Land of Magic

by Kirill Klevanski

  Landing on the grass, back to back with Einen, Hadjar deflected several more fire feather arrows. The archers weren’t going to stop trying to kill the newcomers.

  From the edges of the ravine, using the cover of the Bow Techniques, the melee fighters rushed in to attack. About twenty Heaven Soldiers surrounded Hadjar and Einen, but the duo didn’t look scared.

  Fools, Araz thought, they think they’re as strong as fully-fledged disciples.

  The giant knew quite well that two fully-fledged disciples, even the weakest among them, could easily defeat a group of even forty ordinary disciples.

  “Can you handle them?” Hadjar asked.

  Dodging an arrow, he deflected another and sent back a crescent of blue energy that held a sharp silhouette of a sword within. His attack, infused with the will of a Wielder, travelled seventy paces, first encountering the exposed bow, and, after splitting it in half, cut off the head of the cultivator archer who’d been too surprised to react. First blood had been spilled. It made the other attackers hesitate a little. These two unfortunate ‘beasts’ had been trapped and were suddenly revealing just how dangerous their fangs and claws were. They were not to be trifled with.

  “Handle twenty warriors?” Einen, continuing to spin his staff, deflecting a hail of fire feathers, arched his right eyebrow. “I can hold them back for thirty seconds. After that, you’ll have to accompany me to my forefathers.”

  “Then I’ll have to do it in twenty-five!”

  Einen looked at Hadjar. The islander knew they could deal with twenty melee fighters, but those fighters were being supported by archers, so their meeting with their forefathers was only a matter of time.

  He’d guessed Hadjar’s plan the moment he’d asked the question. But what did his plan mean? It meant that Einen would have to put his life and his future in someone else’s hands. However, these were his friend’s hands!

  “On the count of three!” Einen shouted.

  His skin was quickly covered in iridescent scales. The shadow beneath the islander’s feet rose up like a black column, then expanded to form an ape torso. It bared its fangs and beat its powerful, ghostly, rainbow-armored chest.

  A fighter who still didn’t understand what they were dealing with decided to attack them head-on. He raised a hammer over his head and, leaping forward, brought it down in a crushing blow. The energy surrounding it took the form of the cultivator’s weapon, only made of ice and topped with a five-foot-long spike.

  “Sixth stance: Wind!” Hadjar roared.

  The black cloak materialized across his shoulders, and the simple artifact in his hands turned into the blade of black fog. Leaving behind a ghostly haze and illusory silhouettes, he moved to the edge of the ravine in just a split second.

  At that moment, Einen lunged forward with his staff. In response, the armored ape clenched its fist and struck the ice hammer. The foes smiled. Their comrade’s Technique was known to many of the ordinary disciples. It was considered to be an attack that a person could dodge, but couldn’t protect themselves from. Designed to break through protective Techniques, it was the bane of cultivators like Einen.

  This can’t be! The thought flashed through the dying man’s mind.

  The armored ape’s fist contained not just the crushing power of an energy that was superior to that of a Heaven Soldier’s at the initial stage, but also the mysteries of the Spear Spirit. The fist had the speed and penetrating power of a spear!

  “He’s a Wiel-” The cultivator had no time to warn his comrades. The ape’s fist easily broke through the ice hammer and, continuing forward, punched through the warrior’s body. The hammer fell to the ground. Blood spurted from the dead man’s mouth. His body twitched a couple of times in agony and went still. Einen, through a slight effort of will, collected all the Glory points from the enemy’s token. Since he’d already paid for training, there wasn’t much left. Only twenty-four. However, compared to what he’d earn collecting the leaves of the Night Shrub, it was a huge amount when you factored in how quickly he’d earned them.

  “Legon!” Several of their attackers shouted.

  The deceased had been someone’s friend, son, brother, maybe even a lover. However, that didn’t really bother Einen or Hadjar. Everyone who came for their lives had to be ready to give up their own. They had no mercy for their enemies, and they didn’t spare their lives! This was the credo of real warriors!

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hadjar saw Einen send the enemy cultivator to his forefathers with a single blow.

  “One-one,” he hissed.

  Blurring into a black fog and leaving behind afterimages, he moved closer to one of the archers. His sword, shrouded not only in the mysterious black fog, but also in the blue-black energy, moved with the smoothness of a breeze and the speed of lightning descending from the sky. Leaving a misty trail in its wake, the black blade easily overcame the archer’s defensive Technique and sliced through his artifact armor. A fountain of blood gushed out, and the cultivator’s severed torso slowly slid to the ground. The man hadn’t even understood what was happening. Hadjar didn’t even look at his body.

  “Wind!” He shouted again.

  His energy was melting away, but if he didn’t deal with the archers, the battle would be lost. He didn’t have time to admire his ‘victories’. Fortunately, he managed to grab the Glory points from the enemy’s token in passing. Only sixteen of them, but still.

  As this was happening, Einen, who’d been holding his staff behind his back, suddenly brought it forward as he lunged.

  “Boulder Storm!” The islander shouted.

  His staff blurred into a series of high-speed attacks, and the ape’s paws disappeared. A hail of blows coming from various angles rained down on the attackers, blocking them from advancing. The two fists were striking so quickly that the Heaven Soldiers’ eyes almost couldn’t discern them. Each strike contained the mysteries of the Spear Spirit. The cultivators froze. They didn’t even have time to use their Techniques as they had to dodge and escape from the ferocious attacks.

  Three of them, however, risked trying to use their Offensive Techniques. Two cultivators immediately fell backward, apparently accomplishing nothing. Their chests had gaping holes in them. Their eyes glossed over.

  The third flew several feet away and crashed into the slope of the ravine. His artifact armor saved him. Split open down the middle, it had dug its edges into the cultivator’s chest. He wouldn’t be able to fight again anytime soon, but he was still breathing.

  “Three-two,” Einen said, panting.

  Now everything depended on whether Hadjar could deal with the archers before the islander could no longer maintain his Call. They were once again playing tag with death and, by the High Heavens, it was the two friends’ favorite game!

  Chapter 438

  Before the dead archer’s body finished collapsing to the ground, blood and viscera spraying everywhere, all the other archers took aim at the fog-shrouded figure. Their bowstrings sang in perfect unison.

  Four fire feathers, whirling like drills, shot at Hadjar. His sword, leaving an arc of dark mist behind it, floated through the air. Two crescents overlapped into an X shape and rushed to meet the arrow-feathers. The archers grinned. They used their energy and their eyes flashed. Hadjar felt an unfamiliar sensation, the presence of the Bow Spirit. At the same time, two of the arrows vibrated and split into dozens of non-illusory copies.

  The nearest arrow also tried to multiply, but instead disappeared in a flash of darkness, destroyed by Hadjar’s crescents. The remaining arrow, as if possessing a mind of its own, seemed to skirt around the crescents. Hadjar watched in bewilderment as the enemies’ arrows circumvented his counterattack and flew toward his heart.

  “Calm Wind,” Hadjar said.

  The ground around him sagged as if a giant elephant had stepped on it. The archers’ Techniques lost almost half their speed. However, they were still smiling. Even if Hadjar now had enough time to repel the looping arrow-fe
ather, the other ones would turn him into a porcupine. Hadjar understood this, too. His thoughts raced at an insane speed. He didn’t have time to fight off the guided arrow and dodge the others. And even if he dodged the shower of arrows, he would still be impaled by the looping Technique. There was only one way out.

  Grabbing the edges of his dark fog cloak, Hadjar spun on his heels. The cultivators watched in disbelief as their foe was momentarily covered in the black fog. The arrow that had cut through the air was caught by this swirl of black fog. Suddenly, the vortex of darkness stopped. He shot out his left hand. The edge of the hideous cloak held in it straightened, and the arrow-feather flew backward.

  Even so, after redirecting the attack, the swordsman now had no time to repel or dodge the hail of arrows. However, as it turned out, he didn’t intend to try.

  The downward pressure of the wind increased. The ground, with another crack, sank deeper. Now, even those who weren’t standing near the swordsman found it harder to breathe. They felt as if they’d lost almost a tenth of their power resisting the pressure of the wind.

  Hadjar pushed off from the ground. The sheer force of his leap caused cracks to spread outward in a spider web pattern. Lightly, like a leaf floating in the wind, he dropped the toe of his foot onto a flying fire feather. He’d done a similar trick once before, so he knew what to do. However, his opponents were clearly facing such a trick for the first time. Before they could react, the fire feather rounded the wall of arrows and carried Hadjar straight toward the archer who’d launched it. The cultivator, not believing his own eyes, got his own Technique rammed directly into his open mouth. The feather broke through and out the back of his head, getting lodged in a nearby tree. Hadjar, however, pushed off from the drooping head of the suddenly dead archer and landed directly between the two remaining archers.

  Hadjar landed so hard his feet dug into the cold stone up to his ankles. The edges of his fog cloak spread out, covering everything in a five-yard radius around him in a thick haze. With a wave of his hand and an effort of will, the mysteries of the Sword Spirit flew into this veil. To a Wielder, everything was a sword — a stick, a bit of grass, a drop of water, a gust of wind, or a cloak of black fog summoned by their Call.

  The wisps of darkness thickened, and then two black blades shot out. One of the archers didn’t even have time to react. Even among the ordinary disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, there were few Wielders. Power sometimes didn’t come with the wisdom needed to wield it, and truly Wielding weapons required both wisdom and a deep understanding of one’s Spirit’s path.

  Pierced by the misty blade, the archer jerked a couple of times, and when the blade that had killed him dissipated, his body collapsed to the ground. Dark blood flowed down into the ravine where Einen was fighting.

  His rainbow-armored ape was pressing his enemies, but since they’d felt the full power of the unfamiliar Technique, they weren’t planning to charge in for a frontal assault. They harassed Einen, attacking from a medium distance. A boy, no more than twenty years old (the islander determined his age not by his foe’s appearance, but by his aura), swung a heavy sword. No more than six feet tall, he used a giant sword that was twelve inches wide, five inches thick, and more than two yards long. It must’ve weighed at least six hundred pounds. The powerful warrior’s muscles bulged with every swing he made, standing out like boulders.

  Heavy swords were one of the rarest weapons. Inherently difficult to wield, they demanded not just a talent for the path of the Sword Spirit from their owner, but also a high proficiency in Techniques for Strengthening the Body.

  Anyone who reached the level of a true cultivator could lift three times more weight than before, but they couldn’t use such unwieldy weapons in battle. Any missteps could lead to a severe, even fatal, injury. At the same time, if a cultivator reached a certain skill level in wielding a heavy sword, they became one of the most frightening opponents you could ever face. Their attacks would have such crushing power that they easily compensated for any slowness, and their pressure became so terrible that it completely negated the need for protection. A single direct hit from a mid-stage Heaven Soldier wielding a heavy sword could kill even a Spirit Knight.

  “Rage of the Rhino!” The cultivator shouted.

  He made two sweeping slashes with his monstrous blade. A mighty wave of power appeared, so immense that it tore up huge chunks of earth and uprooted stones as it surged toward Einen. Both of these attacks created streams of power coming in from different directions. When they met in the center, they formed a vortex of power. It nearly uprooted the ground they were all standing on. It stretched out and took the shape of a rhinoceros horn.

  It was a huge horn, bearing down with incredible force. It was at least thirteen feet long and seven feet wide.

  However, the foes didn’t stop there. Two adepts with clubs attacked with their weapons as well. Their Techniques looked like huge, ghostly maces. They followed right behind the horn.

  The sight of this attack enraged Einen. Plunging his staff-spear into the ground, he roared and poured two-thirds of his power into the Technique. The shadow ape beat its mighty chest. It expanded and grew, and its paws gradually began to solidify. Sweat rolled down Einen’s forehead.

  He wasn’t able to fully call forth his totem beast, but even so, the mighty ape in rainbow armor was able to block the horn. The force of their collision was so great that Einen couldn’t protect himself from it and the echo of the clash harmed his body. Spitting out blood, the islander kept going. The horn sank into the body of one of their foes. After a direct hit, nothing remained of the man, only his crumpled silver token which fell to the ground.

  The islander ignored the two manifestations of crushing power. Reaching into his pocket, he popped two alchemical pills into his mouth. The explosion of energy in Einen’s body created such a vortex of power that the edges of his clothes fluttered. Both ghostly maces struck where he’d been standing. A crater with a diameter of several yards was revealed once the dust settled. However, the islander was no longer there.

  Directly behind one of the foes, a ten-foot-tall ape appeared, covering him with its huge shadow. With a mighty snarl, it struck the dazed young man with savage speed and power. The body of the young boy, who only last year had been so proud that he’d become an ordinary disciple, flew through the air like a ragdoll and landed on the edge of the ravine, right next to the corpse that had been impaled by the fog blade a moment ago.

  Hadjar, without a moment’s hesitation, charged the last archer.

  Chapter 439

  The last of the archers managed to use a defensive Technique. The black blade missed him after he turned into an arrow and, without leaving any afterimages behind, moved a dozen yards to the side in a second.

  His quiver was empty, but that didn’t seem to bother the warrior. Exhaling, he concentrated his power around his fingers. The energy turned into an arrow that vibrated with power, one created from the pure ‘water’ of the World River. It shone with rays of power so tangible that they punched holes in the leaves on the nearby trees. This was the archer’s most powerful attack — a combination of instant movement and a shot with maximum force behind it. Using it, he’d sent more than a dozen newcomers to their forefathers. Perhaps these boys and girls had had enough talent to be the strongest in their villages, but they’d lacked experience with true fights to the death. Only after a few years as disciples could they have acquired enough skill to fight those who were weaker than them, but more experienced.

  Hadjar, seeing that his opponent had put distance between them and begun channelling an attack, sighed sadly. Seven years ago, he’d taught the fighters in his Bear squad to avoid such mistakes. The archer clearly lacked combat experience.

  “Falling leaf,” Hadjar said, envisioning an autumn leaf falling from a branch and landing on the archer’s chest.

  The cultivator had prepared his combination attack utilizing the Movement Technique and Offensive Technique in less than
a second. Despite this amazing speed, the sword was always faster than the bow. Hadjar’s own attack was three times faster. He didn’t try to dodge or put up a defense that wouldn’t help in this case, he just attacked, leaving himself completely open. But there was no foe left to take advantage of the opening. The boy archer, as that was how the former Mad General who’d crossed the Sea of Sand perceived him, fell, a gaping wound stretching from his collarbone to his groin. Before he died, he managed to launch his arrow, but missed wildly, guided by Hadjar’s own slash. The arrow, created from a stream of purest energy, shot away in a completely different direction. Instead of hitting Hadjar, it hit a man who’d snuck up behind Einen and was trying to attack him from behind. The arrow struck him so hard he flew a dozen yards through the air and collapsed at Araz’s feet. The leader of the attackers, still calm and haughty, continued to watch the fight. He’d lost all his archers, and only sixteen of the melee fighters were left, but that didn’t concern him at all.

  No matter how strong these two newcomers were, their Calls would soon come to an end, and the accumulated energy in their bodies would run out. Even if they had plenty of energy-restoring pills, they were unlikely to hold out against sixteen cultivators. The battle was a foregone conclusion.

  “Wind!” Hadjar roared.

  As he ran, leaving behind illusory afterimages in his wake, Hadjar moved down to Einen. Standing back to back once more, they watched their foes circling them.

  “What’s the score?” Hadjar asked breathlessly.

  “I lost count,” Einen said calmly. “We’ll discuss it when we finish this.”

  “I like the confidence in your voice,” Hadjar said, popping two pills in his mouth as well.

  With the funds they’d gained from ‘extorting’ Rahaim and the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ sect’s ring, they’d bought several elixirs and pills. They’d thought that they wouldn’t need to touch their ‘emergency supplies’ for a long time, but after just a week at ‘The Holy Sky’ School, they’d already wasted half of them.