Anise, her body moving on its own, turned back to the commoner. She’d expected to see a dying cultivator, but what she saw... she couldn’t describe it.
In the Predatory Blades clan, among the younger generation, only she and the eldest heir had been able to reach the Sword's Heart level of sword mastery. Anise had done so by the age of fifteen, and had been hailed as a genius for it. The eldest heir, who’d managed to achieve the same results by the age of twelve, was reputed to be a monster among monsters.
However, they were both descendants of one of the strongest clans in Darnassus. In addition, the Predatory Blades clan was a clan of warriors. They’d never engaged in peaceful pursuits, like the Marnil or Tarez had.
Had a commoner managed to reach this level of weapon mastery by the age of sixteen? Whatever his age, there was no doubt that he had indeed comprehended the Sword's Heart.
Chapter 478
Suddenly, information began to flow into Hadjar’s mind like a powerful stream. He heard a voice, distant but very familiar. This voice belonged to his Master’s Master, an old man who’d been able to look through time and space and had wielded power that transcended not only Hadjar’s understanding, but also his wildest dreams.
“What is the Weapon in the Heart?” Just like before, in Traves’ other memory — may the forefathers be kind to him — the old man’s voice was full of wisdom and mockery. “Imagine, young Traves, that all your life, you have walked with your spear-staff in hand. A faithful dog acquires its owner’s traits, but the owner also takes on some of the dog’s traits. What is the power of your spear-staff, young Traves?”
“It’s…”
The dragon’s voice trailed off, as if giving Hadjar an opportunity to respond. What was the power of his sword? This question, which seemed simple enough, was actually extraordinarily deep. Of course, it had nothing to do with Hadjar’s sword or Traves’ spear-staff. After all, if everything was the Sword, and the Sword was in his heart, then his heart was also the Sword. The question sounded very different when viewed like that. But what was the power of Hadjar Darkhan’s heart? He smiled.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“Then don’t think about the power of your sword, but why you use it.”
Again, he had that strange feeling that the ancient master wasn’t addressing his disciple, but Hadjar himself. What did he use his sword for?
Hadjar remembered the vision given to him by the Dream Grass: his mother had been playing with him in the Palace of Lidus. She’d asked her son what he had seen behind the window. And Hadjar had seen... Like in a half-forgotten dream, he’d seen…
He was flying over the vast expanses of a calm, green sea. However, upon closer examination, he could distinguish huge mountains propping up the sky, beautiful cities, so large that entire countries could’ve fit within them, strange animals, and even dragons hovering in the sky. The green sea was actually comprised of forests, valleys, and meadows. Its blue veins were wide rivers that went on for thousands of miles, like elongated oceans, and the seas around it were as huge as the starry sky.
It felt like he’d seen this land before. In another, half-forgotten life, where he’d always known what he fought for. This knowledge, for some reason, for some incredibly stupid reason, had been left behind, forgotten, covered in a mold made up of weekdays, hidden by other people’s desires and hopes.
Now, like a snake shedding its old skin, he emerged from the stifling prison of other’s ideas about what he should be.
The Mad General.
North Wind.
Barbarian.
Prince Duran.
Hadjar Darkhan.
It was all fake. None of it mattered. After all, only the ‘here and now’ were important. What was Hadjar Darkhan’s ‘here and now’? He was his sword. He was his heart. What did he fight for? To take his next breath. And why did he fight for every breath? To find hope. What hope?
He hoped he could reach his goal, one worthy of ripping his heart out and trying to purge it of the memories of all those who’d been killed by Hadjar’s sword.
Why did he fight? Why did his heart beat? To be free. To free all the oppressed people. To give people a chance to decide their own destiny. To fight for it, die for it, to love it. Most of all, he wanted to give them a chance to do so without the guidance of those who’d climbed so high that they couldn’t see the broken lives they’d left behind, the ones who called themselves gods.
Hadjar Darkhan’s heart wouldn’t rest until he ascended to the Seventh Heaven, burst into the Jasper Palace, and made the gods answer for all their sins.
“That’s a good power, young North Wind,” the voice in his head said. “The power to be free... It isn’t given to everyone. Don’t lose it... Freedom is the most powerful reason a warrior can have, but it is also the most fragile of all.”
***
While all of this may have seemed like a lengthy process, not even a fraction of a moment had passed in the real world. Einen, thrown aside by a hammer strike, hadn’t even landed when the cultivator who had wounded him suddenly clutched at his throat. His eyes rolled back, he dropped his hammer, and then he started scratching his neck with his fingernails, but it was already too late. With another sigh, his head rolled off his shoulders.
The arrow that had actually managed to hit the man wrapped in the black, foggy cloak, passed through it and thudded into the ground. Hadjar was no longer where he’d been a moment ago.
He didn’t suddenly start moving as quickly as Anise did. Hadjar now understood that the power of her sword was speed. All her Techniques, both offensive and defensive, were aimed at being faster than her enemy. Hadjar’s power went in a different direction. He’d always wanted to be free in life, to escape the shackles of his mundane existence and frailty, and his power echoed his desire.
He moved far more easily and quickly than before. He turned into a black plume that moved across the battlefield. But this wasn't speed. It was freedom.
He could see his foes’ movements, which were stiff and slow. His sword didn’t miss, and each attack was followed by a blue-and-black crescent. It seemed like Hadjar’s blade wasn’t really trying to pierce the enemy, but instead doing its best to cut through the borders between horizons and open up new vistas.
A plume of black fog, inside which the outline of a man could be discerned, flowed like a stream through the field of battle. With each strike, Hadjar’s sword reaped a rich harvest. Simple cultivators, even those who’d managed to become Wielders, stood no chance against a master of the Weapon in the Heart. Hadjar understood that now.
The boundaries of his understanding widened again. The mysteries of the Sword Spirit flooded into him. Having stepped over the threshold that had been holding his development back for a long time, he’d finally been able to make another leap along the path of cultivation. Not in the realm of pure energy, but in the realm of something far more significant — his own power.
“Roaring Stream!”
A twenty-foot wave consisting entirely of punches slammed into Hadjar. Behind the wave stood a cultivator with the token of a fully-fledged disciple of the ‘Meltwater’ School. Since he was at the advanced stage of the Heaven Soldier level, he hadn’t spotted any worthy opponents until a few moments ago. Exhausted and tired after their long battle with the powerful monster, the inner circle disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School couldn’t stop him. With a few swings of his gloved fists, he crushed their bones and sent them to their forefathers.
When he noticed the swordsman killing his fellow disciples as if they were simple practitioners, he didn’t hold back and performed his best killing Technique. Most of the fully-fledged disciples at his School couldn’t withstand its pressure, which had earned him the reputation of being one of the best fighters within the ranks of the fully-fledged disciples. He would destroy this master of the Weapon in the Heart…
“Azure Cloud!”
A roaring dragon, its sword-body extended forward, crashed do
wn from the blackened sky. When it struck the ground, it caused an explosion of blue-black energy. The tsunami of sword strikes tore the wave of punches to shreds, and there was no trace left of the cultivator who’d summoned it. Hadjar continued his mad rampage.
All the enemy disciples saw before they died was a long, black plume rushing across the field, inside which was a silhouette they couldn’t even distinguish properly. It seemed to them like it wasn’t a human hidden within that fog, but a black dragon. Its breath was like an unending barrage of sword strikes that rendered even those who used defensive Techniques powerless.
“Enough!”
Powerful pressure fell on Hadjar, and for a moment, it was able to completely halt his movements. However, after just one heartbeat, Hadjar turned and swung his sword.
“Strong Wind!” He roared.
The plume of black fog that followed his Technique thickened, merged into a blade, and then shot out, assuming the form of a huge dragon’s mouth. It tore through a dozen cultivators until it came upon a warrior clad in emerald-colored full plate. Hadjar’s attack couldn’t even scratch this mobile fortress of metal.
“Imperial armor,” Hadjar said. “The High Heavens smile upon me. I’ll be able to sell that for a decent amount of Glory points.”
“Bastard!” His foe barked and drew a broad, short sword.
Chapter 479
As soon as it left its scabbard, the sword of the inner circle disciple of the ‘Meltwater’ School suddenly turned into a violent river of energy. This roaring, emerald flow snapped forward like a whip, opened its draconic maw, and attacked Hadjar. He managed to put his sword up to block it, but the enemy’s Technique bent, suddenly changing directions. The dragon’s mouth twisted like a snake and struck Hadjar in the back.
His opponent’s face wasn’t visible under his helmet, but he must’ve grinned. After all, such a powerful attack striking a foe’s unprotected form... Even if this commoner had an incredible Technique for Strengthening the Body, it would still have cut his spine in half.
Suddenly, the grin faded from the warrior’s face. His Emerald River Technique had gotten caught in the enemy’s cloak! Hadjar, turning into a stream of black fog, slid aside and swung his sword.
“Falling Leaf!” He shouted.
Before, when he’d been just a Wielder of the Sword, the ‘Falling Leaf’ Technique had always struck from a distance while turning into a dragon three times weaker than the one made by the ‘Azure Cloud’. But it was different now. No dragon appeared. Instead, as soon as Hadjar swung, a blue-and-black cut appeared right on the warrior’s chest. He didn’t have time to use any defensive Techniques, or even dodge. The attack had been incredibly quick. It looked as if Hadjar had attacked at a distance of ten paces with the same effectiveness as if he’d been right in front of his enemy.
“Gods and demons!” The warrior recoiled.
He felt a terrible bruise spreading across his chest. His armor, though it had withstood the blow, still had a deep cut with jagged edges running across its length.
Hadjar, seeing the aftermath of his Technique, sighed sadly. No matter how strong his sword became, his lack of energy would still hold him back. He only had enough power left for three or four stances of the ‘Light Breeze’ Sword Technique. Traves had been right — the stronger the sword of a warrior became, the stronger the warrior needed to be. Hadjar had reached the Sword’s Heart level of weapon mastery, but his level of cultivation was too low to support the mysteries of the Sword Spirit that had become available to him.
“Not bad,” the voice under the emerald helmet said. “Tell me your name.”
“Hadjar Darkhan.”
“Price Geran, one of the sons of the Geran clan. It is an honor to fight you here today.”
“Likewise.”
Price held his sword in both hands now. With a roar, he brought it down in a massive slash.
“Fury of the Emerald River!” His loud cry rang out.
This time, instead of one green stream of energy topped by a dragon’s maw, three streams surged out of his blade. Intertwining and splitting apart while twisting at incredible angles, they swirled around Hadjar. Like a tangle of snakes, they constantly lashed out with feints, launching real strikes from the opposite side.
Hadjar didn’t want to risk wasting energy on the ‘Rustle in the Treetops’ Technique. That stance was good for when he needed an inconspicuous defense against a single attack, but it would be useless to him in this situation. Hadjar fought with all he had. His sword moved quicker than he’d ever dreamed of. His swings merged into one, and it seemed like their afterimages weren’t just simple illusions, but other sword strikes as well.
He managed to dodge the feints while fighting off the dragon’s attempts to devour him. But the longer he spun, turning into a tornado of blades and black fog, the more potent the tangle of emerald snakes became. Price’s swings and lunges grew faster, and there was more energy in them as well.
The cultivators unlucky enough to get too close to the area where the two swordsmen were fighting hastily retreated. As if they were mere practitioners, they sensed the danger emanating from the echoes of this battle and knew to stay away. The blue-black crescents generated by every swing of Hadjar’s sword could send them to their forefathers. Not to mention the river dragon’s fangs, which would be able to obliterate them.
It was obvious that Price was a Wielder. He compensated for the difference in their depth of understanding of the Sword Spirit with his artifacts and a superior level of cultivation.
“Surrender, Hadjar Darkhan,” the voice proclaimed from the depths of the emerald helmet. “Surrender, and I’ll spare your life.”
Hadjar didn’t even answer him. The tighter the knot of three river dragons became, the more clearly he understood the meaning of Traves’ words. His ‘freedom’ was about to be locked away in a cage, and then his advantage of having comprehended the Sword’s Heart would be worthless, which would leave Hadjar almost unarmed while facing a foe. What was the power of freedom? The fact that it wasn’t so easy to take it away from someone who held on to it tightly!
“Demons!” Hadjar exclaimed.
Price was surprised to see that one of his feints, intended to make his opponent dodge, had suddenly reached its target. The sword thrust shaped like a river with a dragon’s maw sliced through his opponent’s right thigh. Then, to his outright shock, Price saw the black plume of fog emerge from the tangle of three rivers. Like the other cultivators, he couldn’t properly discern the silhouette within it. It was either a human or a dragon. Or maybe both.
“Calm Wind.”
Price suddenly felt an unprecedented pressure. The ground beneath his feet, in a radius of almost five yards, sank a few inches. For a brief moment, less time than it took to breathe in, he was completely immobilized.
“The sixth stance: Wind!”
Suddenly, the black plume, moving at incredible speed, simply broke off. And then his enemy materialized out of the black fog, in the air above his head.
“Azure Cloud!”
Hadjar, having completed his best and perhaps most lethal set of three stances, put all the power he had into the final Technique. He’d used the ‘Calm Wind’ to disarm his enemy, depriving him of his ability to use defensive Techniques. The sixth stance, ‘Wind’, had been used to boost his speed, allowing Hadjar to strike from a completely unexpected angle. The ‘Azure Cloud’ was the final blow in this combination, and the strongest attack that Hadjar was capable of making.
A blue-and-black dragon descended from the darkened sky, roaring with incredible power. Like an executioner’s sword, it landed on Price’s back, driving him into the ground. The dragon tore at the plates of his Imperial artifact armor. It pushed Price deeper and deeper into the ground. The resulting vortex of energy, which assumed the form of a growing ball, scattered the nearby cultivators. Those who were closest to the epicenter lost their lives. Hundreds of deep cuts appeared on their bodies, and those who didn’
t possess powerful Techniques for Strengthening the Body simply exploded into hundreds of bloody chunks.
Price, lying at the bottom of a ten-foot-deep hollow, breathed heavily. Part of the armor on his back had been shattered, and thick, hot blood ran down his skin. With great difficulty, the son of the Geran clan rose to his feet. By the gods, if not for his Technique for Strengthening the Body, his enemy’s attack might’ve sent him to his forefathers or cut through his spine.
Price turned to the side, where he could still feel faint currents of energy. Hadjar only had enough strength left to stand, he couldn’t even fall over. His black cloak and the Black Blade faded and disappeared. The bruises and wounds left behind by Price’s Technique began to appear on his body.
“Remember my name, Hadjar Darkhan. One day, we will finish this battle.”
With that, Price saluted in the local manner, turned, and ran. The remaining seventeen hundred disciples of the ‘Meltwater’ and ‘Quick Dream’ Schools followed him. They were fleeing from the rapidly approaching black and brown dots in the sky. Reinforcements riding huge griffins were flying in to help the disciples of ‘The Holy Sky’ School.
“Isn’t ground transportation good enough for them?” Hadjar growled, hobbling toward the wounded but still alive Einen. “Do they have to show off like that?”
Chapter 480
“How are you, my friend?”
Hadjar helped Einen get back up. He didn’t look very good, but he was already uncorking various small bottles full of different liquids. Hadjar suspected that most of them hadn’t been bought, but made by the islander himself. However, he kept his mouth shut. In the Darnassus Empire, and the neighboring areas as well, alchemy was tightly controlled. It was strictly forbidden to practice it without a special patent, and obtaining one was as difficult as getting the blessing of a god. Anyone suspected of engaging in unlicensed alchemy would be sent to their forefathers without a trial... And so would their family, village, and sometimes their whole town or city.
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