Otherwise...
She didn’t want to consider it. She was too scared of the thought.
Chapter 313
On the back of the huge dragon, Hadjar forgot for a moment that he was in the air. It felt like he was standing on a blue-green mountain plateau and each of the scales looked like a boulder, only adding to it. Alas, Traves didn’t allow the unsolicited rider to enjoy himself for too long.
He tried to buck him off in the most incredible ways. Sometimes, he would freeze in the air and plummet like a stone. Hadjar tore off some scales, but each time, he managed to plunge Mountain Wind into the dragon’s body and hold on. To Traves, these stabs were imperceptible, and he most likely couldn’t even say for certain whether Hadjar was still on his back or not.
Hadjar grabbed the handle of his blade to avoid flying off as Traves performed a violent roll in the air. The oncoming wind was so strong it made it difficult for him to breathe. His eyes were watering so hard that it was impossible for him to see anything. His muscles ached mercilessly, but Hadjar didn’t let go of his sword, looking like a small but tenacious flea biting into the skin of a gigantic wolfhound.
At the very last second, right before he hit the ground, Traves flapped his wings and flew upward sharply. In addition to tears, blood flowed from Hadjar’s eyes. His eardrums vibrated so violently it felt like someone was playing gigantic military drums right next to his ear.
This battle in the air was becoming absurd. Hadjar, with his tiny amount of power by the standards of the ancient being, couldn’t harm the dragon. The enormous Traves also couldn’t get rid of the gnat that had settled on his scales.
However, while the dragon didn’t necessarily need to win, Hadjar couldn’t stop until he did.
After the next plunge, he waited for the moment when Traves began to fly upward again, pulled his blade out from the joints between the scales, and then lodged it in the next one. So began his long journey to the dragon’s neck.
At that moment, in the real world, Einen was trembling at the sight of the power circling around Hadjar.
“Great Turtle,” the islander wailed, gripping his staff-spear harder. “What kind of dragon is he descended from?”
Einen had participated in Inheritance rituals many times and had already gotten used to the process. The person that had a beast’s blood in them would usually plunge into a deep, mystical dream. Given the abundance of Inheritances on the islands, every adult traveler always carried a special powder with them. It was a long-standing tradition... Einen hadn’t even suspected that he would be using it so far from home, in a place where there was almost no water at all.
The last time he’d been present at a battle for the Call, everything had been pretty standard: a sip of powder, the deep, deathlike dream, a brief burst of energy, and then the awakening. Everything depended on how intense this power burst was as it showed how much a person could do with the beast blood in their veins.
The Sages from the islands even knew how to measure it. Einen didn’t, but it was safe to assume that this was a lot. By the Great Turtle, what Hadjar was going through was beyond the bald man’s understanding. How strong were the bonds between his Beast and the northerner if this was the result?
The tornado of power grew to a size that was inconceivable for this ritual. Almost twenty feet wide now, it seemed to keep stretching toward the sky. Blue and black lightning struck the ground around it, melting the sand and leaving patches of glass across its surface.
At the very top of the whirlwind, the two silhouettes danced. The dragon fought against the man. No matter how much Einen squinted, he couldn’t see the features of the Beast. It was as if this species had never been on the List of Monsters the Sages of the islands had kept, a list that contained information about millions of creatures in the world, even the most obscure ones.
People from all around the world traveled to the islands to buy a copy of the List. Einen had once been lucky enough to find a way to read it. As punishment for his actions, his father had left several scars on his back... And now, years later, Einen couldn’t determine what tribe this dragon belonged to. It was almost like the tribe simply didn’t exist...
The most terrible part of what was happening was not the whirlwind of unprecedented power, but Hadjar himself. Einen sometimes felt like it wasn’t the northerner sitting across from him. The energies around Hadjar merged, taking the form of someone else who was very majestic and dignified, had long hair and horns, and wore expensive emerald robes. It almost looked like someone else was living inside Hadjar. Someone with surprisingly wise and knowledgeable, amber-colored eyes and cross-shaped pupils. It was as if a dragon lived inside Hadjar.
Einen continued to hold his poisoned staff-spear close to the northerner’s throat. If he didn’t pass this trial, the Beast that would supplant him would be able to destroy all of Kurkhadan and the surrounding area with a single wave of its claws. Of course, Hadjar would also die in that case, but no one would care because no one would survive to do so.
Einen’s thinking was remarkably similar to the other spectator’s.
Ignes, standing at the edge of her forest, kept nervously fiddling with the bloody stone in her hands. The ancient spirit was ready to curse and laugh at fate. Until recently, it had seemed like extraordinary luck to her. A Named One had arrived to her oasis in her hour of need. There were very few Named people left in the modern world. It was rare for a person walking along the path of cultivation to stop and see that there were dense forests on either side of the path, hiding amazing and wonderful secrets...
Ignes had seized the opportunity and hadn’t suspected that the Named One was actually a descendant of her enemy. And not only hers... Any creature that remembered the ancient times would gladly sell their soul for a chance to tear the Black General’s descendant to shreds.
The Gods and the Evening Stars as her witnesses, Ignes would’ve gladly done so as well. However, at first, she had been held back by an informal contract. Hadjar Darkhan had helped her, and she, in turn, had had to help him. The Named One had turned out to be a real barbarian. He hadn’t taken advantage of his once-in-a-lifetime chance — a spirit had owed him. In exchange for his help, he could’ve asked for anything, from endless riches to Ignes’ service. Instead, by giving him a sword from someone else’s treasury, Ignes had fulfilled her end of the deal.
Unfortunately, Umar had driven the savior of the city out of the very city he’d saved! According to the ancient laws, Ignes’ influence didn’t extend beyond the borders of Kurkhadan. So, all she could do now was observe Hadjar fighting against his inner Beast with impotent anger. It was impossible to not recognize the ritual.
Clutching the bloody stone, Ignes prayed to everyone who could hear her: “Please, let him die the kind of terrible death that can only be found underneath the Evening Stars.”
Inside the dream, which felt almost too real, battered by the insanely powerful wind, fighting through pain, blood loss, and tears, Hadjar advanced along the dragon’s back. He had one shot at victory and he was going to take it…
Chapter 314
Hadjar continued his slow but steady ascent. He kept sticking the blade into the joints between the scales. Every time the dragon moved, Hadjar made his own move. His left eardrum had burst, unable to withstand the strain. Hot blood tickled his neck unpleasantly. Hadjar was deaf on that side now, but one functioning ear was still enough to allow him to hear the howling of the wind.
Traves flew so fast that the air around them seemed to become a narrow tunnel. The white cover of the clouds leveled off, looking like a clean canvas. Falling from such a height and at that kind of speed meant certain death for even a Spirit Knight, but that didn’t bother Hadjar at all.
His veins and muscles ached from the strain. Wounds appeared on his skin, which was getting more torn up by the second. It was as if an invisible person was slowly tearing his skin apart. His bones creaked like old, rusted doors. Hadjar often lost consciousness, but willed hims
elf back to ‘reality’ with considerable effort every time. Actually, it was only thanks to his willpower that he was even moving. His limit had long since been reached and left behind. He spared neither his body nor his core of energy. Drained, it was destroying its own structure and disappearing, causing such pain that even the most twisted sadist would’ve felt pity for him.
Even if it was all a dream, Hadjar still felt everything with disturbing clarity. Blood flew from his nose, ears, eyes, and from all his pores eventually.
Finally, huge rocks appeared in front of him — the dragon’s horns. The concept of time had long since stopped mattering to Hadjar. He didn’t have a clue about how long he’d spent on Traves’ back — a second or a millennium.
He didn’t care about the pain, he’d gotten used to it. That’s why it wasn’t surprising that, in spite of everything, he soon left the horns behind.
His shaky consciousness was being held together by his indomitable will. Long ago, a dragon locked up in a dungeon had considered it a good enough reason to give his own life to Hadjar...
He rammed his sword into the dragon’s head and froze. Traves was flying higher. Plunging through the clouds, he flew even more quickly than before.
Below them floated white, fluffy clouds, torn to shreds by their battle. Above them was an endless haze and the cold starlight. Hadjar had grown to love looking at them. They whispered his name and he heard the Bedouin children’s laughter when they spoke.
Before the dragon began to plummet, Hadjar drew his sword out of the joint. Thrown into the air by the inertia, Hadjar then began falling, stretching out like a taut string, angling his blade in front of him.
The dragon flew up and Hadjar fell down to meet him. He seemed to shout something, but he couldn’t be certain as his other eardrum had also burst.
In the very last moment before their collision, Hadjar pulled himself together forcibly and, using the remnants of his core’s essence, pushed off from the air. If he’d tried to do this in the real world, Hadjar would’ve died from the pain or been crippled, incapable of progressing any further along the path of cultivation. In reality, Hadjar, who was still sitting in a lotus position, coughed. Thick, dark blood splashed across Einen’s sand, spear, and clothes.
“Hang on, Northerner,” Einen whispered and resumed praying to the Great Turtle.
Hadjar drove his blade straight into the center of the huge amber eye. No matter how small a flea was, when it bit a dog on the eye, the dog would be left shaking its head in pain for a long time. And while the dragon wasn’t a dog, Hadjar was no mere flea, either.
Traves howled. For the first time in millennia, the mighty dragon was experiencing great pain. No one had managed to injure him in battle for so long that he’d forgotten how it felt. Flailing in a desperate, instinctive reaction, he dropped down. Hadjar followed him. Spinning, they flew toward the ground. Both of them almost lost consciousness from the pain. Both of them had done things they’d never had to do in a battle before today.
The earth shook when they landed. Well, when Traves landed. Long, deep cracks spread along it, turning into bottomless craters and gorges. In the nearby sea, waves that were several miles high appeared, sweeping across the hills and forests.
The animals screamed in panic. Somewhere far away, in a kingdom forgotten by the gods, people tried to find cover. They thought an earthquake had begun.
The mountain peak where the battle had begun cracked.
Hadjar lay at the bottom of a huge hollow. He didn’t know why he hadn’t died yet. Maybe, just before his collision with the ground, he’d managed to push off from the air, throwing himself upward a little, just enough to survive. He couldn’t move a single muscle, not even to blink. He’d known this feeling well, even if it had been a while since he’d last felt it.
The gigantic dragon, shaking his head, rose up. Pink blood flowed from his eyes. Shielding them from the sun, he angled his face toward the sky and opened his mouth. He was probably letting out a victorious roar. Hadjar smiled. He couldn’t hear anything right now, so it was a wasted gesture. He was trying, silently cursing his body all the while, to reach for his blade. Even if he had once again been deprived of control over his body and his strength, he wouldn’t stop until he heard the familiar cry of: “You crazy hobo dressed in rags!”
And he would answer with a simple: “Pampered princeling!”
The dragon turned back to the annoying little bug. Amber eyes met blue ones. Its huge jaws, where each fang was like a mountain peak, opened wide. The earth cracked from the roar that Hadjar still couldn’t hear. The dragon peered into those blue eyes and didn’t see a human in them. Not some pathetic, weak-willed mortal made of flesh and blood. Those eyes were like two unyielding blades, like two sharp diamonds, like two shooting stars, furious and bright.
Even crushed and broken, unable to move or keep fighting, he hadn’t given up. His fingers and hands didn’t move, but he was still trying to reach for his blade sticking out of the ground nearby. The spirit of battle hadn’t left the little warrior’s body even now.
“You haven’t changed, Hadjar Darkhan,” the dragon said.
Hadjar didn’t understand what happened next. The valley and the huge monster simply disappeared.
Hadjar was once again standing amid the tall grass in a vast field. Nearby, on a boulder, sat Traves, not in his dragon form, but as his Master, looking both wise and slightly sad, wearing his customary emerald robes.
“You’ve won, my disciple,” Traves said.
“But-”
Traves raised his hand, making Hadjar shut up. Shaking his head, he continued. “Even if you’d traveled down the path of cultivation for another ten thousand years, you wouldn’t have survived a fight against my true presence. You didn’t win a battle against me, but yourself.”
Hadjar still couldn’t wrap his head around it — a moment ago, he had almost died at the bottom of a hollow, and now he was standing there and enjoying the light breeze.
“You fought against your own dragon, Hadjar. You fought yourself, and I was merely the one officiating the fight. Some years have passed since I gave my heart to a man with unbending will. I was afraid that my power would distort your essence, but now I can see that you’re still the same as ever. You’ll never be a human again, Hadjar, and you’ll never become a dragon, either. It’s a terrible fate. But it’s one you chose for yourself.”
Traves extended his index finger, pointing it at Hadjar’s heart.
“Accept my Inheritance. From now on, Hadjar Darkhan, you are part of the Dark Storm tribe.”
Back in reality, the ancient spirit cried out in despair and impotent rage.
Chapter 315
Hadjar bent over, unable to stand due to the pain. Tearing off his caftan and silk shirt, he stared at the left side of his chest. Right above his heart, a round, blue-black tattoo had appeared on his skin — a dragon depicted by hieroglyphs. Hadjar found he could read the inscription and it read: ‘Dark Storm’.
That was the name of Traves’ tribe. As far as Hadjar knew, after the civil war for the throne of Dragon City, only Traves had survived, out of the entire tribe. And now only Hadjar was left, and he wasn’t even a dragon. Maybe that was why Traves’ gaze had been filled with such sadness and longing.
“You’ve grown, Hadjar Darkhan,” Traves whispered. “I met a boy once, but now a young warrior stands before me.”
“Thank you, Master,” Hadjar’s forehead touched the wet and cold ground again.
In reality, at that moment, the whirlwind of energy died down. The lightning disappeared and the ghostly figures that had been fighting seemed to melt away. Hadjar’s body exuded steam as he stayed seated, in the lotus position. Einen, seeing that his friend might succumb to heatstroke, quickly threw off his caftan and shirt.
Just as he’d expected, the mark of the Inheritor was now on the northerner’s chest. It was quite plain, as these things went — the image of a Beast and hieroglyphs that told the name of th
e tribe the Beast had come from.
Einen had looked at the List of Monsters, but he couldn’t read the dragon language. He had no idea how powerful the barbarian’s ancestor was.
At the top of Kurkhadan, a gorgeous woman disappeared into fog. Due to her fury, the waterfalls of the oasis turned crimson for a moment. The Black General’s descendant had survived and, by the Evening Stars, she would hasten to tell the rest of the Ancients about it. Maybe one of them would be lucky enough to come across their Enemy’s kin in the future...
Traves waved his hand casually, allowing his disciple to rise to his feet.
“Listen to me, disciple,” Traves waved his hand again, and Hadjar sat down on a boulder that emerged from the ground. “The Call isn’t something you can use lightly, against every threat. It’s a blade hidden in your sleeve. A poisoned dart hidden in your boot. A secret weapon.”
Hadjar nodded and listened carefully to his Master. Many practitioners would’ve sold their souls to hear just a few words from such a powerful and ancient being. Hadjar was truly fortunate to be his disciple.
“As I already told you at the beginning of our journey,” Traves picked up a reed and it suddenly seemed to Hadjar like an incredibly sharp blade. “My knowledge of the Way of the Sword isn’t enough on its own to guide you along it. The Way of the Battle Staff clearly isn’t for you. That means I can’t tell you how to strengthen the Call of the Blade. You probably don’t need me to.”
Hadjar didn’t really understand how the dragon’s blood could strengthen his blade, but he was used to remembering Traves’ words without really going into their deeper meaning. He could most likely ponder the ancient creature’s wisdom for thousands of years and still understand nothing. It was easier to listen and hope that these bits of knowledge obtained from their conversations would one day be useful in his cultivation.
Dragon Heart: Sea of Sand. LitRPG Wuxia Series: Book 4 Page 26