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

by Kirill Klevanski

  Chapter 304

  “How dare you?” Shakar growled out.

  Rahaim, who was sitting next to the sheikh, started to get up, but was stopped by the sheikh. The Knight’s gaze flickered, and then the fog of serene bliss lifted from his expression. His bright green eyes, which had pupils shaped like stars, focused on Hadjar and Einen.

  “Please forgive their ignorance, honorable Umar,” Rahaim bowed slightly. “They don’t know our sun and sand. Their blood hasn’t absorbed our traditions and cus-”

  The sheikh turned to the caravaneer and smiled slightly.

  “Your words are always so sweet, honorable Teacher, but right now, they have no meaning and simply don’t make sense.”

  Both foreigners felt their hearts skip a beat even before the sheikh finished speaking. Everything fell into place. Rahaim could easily enter the sheikh’s palace because he had once been his Teacher. No matter how strong a disciple became, if they had truly respected their teacher, no amount of power or time could ever change that. Hadjar knew this better than anyone else. Even now, without hesitation, he would’ve knelt before South Wind and wouldn’t have dared to tear his forehead off the floor, despite the fact that he’d surpassed his first Teacher long ago. It wasn’t about power, but respect.

  But... Who and, more importantly, what was Rahaim? A simple caravaneer and a fairly strong Heaven Soldier. However, he was old. His best years of cultivation were behind him. They said that any practitioner who aged enough while still a Soldier would die at that stage. It was almost impossible for old people to advance any further. There weren’t even any legends about something like that. Hadjar had, until recently, believed that there was a bit of truth in every legend.

  And yet, Kharad had mentioned the once close relationship between Rahaim and Sankesh. And now the sheikh of Kurkhadan had been his disciple once. A damned Spirit Knight had been the disciple of a simple caravaneer. Something was wrong here. There had to be a reason why his caravan had started its journey right before the madness stirred up by the library of the Mage City had begun.

  “As for you, brave men from the north and east,” Umar turned toward the standing Hadjar and Einen, “accept my gratitude for your aid in protecting our city. Don’t kneel. I can easily see that you were seriously injured.”

  The sheikh snapped his fingers and waved his hand. The servants, so inconspicuous that they’d almost merged with the walls, immediately brought out... chairs. Wooden chairs, covered in velvet and decorated with carvings.

  The nobles looked envious. In the desert dwellers’ culture, it was a great honor to offer someone a chair. If nothing else, it was an honor because there were terribly few of them around.

  The servants, young men of about twelve springs, placed the chairs behind Hadjar and Einen. Bowing deeply, they quietly moved back to the wall.

  Glancing at each other, the friends sat down and put their ‘crutches’ against the backs of their chairs.

  “Well, brave warriors,” the sheikh grabbed a bunch of grapes from a tray and leaned forward, “tell me about your countries. By the Evening Stars, my dear Teacher as my witness, I dreamed of travelling in my youth, but, as you can see,” the sheikh spread his arms as if trying to embrace his hall, “a ruler can’t leave his people. My dreams remained only that.”

  Einen was the first to tell his story. Listening to the islander, Hadjar was convinced that the bald man was no stranger to this. Being the son of the head of a fleet (albeit a slave one), it was likely that he’d traveled across the endless seas and met all sorts of people who’d asked him about this sort of thing.

  The sheikh kept asking questions to clarify things, sometimes awed and sometimes looking quite dissatisfied. He laughed, raged, and sometimes dropped things he was holding. He once laughed so hard that the stones in the fountains shook. He once fell into such a rage that he crushed an iron jug with his bare hands. Iron utensils and containers were also considered luxury items in the desert. Very few metals were mined here, and they were almost always used in weaponsmithing.

  “I will admit, I’ve never wanted to visit the islands,” Umar laughed at the end. “Your women are cruel, like the perilous rocks that ships crash into. I prefer the warm women of the desert...”

  The sheikh’s hand, which had been resting on the hip of the beauty next to him, slipped a little lower, disappearing among the folds of her pants. She blushed, moaned quietly, and pressed her body against him. Some of the young nobles’ eyes became glassy. Shakh was among them. Apparently, the young man didn’t just lust for Ilmena.

  “As for you, Northerner,” the sheikh pulled out his hand, wiped it on the nearest pillow, and grabbed another bunch of grapes. “My Teacher said you were once a General in your homeland?”

  “That’s right, honorable Umar,” Hadjar nodded.

  Many of those present became quite interested.

  “A General!” the sheikh clapped his hands. “How noble that sounds! I, too, once wanted to be a General and command the legions of the Empire! There are no truly large armies in the Sea of Sand. Tell me, General, how many Heaven Soldiers were under your command?”

  “None, honorable Umar. Lidus is a small kingdom. I commanded two million troops. There were only three hundred thousand practitioners among the soldiers.”

  The sheikh blinked several times, and then laughed. He rolled across the pillows, clutching his stomach and wiping away tears. The rest of the nobles joined in, adding to this garish display of mirth. Shakh was especially zealous. The young man seemed to almost choke with laughter, punching the wall repeatedly.

  Hadjar didn’t react to the provocation. He understood very well why his words would be amusing to the desert dwellers. Even the guards of Kurkhadan could’ve easily defeated the entire Moon Army.

  And yet, Hadjar felt that his honor was being besmirched. Not just his, either, but the honor of those desperate, brave soldiers who had died bearing the standards and flags of his homeland. Regardless of how powerful they’d been, their hearts had been stronger than steel and more steadfast than the mountains. Hadjar absently reached for his blade, but his hand grabbed only the void. The empty sheath swayed slightly on his belt.

  “General,” Umar said at last, with a slight hint of irony in his voice. “Tell me, how did you earn those Bedouin amulets in your hair and that Name tattoo, given to you by their shaman, on your left arm?”

  The laughter and conversations in the hall fell silent. None of those present knew or had even heard about a single stranger on whom the warlike, free tribes of the sands would’ve bestowed such an honor.

  Hadjar told him everything.

  “Darkhan,” the sheikh repeated after him. “A good name. Sonorous. Strong. However, I’m still not sure where you, brave warrior, acquired an artifact of such power? An Imperial blade... If you had come into Kurkhadan with it, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been able to resist the temptation and would’ve killed you to get the artifact. By the way, where is it now?”

  The look in his green eyes became merciless. The air vibrated with his energy. A heavy, lethal silence filled the hall.

  “It wasn’t an artifact, honorable sheikh.” Hadjar seemed calm, but he was getting ready to flee. “My blade was forged from ordinary steel, but it was recently enchanted. Alas, when the spell ended, the sword also disappeared with it.”

  “Who, in my kingdom, has the power to do such a thing?”

  Their eyes met. The Spirit Knight’s gaze shone with pure, furious power. Hadjar’s own gaze was steady, filled with the will that could bend the Heavens.

  “You already know that, honorable sheikh.”

  Again, there was utter silence. It seemed like the shadow of a heron was slowly rising behind the Knight. Some of the nobles saw the silhouette of a sleeping dragon in the depths of Hadjar’s blue eyes.

  “I do indeed, Hadjar Darkhan,” the sheikh nodded. He instantly lost his veneer of a pampered prince. A warrior now sat on the pillows, a king, a beast, everything except an a
ristocrat who was tired of life. “To thank you for your help in the battle, I will turn a blind eye to your violation of the rules. And since you sacrificed your sword for Kurkhadan, then... Well, I will not show less gratitude than a Bedouin leader. Every debt must be repaid.”

  The sheikh got up from the pillows and clapped his hands. The servants immediately ran to the opposite part of the hall and opened a small door.

  “Follow me, Desert Wind Blowing from the North. I’ll let you choose one item from my treasury in return for your sword. After that, I’ll give you one hour to get out of my city.”

  He could’ve added more to the threat, but the meaning was clear enough.

  Nodding to the tense Einen, Hadjar got up, leaned on his crutch-stick, and hobbled after the sheikh. They left the hall together, accompanied by everyone’s amazed and envious looks.

  Chapter 305

  After going through the small door, they found themselves in a narrow, cramped corridor. Dimly lit by several torches, it steadily went downward. Hadjar noticed that the corridor seemed to spiral slightly in a clockwise direction.

  Umar took one of the torches from the wall and, holding it in front of him, quickly started to lead the way. Hadjar had to try hard to keep up with him. The thumping of his crutch accompanied their descent.

  “Tell me, Hadjar Darkhan,” the sheikh said without turning around. “What is she like?”

  His voice was calm, but Hadjar detected a faint hint of anxiety and... Jealousy.

  “Are you asking about Ignes, honorable sheikh?”

  “Don’t pretend to be a fool, warrior.” The Knight’s indignation caused the torch he was holding to flare up. “I’d recognize one of her spells even if my eyes were gouged out, my heart ripped out of my chest, and the core of my power destroyed.”

  It became clear that the sheikh was madly in love with the spirit of Kurkhadan. Not unexpected, really, if Ignes always assumed the appearance that she’d had when talking to Hadjar — the best traits of the finest women a man had seen in his life combined. Who, in their right mind and possessing a working memory, could’ve resisted her charms? Perhaps Hadjar had resisted only because the spirit had made the mistake of taking his wallet with the bracelets.

  “She was beautiful, honorable sheikh,” Hadjar bowed his head slightly. He was in no condition to poke a sleeping bear in such an ‘intimate’ setting. “And very dangerous.”

  The sheikh inhaled loudly and lost his footing for a second. At that moment, something dawned on Hadjar. According to the spirit’s words, it could neither be heard nor seen by mortals who didn’t know their Name. Whatever that meant.

  “How did you meet her, honorable sheikh?”

  Umar turned his head toward him. His green eyes flashed dangerously, but Hadjar wasn’t afraid. If the Knight had wanted to, he’d had a hundred opportunities to kill the exhausted, wounded warrior. Instead, he was leading him to his treasury.

  “It was 436 years, 3 months, 12 days, and 4 hours ago, warrior,” Umar’s tone changed, going from firm and haughty to warm and soft. Hadjar was only surprised at how deep the true cultivator’s love was, since he could remember the moment of their meeting up to the hour. “I was a young boy. Maybe a little older than you. Rahaim was a strict teacher. One day, when his words wounded my pride too severely, I ran away. I don’t remember how, but I found myself at the foot of the mountain, near the lake. I only saw her briefly, warrior. In the spray of a waterfall, in the reflections made by the sunlight on the crests of the waves. But she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone I’ve seen before or after that day.” Umar’s voice grew quieter. The flame of the torch calmed. It became easier for Hadjar to breathe — the pressure caused by the sheikh’s energy had disappeared.

  “I’ve been looking to meet her for almost five hundred years, warrior, but not a single mortal who doesn’t have a Name can see her.”

  “Forgive me for my tactlessness, honorable sheikh, but how is it possible that you still haven’t gained a Name after four centuries?”

  In response, Umar only grunted. They came to the end of the corridor. Hadjar was surprised to see that the corridor didn’t end with gilded bars or heavy steel doors. The corridor ended with a wall. Not one made of brick or marble, but a simple, natural wall like you’d find in any cave.

  “If only it were that simple, warrior,” Umar laid his hand on the wall.

  The torch flared, responding to the surge of energy. Green hieroglyphs flared outward from the Knight’s palm and covered the wall. Flashing like precious stones, they danced in various patterns until a frame lit up along the edges of the wall. The stone seemed to come to life. It shook and then shifted. Part of it moved back and the other moved forward. With a terrible roar and clanging, coupled with a vortex of energy, the simple wall had suddenly turned into a stone door.

  Umar grabbed the massive handle with both hands and pulled it toward him. The door reluctantly succumbed, moving very slowly, and crawled along the floor. Hadjar instinctively took a step back. He could stop a charging beast or make a hole in a fortress wall with one blow. Umar was a Spirit Knight, and not at the lowest Stage of that level, either. It still took him a huge amount of strength and energy to open the door. Hadjar realized at times that Einen was right. He really didn’t know anything about the so-called ‘true path of cultivation’. In other words, magic.

  “If everything was so simple, then everyone would have Names, warrior,” Umar said after breathing heavily for a few seconds, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Choose, warrior, and take your time. I don’t know if fate will be kind enough to let you have access to a Spirit Knight’s treasury again, so I won’t rush you.”

  What Hadjar saw looked more like a museum than a treasury. Atop high platforms, under glass domes, sat a variety of items: long spears and necklaces with precious stones. Maces that were simply awe-inspiring, covered in runes and hieroglyphs, stylized to be shaped like animals. Swords that any aristocrat would’ve proudly wielded, so richly were they decorated, their blades so clean they could be used as mirrors. There was even a multitude of daggers, stuck in the stone statue of a demon frozen in agony. Numerous bows and quivers with arrows of various shapes and made from various materials were displayed alongside one another, paired up. This huge, underground hall contained the armory of a small, but very rich army.

  Although the glass domes hid the energy emanating from the objects, it was still evident that they were all artifacts. Some items were relatively simple, at the Spiritual level. Others were stronger, up to the Heaven Level, like the bow that Umar used. After what Einen had told him, Hadjar knew that he would not find any Imperial artifacts here. Moreover, those Imperial objects could cause quite a stir even in the capital of the Empire.

  “Choose wisely, warrior,” Umar was leaning against the doorway. “By the Evening Stars, don’t forget to thank Ignes for this... If, of course, you manage to leave my city within the allotted hour.”

  With those words, the Knight took out a small hourglass from his caftan’s pocket. Placing it on the edge of one of the pedestals that held an artifact, he turned it over and the sand slowly began trickling down.

  “The countdown has already begun,” the sheikh’s lips formed a crooked grin.

  Screw it!

  Hadjar hobbled toward the far wall as quickly as he could manage. There, under glass covers, various swords hung on strong hooks. From short dirks to heavy, two-handed blades that were the size of an adult male. To wield them, one had to devote themselves to special Techniques from the very moment of their birth.

  Reaching the sword section, Hadjar froze. There were so many blades that his eyes widened. Hundreds, if not thousands. How could he single anything out amidst such magnificence? In addition, in order to understand the essence of an artifact, one had to pick it up and hold it, but the glass prevented him from doing so.

  Walking over to one of the blades, Hadjar touched the dome and it opened, but did so very slowly. It looked elegant and magical,
but Umar grinned and Hadjar cursed at the sight. It had taken him at least half a minute to access only one artifact. Right now, that was...

  “Thank you, Desert Wind,” a familiar voice sounded in Hadjar’s head.

  At that moment, a cold, northern wind rushed into the hall. It ruffled the hem of the sheikh’s robes, swept through the treasury, and circled around Hadjar. It played with his clothes and the Bedouin shaman’s amulets hanging in his hair. Tearing one of his beads off its string, the wind carefully laid it atop an inconspicuous glass dome at the very edge of the wall.

  Ignoring the sheikh’s envious cursing, Hadjar stumbled over to the artifact indicated by Ignes. It was a simple, straight sword. An iron hilt without a guard smoothly flowed into the blade. There was no demarcation between them. As if the blacksmith, contrary to all the rules, hadn’t added a handle to the blade, but had simply forged it alongside the blade, from one piece of metal. It had a short tip, a pair of hieroglyphs at its base, and several chips along its cutting edge. The sword was old. Much older than Umar, but younger than Rahaim.

  Its length and size turned out to be what Hadjar was accustomed to.

  Without hesitation, Hadjar touched the dome. It opened and he grabbed the hilt of the artifact. Surprisingly, he couldn’t pull it out right away.

  Despite its classic appearance, it was at least twelve times heavier than what he was used to. Hadjar had to strain his muscles and even use his energy to lift the weapon.

  He wasn’t sure Ignes had made the right choice. However, as soon as he swung it, all of his doubts were dispelled. The sword was so heavy that a simple swing kicked up a gust of wind that made the glass domes tremble.

  “The Mountain Wind,” Umar grimaced, clearly unhappy with the choice. “That artifact is at the Heaven level. But it’s unlikely that you can-”