Hadjar leaned back, plucked out a blade of grass, put it into his mouth, and placed his hands behind his head. Through the slot, he looked at the white giants floating through the sky. Along with the wind, they whispered something to him, and Hadjar smiled as he listened to them. In this vast sea of green grass, he felt freer than he ever had before. He could go anywhere and see anything. It was a good dream and it was over too quickly.
A sharp pain pierced his right side and Hadjar, twisting around, almost fell off his cot. He was still in the hospital. Like hundreds of other warriors around him, Hadjar was bandaged almost from head to toe. Ointments and potions, looking like sickly, yellow spots across his body, seeped through the thick bandages in some places. The smell was awful.
Through the canopy swaying in the wind, the morning sunshine illuminated the tent. Hadjar didn’t see the city burning, didn’t hear civilians crying, so he was reasonably certain that the Kurkhadans had won. It wasn’t surprising, as they’d had more cultivators. Even after their battle against the Knight, there’d been at least a dozen of them left.
Some healers, tired after a night of frantic work, were sleeping right on the floor. Others did so while leaning on the nightstands. The chief healers, still scurrying between the wounded, looked at their colleagues with disapproval, but didn’t wake them up.
Hadjar tried to get up, but noticed that his left hand was encased in a substance that didn’t allow him to move it. It was very similar to Earth’s casts, which he had once worn quite often, but the energy emanating from the substance indicated that it wasn’t just rendering his arm immobile, but also treating it.
“You got very lucky, Northerner,” a tired voice said. A tall, gray-haired man with a green stone in his turban approached Hadjar — the chief healer. “If not for the Bedouins’ amulets, may those chekhars be damned, you would’ve gone to your forefathers.”
It was strange, but Hadjar now found that he didn’t like it when the free inhabitants of the desert were called chekhars. Apparently, the healer noticed Hadjar’s reaction to his words.
“I haven’t seen a Name for a long time,” he continued. “Not to mention an enchantment that can turn a simple blade into an Imperial one.”
The healer looked at him sternly. You didn’t need to be a genius to guess what he wanted to talk about.
“Thank you for your help, honorable healer,” Hadjar nodded.
With great difficulty, he got up from his cot. After rewrapping his turban with one hand, he picked up Azrea, who was sleeping nearby. She quickly settled into her favorite spot. Once he was done putting on his caftan and fastening his empty scabbard to his belt, Hadjar exited the tent.
The healer didn’t help him or try to stop him. Hadjar hoped that the healer would keep his secret. A visit to the top of the oasis was always met with immediate punishment, and the old man had obviously heard something about Ignes.
Once he was outside, Hadjar looked at the battlefield spread out at the foot of the city. Vultures were already circling the bodies. The sand had turned into a mess of steel and gore. The creek was still full of blood, but looked pink, as opposed to the almost crimson it had been before.
Hundreds of soldiers scurried across the field. They weren’t looting, but collecting the bodies in huge carts. They were hastening to burn them as soon as possible, before the morning sun rose and a stench appeared that even the best perfumes wouldn’t be able to mask.
Looking at such a scene, a mortal could’ve easily gone crazy. However, Hadjar just turned his face toward the north wind. The Bedouin shaman’s amulets, hanging on his forehead, swayed. The tribe had paid back its debt to him: he’d saved one of their children, and they’d saved his life in turn. It was karma.
“It’s a good thing that you’re already on your feet, Northerner,” in different circumstances, Hadjar would’ve been glad to hear this voice. “The sheikh wants to see you and Einen.”
Chapter 302
Ilmena was looking very healthy after the battle. She offered Hadjar her shoulder to lean on, but he shook his head. The explosions had left a lot of sticks and other debris scattered across the city streets. Hadjar took one of them and, using it as a crutch, followed his escort. Judging by how his body reacted to the girl’s hips swaying in front of him, he was almost recovered.
Turning her head slightly and noticing Hadjar’s reaction out of the corner of her eye, Ilmena grinned triumphantly. Her walk became a little more graceful and sensual.
Women…
Soon, announced by his light breathing, Einen emerged from the shadows. He, like Hadjar, was also leaning on his staff. Or spear. It was hard to guess if the islander owned two weapons, or if it was just one that could transform.
The bald man’s left hand hung at his side. A green bandage covered his right cheekbone. He was favoring his right leg, and there was also a bandage across his entire naked chest, through which the edges of a sewn up, terrible wound were visible.
“I fought a cultivator,” Einen explained in the language of the islands.
Upon hearing the unfamiliar language, Ilmena twitched, but said nothing. Hadjar understood his companion’s hint: Einen still didn’t trust anyone. He most likely didn’t trust Hadjar either. However, Hadjar was also a stranger to the locals, so it was less likely that he was in on their intrigues and conspiracies.
“What is an Imperial Blade and the Call of Blood?” Hadjar asked. He’d set these questions aside for the duration of the battle, but that didn’t mean he’d stopped thinking about them.
Einen glanced at his companion and sighed heavily. Because of the bandage on his face, it looked unpleasant and creepy. They’d have to walk through the whole of Kurkhadan to get to the sheikh’s palace, so there was plenty of time to have a conversation.
“Do you really not know what the Call is?” Einen asked in disbelief.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
A ragged boy ran past. Dressed in dirty, old clothes, he held a pair of good military boots and several leather bags to his chest. All the items had the emblem of a skull on a red background. No one stopped him, not the citizens passing by, nor the guards. In the desert, the concept of ‘looting’ only applied to your own side. Taking something from the body of a slain enemy was an honor and a holy duty.
“I’ll tell you about the Call later, as it’ll take a lot of time.” Hadjar felt like Einen still didn’t believe he was ignorant about the subject, but wasn’t going to argue. “As for the Imperial blade, that’s simple. I don’t know how, but what had been a simple sword the morning before the battle had suddenly become an artifact at the Imperial level mere hours later.”
“Forgive my ignorance, oh Light of Omniscience, knower of the true path of cultivation and sage of artifacts,” the islander grimaced at the teasing, “but my knowledge is limited to the artifacts at the Earth level.”
“By the Great Turtle, the northern kingdoms are truly inhabited by barbarians,” Einen murmured. “Do you know how artifacts differ in level?”
“By quality?” Hadjar shrugged.
The bald islander cursed so venomously in his own language that Hadjar caught only the general meaning of his words.
“Until you get to the Earth level, yes. To create an artifact at the Heaven level, you need unique materials and have to possess the knowledge and skills to use them. Only an artifactor at the Wielder level is capable of doing so. To go further than the Heaven level, being a Wielder isn’t enough.”
Hadjar was all ears. He’d guessed long ago that the Way of the Sword didn’t end at the level of the Wielder.
“Don’t look at me like that, northerner. I didn’t study at the Imperial Academies and don’t know a lot about this. All I know is what numerous travelers have told me.”
Well, the islands, just like the Sea of Sand, were a border zone. However, Hadjar didn’t know what they bordered on. There were no maps in Lidus big enough to show what lay beyond the islands. The one that South Wind had showed h
im was stuck in the memory banks of his broken neural network for now.
“The only thing I know is that an Imperial artifact is easy to tell apart from all the others by the presence of a power source. There’s something in these items that exudes energy independently from their wielders.”
Hadjar nodded. That was exactly what he’d experienced when he’d fought with the help of the blade Ignes had enchanted. It had felt as if he wasn’t fighting alone, but alongside someone… or something.
“But that only applies to a real Imperial blade. Your blade had some powerful spells on it. By the Great Turtle, if I ever came across a cultivator capable of such a spell, I would immediately turn around and run as fast as I could.”
“Why?”
“Think about it, Northerner. If you need to have incredible power and knowledge to create an Imperial artifact, then, in order to alter a simple sword, pumping it up to such a high level, you need to be...”
“Much stronger,” Hadjar nodded.
“Now, will you tell me what happened?”
Hadjar looked at Einen, then looked around for eavesdroppers before telling his story. He only omitted the part about the wallet with his friends’ bracelets. He just didn’t want to poke at wounds that weren’t healed yet. Einen swore again. This was the third time he’d done so over the course of their journey.
“Damned Spirits,” he said. “Ever since my childhood, my father kept telling me to get away from their homeland, but I seem to be fighting for one regardless...”
“A Spirits’ homeland?” Hadjar asked, completely surprised.
Einen nearly tripped when he heard the question.
“What do they even teach you in your kingdoms? Do you at least know your ancestors’ names?”
Perhaps Einen hadn’t meant to offend him with that question, but the northerner still... Well, Hadjar was getting ready to beat his friend up, but they were already approaching the palace before he could get started.
Apparently, they didn’t like walls or fences in the desert. There wasn’t even the hint of a fence around the palace. Just the paved road surrounded by a lush garden. Hadjar hadn’t seen such a variety of flowers, fruitful trees, and bushes even in the capital of Lidus.
Sandy footpaths were scattered among the floral splendor. At their edges stood guards in polished helmets and light leather armor. Like stone statues, they remained motionless, resting their palms on their huge broadswords. Each of them was as powerful as the Imperial soldiers who’d ‘guarded’ the Palace in Lidus.
Without slowing down, Ilmena boldly entered the garden. None of the guards even twitched. Einen and Hadjar looked at each other. This could only mean one thing — the guards had already seen Ilmena. Moreover, they already knew that she could freely visit the sheikh’s palace. What stranger would ever be given such an honor? Even if Hadjar and Einen had defeated the entire bandit army singlehandedly, they still wouldn’t have received such a lofty reward.
They nodded to each other covertly. Perhaps the danger hadn’t passed with the defeat of the bandits. On the contrary, maybe they were entering the den of a predator. By the Evening Stars, this journey was getting more and more interesting by the day.
Chapter 303
Up close, the palace looked even more magnificent than it had from afar: exquisite bas-reliefs with ancient battles depicted on them; sculptures carved with such skill that they seemed to be alive; fountains with colorful water; bowers covered in gold; columns made from the white bones of unknown animals and decorated with carvings and precious stones. The garden was also gorgeous.
Passing by the guards’ standing at the edges of the path, the trio approached the front door of the palace. Hadjar, due to his prior experience, had expected to see a huge staircase leading up to it, or something to that effect.
He was very surprised by its absence. The garden path simply led up to the high, gold and silver doors. The left wing of the door, made of silver, was decorated with the image of the moon. The right, golden wing — with the image of the sun. In the center, right on the curve of the arch, there was a simple torch that shone down on a diamond the size of Hadjar’s head. It was easy to guess that it was meant to personify the Evening Stars. The light of the torch reflected on its many facets resembled the starry night sky greatly.
At the entrance, Shakar met the guests. The caravan’s chief of security looked calm. He wasn’t even resting his hand on the handle of his broadsword. Nevertheless, the look in his gray eyes was heavy and severe.
“You don’t look well,” he said, trying to make a joke. He failed. The words sounded unnatural coming from him. He was worried, but it wasn’t clear why.
“Thank you, honorable Shakar,” Einen bowed slightly. “Your compliment flatters us. Would you mind telling us how you managed to get through the battle unscathed, please? It would benefit us greatly to learn a couple of the secrets behind your skill.”
Shakar twitched as if he’d been slapped, but kept silent. Hadjar rolled his eyes. The islander certainly had an unusual sense of humor.
“He was joking,” Hadjar whispered to his companion.
“Not very well,” Einen answered icily. When the bald man’s honor and pride were questioned, even unintentionally, he became a very unpleasant person.
Interrupting their conversation, Shakar forcefully punched the silver side of the gate with his fist. After a couple of seconds, the clanging of heavy machinery could be heard, accompanied by the creaking of the gate and gears.
Finally, the door jerked and slowly moved to the side, exposing a long groove in the floor along which the locking pin moved. Despite its apparent openness and opulence, the palace was still a powerful fortification. Its walls were no less than four feet thick. Even some Lidish forts didn’t have such thick, strong walls...
This was all certainly quite crafty! While the city didn’t have walls around it, in the event of a really serious threat to their lives, half of the residents of Kurkhadan could safely take refuge in the palace.
Inside, everything looked simple: huge halls, wide corridors, but not a single luxury item. The furnishing was ascetic. There were well-worn, old carpets on the floors. The walls weren’t adored with the tapestries known throughout the neighboring kingdoms, nor any carpets. There were a few pictures here and there, but clearly not very expensive ones. There were no sculptures, or vases, or porcelain, not even any silk tulles. That was why every step they took along the corridors echoed loudly.
Shakar confidently led the visitors through the intricate corridors and halls. They were very similar. Soon, lacking the support of the neuronet, Hadjar stopped trying to remember their route.
“He’s clearly been here before,” Einen whispered in the language of the islands.
Hadjar nodded. Ilmena, despite her earlier attitude, hadn’t. It was evident that she was afraid of falling behind Shakar and getting lost. In that case, why had the guards let her pass so easily?
“Rahaim’s caravan has stopped in Kurkhadan many times,” Hadjar said.
“How often did the merchants who often stopped in the capital come to the palace of your kingdom?”
Hadjar didn’t answer. It was hard to argue with the reasoning. Moreover, he didn’t like what was happening.
Twenty minutes later — a testament to how gigantic the palace was — Shakar stopped at a tall door made of bone and mahogany. In the Sea of Sand, wood was even more valuable than gold or precious stones, purely because it was extremely rare here. For example, an entire squad of caravan guards would be detailed to watch over one small stagecoach filled with plain wooden boards.
“Don’t speak to the sheikh until he addresses you,” Shakar said without turning back toward them. “Don’t look into his eyes and, for the sake of the Evening Stars, don’t even think of touching your weapons.”
After exhaling and adjusting his turban (demons and gods, Shakar was really nervous), the caravan’s chief of security opened the door.
Hadjar was shocked. Wh
at lay within contrasted strongly with what he’d seen of the palace thus far. He saw a huge, luxurious hall that had a white marble floor decorated with ink patterns of various colors, covered in fluffy carpets. Numerous men and women wearing precious stones lay on soft pillows. They ate aperitifs from golden and silver trays and, covering their eyes, smoked hookahs. The ceiling shone with jewelry and murals as music floated through the air. Sweet and soft, it came from instruments that... were playing themselves. A harp, a lute, a Ron’Jah, a flute, and even a pair of trumpets floated in the air, music flowing from them without any musicians to play them. The sight made Hadjar freeze in place, his eyes wide open. There were fountains in the corners of the hall. Made from marble and gold, what came out of them wasn’t water, but… precious stones. In these stones, exquisitely groomed and curvaceous, half-naked beauties bathed.
At the foot of the far wall, among the hundreds of pillows and beautiful women, lay the sheikh. Hadjar recognized him by his clothes. Up close, he looked quite a bit different than when he’d been standing on the roof holding his bow.
He was no longer a mighty Spirit Knight, but an aristocrat, tired and worn out from a decadent life. His fingers were covered with massive rings, his belt was halfway off and his silk pants were nearly deflated. He was bored despite the young beauties clinging to him. His blurry gaze was aimed at nothing in particular. His lips drew in sweet smoke from the hookah. Hadjar had seen many of his kind before.
“Kneel!” Shakar shouted.
He knelt down and buried his forehead in the carpet. Ilmena did the same. The nobles immediately turned toward her, eagerly devouring her ass with their eyes. The girl blushed brightly, but endured the indignity. Hadjar understood that she was blushing not because she was ashamed, but because she was furious.
Suddenly, the music stopped. The nobles’ eyes slid from the tempting sight of a prostrate Ilmena to the two warriors proudly standing in the center of the hall. Neither Einen nor Hadjar had knelt, and they hadn’t even discussed it beforehand.
Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4 Page 21