person won their battle, then everything that had belonged to their defeated foe was theirs.
Many centuries ago, it had been possible to take someone’s home, spouse, children, and so on, like this. Fortunately, these days, the custom only applied to the personal belongings of the slain or what was on them at the moment of their death.
“I’m delighted with your noble act,” Einen whispered. “But I’m not going to do the same. Back on the islands, we also do our best to avoid squandering money and resources.”
With these words, the islander, after patting Hadjar on the shoulder, disappeared into the shadows. He went after Ilmena and Shakh to collect his share of the loot from the fallen bandits.
It shouldn’t take them long, as bandits didn’t usually carry a lot with them. The two hours had been allotted more to make sure they had time to bury them than for looting. According to the custom, the one who’d won the fight was responsible for laying their foe’s body to rest.
“We don’t actually squander them in Lidus,” Hadjar answered into the void.
Hadjar’s attitude toward resources had never been understood by his countrymen, either. Only Dogar had understood him, may his ancestors be favorable to him. Perhaps it was thanks to his teachings that Hadjar could easily part with almost everything that seemed valuable to others.
Hadjar turned to the slaves who’d remained in the cave and wished them good luck using a local phrase: “May the Great Stars illuminate your path.”
Turning around, he left the cave. The slaves’ fate was now in their hands and in the hands of those who’d gone to collect the loot. Hadjar was shocked to find the waterskin sitting by the entrance. The same one that Shakh had been ready to shed blood for just a couple of minutes ago.
Well, maybe the young man wasn’t as heartless as he appeared to be at first glance.
Considering that Hadjar had ‘donated’ all his loot to ‘charity’, he didn’t have much to do in the destroyed camp. There was only one minor duty that he would’ve fulfilled even without a custom to urge him.
Going over to one of the broken tents, he gathered up the sticks and branches which served as the supports and the fence. Shouldering them, he left the gorge.
As Hadjar was building the funeral pyres, the sun was dipping down in the west. Night would soon come — a time that was far more terrible and dangerous than daytime.
At night, cold weather and predators came to the Sea of Sand. The latter slept beneath the sand and dunes during the daytime and went hunting only at night. To encounter even a small pack of Sand Wolves at the Alpha stage was certain death for even the strongest practitioners, not to mention the ordinary, weaker passengers of the caravan.
After erecting the pyre, Hadjar covered it with branches and a veil. He put Brom’s body on the pyre. He put the dead man’s shield and sword on his foe’s chest so that he could meet the ancestors with his weapons in his hands. He also poured sand over his eyes — to symbolize the land where the mercenary had died.
As Hadjar was preparing the ritual, the wind started blowing. It blew in from the north-east — the direction where Brom’s and Hadjar’s homeland was. It probably wanted to take the soul of the man, who had played an important role in making Hadjar the man he was today, back with it. Nothing tempered someone’s character quite like constantly having to look into the eyes of a person who could take your life with a single snap of his fingers without flinching or backing down.
Suddenly, the wind kicked up a sandstorm and Hadjar had to cover his face with his hand. Staggering, he leaned on Brom’s shield. A creak sounded and the iron core of the shield shifted slightly, revealing a small sheet of folded papyrus.
Hadjar took the find and, turning it around, smiled slightly.
Damned Brom!
The bandit hadn’t been able to do anything honestly. That old, greedy asshole! The map indicated where the bandit leader’s personal stash was located. Their ‘shared loot’, according to the custom, would go to Kharad, who would then distribute it. However, Brom’s personal effects belonged to Hadjar alone.
“I should pray for the ancestors to show you mercy, man,” Hadjar smiled at the corpse, “but, forgive me, I won’t. You’ll have to deal with them on your own.”
Hadjar took out some flint and brought it to the pyre. It soon lit up. The logs cracked and pillars of black smoke filled the air. Maybe some people would’ve recoiled, but during the years of war, Hadjar had gotten used to the smell of burning flesh and the sight of funeral pyres.
Waiting there for a bit, as if seeing off Brom’s soul, Hadjar threw a handful of sand at the pyre in the man’s memory and went to search for his ‘treasure’.
Chapter 278
Following the map, Hadjar quickly found the right place. Brom had been an experienced mercenary, so he hadn’t buried his ‘treasure’ under any obvious landmarks. He’d counted out a few steps away from one of the sandstones, then turned to the side at a straight angle and then just taken a few more steps.
Using his scabbard as a makeshift shovel, Hadjar started digging. The sand easily succumbed to his efforts and Hadjar soon heard a dull, wooden thump. Standing waist deep in the hole he’d dug, he pulled out a small chest, examining it under the starlight.
Looking around, Hadjar climbed out of the pit and sat down in front of his spoils. The chest looked quite plain. It was made from red wood, with triangular patterns around the edges. No frills, carvings, inlays, or keyholes.
Just a wooden box.
Hadjar looked at the map again, but didn’t find any clues written on it. He even tried to apply the papyrus to the box in different ways, but nothing happened. Grabbing a knife, Hadjar tried to find any openings between the lid and the sides, but there was none.
“Damned artifact,” Hadjar sighed.
He’d never seen anything like it before. He could’ve asked his companions for help, but Hadjar decided not to.
By the gods, Hadjar was once again lamenting the fact that he couldn’t use the neuronet. It had been rebooting for almost two years now. Trying to predict the Patriarch’s moves had been too much for the computing chip to handle. Worst of all, Hadjar was sure that he would’ve won without its support anyway.
“Well, then I’ll figure this out myself.”
Placing the chest across his knees, Hadjar closed his eyes and slowly began to meditate. Gradually, the outline of the world around him blurred. Darkness mixed with light and the rusting sand seemed to merge with the sky. Then it all disappeared, submerged underneath the endless waters of the River of Energy.
Hadjar hovered in it, feeling as if he was home. He’d been here so often that he could navigate it quite well. He no longer had to spend several hours on finding which direction the Sword Spirit was in.
In this state, Hadjar was able to see what the world consisted of, which was an endless mixture of different energies. Perhaps this was some kind of deep and powerful knowledge that had been hidden from Hadjar so far.
Among the various energies, Hadjar saw a small, square, blurry silhouette. The chest looked like a foggy stone in this world. Mentally, Hadjar moved closer to it. Distance and time didn’t really exist in here. Nevertheless, the fact they were sort of simulated helped Hadjar orient himself.
Once he got closer, he was able to examine the chest in its energy form. Its entire surface was covered in a complex pattern made up of lines of various colors. Each color was its own type of energy, and each node was where they intertwined.
Hadjar had never seen anything like it in his life. Unless... The Patriarch’s ring... Hadjar looked at the chain he wore around his neck, where that ring had hung for almost two years. Previously, he’d never been able to look at it this way. Placing it on his palm, Hadjar strained his sight and immediately regretted doing so.
The pattern on the chest, even if complicated, was unable to destroy an observer’s mind. However, a quick glance at the Patriarch’s ring had nearly been enough to send Hadjar to his ancestors or turn him into a vegetable.
Placing the ring back on the chain, Hadjar looked at the chest again. Judging by the fact that the pattern in the center was slightly frayed and seemed to be incomplete, that was the key. A key that only the one for whom the artifact had been made possessed. Apparently, they would have to place their palm on it and use energy in a special way for the chest to open.
“Forgive me, Brom,” Hadjar thought.
He turned toward his subconscious, and his ‘sword’ appeared. At the moment, it was shapeless, like a cloud in the sky. Just a concentration of the energy of the Sword Spirit, but to Hadjar, it was still his ‘sword’.
Swinging it, Hadjar struck the chest. The patterns of the energies shifted and shimmered, but didn’t disappear. That didn’t stop Hadjar. He kept raining down blows. Time stopped for him and only his goal remained.
Gradually, the energy patterns weakened, until after his thousandth attempt, they stopped shimmering and disappeared with a slight hiss.
Click. The sound brought Hadjar back to the real world.
Judging by the position of the stars and the shining moon, he’d spent at least 90 minutes meditating. Nevertheless, it had been worth it — the chest was open. Inside, on a cushion of red velvet, were several very full leather wallets. Hadjar wasn’t particularly greedy. He’d always believed that all he needed was good tobacco and a sharp sword. However, he’d begun to feel that sometimes the quality of his tobacco and the sharpness of his sword depended not only on him, but also on the amount of money he spent on them.
The first wallet contained ten large Imperial coins: a small fortune by the standards of the border provinces or a couple of nice dinners in the center of the Empire. The second and third wallets were full of various gemstones. Mostly rubies and agates. There were no diamonds to be found here.
It wasn’t much. However, over the years he’d spent in the freak show, Hadjar had gotten to know Brom’s habits rather well. Taking up his knife again, Hadjar began working on the velvet padding.
Just as he’d expected, there was a small indentation under the edge of the fabric. Wedging the tip of his knife into it, Hadjar forced it upwards and the false bottom flew off with a bang. Below, wrapped in a piece of leather, lay a small bundle.
Hadjar picked it up, unwound it, swallowed, wrapped it back up, and put it away in his pockets. Until then, he’d thought that the gods surely disliked him. However, there was someone in the palace of the Jasper Emperor who was helping him. Only that could explain how Brom had had the core of a monster at the King stage. It was much weaker than the core of Azrea’s mother had been, but still. A beast at this stage was comparable in strength to a weak Spirit Knight.
“Okay, you win.” Hadjar stood up and saluted the funeral pyre. “May your forefathers be merciful to you, Brom Ragwar.”
Hadjar put the wallets in his pockets, each in a different one. Just in case.
He threw the broken box into the pit and covered it back up. He managed to do so just in time. Soon after, familiar voices sounded close by.
“I want to see his face,” Shakh laughed.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with you,” Ilmena’s voice was also cheerful.
Hadjar turned around and immediately grabbed the handle of his blade. Four huge lizards were rushing toward him. The size of a camel, they resembled frogs, only they had saddles on them and unnaturally long necks. They moved with terrifying speed, their legs moving like wheels. Einen, riding atop one of them, was almost green.
“Northerner,” Ilmena patted her creature’s neck, “This is an Oasis Frog. They’re not as fast as the Desert Ravens, but if we ride them, we’ll get to the Dead Mountains faster than on camels.”
“And where did you find these?” Hadjar winced slightly.
“The bandits had a ‘stable’. There are five more of these beauties in there, but we don’t need that many.”
Hadjar nodded. In the desert, it wasn’t customary to carry any ‘excess’ baggage with you, only valuables or necessities.
“I would say that I’d even prefer horses to these,” Hadjar went up to the available reptile and put his foot in the stirrup. He already felt sick. “But I think we won’t be coming across any of those in the near future.”
Ilmena and Shakh laughed, but Einen just nodded sadly.
Chapter 279
Surprisingly, riding on the overgrown frogs turned out to be rather comfortable. Of course, Hadjar still wasn’t overjoyed to ride one, but at least it was tolerable. He was scared of the way the frogs ran. Each of the frogs’ four legs moved independently. They spun around like the blades of a windmill, kicking up clouds of sand in their wake.
The frogs rushed along dunes as easily as they did on smooth areas. They almost swam across the crests of the dunes, sliding down on their bellies, which delighted Ilmena and Shakh. Einen and Hadjar felt queasy and gripped their reins tighter whenever they did this.
Shakh led them. He was the only one who knew not just the shortest, but the correct path to the Dead Mountains. Hadjar didn’t understand how the boy could orient himself in the lifeless landscape that never seemed to change.
Shakh sometimes moved his head back, peered at the sky for a long time, and sharply changed direction. Hadjar always followed where the boy’s gaze had been directed, but couldn’t figure out what he was seeing in the azure skies.
By the evening of the first day of their mad dash, Hadjar was no longer trying to solve the mystery of the boy’s strange navigational abilities. He was simply glad to get out of the saddle and stand on firm ground... Or sand, in this case.
A few leather ragbags were tied to their saddles. Ilmena, Shakh, and Einen kept their most valuable loot in theirs. Of course, they hadn’t taken boots or armor. Nobody needed those. They’d taken weapons, items that could be sold and, of course, money. As Hadjar had refused his share of the loot, the brushwood and branches had been stuffed into his bags.
Shakh and Ilmena were currently making a fire using them. The process differed from how it was done in Lidus. Neither Einen nor Hadjar could do it quickly or expertly enough.
Soon, after wrapping themselves up in blankets, the four were crowded around the merrily crackling bonfire. Steam escaped from their mouths. It was not only cold, but windy as well. Starlight illuminated everything softly.
Eating some roots and water, they agreed on watch shifts and fell asleep, curled up in their blankets with their backs to the fire.
Hadjar had taken first watch.
About an hour later, he got up and moved away from their camp. The huge moon seemed to hang right above his head. It felt like if he wanted to, he could reach out and grab it. Hadjar took out the simple metal chain that he wore around his neck. The General’s medallion of the Mo
on Army and the Patriarch’s ring hung on it.
Hadjar placed the ring in his palm. He didn’t dare look at the lines of the energy patterns again. After he turned the ring over in his hands a few times, he was about to put it on his index finger when he heard:
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Northerner.”
Hadjar hadn’t fully gotten used to Einen’s habits quite yet, so when the islander emerged from the shadows, he flinched. It was kind of creepy to see a black bubble boil up and then have a human silhouette emerge from it, like a nymph rising up from the water.
“If that isn’t yours, then my advice is that you don’t put it on,” the islander repeated. “Judging by the look on your face, the ring didn’t always belong to you.”
Hadjar looked at the bald man carefully and hung the ring back on his chain. Einen nodded approvingly and took out his thin pipe from the folds of his caftan. They were soon smoking together, looking at the night sky. It was beautiful out here.
“Do you know anything about the ring?” Hadjar asked.
“Nope,” Einen answered.
Every time the stars appeared in the sky, the islander became a little strange. At these moments, Hadjar understood that he knew nothing about this man with the weird-colored eyes and Techniques that didn’t fit with the staff he wielded. Well, if Hadjar had decided to travel through the desert in an attempt to escape from his past, then why couldn’t someone else do the same?
“I’ve already seen rings like it.” The islander’s voice sounded muffled, like the murmuring of water. “Try not to show it in public, Northerner. It’s unlikely that mere trinkets are stored in that Space Ring. Any true cultivator could easily open it.”
Hadjar blinked a couple of times and involuntarily touched the ring, the cost of which would apparently be difficult to overestimate.
Serra had told him about such things as well. The witch had said that she’d seen something like that on her teacher’s finger. With a wave of his hand, her teacher had been able to take almost fifty scrolls and books out of such a ring. Fifty books... They would’ve normally taken up a small room!
Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4 Page 11