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

by Kirill Klevanski

  “Dlahi Hadjar,” the woman whispered.

  He knew what this meant — ‘Dear Hadjar’. He liked that name. Hadjar. Actually, he’d never had one before, only the name that had been written on his card back at the orphanage. He’d never considered that his true name.

  He was eager to hug her, bury his face in her hair, press his cheek to her cheek. He desperately wanted to save her from this cruel world. In her arms, he fell asleep faster than if he’d been given powerful tranquilizers. In her arms, he felt calm and safe. Even if the whole world crumbled around them, as long as she held him, everything would be fine, all the troubles and grief would go away while she was with him, stroking his hair.

  She was his mother... No, his mother. Queen Elizabeth.

  “You aren’t sleeping again, my little scholar,” she cradled him, her words translated by the neuronet. He smiled and reached for her face, and she lightly tickled his tiny, chubby arms. “We’ll continue telling your dad that you’ll be a scholar, won’t we?”

  She smiled and walked around the room with him. His father had gone off to fight a war. Hadjar shouldn’t have been able to know this, but he did. The possibilities of an adult mind and a computational module working together were innumerable.

  “He doesn’t like to admit it, but he worries about you even more than I do. After all, he’s a man, and knows all too well what kind of fate awaits his son when he grows up... So let’s keep assuring him that you’ll be a scholar, okay?”

  Elizabeth looked into his clear, blue eyes. Her own seemed to laugh and glow with happiness. She loved her son. She adored him.

  “Shall I tell you a story, my little scholar? What do you want to hear?” She tickled his cheeks and rubbed her nose against his forehead. Hadjar felt his heart melting. He wanted to cry, but didn’t know why. “Do you want to hear the tale of a bird who wanted to become a human, but, after becoming one, yearned for the sky? Or about the palace that could speak and was unhappy because no one wanted to listen to its stories, only admire it? Or about the sword that didn’t know any shield that could be its equal and was therefore lonely? Or about the gods who were bored with their endless lives, and therefore envied mortals? No, I see you want to hear the tale of the Black General again, my little scholar.”

  Hadjar was fond of listening to his mother’s stories. Everything that he knew about this huge and wonderful world was based on her tales, as he could only see a bit of the park from the window of the Queen’s chambers.

  “Well, this story happened so long ago that no one remembers exactly when it happened. It was a time when the gods walked across this earth, and people didn’t exist yet. One of the goddesses, the beautiful Melora, the mistress of all winds, saw a lonely tree. It was dry, rotten, and old, standing apart from the others. Not a single wind caressed this tree: the south wind passed by it, the north wind was afraid of it, and the west wind and the east wind actively avoided it.”

  She cradled her son as she told her story. Every mother probably did this. Elizabeth didn’t know — her parents had died a long time ago. Their faces had faded from her memory. Their scents and the sensation of being held by them were all she could remember.

  “Melora looked at this tree for so long that the moon managed to be born and die thrice in that time. The rest of the gods feasted and had fun, paying no attention to the tree. It seemed like the whole world, and even the World River itself, had turned away from it. The tree attracted the goddess with its loneliness and ugliness, so incongruous against the backdrop of the amazingly beautiful emerald forest and endless green meadow around it.”

  The Queen went over to the window. The moonlight caressed her face, making her skin glow like silver. Hadjar’s mother was so beautiful...

  “Despite everything, adversity and loneliness couldn’t break the tree’s will. It kept relentlessly reaching for the Heavens, as if it wanted to fight against them and against the whole world.”

  “Derger,” Melora shouted. “Look! This tree could become the strongest general in your army!”

  “That was exactly what she said, my little scholar.”

  Hadjar listened attentively to the legend of the Black General.

  “Derger only snorted contemptuously. He took his broadsword, came up to the tree, and swung. The sky cracked from his strike, lightning filled the air, and scared winds swirled in endless tornadoes. The God hit the black tree.

  The strike made the ground crack, the mountains turn into volcanoes, and the foliage fall from all the nearby trees. A lake in the endless meadow splashed out and then evaporated into a myriad of white clouds. A fiery rain poured down on the ground. In the midst of all this chaos created by the God’s casual swing, the black tree stood firm.

  The broadsword had lodged itself deep in its trunk, but couldn’t cut through.

  Derger growled in anger. It took him three attempts to free his blade. Swinging his weapon around, he was about to strike again, but stopped. Melora stood between him and the tree. Shielding the surviving tree with her body, she looked at the Jasper Emperor, who sat on his throne among nymphs and pretended like he was just having fun, even though he was carefully observing what was going on.”

  Elizabeth paused. Hadjar froze in anticipation. This was his favorite part.

  “My Lord!” Melora cried. “Derger had his chance. Let me have mine!”

  The Emperor nodded.

  “Melora turned to the north wind. She took its chill and stamina and wove a blue scarf from them, then put it on the black branches. Whispering to the south wind, she took its warmth and playfulness, turning them into yellow boots which she placed at the tree’s roots. The spring wind circled around her merrily. It freely gave its love and affection. Out of them, she forged a sword so sharp that it could cut through Time itself.

  Last came the western wind, haughty and proud. She fumbled with it the longest. Putting it in a furnace, and then laying it on a potter’s wheel, she made an amulet that she imbued with the desire to go… Where? Over the horizon, of course, where all the winds met.

  Having laid everything near the tree, she turned to the World River. Scooping up a generous handful of its water, she sprinkled it on the black tree. Gradually the roots became legs, the branches became arms, the trunk became a powerful chest, and the leaves became black hair.”

  “Stop it!” Derger growled. “You have enough lovers, Melora. He’ll be my general!”

  “The God of War looked at the Emperor, asking for permission. The Emperor nodded again. As Melora looked on, helpless, Derger ran his blade across the ground, cutting it like a tailor cuts through thin fabric. He took some black, thick dirt and smeared it on the blue scarf, the red sword, and the yellow boots, then reached for the gray amulet, but suddenly, the treetops of the emerald forest rustled. Something unknown had stopped Derger’s hand, and it was now too late.

  Chained in black armor, enveloped in a black cloak, and leaning on a black sword, a man whose eyes were darker than a moonless night sky knelt in front of the God of War.

  Melora looked at him and turned away, unable to hold back her tears of bitterness and disappointment. He could’ve been her best lover, steadfast and unyielding in his devotion, but instead, he was...”

  “Stand up, Black General,” Derger’s voice thundered. “Now you serve me and only me.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” a voice like the north wind replied.

  “That’s how the legend of the Black General began, my little scholar. Now go to sleep,” Elisabeth said, “and while you’re sleeping, I’ll protect you from spirits and their sweet words. Never believe those who weren’t born, my little scholar, as they don’t know what death truly means.”

  “Mom...” Hadjar whispered, but this wasn’t a child’s cry. It was a grown man’s lament.

  The memory from his childhood had disappeared.

  Chapter 330

  At first, Hadjar thought he was standing on a sea bathed in golden light. He was confused. It seemed to him like he’d battled
the officer of Sankesh’s Sunshine Army in the Sea of Sand very recently. Ilmena had then betrayed and killed the head of the caravan, Rahaim... But it hadn’t been Ilmena... Or maybe he’d just dreamed all of that...

  He was painfully confused...

  A suffocating haze seemed to fill his head. It was difficult for Hadjar to perceive what was going on. Everything was just so mixed up...

  Breathing in deeply, he coughed. The air was stale and heavy, with specks of salt and earth weighing it down. Rubbing his nose and eyes, swaying as he tried to stay on his feet, Hadjar headed in a random direction, walking forward.

  Gradually, the fragments of his mind merged together. Lazily, slowly, his consciousness returned to Hadjar. With a start, he saw that the white sand he trod on was actually... millions of white skulls.

  Hadjar walked across these skulls. White, fluffy clouds hung overhead, seemingly covered in blood and tears. Hadjar managed to stop himself at the last second. His right leg hovered over an abyss that extended for many yards. He was standing at the top of a mountain of skulls.

  Something dripped down onto his forehead. Hadjar wiped the moisture away, and then, looking at his fingers, he staggered back and nearly fell over. Alien blood was on his skin, and someone’s soul was wailing hysterically.

  Hadjar wanted to scream, but couldn’t even open his mouth. With a mixture of disgust and fear, he wiped his hand on one of the skulls lying around. As soon as the blood touched the bones, an unusually powerful energy appeared behind him. The energy was so strong it could’ve easily destroyed Kurkhadan and killed Ignes.

  Slowly, carefully, Hadjar turned toward the source of the titanic power. He gradually realized that if he had come across it in reality, there wouldn’t have been enough of him left to cover the tip of a needle.

  On a small platform consisting of the same skulls that lay all around them, a lonely figure stood. He held a black sword. Against all the laws of the universe, the blood dripping from it didn’t fall down, but flew up. The man was wearing tattered black boots, patched black pants, and black bracers. He was topless and his body was covered in terrible scars — left behind by fangs, swords, spears, claws, fire, and arrows. Thousands of black tattoos tried to conceal the thousands of scars, but failed. His long, dark hair covered his face and fluttered in the wind slightly.

  The man bowed his head and whispered something to himself. Suddenly, he looked up and Hadjar flinched. The man’s eyes couldn’t have belonged to a human. They were two dark voids, filled with a cloying, black fog.

  “You’re too early!” The man roared out at him.

  “Who are you?” Hadjar croaked in response, after barely regaining control of his voice.

  The man was just about to answer when a familiar voice reached Hadjar: “Northerner…”

  They seemed to be fighting a dragon... A dragon!

  ***

  After Rahaim fell, Einen ended up fighting against two practitioners at the verge of becoming true cultivators — one was armed with a poleax, the other with a battleax — who complemented each other perfectly, creating a symphony of attacks worthy of Heaven Soldiers at the medium stage. Einen was having a hard time. He had been preparing to use his Call when the heavens and earth shuddered.

  A huge shadow covered the caravan, and when it landed on the sand, the warriors’ hearts missed a beat. It was a Sand Dragon, a Lord of the Heavens in the flesh. It spread its four white wings and roared.

  It probably wasn’t at the highest Stage of cultivation by the standards of beasts, otherwise the bait wouldn’t have affected it. So, its mind was still animalistic. Guided by its hunting instincts, it drove its claws into the ground.

  Huge sand tsunamis surged forth in different directions. People screamed, trying to defend themselves, but most of them failed.

  The white Sand Dragon lowered its huge head. The fur on its scruff glided through the air, sometimes turning into blades as sharp as its horns.

  Strong plates covered its chest and belly. A stinger crowned its long tail. One swipe of its claws could crush the entire caravan fortification. It was so huge that it could obscure the sky by itself. It was looking for the wounded dragon whose scream had been emitted by the bait. If it devoured its core, it would become much stronger.

  “Merciful Great Turtle,” Einen pleaded, pulling off his traditional garb, “let your judgment be fair and my ancestors merciful, as I’m about to-”

  At that moment, a pillar of black energy soared into the sky. It was so dense and potent that if it had been pointed at the dragon, it could’ve hurt the Lord of the Heavens. Breaking through a sand dome created by the dragon’s roar, the black pillar crashed into the sky. Eerie, black stripes began to creep along the clouds.

  The dragon spread its wings, bent its neck toward the ground, and growled low. Its hair turned into hundreds of gigantic, bristling spears. Einen couldn’t believe his eyes. The monster, which was the size of a ridge, gradually backed away. It was afraid of the black pillar!

  Gradually, the pillar thinned until a dot appeared in the sky. Squinting, Einen could glimpse a silhouette inside it: woven together from black fog, a man chained in terrible armor stood among the tendrils of dark energy.

  The dragon spread its wings and soared into the sky, kicking up a wave of sand that rushed toward Hadjar, who was lying on the sand. Limp and powerless, he would be easy prey for the wave of sand.

  “Northerner!” Einen shouted and disappeared into his shadow.

  He had to get to Hadjar in time! Einen didn’t have many friends. He couldn’t

  afford to watch one of them die so easily. And the northerner had indeed become his friend.

  ***

  “Northerner!” Hadjar heard again, much more distinctly.

  The mysterious man hid his eyes. Something strong pulled Hadjar in the opposite direction. He was lifted into the air and carried through the sky. He watched the nightmarish mountain of skulls and the figure standing at its peak rapidly move away. Suddenly, Hadjar noticed a chain stretching from the warrior’s heart all the way into the depths of the skull mountain.

  “You’re too early.” A dull echo repeated.

  When Hadjar opened his eyes, he saw Einen’s outstretched hand. The islander was shouting something at him. Meanwhile, something impossible was happening in the sky: the huge dragon opened its maw and exhaled hot sand at the lonely, dark figure. The man swung his sword and cut the stream in half. The echo of his strike distorted space itself. It looked so surreal that Hadjar couldn’t find the right words to describe it.

  Instinctively, Hadjar grabbed the outstretched hand and was dragged into the world of shadows. A wave of sand covered the place where they’d been a moment ago.

  Hadjar and Einen fell into something. The world around them looked like a broken kaleidoscope. Their consciousnesses couldn’t grasp even the slightest kernels of rationality. Time became irrelevant. Only pain existed.

  They lay with their faces buried in the sand, a north wind pleasantly blowing across their backs.

  Einen swore.

  “This can’t be,” he said. “It’s only a legend...”

  Hadjar barely managed to open his eyes. If it hadn’t been for Serra’s stories, he would’ve never recognized the view that greeted him.

  “Underworld City...” Hadjar whispered in awe.

  Chapter 331

  Tilis was meditating in her room, which she’d used to share with her sister long ago. Her sister was absent. She’d promised to return as soon as possible, but four years had already passed since she’d left.

  The meditation wasn’t going very well: her thoughts were constantly muddled, and so she couldn’t ‘grasp’ the energy of the World River.

  The room where the girl was meditating was in a house near the central square. It was spacious, so Tilis looked rather lonely living there by herself.

  A servant entered the room and coughed awkwardly. Rolling her green eyes and causing her red hair to whip around, Tilis abruptly tur
ned to the door. Due to her anger, the fire in the fireplace flared up and turned into a miniature fire tornado.

  The servant immediately bowed and averted his eyes. Everyone in Underworld City knew that it was better not to provoke Tilis, one of the Sage’s disciples.

  “What?” Tilis growled out. “I hope you haven’t interrupted my meditation just for the sake of your curiosity!”

  The seventeen-year-old servant blushed. Tilis was used to meditating completely naked and she had much to show off. Men couldn’t help but look at her bronze skin and perfect body.

  “They need you at the First Post,” the young man said.

  “First Post?” Tilis asked, not immediately understanding what she’d heard.

  As soon as she did, however, she jumped to her feet. After putting on her trousers, shirt, and caftan, she grabbed a staff with a sparkling stone at the top and shouted as she threw the servant aside.

  “Out of the way!”

  The man was lucky enough to land on a wide bed. He stayed there a while, lying on it and inhaling the scent of the girl who slept there. Tilis, without locking the door behind her, ran out into the street.

  She rushed along the stone streets, sometimes skirting luminous stalagmites that pierced bridges and the roofs of some houses as they grew upward. The distant ceiling of the underground city glowed with a measured, greenish light that emanated from numerous, deep cracks.

  Turning a corner, Tilis rushed across a wide bridge that spanned a dark, bottomless abyss. Once, a brave man had tried to check how deep this abyss was. A thousand yards down, his rope and patience had both run out. When he’d pulled the rope back, its end had been bitten off. After that, no one had tried to study the abyss again, and powerful spells had been cast along its borders.