In the next ten minutes, thousands of the fiery stones crashed into the dome, scattering into a myriad of fragments and turning the sand around the city into a ring of lava.
“Why are they just sitting around?” Hadjar growled. His blood boiled like the sand around the dome. “Every defense has its limit!”
Einen looked at Hadjar.
“For someone who doesn’t know anything about the true path of cultivation, you are too aware sometimes,” Einen said. “Watch carefully, barbarian. See what real power can do.”
The islander pointed to several figures standing at the top of the palace. Spreading their arms, they whispered something at the gigantic hieroglyphs circling above them.
Hadjar flinched at the sight. Not because of its strangeness, but because of the energy that was emanating from the figures. It wasn’t like the one that Hadjar had gotten used to since birth. Rather, it was closer to what Serra and Nehen had used.
What happened next would be seared into the barbarian’s memory forever. The hieroglyphs flashed, and a melody rolled across the desert. It was passionate and wild, like a young lovers’ dance. Assuming forms that were almost visible to the eye, it ‘hugged’ the dome and sank down toward the fire raging at its base.
The melody spun the fire. It lifted the flame higher and higher, twisting it around until the whole of Kurkhadan was surrounded by a huge, fiery tornado.
Now that he was in the center of the raging fire, Hadjar couldn’t help himself. Like a little boy, he stood with his mouth open, forgetting to even breathe.
A high-pitched screech cut through the air. The fiery tornado turned into a fiery bird that was so big its shadow covered not only the city, but the whole army. The fiery monster, which was similar to a falcon, an eagle, and a swallow at the same time, hovered over Kurkhadan.
“Damn...”
The monster with a wingspan of at least one thousand feet rushed toward the bandits. Walls of silver energy sprung up to block its progress. But the hieroglyphs on these walls were dull and ineffective. The city defenders’ spell easily broke through these barriers and sank its claws and beak into the center of the trebuchets. A powerful explosion rocked the ground. A wave of air scattered thousands of the bandits. Then came the screams and the smell of burning flesh. Burning logs and trebuchet fragments rained down from the sky. A huge, fiery mushroom rose above the dunes.
Hadjar clung to the edge of the roof. The blast wave had almost knocked him down.
“Keep up, Northerner!” Einen pushed off the roof tiles and soared into the sky.
Hadjar blinked. The spell had drained the defenders. The hieroglyphs above the palace faded and several holes appeared in the golden dome. They were growing larger by the second. With another ‘Assa!’ battle cry, the defenders surged through them. They weren’t going to just sit around. The passionate desert dwellers were ready to shed both their own and other people’s blood.
“At last!” Hadjar roared and charged into battle.
Chapter 297
Hadjar pushed off the roof and soared through the sky. As he flew, he dodged a lot of arrows that had been aimed at him.
After the massive explosion, the bandits noticed that the dome over the city was weakening. Now their archers were tirelessly raining down arrows on Kurkhadan and its defenders through the openings in the dome.
Their engineers were scurrying around the ballistae. The huge bolts easily went through the walls of the houses and the defenders. While making his way past the arrows, Hadjar thought about how the battles between ordinary practitioners and Heaven Soldiers were rather odd.
Neither arrows nor ballistae bolts posed any threat to the latter. They shrugged them off like mortals dealing with annoying insects. They scattered their foes’ bodies around them. Dozens of practitioners at the highest levels attacked one true cultivator, but all they could do was hold him back for a short while.
Hadjar landed on the sand, right in the thick of the enemy formation. The instant he did so, the tip of a spear was thrust toward his eyes. It was shrouded in a blue radiance.
Hadjar bent backwards, the strike passing a few inches from his face. Without straightening back up, he swung his sword forward, parallel to the ground.
His blood was boiling. The former General hadn’t thought that his soul could hunger for battle like this. Not for mere dueling or sparring, but for a true slaughter. One where only your weapon made the difference between life and death. Only it could carve you a way forward.
This time, he hadn’t launched a crescent of steel energy from his blade, but the shadow of a wriggling dragon. With a low hum, it crept forward, over the sand. Swift and inconspicuous, it obliterated the bandits’ legs. They fell to the ground screaming as blood gushed from their stumps.
Hadjar pushed off the ground. He jumped onto the shoulders of a hammer wielder wearing heavy armor. He thrust his blade into the visor of the man’s helmet. His body jerked and fell. Hadjar rode it down.
Rows of enemies surrounded him. They were practitioners at the highest levels of cultivation, ones that could’ve easily become officers in the Moon Army. However, all of them were wary of approaching Hadjar. The tattoo of the Sword Spirit shone on his back. The tattoo on his left arm, given to him by the shaman, had gotten drenched in blood.
Hadjar was calm despite being surrounded by enemies. He looked at the sword in his hand. The hieroglyphs Ignes had etched into the blade flickered slightly in the moonlight.
“What the hell?” Hadjar whispered, but didn’t have time to ponder it for long.
One of the more zealous bandits attacked him. Noticing the man out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar swung at him. He didn’t put his knowledge of the Way of the Sword or the energy of the world into the attack. But the etchings on the blade flashed and a cutting wave, rocketing out from the edge of the sword, cut through the young man and several other bandits behind him.
Scarlet flowers of death bloomed around the northerner. Hadjar’s blade couldn’t stop. Like crimson lightning, he flew across the battlefield. Each swing of his blade claimed the lives of a dozen bandits who only occasionally managed to touch the edge of Hadjar’s robes or scratch his skin.
His movements were fluid and efficient. He seemed to glide around the enemy blades and spears, darting between arrows and the flashes of energy accompanying various Techniques being used. At the same time, he was quick to the point of being little more than a blur to most ordinary practitioners.
His feet touched the sand briefly. Like a young reed, he bent back, letting a broadsword pass over him, and then his blade struck mercilessly. A roaring dragon shadow charged forth from his blade. Some bandits tried to use protective Techniques, but they were like fragile glass when faced with Hadjar’s sword. He was like the wind. The Desert Wind Blowing from the North. Cold and lethal.
Pushing off from someone’s shoulder, Hadjar flew toward a row of enemies, but an instant later, he was thrown back. His ribs nearly cracked where that elephant had kicked him, or so it had seemed to Hadjar.
After flying back several yards and knocking into some bandits, Hadjar jumped to his feet and carefully examined his enemy. They were surrounded by the bandits.
Hadjar had had no idea just how far into the enemy ranks he’d gotten. For too long, he hadn’t had the chance to let loose and ‘drink’ enemy blood. He couldn’t see the defenders of Kurkhadan nearby, only the red armor of the bandits and the skulls on their banners.
Across from him stood a giant. He was two heads taller and much wider than Hadjar. His arms were as thick as Hadjar’s waist. His huge, bulging belly somehow had eight pack abs.
The giant held a powerful mace — a steel shaft crowned with a ball of rectangular plates. A vortex of blue energy spun around the giant. He was clearly a Heaven Soldier.
“That’s the second Soldier in two months,” the smiling Hadjar growled out. “By the gods, I don’t mind.”
Gripping his sword with both hands, Hadjar started circling the
giant. His foe stood still, like an elephant facing a tiger.
Hadjar mentally plunged into the depths of his soul. There, behind the haze of his Spirit, he found the Sword. He attached it to his blade. The sword in his hands darkened slightly as he did so, as if someone had poured ink on it.
The giant brandished his mace and roared like a wild beast. He struck the sand with his weapon and the sands parted as the attack rushed toward Hadjar. Jagged stone spears burst out of the sand, easily skewering the bandits who got in the way of the attack.
Hadjar didn’t dodge. He moved his sword behind his back. He looked calmly at the giant’s attack approaching him. At the last second, Hadjar whirled, bending his knees slightly.
“Strong Wind!” He cried out, adding the world energy and Traves’ Technique to his own power.
A wave of wind surged out from behind Hadjar, easily cutting through the stone spears. Scattering the bandits in its wake, it struck the giant with the force of a storm. He cried out and his energy flared up, turning into a shield that had the image of an elephant in its center.
The wind hammered his shield and the giant growled as he slid across the sand. Hadjar peered at the hieroglyphs Ignes had etched into his sword with amazement. He had no idea what they were, but he knew one thing for certain: he was stronger with them there. Much stronger.
Chapter 298
The giant’s muscles almost creaked with exertion, but he was ultimately able to deflect the gust of wind. It plunged into the bandits’ ranks and turned them into a pile of flesh, blood, and crumpled armor.
Expecting a counterattack, Hadjar immediately assumed the ‘Calm Wind’ stance. The barrier of wind came down and easily pressed the weakest practitioners into the ground, but only weakened the giant slightly.
Roaring, he began to spin his mace around him. With each new spin, his blue energy thickened. When the giant threw his weapon forward, Hadjar felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A war elephant was charging at him. Woven from the blue mist of the giant’s energy, it looked much denser and more realistic than any simple practitioner’s Technique ever could. Although Hadjar knew that this wasn’t a real elephant, the sight was still amazing: the sixteen-foot, armored monster had massive tusks topped with steel. The Technique emanated such overwhelming force that it easily broke the ‘Calm Wind’ stance. The wind barrier crumpled and was torn apart like a sheet of paper. However, the spectators still couldn’t get up from the ground. On the contrary, they ended up being pressed even deeper into it.
Gritting his teeth, Hadjar released a third of his energy. It sprang up around him like a steel cocoon, easing the pressure. This was enough to let him use the third form of the ‘Light Breeze’.
“Spring Wind!” Hadjar shouted and a piercing lunge flew toward the elephant, taking the form of a restless dragon. Woven from fog, it was the color of steel and seemed to be real as well. The two beasts collided in the center of the circle of onlookers. In reality, the attacks of the practitioner and the cultivator had clashed.
Hadjar felt like a huge mountain had just fallen on top of him. The giant’s mace bore down on him without mercy. The sand around them was blown back in three-foot waves, overwhelming the bandits standing around the two combatants, but they continued to watch the battle. The spectators couldn’t believe their eyes. Never before had they seen an actual practitioner who was able to compete with a true cultivator on equal terms. It didn’t matter that he was the weakest of the cultivators in the bandit ranks, this was still something they’d only ever heard about in old legends.
When Hadjar was almost ready to release his Technique and try to dodge away from the giant that was overpowering him, he felt a light breath behind him. With a wry grin, Hadjar added a little bit more of his energy to his attack. His dragon got brighter and began to push the giant back. The cultivator grinned — no matter how strong a practitioner was, he had no chance against a cultivator’s might. The giant also added some more of his energy to his Technique.
That was exactly what Hadjar had wanted him to do.
When the Heaven Soldier was fully focused on the battle, the shadow behind him stirred slightly. A moment later, Einen, covered in both his own and other people’s blood, rose up from it. His inhuman, purple eyes gleamed. Instead of his usual staff, he held a short spear. By the gods, Hadjar would rather face two more Heaven Soldiers than one Einen in such a state.
The islander threw his weapon forward and thousands of sharp corals pierced the giant. His elephant began to ripple slightly, and then disappeared altogether, melting into the sands. Hadjar’s own attack, still in the form of a dragon, flew through the cultivator’s body with a roar. Continuing on for fifty more steps, it disappeared into a crowd of obliterated bandits. Slowly, the giant’s severed head rolled off his mighty shoulders. His mace fell to the sand.
“I could’ve handled him by myself,” Hadjar croaked out.
“We don’t have time for this, Northerner!” Einen shouted.
They stood back to back, surrounded by hundreds of enemies. A slight twinge in his heart indicated that the old wounds on his soul had woken up. In the heat of battle, Hadjar remembered his brother and how they’d used to...
“Who will be the first to count to a hundred?” Hadjar shouted almost playfully.
“You’re crazy, Northerner,” the islander smiled.
Hadjar didn’t hear him. As if returning to the past, when he’d watched his best friend’s back and Nero had watched his in turn, he had no fear of enemies attacking him from behind, and rushed into the thick of battle.
His blade reaped a rich harvest.
His strikes, imbued with wind and steel, irrigated the sand with hot, scarlet blood. Hadjar ripped through their ranks without pity or hesitation. Anyone who entered the battlefield with a weapon in their hands was ready to take lives and give their own. That was any warrior’s way.
Hadjar let an enemy’s blade pass above his shoulder, then, with an inhuman, bestial roar, he impaled the enemy with his sword. He lifted the man’s body above the ground and horror could be seen in the dying foe’s eyes. The middle-aged warrior, as he fell off Hadjar’s sword, saw two blue eyes before his death. By the Evening Stars, they’d been inhuman. They’d been mindless and he’d seen no trace of a soul in them, only animalistic rage, an unyielding will, and terrifying power.
Hadjar swung and threw the body into the bandits’ ranks. He rushed in after it. He glided across the sand, practically dancing around his foes. Each of his steps preceded a new attack that took someone’s life.
Covered in blood, Hadjar moved like a spinning top. Sometimes, some of the bandits’ swords or spears left long, shallow cuts on his body. The battle with the cultivator had exhausted much of his energy and Hadjar was rather slow, but it didn’t bother him. With every new wound, with every drop of blood he lost, the dragon inside him only raged harder. The fury and joy of battle were a drug better than the strongest alcohol or the most skilled woman. Hadjar only felt alive in battle.
He felt his heart beating. Maybe this was just a dream and he was sitting in the cold cell of Primus’ prison...
“Stop it!”
Hadjar’s sword struck Einen’s spear with a bang.
Hadjar felt like he’d just emerged from a warm, blood-soaked whirlpool.
“Didn’t your ancestors teach you to resist the Call of Blood, you madman?” Einen roared. “Do you want to lose your mind and become a beast?”
Hadjar staggered back and looked around. They were standing atop a dune. Only, after he observed it for a moment, the dune revealed what it actually was. A pile of bodies. Dozens... Hundreds of them...
“These pathetic fighters aren’t our real enemy!” The islander continued screaming, blocking out the hum of the battle raging around them. “Look over there, Northerner!”
Einen pointed with his spear toward the very center of the battle. There, a dozen of the Heavenly Soldiers of Kurkhadan were fighting, swarming around the figure sitting on th
e huge, three-tailed scorpion. The Spirit Knight, armed with two blades, was easily blocking their attacks. Lightning occasionally flashed out from his blades, nailing the defenders to the sand like butterflies.
Behind the Knight, a hooded figure loomed. His Spirit.
Hadjar took a closer look and saw that there were eight more bodies lying around the man — the Heaven Soldiers who’d fallen to the Knight’s sword.
“If this keeps up, we will all be dead soon,” Einen lazily deflected an arrow that had been flying toward his eye. “That damned sheikh isn’t going to leave the palace, and without him, we are powerless before the Knight.”
“What is the Call of Blood?” Hadjar asked.
Einen flinched and turned back to him.
“Are you completely crazy, barbarian?”
Hadjar shrugged.
“Do you not see the damned Knight?”
“Damned?” Hadjar repeated. It was perhaps the foulest curse his companion had ever uttered. “I think I have an idea,” Hadjar said, looking at the pattern on his blade. Ignes had probably not enchanted his sword just so he could sow confusion among the ranks of ordinary practitioners. “Inform the Kurkhadans that when I give the signal, they must use all their trump cards to knock down the Knight.”
“What will your signal look like?” Einen asked, disappearing into the shadows.
“Oh, it’ll be difficult to mistake for anything else,” Hadjar smiled bloodthirstily.
“I hope your plan works,” the wind brought him the words, as the islander had already disappeared.
“Me too,” Hadjar sighed and plunged into the World River.
If it didn’t, they would all be knocking on the doors of their ancestors’ houses soon enough…
Chapter 299
The ocean of battle raged. Cries filled the air as blood soaked the ground. Bodies flew across the night sky to land on the wet, sticky sand. The stream, formerly transparent and clean, had turned pinkish.
Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4 Page 19